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luvcherry · 3 years

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chatroom [7] ◇

Natasha Romanoff x Reader. 3rd POV. Word Count: 7k.

Part Six || Part Eight

Chatroom Masterlist

Summary: Y/n’s birthday is coming up, but things go awry before the day even arrives.

Content: heavy angst.

A/N: This chapter has a lot of angst, but I promise the fluff lovers will love the next chapter. Enjoy!

Y/n's birthday is coming up and her friends are throwing her a party that she kind of doesn't want (Amy is using the new guy she's talking to college apartment for the party).

Every year her birthday would roll around, Y/n would feel a sense of despair.

Her classmates, when she was in elementary school, would have their parents come with pizza and cupcakes to celebrate their special day. She used to think it was a mandatory thing and on her 8th birthday, she expected her parents to walk through the door covered in art projects, but they never came. She cried at recess, just ten minutes after her class sang happy birthday to her over no birthday cake.

She only worked up the courage to ask her parents why they never showed up for her birthdays or any other event where parents would come to the class when she was in 3rd grade.

"You shouldn't feel so concerned with things like that. There are kids who don't even have anyone to tell them happy birthday, be grateful."

As any young kid would do, she remembered what her parents said and kept quiet. She'd appreciate the small gifts from her parents and extended family members. Sometimes her youth bible study group would throw her a small party, and even though she felt alienated from the kids her parents wanted her to be friends with, they were nice to her and made her feel somewhat special on her birthday.

Things changed as she got older. They were having birthday parties that Y/n was not allowed to attend so in-turn they stopped saying anything to her on birthday out of resentment. Ms. Grace, one of the preacher's nieces, would always say happy birthday and give her a card with some money in it. Y/n always appreciated how the older woman didn't seem so out-of-touch like her parents and everyone else in the church. The 20 dollars she slipped into her cards were supposed to be something that gave her a little sense of freedom. She didn't want the young girl to be swallowed up by overbearing and strict measures that lead to nothing but misery and isolation. So much has changed since those days.

And, this was the first birthday that was approaching where she feels a tinge of hope instead of the regular sadness. Things were going great in her life and it was all because she was away from home.

Her birthday freshman year was fun, she spent it with Amy and Cindy and they went to a pizza parlor near campus. It was just the three of them which was nice and all, but her friends want to do something more now that she's leaving her teen years behind.

"No. There is no way we're having a party. You two are my only friends and I don't want to spend my 20th birthday with strangers."

Y/n knew her birthday falling on a Saturday this year would fill their heads with all kinds of ideas. Even Cindy, who Y/n has considered a close ally since helping her with her relationship problems, was hellbent on throwing a party.

"Y/n, you aren't spending another birthday without having a real party," Amy was desperately trying to convince Y/n to go along with her plan. This new guy she's talking to, a 6'2 senior who was one of the best players on the football team, has an apartment right by campus and lives all alone. He had agreed to let them throw the party at his place which has plenty of space to hold one. "You're going to be 20. You are one year closer to being able to legally drink and you're no longer a teenager. Your parents are hundreds of miles away; there is no way they can ruin your birthday."

Y/n wasn't concerned about her parents like Amy thought. If only her friends knew about her trips to the city to go see her older girlfriend then she would know that the problem is not Y/n worrying about what her parents would think. She just kind of doesn't trust her friends to throw a party that she would enjoy it. She doesn't want it to be filled with a whole bunch of sorority and frat people she doesn't know. It's not like she has many friends to invite to replace them so those people are the only ones left for Amy and Cindy to invite. Plus she can just imagine the party getting busted by police and everyone getting arrested for underage drinking. How embarrassing would it be if she had to take a mugshot simply because she was at a party with drunk college kids but wasn't drunk herself?

"No," Y/n says firmly which makes Amy sigh in defeat.

She looks over to Cindy to help her out, to somehow convince Y/n to say yes to this plan. Cindy knows Y/n isn't fond of parties and also wonders if Y/n would rather spend her birthday with the person she suspects Y/n is dating. However, the parties this year have absolutely been dry and she wanted to have a good time since the winter weather was slowly starting to break.

"You can be in charge of who we invite. Amy's man will be strict about who can come in. And, no one under the age of 21 will be allowed to drink."

Cindy tried to meet both of their demands in the middle. Amy was sort of annoyed that Cindy suggested she wouldn't be able to drink, but she didn't protest. She folded her arms and waited for Y/n to say something. Their friend was in deep thought, really mulling over whether or not to have this party. Y/n wondered if she would enjoy partying more if she had Natasha there with her. It would be different from Natasha's birthday party, better she hopes. That is the only thing that is motivating Y/n to consider all of this.

"No more than 30 people, including us three and Amy's boyfriend. No one is allowed more than two cups of alcohol and no one is allowed to have hard liquor — I don't want people getting drunk and throwing up on *my birthday. Party ends at 2 am."

Amy thought there was no way eager college kids would abide by Y/n's strict rules, but she's going to take what she can get.

"Deal. It's settled, we're having a party!"

Y/n feels like she's going to regret saying yes to this party. But, both of her friends seem so excited about it. She guesses it won't be that bad as long as she approves of everyone the two want to invite, and if she can get Natasha to come out to see her. Her heart flutters thinking about Natasha what kind of gift Natasha might give her. Or even how she might whisk her away so they can have some alone time to themselves.

Natasha has been waiting for Y/n's call all day.

Her girlfriend told her that they don't have to talk online as much anymore which Natasha took as a good sign. They've been talking on the phone more and more these days; even sometimes jumping on Skype when Y/n's roommate wasn't in their dorm. Natasha's time on Myspace was cooling down anyway since she had found a new social media site that all of her friends were on. She thought about asking Y/n to make an account there, but it was nice to have something separate from her.

She got out of work early today per the request of her boss. He said she had been working a lot and deserved some sort of break. Natasha told him it was fine, but he kept insisting she go home until the point that he was no longer suggesting it, he was demanding it. It was a pretty decent day out for this time of year so she didn't mind walking home instead catching a cab. She stopped by the local café to pick up some lunch and a pastry and continued her journey home. She saw an awful amount of couples on the way home and it was bittersweet. She was content knowing she had her own relationship, but it's hard to see how loneliness still nags at her.

Her apartment was nice and toasty after turning on the heat, and she drew the blinds open to let in the natural light from the sun. The wax for her last candle was almost completely gone, but she lit the wick anyway. Everything was perfect and felt so cozy, a moment that shouldn't be shared alone when there is someone to share it with. If only things were different and Y/n could be here instead of Natasha having to wait for her call.

Natasha can only describe it as a feeling of dread as a new recurring thought begins to rear its ugly head again. She didn't think this way even when her friend was trying to get her to rethink this relationship. It was the sinking realization that the honeymoon phase was fading and now Natasha was seriously considering what the hell she wanted out of this relationship. Things are fun, but she can't lie to herself and keep imagining that she has the same feelings now as she did in the beginning. Everything felt like such a rush back then, like she was on this roller coaster and the person alongside her was screaming in excitement just as loudly as she was. But now the adrenaline was starting to wear off and it was like she was experiencing vertigo. The only thing she can be sure of is that she likes Y/n. She still likes spending time with her when the two can see each other. However, the question that was on her mind was if simply liking someone can carry a relationship? Natasha is on the other side of 25 while Y/n is just about to enter her 20s. The age difference is glaringly obvious due to a milestone birthday coming up for Y/n. If this was just a hook-up she wouldn't care. But, she's sitting here imaging Y/n being right by her side. Natasha is not a daydreamer, and this moment is very sobering for her.

She feels very protective over Y/n. They had such a similar upbringing with strict parents where being flexible with your identity, likes, and passions was not possible. Life was only one way and their parents made it seem that way until they became old enough to understand that while everyone's out having the time of their lives, they're fixated on keeping their parents happy. Natasha's college experience does differ from Y/n's seeing that she went all out her freshman year. She experienced a complete rejection of the values her parents instilled in her. She was like a stumbling baby learning to walk as she navigated a world unknown to her. Y/n plays it much more safely than she did at her age. Talking to a stranger online and then eventually dating them wouldn't be considered "safe" by many, but compared to how Natasha spent the first two years of her college experience, Y/n's rebellion is very tame.

She's content knowing that she is completely responsible for Y/n attempting to figure out who she is outside of the identity her parent's created for her. It makes her happy to see it happening, but Natasha doesn't want Y/n to make the same mistake. She had attached her freedom to a relationship in her early days of college and that was a huge mistake. Natasha has no intentions on hurting Y/n the same way she was hurt, but she'd be crushed if Y/n ever told her she was holding her back.

Maybe Natasha was feeling this way because she feels old. She is still young, but it's been so long since her teen years and yet her girlfriend is just leaving it.

It's only 2 in the afternoon, and it's a Wednesday, so Y/n is still in class. Natasha can always expect a call from her around 6 o'clock on Wednesdays, but she was hoping for Y/n to find the time to call her in between classes. She's sure that hearing her voice would make all those thoughts of self-doubt go away. Wednesdays' is usually Y/n's longest day compared to the other days of the week. Natasha nearly has her schedule memorized. Y/n is usually leaving her Chemistry lab when she calls her. They talk for the entire duration of Y/n's walk to her dorm and for hours after that. Her girlfriend puts off her studies just to talk to her about their day-to-day lives and whatever interests them that day. It sounds sort of mundane when Natasha thinks about it, but it's one of her favorite moments of the day.

Natasha wondered, as she looked at the sun melting some of the snow off the rooftops, if she could do this for two more years. Two more years of having to work around Y/n's college schedule and two more years of being this far away from her, both literally and figuratively. The selfish side of her is reprimanding herself, telling her that she should have just continued to hook-up with people or at least date someone a little bit older who lived in the city like her. Her and Y/n can't have random dates in the middle of the weekend. She can't call her up and ask her to come over at night. She can't even take Y/n to her favorite bars yet.

As she gets older, she's no longer searching for that quick fun she longed for once she had the freedom of college. Her job and lifestyle calls for some sort of stability. It's just so hard to see what a long-term future could be when the person she's dating is currently 19.

As the hours pass by, those thoughts are still there even as she tries to distract herself. They only dissipate when her phone begins to buzz and it's Y/n's name on the caller ID. Once she answers it's almost as if she wasn't doubting their entire relationship. That could either be because her thoughts are purely ridiculous or she is just ignoring the problem; the awful part is that Natasha isn't sure which is true.

"I hope I'm not interrupting anything."

"No. You never are."

Y/n's voice sounds so soft and sweet that Natasha can't help but swoon. She can hear the sound of snow crunching under her feet as she walks to her dorm. It's dark out since it's a little past 6 o'clock. Sometimes she worries about Y/n walking alone, but she's not the only student who is out on campus during the evening.

"Are you just getting out of class?"

"I am. I have the dorm all to myself tonight! My roommate just told me she won't be back tonight. She didn't explain anything else, but I'm not going to complain?"

"How are things with her?"

"They've gotten a little bit better. She still acts like she hates me. But enough about her, how was your day?"

"I got out of work early and did nothing all day."

"Ooh, you're lucky!"

Natasha can hear doors opening and closing as they talk. Y/n must be in her room by now.

"I miss you so much," Y/n admits with a sigh. She sounds utterly warn out from walking during the cold night, "It's been months since I've seen you."

"Two months to be exact."

Y/n laughs at Natasha's clarification. It feels like it's been so much longer without her. She makes an attempt to try to create those moments of intimacy the two had in January, but her attempts always fall short. She just can't replicate the way Natasha touches her, and it's impossible to kiss herself. Y/n feels so starved for her touch and it's been distracting her from her work. She's even contemplated skipping class and convincing Natasha to skip work so she can go visit her during the week.

"I know, that just feels so long for me though. I'm hoping to see you soon," Y/n's voice sounded slightly weak as she spoke. The question she's been nervous to ask for a few days now has been on her mind. It's now only a matter of courage in asking. "Hey, what are you doing next Saturday?"

"On your birthday? I had nothing planned, but I assume I'm going to do something with you."

Y/n feels slightly more confident, smiling at Natasha's answer.

"Well, my friends have somehow convinced me to have a party and I was wondering if you want to come? I know I haven't properly told my friends about us, and that this would be a big step, but I think I'm ready now."

There was a pause on the other side of the phone; one that was too long. As every second with no response went by, Y/n got the sinking feeling that she fucked up. She didn't think the idea sounded so bad, but now she's second guessing herself.

"Where is the party going to be?"

"At Amy's boyfriend's apartment. I know-"

"And you're sure you really want to have a party? I thought you weren't fond of the parties your friends like?"

Y/n was sort of shocked by the line of questioning being fired at her. She's not trying to have a rager, as indicative of her rules.

"It's not going to be a big party. Just me, my friends, and a few people."

"A 'few people' that you don't know, right?"

"I mean, I guess so."

"You don't want to do something else? Something you'd actually enjoy like going out to dinner or to the museum you want me to take you to? A party doesn't seem up your alley."

"It won't be that bad!" Y/n was becoming defensive. She couldn't care less about defending the sanctity of college parties, it was more so that Natasha was becoming a little hostile for no reason. "Are you going to come or not?"

Natasha sighed in defeat. It would be easier to convince Y/n to do something else rather than say something that might hurt her feelings, but she's not budging. Why is she so hellbent on having a party with people who aren't even her friends.

"No."

Y/n felt her heart drop. She was devastated and dumbfounded at the same time. Her voice cracked as she spoke, "no? What do you mean no?"

"I don't want to go to a party with a bunch of college kids. If it was a small get together with you and the girls who are actually your friend then I wouldn't mind. But, I haven't gone to a college party in years and quite frankly I wouldn't be caught dead going to one. Especially one with a whole bunch of drunk, horny undergraduates."

Never has someone bashing a college party hurt Y/n's so bad. She's in undergrad, so does Natasha think negatively about her?

"But I went to your birthday party! I got to meet your friends! So why can't you come and meet mine?"

Knowing that Y/n hasn't disclosed their relationship and that this would be the first time people know about her turns Natasha sour on the idea. At least she had told her friends about Y/n before she made an appearance at her birthday party. She was met with some sort of resistance from her friends about Y/n's age, but they stopped caring after a while. How would Y/n's friends react to her girlfriend being older than her and everyone at that party? Just imagining herself there makes Natasha feel weird.

"That was different."

"How!?" Y/n's tone got higher and there was a tinge of pain in her throat. She was close to crying, but she was too embarrassed to cry with Natasha still on the phone.

"Because it just is. Like I said, if you want to do something else then I am all happy to do it with you, but I'm not going to some college party and that's the end of it Y/n. There's nothing you can say to convince me."

"I don't care! Don't call me ever again!"

Y/n ends the call and slams her phone shut. She's so angry that she's almost in a fit of rage and doesn't feel the hot tears sliding down her face. Her vision is blurry and she has to plop down onto her bed so she doesn't stumble over something and hurt herself. She's never been so angry in her life. Disappointment after disappointment from her parents never prepared her for something like this. She loves Natasha, but she's hurt her so badly that Y/n isn't sure how to function. Everything she thought about her relationship has been tested and she's too emotionally immature to handle this. She wishes the image of Natasha saying 'no' directly to her face would get out of her head, but she keeps on imagining the rejection as if it happened in real life. She grabs a pillow off of her bed and screams into it.

The rage begins to subside but not her anger and disappointment, but she's left with no more energy. She lays down on her bed, letting her phone fall out of her hands onto the bed right next to her. She feels like giving up completely, telling her friends the party is off, and skipping class for the rest of the week.

Another year, another birthday ruined. However, this time it wasn't because of her parents, but the person she trusts the most to never let her down.

How can Y/n party and act like everything is okay at her own party when she’s this sad?

Her friends have noticed that she’s been in a funk, but still went along with the party. Y/n never told them to cancel it, in fact she told them that they could do whatever they want. She’s not all that thrilled by it though. The outfit they picked out for her to wear was left at her dorm and she looks more like she’s going to study than go to a party.

She sits at the table alone, holding a random deck of cards in her hands for no reason while others chat and dance along to the music playing. Only a few people have come up to her and have said happy birthday. One guy came up to her at the table, and just when she thought he was going to say happy birthday, he asked her to hand him a red solo cup. Y/n did it and he walked away without saying thank you.

Never in her life has Y/n felt like a complete and utter loser. She’s been dragged to parties before where she just sat on the couch while her friends partied, and still those moments paled in comparison to right now. She just feels utterly alone since Amy is with some stupid boy and Cindy is god knows where. It’s one of those stark moments where she feels like she has no friends, no one on her side.

“Happy Birthday Tina!” Some girl says to her as she passes by the table she’s sitting at. The girl is absolutely wasted, Y/n’s rule of “no more than two cups of alcohol” completely shot to hell. If she’s going to be drunk the least she could do was get her name right.

There is a small pile of presents on the coffee table in the living room area. At least some of the guests were nice enough to bring something, but no gift could make Y/n feel better about tonight. She checks her phone and sees a few missed calls from Natasha, even a voicemail. They haven’t talked in over a week. Natasha kept her distance, but decided to try to call her today. They may be fighting, but it’s her girlfriend’s birthday, she wasn’t just going to ignore her no matter how upset she made Y/n.

Natasha’s intention was truly not to hurt her feelings, but she had to be honest. It would be weird for her to be at a party with kids in their early 20s. What the hell would she talk to them about, her office job?

Y/n was right that it isn’t much different from Y/n going to her party. Some of her friends are older than her and Y/n. But it just feels completely different. Maybe Natasha is a hypocrite for feeling that way, but she can’t help it. If she wasn’t feeling insecure about their relationship then maybe she wouldn’t have minded making an appearance. She just wishes that stupid party wasn’t happening. She knows Y/n isn’t having a good time and she would have enjoyed a trip to the city much more. They could’ve gone to the art museum for a few hours, out to dinner, and then back to Natasha’s place. Natasha even would have made reservations at one of those fancy, expensive restaurants her boss frequents. She just wanted to pull Y/n into her world which is selfish, but who could blame her? Why would she want to regress back to her college days and be at some party with a drunk dude throwing up in the bathroom? It sounds so unpleasant.

Still, it hurts to have all these lows so early on in their relationship. They shouldn’t have arguments like this, regarding Y/n doing things that many college kids do, but Natasha made her bed all those months ago, now it’s time to lie in it and continue to be ignored for the rest of the night.

Y/n contemplated answering her phone call. She thought about lying and saying that she’s having a good time, but she just doesn’t have it in her to do so. Natasha would be able to see right through her. She knows her so well from the hours Y/n has spent opening up about how she feels regarding her place in life. Y/n constantly curses herself for not being able to hide her emotion when she finally has some she trusts to open up to.

“Why aren’t you dancing!? It’s your birthday!”

Y/n looks up and it’s Amy talking to her. Her lip gloss is smudged and probably left on her boyfriend’s face. Y/n feels an unspeakable rage just looking at her. She blames Amy for the argument she had with Natasha because if she didn’t throw this party then none of this would be happening. However, she can’t place all the blame on her when she could have said no. She also could have understood things from Natasha’s point of view, but she’s too stubborn to do that.

“I don’t feel too well,” Y/n lied.

“Oh no, did you have anything to drink?”

“No. It’s practically all gone anyway.” The alcohol was nearly gone and so were the red solo cups. Y/n wondered how everyone was going to get home safely.

“I could save you some if you want!”

“No thank you, Amy.”

Her friend was so oblivious to everything. She only thought about herself and making out with some boy. It made Y/n so mad, but she just sat there and let her anger fester inside of her. She doesn’t want to cause a scene. She wonders where Cindy is. Cindy is usually the one who is more understanding, but she’s nowhere to be found.

“Okay, well, come and dance if you feel better!”

And with that her friend was gone again.

Y/n didn’t accept her invitation. Instead she sat at that table while everyone else around her had fun on her 20th birthday party. She was getting older, and she should be happy about that because she’s closer to her own personal freedom, but now she feels like she’s stumbling towards it. Her growing pains feel so much tougher since she wasn’t prepared for it. She can’t deal with these new feelings of heartbreak and angst if she doesn’t even have the language to put into words how she feels. All she can say is that she feels like something is missing now. Her relationship really did give her a huge sense of confidence, but she’s never wanted to be the person who needed a relationship to exist. She would listen to Amy talking about her dating woes and never wanted that to be her.

The party didn’t feel like it was about her until Cindy had someone turn the music down and held a cake in her hands. Y/n didn’t want to budge on her feelings, but she couldn’t stop herself from smiling when she saw Cindy holding that cake while Amy lit all twenty candles. They’re good friends, especially Cindy. She gets mad at Amy sometimes, but they still went out of their way to throw this party for her. Y/n didn’t have to spend a single thing and they got all her favorite things. She’s not going to open her gifts tonight, but she’s sure they got her something that’ll be just perfect for her. It’ll make up for all the random gifts she was given by the unfamiliar party guest.

Cindy leads the crowd to sing happy birthday to Y/n. For a second she feels like she’s in elementary school again, but this time she has the pizza and cake to celebrate with her classmates. Her feelings have been so conflicting for the last week, but right now she feels somewhat content. She can fix what she has with Natasha. She can make the most out of her misery if she just puts her mind to it.

“Make a wish,” Amy whispers to her.

Y/n closes her eyes, says her wish to herself, and blows out the flame on all of the candles to the sound of applause from the crowd.

Only a few minutes later and the attention is off of her again. Some people are eating cake while others have gone back to dancing to the music someone turned back on. Her friends had gotten her her favorite kind of cake with a picture of the three of them on top of it. She laughs to herself knowing they had to resort to the one photo they have of her Y/n because she wasn’t a fan of getting her picture taken. Cindy had cut the piece with Y/n’s face on it and gave it to her so no one else could eat her face.

Y/n begins to feel dumb for being so angry. She feels even dumber for ignoring Natasha’s phone calls.

She finishes up the cake and gets up from the spot she’s been in all night. There’s a balcony attached to the apartment, and Y/n weaves her way through some of the people dancing to get to it. The air is much crisper outside, but it feels so good compared to the heat from inside the apartment.

Y/n begins to dial Natasha’s number. It rings a few times before she gets the voicemail. She tries again, thinking maybe Natasha was too busy to get to it or she didn’t hear it at first. She frowns in frustration when she doesn’t get an answer the second time, or the third or the fourth time. Maybe Natasha’s the one ignoring her now. Y/n feels stupid for trying, but she just wants to make amends. It’s her birthday and she shouldn’t spend the first day of her 20s with relationship problems.

The door to the balcony slides open, making Y/n jump as she looks back to see who is joining.

“Sorry,” it’s Luke. “Am I interrupting you?”

Y/n shakes her head no. She feels so awkward in his presence knowing that he has a crush on her.

“I didn’t know you were here.”

“Amy invited me. I got you a gift! I hope you like it,” he stumbles through his sentences. Y/n couldn’t believe he was so nervous talking to her. She doesn’t particularly like it either.

“Thank you,” she says shortly. She kind of wants to tell him to fuck off, but she doesn’t want to be rude. Nor does she have the authority to tell him to leave because this isn’t exactly her apartment.

“So, what are you doing out here?”

Luke couldn’t take the hint that Y/n didn’t want to be bothered; it’s like no one is able to pick-up on anything she’s feeling. She’s facing away from him, leaning against the rail with her cellphone in hand as she stares at the apartment parking lot. She shows all the obvious signs of wanting to be alone, but he doesn’t leave.

“Just needed some fresh air.”

“It’s kind of cold out. Do you want to wear my jacket?”

Y/n considered it, now that winter’s chill was starting to set in, but she shakes her head. That’s just too much of a romantic gesture in her eyes.

“Are you enjoying your party?”

“It’s alright.”

“That doesn’t sound like you’re enjoying it.”

Y/n finally looks at him, and if looks could kill. He’d be dead by now. Luke is a nice guy, but she’s in a relationship. Even if she wasn’t though, she still isn’t sure how she would feel about him considering that she barely knows him.

“I said it’s alright. Nothing more, but nothing less.”

“Well it’s your party so you should be having fun.” It was hard to ignore how he was inching closer, but was still trying to maintain a safe distance. She can read it all over his face that he wants to make a move. Of all people, why her though? There are so many pretty girls on campus who would probably date him.

“It doesn’t matter.”

Just as she finishes her sentence, her phone begins to vibrate. Her eyes light up excitement and her heart races faster than what she can handle as she flips it open. She’s only met with disappointment as the number is an “unknown caller.” Natasha’s name shows up on her phone whenever she calls so there is no way that it’s hurt. She feels crushed. She’s spending her birthday with some guy who has a crush on her instead of her girlfriend.

“Expecting a call from someone?”

“It’s none of your business.” Y/n has never put on such an icy exterior in her life. Luke should be deterred, but he’s not phased by it at all. He knows that she’s not really like this.

“Well I hope they call,” he says honestly. She may be acting bitchy towards him right now, but he still likes her. He contemplates making his move, but knows he’ll get rejected since she’s in a bad mood, and he doesn’t want to make things worse for her. “I wish it wasn’t so cloudy. Then we’d be able to see the constellations,” he says, trying to make the conversation more lighthearted.

“Mm,” Y/n mutters. She doesn’t want to make small talk with him, but she does share the same sentiment. When it’s a clear night, you’re able to see the vast sky so perfectly due to the little amount of light pollution they have around campus. Their school has a great astronomy program and even does open houses for the giant telescope they were gifted just over five years ago.

Y/n hates that there are so many things romantic about this moment and that it’s not happening with Natasha. To just sit with someone and be in their presence with total silence is like a warm hug. Instead Y/n feels cold and alone despite the presence of another person. Life is unfair sometimes.

Luke doesn’t stop trying to make her feel better by keeping her company. He keeps trying despite her not giving him much to work with. He was being so nice to her, staying by her side when she was obviously annoyed by him. He could’ve called her a bitch and went back inside, but he didn’t, he just endured it. Maybe it was the hurt and frustration that made her consider doing something stupid. She could forget about everything else and just pretend for one night she’s someone else. It almost feels like the universe is trying to hand that opportunity to her. It’s her 20th birthday, her friends threw a party for her, and now she’s on the balcony talking to some guy who has a crush on her. This would be someone’s dream come true. She doesn’t like him at all, she barely knows anything about him, so why does she contemplates being that different person and considers kissing him?

“I should go back inside,” she says abruptly. She needs to get herself out of the situation before she makes things worse for herself.

“Oh, okay. Well it was nice talking to you.”

Y/n damn near slides the door shut in his face.

“Okay, I have three gifts stuffed in my purse and the leftover cake in the Target bag. Do you want any pizza to take back to your dorm?”

“No. It’s probably not going to be good by tomorrow morning.”

If Y/n could give a compliment to the people who came, it’s that they didn’t leave a mess. Usually at those frat parties they leave so much trash behind that Y/n almost feel bad for the boys who live there (until she realizes most of it comes from them). All her, Amy, and Cindy have to do is just gather their stuff, some of the leftovers. Amy kisses her boyfriend goodbye and they’re leaving his apartment.

“I talk to Luke on his way out,” Amy says after they step out of the elevator. “He said you two hit it off.”

“Really?” Cindy was shocked. If Luke was the person Y/n talked about liking thens he would have said it was him. She has a hard time believing that Luke was accurate in his assumption.

“That’s what he said! He sounded very hopeful too. God, you two really should date. You’d be such a cute couple, and he’s a really smart guy. You’re smart. He’s smart. It's much made in heaven!”

Amy just kept talking and everything came crashing to Y/n just like frigid air as they stepped outside. It’s almost 2 am and she’s so tired that her brain isn’t functioning properly. She zones out as she stops walking and stands there for a moment. Cindy notices right away.

“Are you okay? Why are you just standing there?”

Y/n doesn’t answer her, which is alarming. Instead she just sits on the steps leading up to the apartment door. Cindy can’t read the look on her face, but she knows it’s nothing positive.

“I almost fucked up,” Y/n finally opens her mouth to speak.

“What? What do you mean?”

“I thought about kissing him. I don’t even like him. I was just hurt that Natasha didn’t come and I felt alone and I didn’t know what I was doing. I don’t want to cheat on my girlfriend, I love her.”

Y/n was spilling so much information at once that her friends were absolutely dumbfounded. Who the hell is Natasha?

“What are you talking about, Y/n?” Cindy puts the stuff in her hands down on step and crouches down to Y/n’s level. Her friend looks like she’s in a daze, which must explain why she’s pouring her feelings out.

“I have a girlfriend, and she’s older than us so she didn’t want to come. But, I wanted her to come so bad. I went to her birthday but she couldn’t come to mine and I just feel so naïve and stupid. Why would she want me? I’m still a little girl.”

Amy was completely speechless, something completely new for her. She was stuck on the fact that Y/n is dating someone, let alone has a girlfriend. Cindy, who was already sort of clued in, was trying to temper her shock and just be a helpful friend. She places a hand on Y/n’s shoulder to help ground her. She knew that the person Y/n talked about was more than a friend, but there were so many details to catch up on that it was hard to process.

“You’re not a little girl Y/n. You’re new to dating, but you’re not stupid and you’re not a little girl. You’re learning just like everyone else does. You don’t deserve to feel sad and beat yourself up, especially not on your birthday.”

Y/n is fighting back tears. She doesn’t want to cry in front of her friends, but she’s been holding so much in that she can’t help it.

“Do you want to come back to my dorm? My roommate is out of town for the weekend so you can sleep on the couch. Only if you want to.” Cindy offers. Y/n shouldn’t be alone, nor should she have to go about to her dorm with her uptight roommate. Y/n simply nods her head, sniffling. “C’mon,” Cindy stands up, picking up the stuff from the steps, and prompts Y/n to stand up.

Their friend was going through her first heartache and was trying to suffer through it silently. Both felt awful for not being attentive enough.

“You’ll be okay,” Amy coos as she wraps an arm around Y/n’s back as they begin to walk to Cindy’s car.

She keeps saying it, like it’s a mantra, and Y/n tries to internalize it. She hopes it’s true. She needs it to be true.

#natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff fanfic #mcu fanfic #mcu #mcu imagines #marvel fanfic #f/f fanfic #f/f

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windblooms · 4 years

Text

zhongli scenario – psycho pass au

inspector!zhongli × gender-neutral reader; 3.3k words, angst & dark content (violence). a document of zhongli’s involvement in sibyl as he becomes an enforcer. swearing, violence, heresy, trauma development – it’s psycho pass, a seinen series. please proceed carefully.

a bright individual in academics and well-respected in his social circle, zhongli was practically guaranteed a fulfilling life by the sibyl system.

his peers often looked up to him as a senior: not only did he study diligently and looked forward to integrating himself into society, but he took it upon himself to be an emotional resource for others.

others often described him as a warm balance between equitability and empathy. the word “pragmatic” derived its definition from him, or so was the joke that his friends tossed around.

“ah, you want to sweeten me up, don’t you?” his laugh can pacify even the most irate of hounds – a siren for the “frenzied”, but of course dulled down, just as all passionate emotions are suppressed in this society.

but, oh, sibyl. what will you do to this man?

while zhongli directly benefits from the system – good-natured, charming, and from an established family – it’s only by the system’s choice. self-autonomy is an illusion when it’s dictated by a hand that only has five fingers and one palm.

they all lead to the same end.

zhongli deludes himself with a restless brain. night after night leading up to his sibyl exam, he busies himself with the news (or at least what’s left of it) and sibyl system statistics instead of studying. japan is peaceful. he likes it here, and there’s a life waiting for him. people anticipate his choices. he can’t let them down, yet he also can’t help but wonder . . .

division one welcomes him with open arms. with a crime coefficient of 36.7 and a pretty hue painted like cream vanilla, he is, in nearly every single aspect, a prime candidate for an inspector.

“mister zhongli, are you still working at this hour?”

you speak as if you’re not doing the exact same thing, lurking around the office far from when the lights have been shut off. but your sincerity is reassuring, and as you hand him a glass of water at his station, he can’t help but smile.

“just some extra work childe left. i decided to take over for him so he could sleep early.”

“ah.” hovering around his desk, you shift your weight from one foot to the other like a ship rocked by the waves. out of the corners of his eyes, zhongli sees you lean your body against his cubicle. “and you’re sure you’re not making things too easy for him?”

“probably not.”

a muted chuckle from your lips; your shoulders don’t hold the tension they do during the work day. “hopefully he remembers that you’re giving him extra sleep. let me know if there’s anything i can do for you.”

“much appreciated,” the inspector replies without a beat in between, irises flickering momentarily back to his screen. childe had actually finished most of his work; all that was left was filing and labels. simple stuff, really. childe could easily complete it in less than 20 minutes in the morning, although zhongli can’t bring himself to admit to you that he’s actively concerned with the beastly enforcer.

“actually, would you allow me to walk with you back to your apartment? if you’re heading out for the night.”

there’s something in your eyes he can’t quite place the moment his proposition reaches your ears. you’re set alight by his words, a switch flipped on and a charge igniting your cheeks an enchanting shade of coral – but it doesn’t consume your eyes. had his proposal been too sudden? you’re not exactly the closest of coworkers – perhaps he had wrongly assumed that you would be open to spending more time with him, even if just for a walk – and his paperwork is momentarily forgotten as he scrambles to compose an apology for his frankness.

he probably just should’ve focused on finishing childe’s work instead of giving you mixed signals.

“ – i promise, i thought you were preoccupied. i’d love to be in your company, but i’m not sure how long your filing will take.”

zhongli finds that he can make it 10 minutes instead of 20.

it’s snowing outside; the streets are dark, save for the explosion of lights above in apartment buildings, and the only sounds in the night are of cars revving in the distance. the chill is hardly noticeable underneath the layers of coats you two wear, and he only recalls that it’s winter when he gazes at his boots crunching in the snow, or when he faces you and puffs of warm breath flow from your lips.

admittedly, he’s not even sure where you live – so he walks alongside you as your companion.

“beidou got moved to another division, and miss ningguang didn’t disclose why.” you bite your lip, although zhongli barely catches your ministrations in the dark lighting. only occasional overhead street lamps illuminate your path, but you steadily walk forwards as if you don’t need it in the first place.

“i know it’s not my place to question. i just think that beidou was doing well – it’s odd not seeing her around.”

“i believe there was an announcement earlier last week discussing structural changes in the crime investigation department. beidou will be fine in divison three.” zhongli’s reassurances are quiet in the ambiance, a pacifying lull of flowing water to a clear river. your feet guide you to a left turn. “i can pass a word to one of my colleagues in division three if you don’t have the time to visit.”

“oh? i wasn’t aware that you were one for many connections, mister zhongli,” your voice teases his senses, much like your words poke at his penchant for introversion – but of course, negotiation when necessary. “but you don’t have to go out of your way for me. i’ll shift around my schedule for her. you have your own enforcer to take care of, right?”

“that i do. if it’s acceptable for me to say,” zhongli starts, briefly wondering if his subordinate will pardon the mentions of his name in unofficial business, “childe reminds me of my niece sometimes. always looking for a distraction, for something engaging . . . which often isn’t the best thing to do at the time.”

his fingers drift to the pockets of his coat, smoothing down the fabric inside as you continue. "why don’t you bring her in for work one day? i’m sure you could arrange something with miss ningguang . . . especially since you’re on her good side.”

you don’t mention his standing with her out of malice, or with any hint of resentment in your voice. your observation is matter-of-fact: it’s true, it’s tangible in how ningguang maintains eye contact with zhongli out of everyone else in division briefings, even when disbanding them; how, even just among division officers, her eyes are solely on him.

and of course you’d know this: everyone in the crime investigation bureau has heard about it from the analysts that mow over the security cameras in their spare time.

he exhales into the chilled air, one of admission with a lilt of humility. the corners of his lips are etched unusually high onto his cheeks. “ningguang prefers her workspace neat. i guarantee that if i brought along my niece, she’d tear the place apart. she might even give childe a hard time.”

“i take it that you’ve seen it first-hand?”

“well, yes. not that i’d ever mention her behavior to just anyone.” it’s his turn to chuckle at the thought, although it’s tinged with a hint of . . . dismay. “but she’s smart. i doubt you’ll be hearing of her tirades as she learns more about the system.”

your understanding is communicated through silence, yet it’s not unpleasant. it’s heeding and respectful to his insinuations. he’s aware that no one discloses much of their personal life – since at the bureau, there’s hardly any time for sentiment – and even much less the inner workings of sibyl. among some inspectors, it’s a mutual feeling; a slight nag, but it’s also the truth.

some just prefer avoiding it entirely, and on occasion, it’s also reciprocated.

“mister zho – ”

his wrist-watch screeches in his ear before you can finish uttering his name. sibyl’s voice is entirely unwelcome on a quiet night such as this, with her magnetic, crisp timbre, and by the parting of your lips, zhongli knows you’re receiving the exact same message he is. snow no longer conceals the pavement, but instead, numbers and letters. images, even, of murky colors with three-dimensional graphs and timelines.

“area stress level abnormal,” sibyl reports in his mind. “enforcement action requested.”

there is nothing in his hands – there is no dominator to work with, only maps and crime coefficients strung together in zhongli’s head. but you’re already fumbling for your phone, voice rushing to contact the bureau in the midst of the impromptu warning. “shepherds to hounds, any available? asking for immediate assitan – ”

for the second time in a moment, the sounds emitting from your mouth are overtaken by something else: shouting. zhongli pulls you between two stores as you furiously usher commands to headquarters in the dead of night. surely an analyst would at least pick up your call, if not another working inspector.

“suspect is in his late twenties. crime coefficient . . . of 152.7. do we have any methods of subduction without dominators while we wait for a proper team?”

“no – unless you prefer hand-to-hand incapacitation, or the small stunner.” he doesn’t have to look at your face to know that you’re grimacing, diligently combing over the information you’re given by sibyl. “it’s just one man. he’s been running around for the past ten minutes, and if someone can pick up, it’s a 15 minute drive from the bureau. he’s only latent. we can just negotiate with him.”

your gaze catches his out of the corner of his eyes. it’s dangerous for inspectors to directly involve themselves without dominators, especially without the intervention of enforcers as a preventative measure to not cloud their own crime coefficients. you’re both vetted in combat as per inspector training, but without dominators as a barrier between barbarism and lawful jurisdiction, not even inspectors are exempt from sibyl’s eyes.

“ – was marked by scanners three blocks down. approach one at a time?”

zhongli nods without hesitation, opening his watch to change into his inspector attire as you do likewise.

“meet you there.”

you’re off first, your figure disappearing into the falling snow as the bureau logo on the back of your jacket flutters back at him. he resumes the call that you left on, ears straining to pick up any sounds at all – from both his communicator and his surroundings. a minute passes before he himself is off into the streets, running further into the murky blue of the circumference painted before him in his irises.

out of all the corners he turns, all are empty, save for the occasional scanner. he matches the data on the drones to the information that’s presented on his watch – except that the radius the two of you split up to search in is smaller than before, more specific. also, noticeably more inclined to the streets you ran into; the suspect must have been picked up by more overhead scanners.

zhongli practically shoves his watch next to his lips, voice hissing into the mic. “y/n, are you there?”

a pause, and static silence.

and you pick up. “yeah, yeah, i’m here. got the new info. think i’m closing in – i hear someone panting. i’ll send you my position, and then i’ll approach and try to talk.”

“all right. eta in three minutes. be careful.”

you don’t reply, only sending him off with an emote through the pop-up display.

he runs as swiftly as he possibly can in two inches of snow the drag from his coat is also inconvenient, so he zips it up before resuming his trek. another notification message also pops up from the bureau, and he’s reassured professional enforcements. all he needs to do now is meet up with you.

vaguely, he begins to make out the sound of two voices to his right, one of them distinctly belonging to you: even in tone, yet strained with cracks. a momentary thought crosses him: why are your voices raised? the negotiation must have –

“’ts a sick system!”

“sir, please, i can’t help you unless you try and remain calm.”

“just one time. one fucking time – ” the presumed suspect’s voice rises louder, harsher, overruling your own. zhongli picks up his pace. “you lot can just walk around with your perfect academy scores. so many options. but one bad break for us – the regular ones – and we can be disposed of. there will be a movement, mark my words. this system is fucked, and so are all of you – ”

something – and the worst part is, zhongli doesn’t know what – audibly snaps, and he hears you scream.

he blows in the scene in time to see you, crumpled at the knees and grappling with the suspect, raising a limp wrist to his neck in a vain attempt to get the stunner off. but the suspect knows what you’re trying to do – cruelly enables you even, by jerking you by the elbow towards his jugular – as you wheeze, palm against his shoulder in order to push away.

“what’s the matter, huh? academy didn’t teach you how to fight like in the pits, inspector.”

zhongli charges in before thinking. he only sees you, hair mangled and clothes torn at the cuffs, and the deranged target before him before all three of you collide together.

the snow does nothing to soften your fall, and after he tumbles to the floor with the suspect, zhongli regrets that he had to resort to such brute measures to get you out of danger; the suspect is much larger than you, and even him with his lithe frame, so it takes all of his strength to keep him pinned down onto the concrete, the snow filtering into the hood of his jacket. and much like you moments prior, zhongli is wrestling to get the stunner off.

it’s as if he knows – the target knows about their methods, and keeps the face of the watch away from his skin, inhumanly twisting zhongli’s wrist away. there’s a damaged light in his brown eyes, and zhongli can hear the grating of the man’s teeth as they go back and forth on the ground.

“eta!?” the inspector nearly bites his tongue as he barks out the question, knee working to hold down the target’s thigh.

“a minute and a half!”

your trembling, staggered steps come up to his side in crunches. perspiration nearly drips into his eyes despite the frigid air. it’s so hot, even burning, and he realizes that the sensation isn’t bound to his chest as the suspect continues ranting about sibyl.

“you don’t even question it! neither of you have brains of your own. but we can live! and without your dogshit ‘justice’!”

your wrist is lifeless, but your watch shines on it as if nothing’s wrong. the pain on your face extends to your forearm, where he can see forming bruises through the tears in the fabric; with bitten, bloody lips, you lower your wrist to the target’s neck as zhongli subdues him as best he can –

– thrashing like a red herring in a net.

“bitches to the system.”

the target launches zhongli up and over his body, nearly tossing him to the side as if he were a hefty log, before making another start to you. senses dulled by the pain oozing through your form, zhongli witnesses as your body crashes to the ground once more.

you kick and claw at the man on top of you with what you have left, but he doesn’t relent, crushing your form under his body weight as you once again struggle to stun him.

“you’re all going to kneel soon enough.”

zhongli’s knuckles collide with the target’s cheek, just before your neck is encased by grimy, frostbitten fingers. for the second time, he crashes to the ground with the subject, but this time he doesn’t hesitate to conduct necessary action.

“mister zhongli! that’s enough, mister zhongli . . . ”

what jolts him from his frenzy isn’t you, but rather the sirens that gradually envelop the alleyway in blue and red.

beneath him, the target is unconscious. welts simmer onto his flesh with indents of zhongli’s knuckles, gnarly and ugly, just like the disrupted snow in disarray on the pavement. his nose is bloodied, and just like your wrist, jerked at an unnatural angle. the breaths in zhongli’s chest are haggard, like a beast awoken from slumber, in contrast to the target’s muffled inhales.

and his fingers – they’re painted scarlet as well, just like the ink on the target’s face.

“wow. i never thought you’d make it past 70. but this thing . . . ” you’re no where to be seen, probably dragged off by the medics; metal clacks against a hand behind him. “sorry, but all i’m seeing is 119.”

you’re light-headed once you’re settled into the back of the van. your inspector jacket (or what’s left of it) is suffocating enough that you request for it to be cut off completely, since you can’t shuffle it off with a broken wrist. the small back-up team of childe and keqing are fussing around the scene, keqing in particular instructing the retrieval of your heretic of a target.

zhongli, on the other hand . . .

both hands subdued behind his back, drones escort him off the premise. he doesn’t have his inspector coat on, and instead, childe approaches you with it in hand. the white symbol of the merged caduceus and judicial scales is untainted by the dirtied snow it was subject to.

the enforcer’s voice is light, pretty much normal, despite the dire circumstances as he sits adjacent to you, legs hanging off the back of the van. “you look like you could use a hot shower.”

you don’t humor him – frankly, you don’t have the energy to. you were practically powerless, inept at fulfilling one simple task. you think that, if you had been more forceful, zhongli wouldn’t be in the situation he’s in. keqing wouldn’t listen to you, and maybe you were imaging sympathy in her amethyst irises when you tried – god, you tried – to defend your coworker.

it’s not fair.

childe tsks, although it’s not out of irritation but more so impatience. always one for instant gratification, but you’re so desperate to find some ounce of emotion at the sight of his partner being treated so poorly that you feel tears well up in your eyes.

after a minute of silence is when he admits to your sniffling. although he doesn’t extend comforts, but leaves you to your own devices.

“if he wants to, he can rejoin as an enforcer. which isn’t the worst option out of the few he’s given.” the ginger leaps off the back of the van, and makes way for zhongli – but not before giving you some final words as you meet the topaz eyes of the former inspector.

“don’t blame your pretty head about it; he knew what he was getting into. and at least you can drop the honorifics and just call him zhongli now. he’s always told me how he wishes it was just that simple with his friends.”

#zhongli x reader #genshin impact zhongli x reader #genshin impact x reader #zhongli headcanons #zhongli scenarios #psycho pass au #gender neutral reader #enforcer zhongli #inspector zhongli

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firstfrostfall · 3 years

Text

A Cold Lament - Chapter Four

a tommy shelby fanfiction

In the winter of 1918, the Shelby brothers returned home from a war-torn France. In the winter of the following year, the middle brother, Tommy, recognizes an opportunity for his family to move up in the world, and it came in the shape of a misplaced crate of weapons.

In the meantime, per the request of his aunt, he gives a struggling young woman a job.

Little did he know, that like the smell of snow on the wind in late autumn, everything was going to change, and it wasn’t just because of some stolen guns.

Takes place during Season One.

Anna knew what business the Shelby’s were in. They were gangsters, plain and simple.

There was an earlier time in her life where even the very idea of that particular business frightened her. But things were different now. She was different now.

Really, nowadays, she was content to live and let live. She didn’t care much for what other people did, or how they made a living, as long as she could exist somewhat peacefully. That was all she wanted.

When she arrived in Birmingham, most of the men were away at war, meaning that most gangs in the area were few and far between, including the Peaky Blinders.

Her first run-in with a Blinder wasn’t until a few months after the fighting had ended, and the men suddenly returned home en masse in the early days of 1919.

It was also around that time where Anna attempted to forge a rebellious streak for herself. She had been cooped up inside of their tiny home almost all day every day with her cousins, save for a few trips to the market and back, of course. Her aunt worried too much to let her niece venture off in the city by herself.

But Anna craved for the opportunity to prove to her aunt that she was just fine. That she could go about the city on her own. Back in Eastcliff, she was able to come and go from her home whenever she pleased.

So, one night, Anna decided to sneak out.

It was late, too late. Late enough that midnight had long already passed, and the wee third hour was just moments away from ringing. She climbed out of their first-floor kitchen window and, rather unceremoniously, tripped onto the sidewalk (she had a terrible bruise on her hip for days after).

She wandered from street to street, gawking at how ominous the neighborhood looked in the dark. Even under the shroud of night, the sky was still laced with a thick layer of smog from the factory chimneys. She couldn’t help but smile at how good it felt, the cool night air, that buzzing sense of stolen freedom.

At some point, however, she had gotten herself lost, despite the fact that she had been living with her aunt in the city for a little over a year. Fortunately, she knew the area well enough that she could at least find the grocer, and from there, she would be able to find her way home.

It was a fine and dandy plan until she took the wrong turn down the wrong street, which led her through an alley, where she stumbled upon something that was surely not meant for her eyes.

She watched as a man in a flat cap beat the living hell out of another individual. A few others stood by and observed, all wearing similar caps. A lump formed in her throat as she stood there, the sounds of the beaten man begging for mercy ringing in her ears, the rusty color of blood on the assailant’s knuckles. She surely felt her heart stop beating when the man removed the cap from his head and began swiping at his victim’s face with it, his cries growing louder with each slice.

There’s something in his cap, she thought, there must be a blade in his cap.

Anna knew this city was different from Eastcliff, of course, but she didn’t think she would see something like that with her own eyes. She wasn’t going to scream but placed a hand over her mouth anyway. In situations like that, you can’t scream. Instead, she backed out of the alley slowly, and then ran to the grocer, and ran home. She fought back the tears that welled in her eyes.

When she finally got home, her aunt was frantic, frightened, afraid. Apparently, one of her cousins had snitched on Anna’s master escape plan, and her aunt was moments away from ringing the police. Her aunt sobbed with relief when her niece came barreling through the door, and then, as any parental figure would, she got mad. Her aunt asked her a million questions. What were you thinking?! I thought you were smarter than this, Anna. It’s dangerous out there, especially at night.

Anna started crying and told her what happened, what she saw. Her aunt had wild eyes and kept asking about their caps.

Her aunt then explained who the men in the flat caps were. Gangsters, part of an even larger organization. The Peaky Blinders, she called it.

They were big in the city before the war, but most of them were shipped off to France, and now that they were home, they would be big again. She told Anna that they were in a gang, yes, but they were good to the little people. They would offer protection for a price. That they were more than just a gang, they were a business.

Anna thought she was going to throw up. She couldn’t shake the images of the weeping, bloodied man in the alley from her mind. She had only read about gangsters in books or heard about them in stories her grandfather would tell about times where he had to take the train into the seedy parts of London. There weren’t any gangsters in Eastcliff. No, certainly not.

The same few questions gnawed at her stomach in the days following the attack.

They were good to the little people, offering protection for a price. That phrase made her resent her aunt for a while. How could she be justifying the actions of an “ organization” that brutalizes people? What good would come from beating a seemingly helpless man within an inch of his life?

However, as time passed, Anna learned that the world was a little grayer, and a little bleaker, and a whole lot darker than the breezy seaside town that she grew up in. The world wasn’t just good or bad- it was a terrifying mix of the two. She felt painfully naive and then accepted the notion to live and let live. She had bigger things to worry about than what gangsters did in the city. She had to help make ends meet with her aunt. At the very least, the gangsters weren’t stealing food from their table.

The day before her first shift at The Garrison, her aunt sat her down for tea and gave her a stern warning.

I didn’t want to scare you before your interview… but these people are serious, Anna. Polly is a friend, and I know that no harm will come to you. You’re good, Anna. I know you’re good. Remember when I told you that the Peaky Blinders look out for the little people? This job is an example of that. Mind your own business, be respectful, and speak when spoken to.

When she got the job through the Shelby’s, whom she now knew were the heads of the Peaky Blinders, she realized that maybe her aunt was right. That they were good to the little people. And after meeting Polly, she believed that even more. She was kind.

But there was another thing Anna remembered about them, too. That they were good to the little people for a price.

What would her price be?

She started to notice the flat caps more and more, like the one Mr. Shelby had sitting on the booth beside him during her interview.

On her first day at The Garrison, Harry gave her a similar warning, too.

She knew the deal, speak when spoken to, keep to herself. Although, she supposed she was pushing it with Mr. Shelby. In fact, she was still reeling in embarrassment over telling him to call her Anna.

Perhaps the rebellious streak still lived inside of her. Like a little bird trapped inside of a cage, vigorously flapping its wings and cawing, desperate to come out. She felt like a mystery, tucked away in her aunt’s house, and now in her own lonely flat. She hoped this job would change that.

But then again, she was content to simply let things live and let live.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

A little over two weeks had gone by since her first shift. Anna wasn’t an amazing barmaid (by any means), but she was getting the hang of things. Slowly, she was getting the hang of things.

Polly would come in to say hello, or rather, check on her, usually before an evening mass where she would see her aunt at church. Always asking if she was getting home okay, or if anyone was giving her trouble. Anna told her she was fine each time, like clockwork. She really was fine, nothing she couldn’t handle (yet).

One evening, a young man, who was more of a boy really, came rushing into the pub asking for Harry. He wore a flat cap that was far too big for him, and his eyes were as wide as saucers. Harry spoke to the boy quickly, his own cheeks turning beet red by the end of their conversation.

Harry ran a hand through his hair and tossed a stained rag onto the bartop with an audible sigh.

“Is everything alright?” Anna asked in passing, glancing at him from the corner of her eye while she poured a drink for a patron.

“Yes, yes,” Harry’s voice trailed off, clearly preoccupied.

She didn’t want to pry, so she simply nodded, and continued on with her work. Harry paced back and forth for a bit, opening and closing his mouth quickly to speak each time he walked past her.

Finally, he started talking.

“Do you think you can close up tonight?”

The question tinged that hidden rebellious streak in her, the tiny bird inside of her chest started fluttering its wings.

“Of course, I can take care of things from here.”

Harry's shoulders sagged in relief. As he untied his apron, he gasped. “But can you get home by yourself?”

Anna nodded, a little too fiercely, and cleared her throat. “Without a doubt.”

He stared at her for a few moments too long, skeptical, before continuing to untie his apron and folding it over his forearm. “Are you sure?”

“Absolutely.”

She flashed him her best smile, but he still looked hesitant. “Mrs. Gray said I was to escort you home.”

Anna waved a hand at him. “It’s just one night. I know the way home from here like the back of my hand now.”

That response was good enough for him it seemed. He nodded and took hurried strides toward the back room. Anna exhaled a sigh of relief. The bird inside of her started cawing.

Much to her relief, the rest of the evening was fairly slow. She assumed it was because the weather was so cold. Cold enough that not even the thirstiest man would venture out of his home for a beer tonight. Only a few regulars here and there, but it was nothing she couldn't handle. In fact, she only spilled one drink and managed to keep her blouse clean. It was a new personal record.

When the sky grew dark and the night was waning to the early hours of the morning, she tucked a butter knife into her apron. She felt silly, of course, but it was better than nothing. Perhaps she could whack a potential assailant with the mop from the back room.

There was about half of an hour left until close, and Anna kept herself busy by trying to work out a scuff that was on the floor. She tied her hair back into a tidy bun at the nape of her neck and scrubbed at the floor. Her wrists ached.

“Good to see you’re keeping busy.”

Her heart nearly leaped out of her chest. She gasped, rather unceremoniously, and dropped the soaked rag to the floor with a smack.

A pair of glossy shoes were in front of her. Slowly, she trailed her gaze up past a sharp tweed suit, only to reveal that it was Mr. Shelby who towered above with a perfectly balanced cigarette between his lips. His nose and cheeks were tinged red, and the collar of his winter jacket was pulled up close around his neck. A testament to the weather that evening.

“Oh, it’s just you.” Anna sighed with a wry chuckle, wiping a forearm across her brow with a sigh. “You gave me a fright.”

“Where’s Harry?”

“He had other business to attend to,” She said as she dropped the rag into the soapy bucket. “He won’t be back this evening, I’m afraid. I’ll be closing up.”

“You’re closing up alone?”

Anna simply nodded. “I meant to lock the door, I must’ve forgotten. I was too busy working out that scuff on the floor.” She gestured to a particularly polished plank on the floor. “I’m quite pleased with myself.”

Mr. Shelby, on the other hand, didn’t look nearly as impressed as he stared down at her, his eyes piercing as ever. She grimaced, realizing that she was still sitting on her knees with the sleeves of her blouse pushed up around her shoulders. Not ladylike at all.

She cleared her throat and stood up, patting out excess dust from her apron. In the process, she felt the outline of the butter knife in her front pocket. She felt her cheeks grow warm, her pathetic attempt at self-defense with a knife that could barely cut a loaf of bread would have been embarrassing to explain. Forcing a smile, she reached for the bucket and lugged it behind the bar. “Can I get you a drink in the meantime?”

He nodded and jerked his chin to a specific bottle.

The pub was silent while Anna fixed a drink for him, the only other noise came from the wind outside that rattled the windows.

“Is he coming back to walk you home?”

Anna shook her head. “He offered, but I insisted that I could do it myself.” She corked the bottle. “It’s just one night.”

Mr. Shelby clicked his tongue against his teeth, a smirk quirking at the corners of his mouth. “What about Polly’s instructions?”

“He seemed to be in quite the hurry, I didn’t want to trouble him.” She slid his drink toward him with a smile. “It’s one night, and far too cold for anyone to give me a hard time.”

Mr. Shelby hummed in response and took a sip of his drink. She didn’t want to hover while he was drinking, so she gave him a curt nod and continued her work around the bar. Sweeping the floor, wiping down tables, cleaning soap scum from glasses. It was all very monotonous.

Without turning toward her, he placed his cap on his head and said, “I’ll walk you home.”

“Oh, Mr. Shelby,” She blinked, pausing mid-sweep. “It’s too cold.”

“You said you live nearby, yeah?”

She nodded when he glanced at her from over his shoulder.

“Then you’ll be on the way home for me,” He said dryly. “Polly’s instructions are something to be followed.”

“Well, that is incredibly kind of you. Thank you. I just have a few more things to clean, I’ll be quick.” Anna laughed under her breath, returning her attention to the broom in her hands. When did she start gripping it so tightly?

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Mr. Shelby walked a few steps ahead of her the whole time. Normally, Anna would have felt funny in the silence, she hated it, but it was far too cold to even pretend to be chummy. So, she happily trailed behind him, her hands shoved deep in the pockets of her coat.

“Right here,” She pointed to the building in front of them. It was dreary and gray, even in the hazy orange light of the street lamps.

They stood in the damned silence for a moment, before Mr. Shelby cleared his throat. “You live there alone?”

The question was slightly off-putting. Employer or not, being asked that question so late at night by an almost stranger was certainly... uncomfortable.

“Yes,” Anna answered quickly. “I used to live on the next street over with my aunt.”

“I live around there.” He motioned to the other street with the jerk of his head.

“Whereabouts?”

“Watery Lane.”

“I’ll be,” Anna replied, warming up. Perhaps pretending to be a little chummy wasn’t too terrible after all. “I suppose that makes us neighbors, doesn’t it?”

He hummed in response, never looking directly at her, instead, his eyes were fixated on the building in front of them.

Sensing that the conversation was ready to come to an end, Anna took a few steps backward toward her flat.

"I won't keep you any longer. I'd invite you in for tea, but I suspect I'd be poor company. I could fall asleep at any moment." She felt stupid, filling the silence when it didn't need to be filled.

He tipped the brim of his cap to her.

“Thank you for walking me home, Mr. Shelby.”

“It was no trouble.”

A lie, she thought. It was late and dark and cold. It was certainly trouble for him. But, she appreciated the sentiment nonetheless.

Anna stopped short on the front steps when she heard him say her name.

“Goodnight, Anna.”

As she turned around to look at him, he was already walking away.

Hell, she didn’t even know his name.

#tommy shelby x oc #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby fanfic #peaky blinders fanfic

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thatfanficstuff · 5 years

Text

Sunday Brunch - Steve Rogers

Pairing: Steve x Reader

Warnings: Language. Always language. And douche-tastic family.

A/N: So an eternity ago (7 months) the lovely diinofayce gave me an eternal extension on my challenge entry for her because my life was falling apart. So I finally sat down to write this “little” one shot. 3500 words later, here you go. My prompt is in bold. Enjoy.

***

You sat at the end of the table, shoulders slumped with a cup of coffee in your hands. The rest of the team filed in and you ignored them, your mind already on what you had to endure today.

“What’s up with you?” Clint asked.

You glanced at him before grunting and taking a sip of your coffee.

“Seriously, Y/N, what’s wrong?” That came from Steve. Your gaze darted to him over your cup. The concern in his voice almost had you explaining, but he could wait until after your coffee. You’d been up all night worried about today and you needed the caffeine more than you needed air at this point.

“It’s today, isn’t it?” Natasha asked and you nodded. She was the one of the few that knew the extent to which you were dreading this day.

“What’s today?” Steve sounded near panicked. You couldn’t really blame him. Your usual pleasant demeanor was nowhere to be seen at the moment.

“Sunday brunch,” Nat answered for you.

Tony’s head shot up in the kitchen. “That’s today?”

You hummed in agreement. He muttered something you didn’t catch before heading over with a bottle of Bailey’s in hand. “Ah, thank you.” You took the liquor from him and topped off your coffee. “That’ll help immensely.”

“What’s so horrible about brunch?” Bucky asked around a mouthful of food. Steve, Sam and Bucky had been on mission the last time you went so they had missed the fallout. Lucky bastards.

“It’s not just any brunch. It’s brunch with her family,” Clint offered before shooting you a sympathetic smile.

“And?” Sam prompted after no one proceeded to fill them in on the rest.

You raked a hand through your hair. “My parents have a skewed sense of reality. They were both born into money, have always had it and are used to getting what they want. Part of that is a particular set of expectations for their children. None of which I have fulfilled.”

“It can’t be that bad,” Sam said.

You arched a brow. “I am not above slashing my own tires to avoid this brunch.” Even the thought had you smiling though it faded quickly. “Who am I kidding? They’d just send a car.”

Steve studied you with his intense blue eyes and a furrowed brow. “I don’t understand, Y/N. What expectations could they possibly have that you don’t meet? You’re amazing.” His cheeks flared red as if just realizing what he’d said. “I mean—”

Bucky placed a hand on Steve’s shoulder. “What Stevey boy here meant to say was he thinks you’re gorgeous, talented, badass, and sexy as hell.”

“Bucky!”

The dark-haired super soldier grinned and shot you a wink which had you chuckling as you sipped your coffee. He loved to give Steve shit.

“Y/N, I didn’t…I mean what Bucky said—”

You waved a hand through the air to let him know it didn’t matter. Steve glared at Bucky as he rubbed a hand across the back of his neck. “I could single handedly find the cure for cancer and I would still be a disappointment to my parents. My mother in particular. I am a daughter. Expectations for me include marrying a nice, respectable man. Preferably one that can support me in the lifestyle my parents think I should have. He should have a boring job and boring hobbies. We should then have at least 2.4 children and a dog. Just one; a pure breed that costs more than any animal should ever cost.”

The room around you remained silent as you took a sip of your coffee. Steve opened his mouth to say something and you lifted a finger to let him know you weren’t quite finished. “I should not work as it gives the impression my husband cannot support our family on his salary. Even if I am three times as brilliant as him my only job should be my volunteer efforts. PTA. HOA. Or whatever the acronym of the week is. My only value comes from the man whose arm I am on.”

“So just don’t go,” Sam said as if it was the simplest thing in the world.

“If she doesn’t go, she doesn’t get to see her nieces and nephews,” Nat explained.

You shook your head as you leaned back in your chair. “We all know it’s ridiculous and stupid. My brothers do at any rate. My sister should but she plays her role with a tight smile and dead eyes and resents every second of my rebellion. My brothers are married but they could always do whatever they wanted. They’re boys after all. Mom makes their lives miserable if they don’t give in to her. I don’t really care, but I love the kiddos.”

“Does she have a date for you this time?” Tony asked, his gaze darting briefly in Steve’s direction before coming back to you. He took every opportunity to remind you of the crush you’d stupidly admitted to him one night.

You sighed. “I hope not, but I didn’t tell her I was bringing anyone so probably.”

“I could go with you,” Steve’s voice was so soft you barely heard him.

You sat up in your chair and looked at him, hope blooming in your chest. “What did you say?”

He cleared his throat. “I could go with you.”

“Do you mean that? You’ll really go with me and pretend you’re head over heels for me so they’ll back off for a while?”

Bucky laughed. “I think he can manage to pull it off.”

“Stow it, Buck,” Steve grumbled before turning back to you. “Yeah, I can do that. I’d be happy to help.”

You squealed as you jumped up from your seat and ran around the table. You planted a big kiss on Steve’s cheek. “You have just made my whole day, Rogers.” You hurried to your room to get ready.

***

“This is your parents’ house?” Steve asked as you stood beside the car you’d borrowed from Tony.

You glanced up at the huge house in front of you and imagined how it must look to someone who grew up dirt poor in Brooklyn. “This is it. No backing out now Rogers. I need you.”

His hand found yours and grasped it, lacing your fingers together. “I’m not going anywhere, doll.”

Your face heated at both the nickname and the gesture. You pressed against his side. “Thanks, soldier.”

The door swung open before you could even knock and you were swept into a massive hug. You grunted as your feet came off the ground. “Put me down, you ape.”

“Is that anyway to say hello to your big brother?” Adam teased, though he did set you back on your feet.

You grinned as you straightened your clothes. “Hello, Adam. Steve, this is my oldest brother. Adam, Steve.”

Steve extended his hand, but Adam just stared at him with wide eyes. Finally, he seemed to snap out of it and took the offered hand. “It’s an honor to meet you.”

“Um…thanks.” Red tinged the ridges of Steve’s cheeks and the tops of his ears.

You smiled and took his hand back in yours once your brother finally released it. Adam’s eyes immediately latched on your joined hands. His gaze flicked between the two of you then he grinned. “Nate, get out here,” he called over his shoulder.

You turned toward Steve and dropped your voice so only he would hear. “My other brother. And major Cap fan. Sorry.”

He squeezed your hand to let you know it was fine just as your other brother appeared in the doorway beside Adam. “What is it?” he asked, then his gaze moved to you and Steve. “That’s…”

“Yeah,” Adam said.

“And that’s our sister.”

“Yep.”

“But they’re holding hands.”

“For the love of…” You shoved between your brothers to make an opening and pushed your way into the house, pulling Steve along behind you.

“Nate, Steve. Steve, Nate.” You moved to let go of Steve’s hand so he could shake Nate’s but he kept his grip on you.

Instead, he held out his left hand. “Nice to meet you.”

“Yeah…”

You rolled your eyes. “You guys know I’m an Avenger. Why are you so surprised to see me with Steve?”

Adam scratched the back of his head. “Honestly we kind of thought you just made that up to mess with mom and dad.”

You blinked at them as you processed this. “I have literally been on the TV.”

They both shrugged and you closed your eyes and prayed to the universe for patience. Steve chuckled beside you but quickly covered it with a cough when you opened an eye to glare at him.

“I should have realized I’d find you in the middle of the noise, Y/N.”

You barely resisted the urge to growl at the voice and opened your eyes to see the smirking face of your brother-in-law. “Paul. Where’s Amanda and the kids?”

“They’re in the drawing room with your mother and the other women. Your dad sent me to see why these two hadn’t returned to the den. Who’s your friend?”

“Steve Rogers.” He held out his right hand this time and you bit your lip to keep from laughing when Paul winced as they shook hands.

“Well, Steve, you should join us for a drink before dinner,” Paul suggested and did his best to hide the fact he was flexing his hand.

“I think I’ll stick with Y/N. Thanks though.” He put his hand on your back and kept it there as you moved to the drawing room.

“Aunt Y/N!” Announced your presence as the two of you entered the room and were instantly swarmed by children.

“My minions!” You gave them all a hug and a kiss on the head before glancing at Steve to find him watching you with soft eyes and a big smile. “This is Gabrielle, Grant, Kenzie, Jacob and Jasper.” You pointed to each one in turn. “Hester and Prudence are there by their mother, my sister Amanda.” Amanda gave a tight smile and rested her hand on her obvious baby bump. The point four of her perfect 2.4 children.

You wove your way through the kids and took your littlest nephew from his mom. “And this little guy is Charlie,” you cooed as you cradled the three-month old in your arms. “This is Adam’s wife Cecilia and Nora belongs to Nate. Everyone, this is Steve.”

Your lips twitched as you realized that Nora and Cici were already staring with wide eyes. Amanda kept darting glances but refused to look outright as if she didn’t have a poster of him on her wall growing up. The kids were too young to care or know who he was without his suit on. Steve greeted everyone and moved to where your mother sat watching with a disapproving gaze.

He offered his hand and kissed the back of hers when she gave it. “You must be Mrs. Y/L/N. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

She looked from him to you. “This one has manners. That’s a pleasant change.”

You ignored her but didn’t miss the slight stilling of Steve’s form before he returned to your side. He smiled down at Charlie. “He’s adorable.”

“Thank god they all take after Cici,” you teased.

“Her name is Cecilia and the baby is Charles as you well know, Y/N.”

Steve’s fingers flexed against your back but he followed your lead and ignored her. “All?”

You grinned. “Jasper is Nora and Nate’s. The rest are Adam and Cici’s. They take that whole be fruitful and multiply thing very seriously.”

“Y/N,” your mother chastised. Fortunately, the dinner bell rang before anymore conversation was necessary.

***

After introducing Steve to your father, you all sat for dinner. You slid your chair closer to Steve’s needing his nearness. Your hand found his under the table and pulled it into your lap as you played with his fingers. He placed his mouth beside your ear. “You okay?”

“Because of you, yeah.” You sucked in a breath when you realized you’d said that aloud. Steve’s only response was a gentle squeeze of your hand.

“So, Steven, what is it that you do?” your father asked.

Your brothers and their wives exchanged glances before looking down at their plates to hide twitching lips. “I believe he said he was a captain in the army,” Adam contributed.

A glance at Steve showed him fighting his own smile and there was a wicked glint in his eye you rarely saw. You thought about intervening, saying something in clarification but why? Might as well let them have their fun. “Retired,” Steve amended.

“You don’t look old enough to be retired.”

“He’s older than he looks, dad.” There was a burst of stifled laughter.

Paul glanced around the table with a frown, obviously realizing he was missing something. At this point in his life he should really be used to that by now. “Military work can’t pay well. Though I hear you can make some good money in the private sector once you’re out.”

“I do well enough. Though Y/N makes enough on her own she doesn’t need to depend on me.”

You nearly choked on your dinner and took a drink of water to help wash it down. Steve’s hand rested on your thigh and you nearly choked again. Damn, he was trying to kill you.

“Surely you don’t intend for her to continue working once you’re married?” That came from your mother.

Steve frowned. “I’m pretty sure the world will still need saving regardless of her marital status.” Before anyone could respond to that, he turned back to your brother-in-law. “And what is it you do, Paul?”

He straightened in his seat and patted his mouth with his napkin. “I’m a doctor. Top in my field.”

You wiped your mouth so you could cover your next words with your napkin. “He’s a podiatrist,” you said only loud enough for Steve to hear.

“That’s…” Steve’s voice caught and he cleared his throat before trying again. “That’s great.”

Your mother nodded. “It’s wonderful. As soon as they married, Amanda left her job. Of course, she’s very busy with her children and her volunteer activities.”

“Yes, well. Not all of us can be as industrious as Amanda,” you added, not bothering to keep the bitterness from your tone.

Steve rubbed your thigh with his thumb and you bit your lip to keep from saying anything else.

“Would you just stop?” Amanda said quietly though she slammed her silverware on the table. “We all know you’re jealous so just stop.”

Your brows shot up. “Exactly what am I supposed to be jealous of?”

She looked at you like you were the stupidest thing she’d ever seen then gestured around the table. “This. All of this. You could be married and have children but you just have to be different.”

“Amanda,” your mother chastised. “We have guests.”

“Who? Steve Rogers? You do realize that is Captain America, right? She just enjoys making people feel stupid. He’s not a guest. He’s a decoy. There is no way someone like him would date someone like her.”

“Oh, shit,” one of your brother’s muttered.

You clenched your jaw and kept your gaze focused anywhere but Steve. You couldn’t even argue with her. Every word she said was true. It took a moment for you to realize that Steve was standing beside you with his hand out. You frowned at him. “I think it’s time for us to leave, Y/N.”

“Of course,” you agreed automatically and stood. He was probably embarrassed beyond belief and you weren’t going to make him suffer any longer than necessary.

“Absolutely not. Sit. Down.” Your head jerked in your mother’s direction. “Your friend may leave if he wishes, but you’re not going anywhere until you apologize to your sister.”

“Karen, let it go,” came from your dad.

She ignored him and glared at you. “Apologize at once. Then you can apologize to your father and I for this farce.”

“Mom—” Adam started and you held up a hand to cut him off.

“Apologize to her? What the fuck for?”

“Y/N,” your father snapped.

You whipped around to face him. “What? Just sit there quietly like you always do. Like you did when Amanda quit the six-figure job she loved because it was expected. Or like you did when Adam knocked CiCi up Senior year and all mom was worried about was what your friends would think. Sorry Cici.”

She lifted her mimosa glass in a little toast. “Don’t mind me. This is the best brunch I’ve been to in years.”

“Cecilia, don’t encourage her,” your mother said.

You turned back to her. “Her name is CiCi. Your refusal to use it doesn’t make you cultured, it makes you rude. Just like your poking and prodding at Steve makes you rude. I don’t give a shit if he was a private fresh out of bootcamp with not a dime to his name, I’d still love him. Not that it’s any of your goddamn business.”

As you struggled to catch your breath, you realized what you’d just admitted to. Well, just add it to the embarrassment of the day. You might as well go all in while you were at it. “I thought if I brought him here, you’d back off. Just for the day.” Your voice was softer than it had been and an angry tear rolled down your cheek. Steve reached out and took your hand in his. “I should have known better. You just can’t stand for me to be happy even for a moment.”

“Well, you can forget coming to any family events until you find a way to apologize for this horrid display. I’m sure the children will miss you,” was your mother’s cold response.

The silence stretched as you realized not one word you said had been heard. Not by your mother or your sister at any rate.

“You heartless bitch,” came from the last person you expected and you turned to gape at Steve in surprise. His face was red and his jaw set in anger. Damn. This was probably the wrong time to be getting turned on.

“Excuse me?” your mother gasped.

At the same time your father said, “You can’t talk to my wife like that.”

“Watch me,” Steve snapped back. He pulled you closer to him and kept a firm hold on your hand. “I don’t know what game you’re playing at here, but it needs to end. Y/N is one of the kindest, most generous people I have ever met. She has literally helped save the world more than once and you’re treating her like she’s a nuisance or a pawn to control.”

“Now, just a—”

“I’m not finished. She has so much love to give. I know because I spent a great deal of time hoping to be the recipient of even a small part of it. And now you try to manipulate her using the love she has for her family? If there’s one thing today has made perfectly clear, you don’t deserve her.” He shifted to take in your brothers and their wives. All four of them were looking on in stunned silence. “And frankly, neither do any of you if you let her use you like this.”

Steve turned abruptly and pulled you through the house until the two of you were outside with the front door shut behind you. He took a deep breath. “I’m sorry, Y/N. I—”

You grabbed the front of his shirt and yanked him forward. Your lips crashed into his. It only took a moment for him to respond and as he kissed you back, his hands found your waist to pull you closer. When you finally separated to take a breath, he pressed his forehead to yours. “I’ve been wanting to do that for ages.”

“Me, too, Rogers. Thanks for sticking up for me.”

“That was…I don’t think I’ve ever been in a situation where I had to bite my tongue quite so many times. I just snapped.” He helped you into the car and shut the door for you. Once he was settled on his side, he turned to face you before starting the car. “Can I ask you a question?”

“After what you went through for me today you can ask me anything you want.”

“Did you mean it when you said you loved me or was that just part of the act?”

“I’m not that good of an actor,” you assured him before leaning toward him for another kiss. For once, you were happy you didn’t skip out on brunch.

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #avengers #avengers imagine #marvel #marvel imagine #steve rogers imagine #captain America x reader #captain America imagine

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yzareenxiv · 5 years

Text

Overwhelmed

Three weeks ago

"Are you sad cause of Un'kle Arden?"

She had had no armor against that question, her niece Terbish asking it with the innocence of a child.

"Papa said it's okay to be sad. Papo says it's okay to be angry, too. But you'll see him on the other side of the River!"

On the other side of the River. The other side.

She wanted to be on the other side.

Terbish hugged her and offered her a stuffed toy. "I'm going to miss him too."

Her heart broke.

Arha, sitting in the basement with a smile on her lips and their fingers laced together. Admitting to her jealousy.

Resentment.

Honesty set claws into the pieces of her broken heart and shredded.

Is this love?

Two weeks ago

"I will kill them, slaughter them like animals before your eyes unless you join with me." The Crimson King had promised, his fingertips barely touching her chin, his razorwire bonds cutting deep into her skin.

She had quailed before him. Not again. Not again not again not again.

"You don't trust us not to die!" Ayanga's voice was filled with frustration, with an anger that she didn't normally see from the Xaela.

She'd screamed at him. He had yelled back. They had made up, mostly, though she could not pretend she did not notice the lingering distance between them.

One more step along the path. The River beckoned.

Splinters drove themselves into her soul, fractured, fractals kaleidoscoping with images of family, lovers, friends.

Fish men had come at them in waves, their claws sharp, their maws full of fangs. A frog-like demon had opened it's mouth and she had gone into the dark- not of her own volition. Burning, terrible burning, pain like she had never known lancing through her head. She had awoken alone, in the care of unknown Xaela who had tended her wounds and done a little work to cleanse the taint of the void from her aether. Her head was too heavy and the looks they gave her were full of a terrible compassion.

Horns. A step closer to the edge. Bleak terror filling her, spreading through every part of her like ice. She'd grown horns.

Her children had screamed that first night upon seeing her.

One week ago

"Thank you all, for coming.”

His voice. Arden's voice. Arden alive, impossibly alive, impossible and there, right there, able to be reached out to and touch. His voice was tinged with hoarseness- emotion or exhaustion or a little of both.

She could not unsee it. The hole in his armor. The hole in his body. The sight of the monster beneath the skin of the man. He lived, that was the important thing.

Wasn't it?

She couldn't remember anymore.

A step back. A step forward. Straddling the line. The blade was not beneath her feet. The blade was in her heart and it was twisting.

Today

Arden was awake, sitting at his desk and going over his notes on the Allagan cloning technology that he had taken from the medical facility where they had rescued him.

(Was it a rescue? Or was it an unleashing?)

She was in the basement, ostensibly choosing a book to read for the twins but in truth standing before the bookshelf with her head in her hands. Her horned head. He hadn't balked at the sight of it, still found her beautiful, but was that him? Was it what was inside him? (Did it matter?)

Sobs shook her shoulders, silent- so silent, she didn't want him to hear. He would worry and she would see the concern in his eye and she would... what? What would she do? Lash out? Run?

She wanted to run. Run and run and run and not stop running. Run straight to the River's edge. (Run until she drowned.) Run until Eorzea and everything it held was a memory. A dream that was bitter and beautiful and bloody and brutal. Run to the island, swim down until she found it's sunken shores and never surface again.

Her children would miss her. Her husband would miss her. Her lover would miss her. Her family would miss her. Her friends would miss her.

She missed herself. The way that confident, cock-sure grin would split her lips. The way her body moved through the world without a hint of self-consciousness. The way she could laugh and laugh and laugh, head thrown back without restraint. The way she could fight, always one step ahead of the reaper, never once looking back. The way she could fuck, shameless, fierce, joyful and without a hint of consequence or question.

What had she lost? When had she lost it? What had she gained in it's place?

Was It Worth It?

She slid down to her knees as heart-shards and self-shards stabbed at her, tearing open recent wounds, old wounds, new wounds. All the pieces of herself tumbling over and over and over in her head until she bit the meat of her palm and screamed, muffling the sound so that her husband and her children would not hear it. Some part of her self tried to soothe her, a faintly sad smile showing in the darkness, but she shoved that shard away, not wanting it's comfort. She didn't want this. She didn't want any of this; the house and the relationships and the children and the obligations and the trust and the love and the responsibilities and the realities was too much. It was too much.

She wanted the jungle. The war-drum beat of her heart. The feeling of her spear sinking into the heart meat of her prey and thudding with the final pumps of blood. The silence as she dressed the carcass, the scent of fresh meat and the feel of it in her mouth, muscle still twitching, heady with the slick of life-blood. She wanted to wash herself in a river and know there were eyes upon her that coveted her body, slit-pupiled eyes that looked like hers. Ears that twitched and swiveled like hers. Tails that could curl around her and speak in a language that required no words, no sound at all.

She was home and not home. Surrounded by the people she loved with all her heart and yet wanted desperately to get away from as her heart burned itself to ash in her breast. She wanted the easy suns back- when she had been caught up in love with the two who carried her heart and soul. When she had hunted with her family, the brothers of her soul at her side and trusting her. When had it all gone so...wrong?

The answer to that question, she knew. When she had reached too far. Taken too much. Sought to bear cubs. Sought to create the Pack. Sought to be a leader and the mother of a tribe. She'd never recovered- though the Pack existed and the family was still nominally at her side and her lovers still loved her in their own ways. It was all falling apart, though. She had created it but she could not hold it. Just as she could not hold her tribe together. Could not hold herself together. She had forgotten who and what she was and it had been a beautiful thing for a little while but in the end there was no denying the truth- she was what she was. She could keep trying to change herself, keep twisting herself into unrecognizable shapes, but she was what she was.

Sin Eater. Jaguar. Unforgiven and forgotten. Meant to take the sins and pain of others without question and never, ever, EVER place her own on another's shoulders. Meant to go into the River with aether black as pitch, to tumble to the bottom like a stone until all that she held was washed clean from her and she could return on the other side cleansed. Meant to be a part of the tribe and apart from the tribe. Meant to be alone. Meant to bring others together but always, always, always stand alone.

The tears dried and she wiped her cheeks with shaking hands, using the bookshelf to brace herself against as she rose to her feet. The bitch of it all was- she still wanted all that she should not want. She would walk up those stairs and kiss Arden's cheek and play with her cubs and perhaps this week she would go and visit her brothers. Or her sisters. And she would smile and laugh and prepare to celebrate the Solstice. She would come home and make passionate love to her husband. And she wanted this. She was damned because she wanted. It was choking her, wrapped around her like the thorned vines of home, ripping apart pieces of her, twisting and pulling and tugging her in all different directions until she wanted to scream and scream and scream and tear apart.

The River was so close. The movement of a claw would see her to it. It would be easier than this, than facing them when they realized it was all just a dream. When they realized that she had led them astray- that she had lied to them all and worst of all had lied to herself over and over and over again until she had believed it. She had believed all of it.

Damn it all to the bowels of hell, she had wanted to believe.

Blindly, she pulled a book from the shelf and turned to go back up the stairs, her steps heavy, her eyes still leaking tears that she absently lifted a hand to brush away.

"I am happy." She murmured aloud. "Arden is home and the Solstice is coming and Starlight has begun and I am happy. I am Y'zareen of the Jaguah and I am happy."

Arden looked up as she took the last step up and she gave him a dazzling smile.

I am happy.

((Tagging for mentions: @eyespywithmyoneeyegtfo @talesfromthegameff14 @ala-mhinyan ))

#y'zareen serhan #stories #arden tide #ayanga uyagir #C'arha Noyoh #ffxiv rp #tw: suicidal thoughts #tw: depression #stream of consciousness #no edits cause blarg

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seenashwrite · 5 years

Text

A Fluff By Any Other Name

Word Count: 1.8K Category: One-shot, Domestic Family Fluff, Husband Dean, Reader Insert Mommy, Sam And Dogs, Practical Jokes, Meet Cute Rating: Teen & Up Character(s): Dean, Sam, You, a Newborn, a Nurse Pairing(s): Dean + You Warnings: None Author’s Note: *This is a re-post minus tags and links in an effort to get it to show up in searches*; more post-story Overall Summary: Sam arrives at the hospital to meet his newborn niece.

Dean was waiting for Sam in the hallway.

“No flowers?”

“Uh, she hates flowers. Figured I’d ask what she wants for dinner, run get it.”

“Maybe I would’ve appreciated the flowers.”

“You know, I’m going to let this go, because you’ve had a long day, but not as long as hers, so—”

“Ask me.”

“Ask… what?”

“You know.”

“Dean, did you sneak some morphine, or whatever they’ve been—”

“Ask me what your niece’s name is. Actually, no - ask me what it’s not.”

His voice hadn’t ratcheted down to the deep-deep levels of pissed off - and, to be sure, there were several subtle variations Sam knew well, having been on the receiving end of all of them - but Dean was definitely serious, and had crossed his arms for good measure.

“I legit don’t know where you’re going with—-”

“The dogs. All your foster dogs. You took the good names.”

“Okay, now, that’s— I started volunteering way before she ever got pregnant, before you two even got serious, come to think of it. And I just chose a bunch of names that I thought of off the top of my—-”

“I picked up on that, yeah - around the time you used Jessie. And on that real jumpy, kinda twitchy one, which was extra weird. And was a boy.”

“Wait, wait - that was such a sweet dog, and besides - you really would’ve wanted to name your daughter after my dead fiancée?!”

“Oh, everybody’s dead, Sam!” Dean whisper-hissed. “And, no, not necessarily, but I do wonder what Jessica’d think about that…. about that…. what damn breed was that thing?”

“A mix.”

“Of?”

“A pooset and a corgat.”

“Sam. The hell.”

“A poodle-basset hound mix and a rat terrier-corgi mix shared a special hug—”

“So it’s a poocorgaset.”

Sam stared.

“Corsetpoogat.”

Sam brought a hand up, slowly rubbed his temples.

“Can I pull from the rest of the real names? I mean, ratbassgipoo is turning my crank.”

“But always the poo.”

“Of course always the poo, what the hell good does -dle do anybody?”

The nurse cleared her throat - she was leaning into the hallway, a leg and foot still in the room. “We’re done. Everything’s looking good. She said for you guys to come on in, but if you’re in the middle of…..”

“No! No, not at all. Hey, and this is my little brother, Sam. Sammy, this is our nurse, she’s been here the whole time, basically delivered Macka… Mmmuh… my kid.”

She raised her eyebrows at that, but smiled, extending her hand and shaking the one offered, introducing herself as Dean slipped past them.

“Uncle Sam, huh?”

“Uh-huh…. oh god, I just now realized that!”

“Eh… could be worse.”

“Yeah?”

“You could have a name that your nurse had to re-write on the birth certificate five times - twice for misspells, then again because she ran out of room. Me. I’m that person. We’re talking about me, here.”

“What was the fourth? Since there was a fifth?”

“Oh, well, that one? Can’t take credit for - under ‘father’s name’, the proud papa got a case of the jitters and wrote your father’s name.”

“Jeez, I’m so… I’m so sorry…”

Sam would’ve sounded sincere if he hadn’t burst out laughing, but she immediately joined in. And though he didn’t know it at the time, he would be sincere with her many more times than not, and he’d be getting plenty of it in return. Starting that night, when he’d ask if she’d be interested in getting coffee sometime. She would be tips-to-toes sincere when saying she hoped to hear from him soon.

They’d still keep bursting into laughter, amongst and in between the sincere times, over a million different things through the years. There’d be the breath-stealing kind, prompted by the action of more amusing-than-scary hunts; the gasp-induced kind, stemming out of nervous relief over the hunts that weren’t; and her favorite, the bent-over, knotted-into-cramps kind, resulting from drunken Dean tales of hunts long past. And then his favorite, when the Winchester kids were raising hell, and there was nothing to do but laugh.

This time, this first time, after the birth of their niece, in the moment they’d met, would ultimately get ranked as the best, though it was followed closely by the tear-tinged round that erupted after another first, when they heard the justice of the peace say the words “husband and wife”.

But that’s another story.

For now, Sam closed the door quietly before tip-toeing to the bed, bending and giving you a kiss on the forehead. He glanced over to the bassinet and back, saying, “Nice work.”

“Work is right.”

Dean was seated in an armchair next to your bed, unlacing his boots, but paused and looked up at this, tacking on a clarification. “Work is damn right.”

You winked in acknowledgment before speaking again. “So listen, while I’ve got you both—-”

“We in trouble already?” Dean asked, changing his seat from the chair to the opposite side of the bed, perching near the end.

“—-I wanted to make sure you knew that I haven’t totally lost my marbles with the name, and I know that’s what you’re both thinking.”

Sam opened his mouth, ready to protest, but Dean just held up his hands in a sort-of surrender.

“Babe, I know I said I’d be fine with whatever you chose, but we ain’t lied to each other yet, and wow - it’s horrible.”

“I really wish you wouldn’t worry. It’s an old family name, and, I mean… we could squeak a nickname out of it… probably… you know how some of these Gaelic names are, it’s hard to tell how to pronounce them on sight.”

“So how’s it pronounced?” Sam asked.

“Get ready,” Dean muttered.

And Sam’s jaw dropped briefly as something largely incomprehensible - possibly worse than the name was on paper - came out of your mouth. “Sis?” he said.

“Bro?”

“That’s beyond horrible.”

“Yeah, it is. It is a vicious eyesore that she won’t be able to spell for who-knows-how-long, it makes ears bleed, and I’m a garbage parent for it, though I will point out her father was zero help.”

Now Dean’s jaw dropped, but clearly in faux offense. “I resent that - ‘cause every name I said I liked….”

“….every name we agreed on, that we loved for her….”

“….was already a dog’s name.”

You and Dean turned your heads in unison, leveling looks at Sam.

“I can’t have taken up all of them—-”

“Mary.”

“Jane.”

“Which also took out Mary Jane.”

“Erica.”

“Charlotte.”

“Bobby, which took away ‘Bobbie’.”

“Sandra.”

Dean wrinkled his nose, prompting you to roll your eyes.

“Right, right - not your fave. But we even would’ve been fine with Anne.”

“I haven’t named any of them Sandra or Anne,” Sam pointed out.

“No, but you did name that fire-engine-red cocker spaniel, the one that wouldn’t stop crawling into my lap, Anna - which was a real cute move, by the way,” Dean shot back.

“We’d already 86′d Anna, on your request, and I still haven’t heard that whole story,” you said, jabbing a finger into Dean’s chest before jabbing it in the air at Sam. “The one that really pissed me off? And I get to be pissed off because of the disaster that currently is my—”

“Whoa!” Dean interjected.

You gave him brief but pointed side-eye before getting back to fussing at Sam. “Millie. You took Millie. And she was an adorable dachshund, an absolute doll, but, I mean, come on.”

The tone of your voice had changed, leaving the realm of good-natured teasing and stepping into something akin to disappointment. It wasn’t lost on Sam, who looked to his shoes, swallowing. Then he let his gaze drift to the bassinet, keeping it there even as you went on, though now with gentle care.

“But I get it. We get it.”

“Get what?”

“That menagerie of furry fluff. Thinking they’re it. Only kids you’ll ever have.”

Sam was completely focused, spellbound by the rise-and-fall of the tiny, striped-blanket-bundle’s easy breaths.

Dean’s voice now, definitely deep, definitely serious, definitely one of the subtle variations Sam valued above all the rest, the slightly scolding one that hid a bottomless well of love.

“Can’t know the future, Sammy. I know sometimes we have, but…. nothing’s in stone. I sure as hell didn’t picture this for me. Ever.”

Sam nodded - it was true, just didn’t feel like it.

“And even if it was? Written in stone? Find another big-ass hammer, grenade launcher, whatever - lay waste, kiddo,” you added.

The baby suddenly jolted herself with a sneeze, causing a reciprocal jolt across her audience. She shifted a little, smacked her lips a few times, didn’t show the first indication of waking up, that anything in her brand new world was even slightly out-of-sorts. Her uncle briefly thought on the realization of how hard he’d fight to keep her in such a place as he brought his eyes back to her parents.

And was surprised to find them grinning.

“What?” Sam asked.

“Check out her bracelet,” Dean said.

Sam looked to you, received a nod.

“Go ahead,” you said. “She won’t notice.”

She didn’t, but did get a hell of a grip on a finger of the hand that moved her arm, so he slid the bracelet around with a few fingers of his free hand. Sam fought his own grin as he tucked her arm back under the blanket. Well, mostly - he opted to leave her hand out, let the grip remain for as long as she was willing to hold on to him, then raised an eyebrow at his shoulder-shaking, snickering brother.

Dean kept it up as he edged to the head of the bed, scooting in next to you best he could in the cramped space, quieting only when he let his eyes close, no need to see as he tilted on his side, laced his fingers through yours like he’d done a million times before, the metal of matching angel-blessed bands briefly clinking.

“So your nurse… she was in on this?” Sam asked you.

You shrugged. “Except the father’s name snafu - that part was 100% true.”

Eyes still closed, Dean briefly gave a thumbs-up, took your hand again, went back to his dozing.

You shook your head at him a little, though a smile was on your face as you went on. “She’s the whole package, my man.”

Sam smiled, too. “Yeah. I noticed that.”

“Thought you might.”

“Speaking of thoughts, what made you think of it? Not the prank, I mean—”

“Turns out, my great-grandmother had a nice, simple, easily pronounceable, no-brainer spelling, peach of a maiden name.”

“And the story on this middle name?”

“She’ll prove herself worthy.”

“Hardy-har-har,” Sam replied flatly, but still with a smile.

“It was the first name on both our lists…”

Even in the dim light, you saw his eyes go shiny.

“….and, we hedged our bets - figured even if you ran out of ideas, you’d never name one of your fluffs after yourself. Thought we’d do it for you.”

Author’s Note #2: There’s some fun background behind this story (such as the bit about the crazy name prank & how the story came to be in the first place), and if you care to know it, look at the end of the original post of this story, which you can find via my Master Story Post (see below)!

Want more stories? My Master Post is linked in my profile, and it tells you about getting on the Tag List, too! If for whatever reason it gives you trouble, don’t hesitate to send an Ask and I’ll link you.

Re-blogs and feedback are fuel for a writer’s soul - please do let me know if you enjoyed. 😘

#Supernatural Fanfiction #SPN Fanfic #Supernatural Fanfic #Dean x Reader #Sam x O.C.#Nash Writes

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bellatrixobsessed1 · 6 years

Text

Royal Family Week - Reckless

For @idonthatemaiko‘s challenge.

Summary: After her defeat Azula has become prone to doing careless things. For it she finds herself on the brink of death.

She was so close to the edge. He noticed her doing things. Small things at first, like leaving candles burning in her room as she slept and leaving the doors and windows open and unlocked. And then it was more mild, she would cross the street without looking up at all and just generally make herself unaware of her surroundings and whereabouts. On one occasion, his niece had wandered into the bad side of town. From there she began crossing bridges and makeshift paths that weren’t tested for stability. She would take food from people she’d never met.

That was what had done her in.

Azula still had a controversial reputation and a good cut of people who wanted her body to fall lifeless. The princess had accepted so many food and drink offerings it was impossible to trace exactly who had tinged their ‘gift’ with poison.

It didn’t matter in that moment. What mattered was driving the poison out of her body. It was slow acting had her bedridden for a little over a two weeks. She had grown disconcerting thinner. Her body spasmed every now again, sometimes launching itself into an all out seizure.

During one such instance, she had fallen from her bed, knocking her arm into the nightstand. The first blow alone had been damaging, the twitching had snapped the bone more.

Zuko had been the one to find her weeping to herself with her arm bent awkwardly. A spill of blood seeping where the bone had popped through skin that had almost no thickness to it. The physicians saw to it that her arm was bandaged accordingly. She was monitored intensely since the incident.

Oftentimes Ursa would sit at the foot of Azula’s bed telling her old stories and lore. It was hard to tell if she was ignoring the woman out of resentment or because the poison had drained her to the point of complete indifference.

Indifferent accept for the few occasions where the pain was too much and she finally had to whimper.

Iroh wondered why she had done it, why she had been so careless.

He thought that she might have wanted to die. But this death was so cruelly slow that she was probably regretting it. Or at the very least, regretted that she hadn’t found a faster way. By week three, a sickly hue had taken to her skin. By the middle of week four her face, fingers, and toes were puffy, with poison and her breathing was growing shallow.

That was when the Avatar returned with exotic and rare herbs. There was a tireless effort to crush and mix them and then a bigger effort to get the princess to swallow it safely with her throat as swollen as it was.

By week five the swelling had gone down and her face was settling into a less grotesque hue. Week six had her breathing right and the seizures occurring less frequently. By week seven color was returning to her face and she had her appetite back.

By week eight she was walking again.

Slowly and dizzily, but she was on her feet.

Iroh thought that she still ought to be in bed resting, but a fire like that wouldn’t dim easily. She was already trying to get herself back into the habit of firebendng.

Seeing such a renewed vigor in her had him considering that the poison had been a good thing.

It had showed her that, despite it all, she still had a family that wanted to take care of her, wanted to see her alive.

It had given Ursa the inspiration to try to make amends with her daughter. It had given Zuko the willingness to forgive her, even though she didn’t yet make an apology. It had given Iroh himself the desire to reach out to her at last.

And for so long he was certain that his words and advice had fallen on deaf ears. From across the room she stared at him.

Her cheeks were still somewhat hollow and her clothes still fit her alarmingly loosely. Her eyes still had bags, but there was life in them. He hadn’t seen her look so passionate, so alive, since her fall from grace.

She turned away.

He watched her light the fire in her palm and run through the most basic firebending stances. She did so slowly, taking the care to not do something that would have her bed bound again. For the first time in so long, Azula was smiling.

Perhaps today he was the day he would teach her some new techniques.

#Avatar #Azula #Iroh #Zuko #Ursa #Fire Nation Family #Fanfiction

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shimmershaewrites · 7 years

Text

Waltzing's for Dreamers, Chapter 4 (a Walking Dead story, Caryl AU).

Title: Waltzing's for Dreamers

Rating: Hmm. Maybe PG-13?

Warnings: Adult language.

Characters/Pairings: Daryl Dixon, Dwight, Axel, Oscar, Big Tiny, mention of the Morales family, mention of Sherry, Merle Dixon, mention of Carol Peletier and Sophia Peletier, and a couple of other little Easter eggs for those of you paying attention, lol.

Don't mind me. Just having some fun remixing these characters.

Sorry about the delay in posting this chapter. Work kicked my ass and took some names this week and it took me all day yesterday to pull said ass out of my all-consuming exhaustion. Hence, I'm posting today instead of yesterday when I really wanted to.

Anyway. I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Off to work on the next one. Fingers crossed I get it finished in time to post later tonight.

Waltzing’s for Dreamers

More than six years after Vegas. Early Summer.

“90 degrees in the fuckin’ shade out there,” Dwight mumbles around his nub of a cigarette.

Beneath the hood of the Morales’ Suzuki, Daryl inwardly sneers. I’ll match the sweat rings around your scrawny neck and raise you a couple of stank-ass armpit rings, Asshole. The words never leave his lips, though. All he gifts the sonofabitch with is a noncommittal grunt. In the interest of keeping things civil, of course. Axel’s okay by him, handed over the keys to this Bakersfield shithole like it weren’t nothing and gave him and Merle a chance to start over when they’d up and moved themselves clear across the country trying to outrun the demons of both their pasts. The man’s harmless, not much left knocking around in his pharmaceutical soaked brain, but his piece of shit cousin is another story altogether, and it’s really too bad they have to keep pretending to coexist peacefully because Daryl can’t really put his finger on it but something about the guy makes his skin crawl. Oscar’s too, apparently.

“Man, put your shirt back on. You lookin’ like some starved feral ass cat.”

Big Tiny stops swaying with the oscillating fan in the corner of garage only long enough to snicker an agreement. “Oscar ain’t wrong.”

“Probably is,” Axel puts in his two cents, his handlebar mustache twitching with each word. “Starved,” he elaborates, as if anybody had any lingering doubts. “Sherry don’t like to cook. Can’t say as I blame her considerin’ she only sees daylight from the inside of that diner. Poor woman,” he shakes his head. “Works her pretty little fingers to the bone.”

“Might be you should take some pointers from her,” Oscar suggests dryly. “That wagon ain’t gonna up and fix itself and the way I remember it, those two flower children be thinking they’re getting it back first thing tomorrow.”

“Might be,” Dwight spits as he jerks his arms back through his dingy, oil stained shirt, “you can mind your own goddamn business for once.” He skulks back to his designated corner of the shop, grumbling beneath his breath with every step.

“What bug done crawled right up his skinny ass?”

The question is drawled right into his ear, and Daryl nearly jumps out of his skin. Swears and rubs at the bump he can already feel forming on the back of his head. Slams the hood of the Suzuki shut and scowls at his brother, who brandishes a popsicle in his hand like it’s some kind of sword. Or a peace offering of sorts. “What the hell?” Daryl growls, snatching the damn thing and ripping the wrapper impatiently. “How ‘bout a fuckin’ warning next time?”

“Used to be, you didn’t need no warning,” Merle pointedly reminds him, sucking his own orange popsicle back between his lips as only he could, in a manner bordering on the obscene.

“Got any more of those?” Big Tiny asks longingly.

“Why?” Merle leers with a wink. “Ole Merle makin’ you hot?”

Flustered, Big Tiny groans. “You nasty. Anybody ever tell you that?”

“See now,” Merle trots out his trademark coat hanger grin. “That’s all a matter of opinion. The ladies don’t seem to think so. In fact…”

Before he can go any further, Oscar interrupts him, “Little E on deck.”

It’s not a moment too soon, and Daryl’s grateful for the reprieve. His brother might have come a long way, kicked his own drug habit and put his life in some sort of order. All thanks to a little rude awakening and the kid that’s joined them, bearing a whole box of sweating popsicles like a gift from the Man Upstairs on this sweltering summer day. But the one thing he ain’t cleaned up is his mouth, especially when it comes to women and his supposed prowess with them. And he’s far from the only one in this establishment could grow weeds out of his mouth with as filthy as it is, Daryl’s own included. He gives Oscar a subtle nod of gratitude and leans against the Samurai’s bumper, takes in the scene with an air of wistfulness he couldn’t shake if he wanted to, and damn. Does he want to.

Big Tiny relinquishes his primo spot in front of the fan to lumber over to arguably one of his favorite people—and not just at the moment. “Got one of those for me, Angel-face?”

“Grape?”

“There any other kind?”

Daryl smirks. Watching when his niece presents the big man with his preferred flavor popsicle and he bows clumsily at the waist in thanks, getting himself a coat hanger grin in response that’s undeniably reminiscent of the one his brother wears much more often these days, although the kid’s is much harder won. The irony don’t escape him. Couldn’t if it wanted to. If somebody’d told him have a dozen years ago Merle would find his happiness just as Daryl’s own life went to absolute shit, he’d have accused them of bald-face lying. That’s what he would have done. He don’t begrudge him, though, because God and the Devil both know. If circumstances were different, if he weren’t such a no-good fuck-up not worth the heartache he knows he’s done caused Carol and her little girl, well. He don’t resent his brother a moment. Not at all.

“Thank you kindly, Little Miss,” Axel charms as he receives his own popsicle. “Need me some of them there boots you’re wearing,” he says, openly admiring the black combat boots that are about the biggest things on the eleven-year-old’s ever-growing feet.

“Them’s ass kickers,” Merle crows proudly. “For my ass-kicking girl.”

Daryl huffs out a laugh and crumples up his wrapper when his brother’s version of praise earns him a sassy purple tinged tongue, tosses it in the general vicinity of the trash can.

“Still like ‘em,” Axel shrugs his skinny shoulders. “Might even go find me some.”

Oscar’s lips twitch before breaking into a grin full of shark-like teeth. “Man, you couldn’t even kick your own ass.”

“Might be you’re right,” Axel agrees amiably. “Just sayin’, though. Them’s some mighty fine boots.”

“Yes, Ma’am, they are,” Big Tiny chimes in. Holding out his mammoth paw, he bashfully bargains, “If I show you the car your uncle’s been working on, you think there might be another grape popsicle in it for me?”

“All that’s left is cherry.”

“Cherry just happens to be my second favorite,” Big Tiny tells her as his palm all but swallows up her small hand. “It’s a ’67 Impala. Like the one in that show you like so much with the brothers. He’s fixing it up for the coach at the high school. Be glad you haven’t met him, Angel-face. Man loves to hear himself talk.”

“You look at that,” Merle remarks as the unlikely pair disappear into the back of the garage, Oscar and Axel trailing not far behind them. “Girl’s got him wrapped around her little finger.”

“Ain’t the only one,” Daryl points out as he bends to retrieve the garbage that’d fallen just short of its mark and drops it into the can. “Reckon you’re going to be lost without her when her and her mama move to Jacksonville come the end of July.”

“About that, Baby Brother.”

Merle scratches absently at the prosthetic on his right arm in a gesture that makes Daryl straighten and study him with a more critical eye. “Merle.”

“I should have told you a long time ago.”

“Told me what?”

“When that girl leaves? I’m going with her. And I want you to come with me. It’s high time, Boy. High time.”

#The Walking Dead #Caryl fanfiction #Caryl #Carol x Daryl #stuff that I write #Waltzing's for Dreamers #aka What Happens in Vegas Stays in Vegas fic #Daryl Dixon #Dwight #Axel #Big Tiny #Oscar #mention of Morales family #mention of Sherry #mention of Sophia Peletier #and a couple of other Easter eggs for those paying attention

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wordsbybirdsblog-blog · 6 years

Text

12 - Part 7 by Birdie Bergeron

Here’s the next section of “12.” Thank you for reading! More to come!

12 (Continued)

Birdie Bergeron

The rain began somewhere near twelve. We all woke expecting overcast skies and blue lowlight, but found nothing but the lilac glow of early morning. Polo said it was beautiful. No one said anything else.

I open the front door to find Tangerine sitting on the front steps, umbrella in hand, staring out at the world as if it’s a destructive lover that she can’t quit.

It’s not raining.

Dead birds fall from the sky like hail, sliding down the brim of her umbrella and falling around her. It’s a downpour.

She looks over her shoulder at me with sad eyes.

“I don’t know why this is happening.”

Caesar pushes past me with ease, I’m just a frame, no longer a person, robbed of breath and waiting for my bones to go too. He stops short, taking it all in like a bullet to the brain.

Caesar falls to his knees and throws his arms around Tangerine, just so that if her umbrella fails, he’ll still be there.

I turn on a weak heel and close the door in front of me.

Everyone’s gone but Dali, who sits on the counter with her feet in the kitchen sink. Polo’s gone to live his life as if nothing’s happened, while she clenches her fists around themselves, watching dead birds fall from the window over the faucet.

Something shifts in my stomach. I feel like I’m dying, but my fingers itch to write. If I’m going to die, I want this article to outlive me.

“Do you have a moment?”

She looks over her shoulder at me with a dark, yet somehow artful scowl.

Dali, youngest housemate at only eighteen and niece to the landlady, took a much different approach to the chaos surrounding her home.

“I was supposed to go to art school in the fall.” Dali said. “I never got a [F-expletive] chance.”

As a recent high school graduate, Dali was accepted into multiple art universities and was planning to work towards a major in illustration. These plans were obstructed by not only the death of Rose, but the predictions of Sibyl.

“Even if this end of the world [S-expletive] proves to be horse[S-expletive], I’m not going. At first my aunt was hellbent on getting me out of this [F-expletive] house, but then her superstitions got the best of her and I’m stuck in this [S-expletive]hole until next year.” Dali said. “I’m gonna lose my [F-expletive] mind.”

Dali admits to holding a certain resentment towards her housemates, particularly Rose and Sibyl.

“They were only one [F-expletive] year older than me but they had their own [F-expletive] language. And as soon as she couldn’t understand Sibyl, that [B-expletive] went and [F-expletive] left us all here.” Dali said. “Sibyl was her [F-expletive] mess to clean up and now it’s on all of us.”

On matters of Armageddon, Dali found herself in the position of most of the global community: feeling lost and apprehensive.

“I don’t [F-expletive] know. Clearly something’s [F-expletive] happening. It’s raining [F-expletive] birds and the ocean gave the [F-expletive] up. I don’t [F-expletive] know what’s going on and I’m waiting for some [F-expletive] answers.” Dali said. “And if this all turns out to be bull[S-expletive], I’m leaving this [F-expletive] house and none of these [A-expletive]holes are ever [going to] [F-expletive] see me again. And if all this [S-expletive] is true?” Dali said “I don’t know what the [F-expletive] we did to deserve this.”

I look up from my notepad to see if she’s got any more harsh words to sling my way. She’s done, though. Back to that unchanging scowl.

“Uh...wow.” I nod, stopping the tape recorder and sliding my pen back into the spiral binding of my notebook. “Thank you.”

Caesar has returned and now sits in the corner between two cabinets, three cut sunflowers in his hands.

“That was colourful, Dali.”

“Fuck off.” She turns her face back to the window.

Caesar runs his fingers through his hair and heaves a breath. Its at that moment that we hear footsteps on the stairs, slow and calculating.

It’s shocking to see her in daylight. In my mind, she’s a fawn darting in front of a car at midnight and running right past death.

At the sight of her, Caesar’s eyes light up and he stumbles to his feet as if he’s just been struck by lightning.

“Sibyl.” He breathes with some sort of desperation, rushing to her. “What the hell have you been doing? I thought you were never-”

“Caesar.” She sighs with indifference. He’s faltering for the right words.

“These are for you. I was gonna leave them outside the door-”

“Caesar.” More force this time.

“Sib, I just wanna see your fucking face again. What are you doing?” His voice cracks. “Do you want me to stop smoking? Stop drinking? Fuck, I’ll get my life together if it means you’ll come back to us.” He’s on his knees, gripping her hand.

“You sound ridiculous.” She pulls away

“I don’t care. You’re down here. That’s all I could have asked for.”

“I actually came down here to ask Dali to stop yelling.” Sibyl speaks to Dali but looks at me.

Dali’s movements are sharp. She whips her head around and hops down from the sink, a predator approaching Sibyl.

“You wanna fucking start with me!?” She’s ready to fight but Sibyl stands resolute. “You wanna hear some fucking yelling!?”

I need to intervene. It’s not my place, but I grab Dali’s arms, holding her back. She thrashes against me as Caesar rushes to stand in front of Sibyl, barring Dali from the stairs.

“Just fucking go! You fucking bitch! Go the fuck back upstairs! None of us wanna fucking see you!”

I’ve still got a hold on her arms but she’s strong despite her bony stature. If this goes on much longer I’m scared she might try to gnaw my arm off.

Sibyl’s gaze lingers on me for a moment and we make some kind of lethal eye contact that tinges Caesar’s face green.

She turns and leaves.

“Sib! No Sibyl, she didn’t mean that!” He calls up the stairs, chasing after her, stopped by the sound of a door slamming.

I abandon my hold on Dali and she falls to the ground, breathing heavily for a moment before letting out a scream that would make birds fly from the trees were there any left.

I do nothing but watch.

#12 #twelve #birdie bergeron #words by birds #author #literature #psychological thriller #montreal #montreal writer #montreal author #fiction #fiction writer #creative writer #creative writing #concordia writer #concordia university #english #story

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seenashwrite · 7 years

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3 words. Dean's daughter MacRyeleighaynnabeau

Nash Note: Well-played. I will see your Winchester-child-naming-nightmare, and raise you an SPN fanfic triple-cringe trifecta in return: Domestic. Baby. Fluff.

Call my fluff-bluff, have ye? [clears throat] Reader. Insert. Mommy.

Ooh, and - Sam. Gets. Dogs. I’m just sayin’, if we’re gonna get down, let’s get dooown, Mariana Trench this mother.

In summation: Nash. Does. Fluff. Y’all enjoy it. It ain’t likely to happen again.

Status: CompleteWord Count: 1.8KCategory: One-shot, Domestic Family Fluff, Husband Dean, Reader Insert Mommy, Sam Has DogsRating: Teen & UpCharacter(s): Dean, Sam, You, Newborn with a stupid name, Rando nursePairing(s): Dean + You, and there’s Sam Feels bonusWarnings: so sweet you’ll need a dentistAuthor’s Note: Post-storyOverall Summary: See above; See Nash Twitch

.A Fluff By Any Other Name.

Dean was waiting for Sam in the hallway.

“No flowers?”

“Uh, she hates flowers. Figured I’d ask what she wants for dinner, run get it.”

“Maybe I would’ve appreciated the flowers.”

“You know, I’m going to let this go, because you’ve had a long day, but not as long as hers, so—”

“Ask me.”

“Ask… what?”

“You know.”

“Dean, did you sneak some morphine, or whatever they’ve been—”

“Ask me what your niece’s name is. Actually, no - ask me what it’s not.”

“I legit don’t know where you’re going with—-”

“The dogs. All your foster dogs. You took the good names.”

“I picked up on that, yeah - around the time you used Jessie. And on that real jumpy, kinda twitchy one, which was extra weird. And was a boy.”

“Wait, wait - that was such a sweet dog, and besides - you really would’ve wanted to name your daughter after my dead fiancée?!”

“Oh, everybody’s dead, Sam!” Dean whisper-hissed. “And, no, not necessarily, but I do wonder what Jessica’d think about that…. about that…. what damn breed was that thing?”

“A mix.”

“Of?”

“A pooset and a corgat.”

“Sam. The hell.”

“A poodle-basset hound mix and a rat terrier-corgi mix shared a special hug—”

“So it’s a poocorgaset.”

Sam stared.

“Corsetpoogat.”

Sam brought a hand up, slowly rubbed his temples.

“Can I pull from the rest of the real names? I mean, ratbassgipoo is turning my crank.”

“But always the poo.”

“Of course always the poo, what the hell good does -dle do anybody?”

The nurse cleared her throat - she was leaning into the hallway, a leg and foot still in the room.

“We’re done. Everything’s looking good. She said for you guys to come on in, but if you’re in the middle of…..”

“No! No, not at all. Hey, and this is my little brother, Sam. Sammy, this is our nurse, she’s been here the whole time, basically delivered Macka… Mmmuh… my kid.”

She raised her eyebrows at that, but smiled, extending her hand and shaking the one offered, introducing herself as Dean slipped past them.

“Uncle Sam, huh?”

“Uh-huh…. oh god, I just now realized that!”

“Eh… could be worse.”

“Yeah?”

“What was the fourth? Since there was a fifth?”

“Oh, well, that one? Can’t take credit for - under ‘father’s name’, the proud papa got a case of the jitters and wrote your father’s name.”

“Jeez, I’m so… I’m so sorry…”

But that’s another story.

For now, Sam closed the door quietly before tip-toeing to the bed, bending and giving you a kiss on the forehead. He glanced over to the bassinet and back.

“Nice work.”

“Work is right.”

Dean was seated in an armchair next to your bed, unlacing his boots, but paused and looked up at this, tacking on a clarification.

“Work is damn right.”

You winked in acknowledgment before speaking again.

“So listen, while I’ve got you both—-”

“We in trouble already?” Dean asked, changing his seat from the chair to the opposite side of the bed, perching near the end.

“—-I wanted to make sure you knew that I haven’t totally lost my marbles with the name, and I know that’s what you’re both thinking.”

Sam opened his mouth, ready to protest, but Dean just held up his hands in a sort-of surrender.

“Babe, I know I said I’d be fine with whatever you chose, but we ain’t lied to each other yet, and wow - it’s horrible.”

“So how’s it pronounced?” Sam asked.

“Get ready,” Dean muttered.

And Sam’s jaw dropped briefly as something largely incomprehensible - possibly worse than the name was on paper - came out of your mouth.

“Sis?”

“Bro?”

“That’s beyond horrible.”

Now Dean’s jaw dropped, but clearly in faux offense.

“I resent that - ‘cause every name I said I liked….”

“….every name we agreed on, that we loved for her….”

“….was already a dog’s name.”

You and Dean turned your heads in unison, leveling looks at Sam.

“I can’t have taken up all of them—-”

“Mary.”

“Jane.”

“Which also took out Mary Jane.”

“Erica.”

“Charlotte.”

“Bobby, which took away ‘Bobbie’.”

“Sandra.”

Dean wrinkled his nose, prompting you to roll your eyes.

“Right, right - Sandy, and we even would’ve been fine with Anne.”

“I haven’t named any of them Sandra or Anne,” Sam pointed out.

“No, but you did name that fire-engine-red cocker spaniel, the one that wouldn’t stop crawling into my lap, Anna - which was a real cute move, by the way,” Dean shot back.

“We’d already 86′d Anna, on your request, and I still haven’t heard that whole story,” you said, jabbing a finger into Dean’s chest before jabbing it in the air at Sam.

“The one that really pissed me off? And I get to be pissed off because of the disaster that currently ismy—”

“Whoa!” Dean interjected.

You gave him brief but pointed side-eye before getting back to fussing at Sam.

“Millie. You took Millie. And she was an adorable dachshund, an absolute doll, but, I mean, come on.”

“But I get it. We get it.”

“Get what?”

“That menagerie of furry fluff. Thinking they’re it. Only kids you’ll ever have.”

Sam was completely focused, spellbound by the rise-and-fall of the tiny, striped-blanket-bundle’s easy breaths.

Dean’s voice now, definitely deep, definitely serious, definitely one of the subtle variations Sam valued above all the rest, the slightly scolding one that hid a bottomless well of love.

“Can’t know the future, Sammy. I know sometimes we have, but…. nothing’s in stone. I sure as hell didn’t picture this for me. Ever.”

He nodded - it was true, just didn’t feel like it.

“And even if it was? Written in stone? Find another big-ass hammer, grenade launcher, whatever - lay waste, kiddo,” you added.

And was surprised to find them grinning.

“What?”

“Check out her bracelet,” Dean said.

Sam looked to you, received a nod.

“Go ahead. She won’t notice.”

“So your nurse… she was in on this?”

You shrugged.

“The father’s name - that part was 100% true.”

Eyes still closed, Dean briefly gave a thumbs-up, took your hand again, went back to his dozing.

You shook your head at him a little, though a smile was on your face as you went on.

“She’s the whole package, my man.”

Sam smiled, too.

“Yeah. I noticed that.”

“Thought you might.”

“Speaking of thoughts, what made you think of it? Not the prank, I mean—”

“Turns out, my great-grandmother had a nice, simple, easily pronounceable, no-brainer spelling, peach of a maiden name.”

“And the story on this middle name?”

“She’ll prove herself worthy.”

“Hardy-har-har.”

“It was the first name on both our lists…”

Even in the dim light, you saw his eyes go shiny.

“…and, we hedged our bets - figured even if you ran out of ideas, you’d never name one of your fluffs after yourself. Thought we’d do it for you.”

Author’s Note: If you genuinely liked this & kinda wanna re-blog it, but you don’t care for my snark as related to my deep-seated loathing of domesticated Winchesters, I made this into a legit, polished, proper, puppy gif included post that lives right HERE.

* ~ * The hell is this about? * ~ * See Nash REALLY Write * ~ *

ASKS FOR THIS ARE CLOSED…. I mean, unless it’s super-killer.

(And IF SO, no more “sweetheart”, as pleased as I am at that apparent Pavlovian response at the sight of my name.)

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