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yeojaa · 4 years

Note

so maybe another devil in a new suit drabble 👉👈 maybe jk meeting oc parents or like more interactions w oc and jks parents/sister

[ read devil in a new suit ]

pairing. jjk x f!reader. rating. pg-13. tags. mentions of coconut!kook dancing (and the whole reason i wrote this tbh), cute banter, idk. just a lotta fluff, a lil bit of grinding, y’know. wc. 2.7k. beta reader. none other than @hobi-gif. i love you always! author note. oh look... it’s me... posting something... after sixteen hundred years. womp womp. this truthfully didn’t go the way i planned it to but i hope you enjoy regardless!

It really shouldn’t surprise you. Frankly, it doesn’t.

But it is a little funny.

There are about six girls gathered in a gaggle around your boyfriend, all desperately vying for his attention as he presents a neatly gathered bouquet to his little sister. Jisoo’s all smiles, completely over the moon with pride and riding that high as she rightfully should. (She’d done incredibly well, closed out the showcase with a fluidity you could never even dream of.) She doesn’t even notice her friends staring at her brother with hearts in their eyes, each one red in the face and not from exertion.

(That, or she doesn’t care. Maybe she’s grown used to it - the whole having-a-heartthrob-for-a-brother thing.)

It’s actually quite cute, if only because you know Jungkook doesn’t have eyes for anyone but you. Can feel it in how he keeps bouncing his gaze back towards you, dimple winking from deep within his cheek each time your eyes meet. He’s like a child going back to his favourite toy, momentarily distracted by tittering laughter and his sister’s sunny smile but always coming back to you. The knowledge warms you from the inside out, drags a satisfied smile across your lips.

You wonder whether he notices the attention or if it’s just another part of his life. (You think he must know. These college students don’t really hide it well, too handsy for their own good, years of growing up in semi-close proximity instilling a certain confidence in their motions. That, and because Jungkook is quite possibly the least intimidating person you’ve ever met.)

“Thank you for coming!” It’s Jisoo, flushed and excitable, round eyes as bright as her brother’s as she crosses to you. This had been her moment - her time to shine - but you appreciate the effort she makes to include you, finding you within the crowd. “I was a little nervous but…” A shrug rolls her narrow shoulders, shakes her dark hair from its loose coil.

You’d seen her practice before this - watched the long videos she’d regularly send to Jungkook - but seeing her in real life motion was an entire league of its own. Dancing was her calling, every bit of her made for it. There was just something lyrical about the way she moved, how her hips rolled, limbs seemingly guided by the rhythm of the music. A grace you’ve never had, even on your best day.

“You shouldn’t have been.” You’re beaming right back at her, sisterly reassurance on your tongue. “You were amazing.”

Whether she believes you or not - you think she does by how her cheeks grow ten sizes and her eyes are all but swallowed whole by the expression - she’s gracious, accepting the compliment with her blinding smile. (She really was like Jungkook like that.)

“You guys should come to a class one day.” By that, she means a class she helps teach every once in a while. You’ve heard about it on more than one occasion, seen the choreography posted on Instagram and YouTube.

Still, you don’t expect that, brows shooting high. Laughter filters past your teeth, springing off your tongue. “I am not a dancer and I doubt your brother—”

Now it’s Jisoo’s turn to wear surprise like a neon sign, expression splitting with giggles of her own. “Wait— have you not seen Kook dance?” The way she says it is incredulous, Bambi eyes sparkling with what looks like mischief.

“No?”

“Your sister told me something.”

You’ve never seen this particular brand of worry on his face, eyes even more comically wide than usual, whatever words he’d originally meant to speak dying on his tongue. He looks like a literal deer caught in the headlights, one of his nicknames suddenly very apt.

“What did she say? She likes to embarrass me.” True. Jisoo and Jungkook had a textbook sibling relationship, full of teasing and mockery and copious amounts of love. “Whatever she said, don’t believe—”

“She said you used to dance.”

“Oh.” Oh? You hadn’t expected Jungkook to deflate so easily, relief flooding his features. “Yeah, I did. In university.” He’s utterly unbothered by this knowledge, attention back on the soondubu jjigae he’d been shovelling into his mouth. “I had some friends who were dancers, so it was good exercise.”

“I want to see.”

His answer is immediate, despite the heaping bite of rice and stew in his mouth. “No.”

You whack him across the shoulder, startling him into clattering his spoon on the countertop. It leaves a messy red streak across marble but you’re dragging his attention back to you with a firm glare, fingers cradled under his jaw. “I want to see.”

Talent apparently runs in the family, you realise halfway through the third video. Jungkook moves with the same assured movements his sister does, with power and grace and a confidence that frankly baffles you. He treats the practice room like a stage, running through the motions so fluidly you almost have trouble believing it’s your man on the screen. (Not that he’s particularly ungraceful. It’s just surprising, like watching a dog walk on its hind legs.)

“So, what happened?” You say it so conversationally, innocently, with eyes that mimic his own. From the corner of your periphery, your boyfriend shifts, hand flexing over your knee. There’s the furrow between his brows, the subtle tension in his jaw. Worry.

“What do you mean?”

Your own hand waves toward the screen, where the image of Jungkook from over half a decade ago sits paused. “You were so…” You’re not sure what you mean. There are just so many options to describe the literal baby boy on the television. Young? Confident? Round? (You can’t get over his haircut, though you suppose you can’t hold it against him.)

Jungkook simply stares at you, waiting for you to find whatever words you want to use. Despite the uncertainty that swims somewhere in the depths of his eyes, he’s endlessly patient. Always so soft when it comes to you.

“You had a coconut head.”

Laughter explodes off his tongue, entire face screwing up with amusement. “Are you serious?”

“You did!” Admittedly, the cut had somehow worked on him but it’s so reminiscent of grade school haircuts you can’t help but focus on it, too distracted by the glossy sheen to offer much else. “I guess I get it, though.”

“What do you mean? Everyone had that haircut—”

“In first grade, maybe.” He sticks his tongue out at you then; you scowl in response.

“What do you get?” As always, he’s perceptive, immediately aware of your carefully knit brow, the thoughtfulness that fits itself around your teeth like gleaming white veneers and holds his attention hostage. He’s grown used to it over the months you’ve been together - knows you cling tight to things with an iron grip, turn them over and over until you’ve made sense of it in that brain of yours.

“The crushes.” You look affronted, almost appalled at the realisation. He bursts out laughing, broad palm coming down upon your bare leg in a smack. (He apologises profusely when you complain.)

“What’re you talking about?”

Your nose is wrinkled, velvet strands dislodged by the shake of your head. “All your sister’s friends. They’re in love with you.” Jisoo had even agreed, laughed about it when you’d commented on it at the recital. Something about them having grown up with Jungkook, obsessed with the image they’d retained of him since university. “But you were a coconut. You wore Timberlands and drop-crotch pants. You weren’t even that cute.” An exaggerated shudder slips over your shoulders.

“I was nineteen.” As if that makes it better. Your judgment doesn’t lessen, the lines running the bridge of your nose only deepening.

“Still. Embarrassing.”

Your boyfriend truly is the best sport, rolling his eyes at you in the same instance he reaches for you, tugs you closer with broad palms, affection searing into your skin. “Well, luckily, no more Timbs. No more bowl cut.” He nuzzles into the warmth of your neck, spreads your knees wide over his hips. The sound of his laughter melts into your throat, dresses it in heat deposited by your breath. “Are you jealous again?”

He doesn’t even get a verbal response to that. Just a heavy glare and two hands squishing his cheeks. “Absolutely not.”

It comes up again in bed, your head on his chest, his hands on your hips. He asks it quietly, conversationally, with a twinkle in his eye that makes you want to smother him with one of his many pillows.

“You’re sure you’re not jealous?”

“I’m not,” you grit, paired with a roll of your eyes and a little snort from your nose. You really aren’t. Those girls are inconsequential, irrelevant. They’ll never amount to what you are to him and that’s just a simple fact. He’s yours - something he reminds you of day in and day out, both verbally and in action.

(You love him for it, appreciate it more than you can possibly begin to explain. There’s a certain bliss to be found in the knowledge that you’re loved. A warmth that rivals even that of the sun on the summer’s hottest day.)

“Then why’re you pouting?” What he really means is why aren’t you smiling. You don’t pout often - at least not in the same ways he does.

“I’m not,” you repeat for what feels like the sixth time.

“Smile for me.”

You do the opposite - throwing your eyes in an exaggerated circle. It earns you a pinch to the side, a tender sting blooming beneath ink-strewn fingers.

“Really—“ When he looks this earnest, it’s hard to deny him, “you’re sure everything’s okay?”

At most, you can sigh perhaps overdramatically. Fold your awkward limbs upon his and bury your face into the crook of his neck. You’re not jealous of those girls, no.

You’re envious of his talent - the simple fact that Jeon Jungkook is, by all definitions, a golden boy. God’s favourite, with his heart wrenching smile and easygoing charm and grace that seems almost surreal. There’s not a single thing wrong with him - okay, except for his bad habit of never answering his phone and always messing up the top sheet and the fact that he absolutely never ever puts the cap back on the toothpaste tube - and it’s absurd. Utterly, absolutely unfair.

But you can’t say that.

“Baby,” he hums, threading the sound of his voice among your hair, tucking the soft syllables behind your ears. “Talk to me.”

You relent - a little. “You’re too good.”

“Too good?” The depth of his laughter rumbles your bones, tickling your insides when it vibrates out of his chest. “At what?”

A hand gesticulates wildly. You’re not sure what it looks like, how close it is to hitting Jungkook in the face. You’ve still got your face pressed to the warmth of his skin, greedily siphoning his sunny radiance with your cheek. “Everything.”

Despite how he laughs - cackles, really, so adorable and high pitched it’s breathy - you know he knows what you’re talking about. You’ve given him a hard time about it before.

“I’m not good at everything, ____.”

He’s somehow even good at making you believe you’re wrong. That’s a feat in and of itself.

“Are too.”

“Are not.”

“Whatever!” Whether he acknowledges it or not, he’s stupidly gifted. Everyone and their - even his - mom knows it. “Don’t believe me then. I don’t care.”

“Then why’re you making that face?” It’s almost comical that he’s calling you out for your expressions when he’s the king of funny faces, throwing his features into exaggerated (and adorable) masks. (Maybe he’d just rubbed off on you?)

“I’m not,” you huff, exasperated but not quite. Still soft over his skin, velvet on silk.

“You’re so cute.” Sometimes, you think he really is just a child - too happy with putting you on a pedestal and praying at your altar. Devoting himself to you when you’re nothing but a bag of flesh and bone, dressed in designer fashion and wrapped up with a satin ribbon made from sarcasm and candor. (Not that you mind. Who would argue if they were offered such love?) “I still think something’s wrong but…”

It’s a smart tactic. He doesn’t press you for an answer, opting to let it linger between you. Settle like bothersome lint until you offer it yourself.

When you relent - because you always do, unable to shut out the sunshine that practically pours out of him - you’re quieter. Not shy, but bashful. Uncertain in a way you very rarely are. “I’ve always wanted to dance.” So much so, you’d begged your parents to enroll you when you were younger. Demanded lessons upon lessons - only to fail at all of them. Rhythm simply didn’t exist anywhere in your body.

“Really?”

You’re pulled from your safe haven, shifted until your entire point of view is filled with Jungkook, his starry eyes and his fluffy fluffy hair. There’s that look he sometimes gets - full of wonder and adoration - when he learns something new about you. As if just the smallest tidbit of knowledge opens up a whole new world.

“Yes?” You’re half regretting the admission. He looks like he’s up to something, all the cogs in his head turning in perfect tandem.

“I’ll teach you.”

“Hard pass.”

Like a hot air balloon, he deflates, mouth rounding sweetly. (If you didn’t know better, you’d assume the man was made of cotton candy, semi-sweet chocolate heart where the real organ should be.) “Why not?”

“I do not dance.” It’s nothing but a statement of fact, firm and unyielding.

The pout evolves, swings down into a frown that drags his eyebrows with it. “You could dance.”

“No, baby—“ So you’re a little frustrated, all your childhood memories pricking beneath your skin. “I do not dance.”

“Why?” He’s upright now, tugging you with him as if you weigh nothing. His way of turning the conversation serious, pulling you from the warmth and comfort of the bedsheets to this. (He’s still holding you, hooking his big broad hands over your hips, so you don’t mind.)

“No rhythm.” Unable to keep a beat. Two left feet. The list could go on and on, according to your ballet instructor.

“Not true.”

Your brow quirks, mirrored by his as if in challenge. You almost swat at him - so close your hand twitches on his shoulder. “Very true.”

(Why does this conversation feel so familiar? It’s déjà vu.)

“Is not.” Your boyfriend seems insistent, as if he knows better than you. (He doesn’t.) Stares up at you with those pretty eyes and has the audacity to grin when you roll your own, ready to rebuff him.

Because you’re in bed, the one place where you defer to him whether you like it or not.

(You do like it, though. Love it, in fact. Just like you love him.)

“You’re graceful,” he hums, bridging the gap between you with a forward roll of his shoulders. “You’ve got rhythm.” The hand on your hip grows firm, guides your knees to spread wide on either side of him. With each brush of his lips - tender little brushes, endlessly sweet and reassuring - he pushes and pulls, dragging you across his lap. “You can do anything you want.”

You’ve almost forgotten the topic of conversation, preoccupied by how he guides you in languid circles. How the cotton of his boxer briefs feels against the sensitive inside of your thighs. The weight that grows between your legs and nudges indelicately against the soft fabric of your thong.

All part of his plan, of course.

“Your body’s the most beautiful thing in the world, ____.”

When he looks at you like this, you think he might be right. You’d believe it if he kept saying it, sparking desire through your limbs until they’re jellied and loose.

(How he sees right through you - cuts straight to the core of your insecurity - you’re not sure. It feels almost like a superpower, something unquantifiable, unbelievable. He’s too good for you, always. So kind and loving, pressing his belief in the form of his mouth, the tender edge of his teeth when he kisses you slow slow slow.)

“You’re perfect just the way you are.”

#anon.eml #incoming.eml #jungkook.doc #work.zip #drabble.zip #jungkook au #jungkook drabble #jungkook imagine #jungkook fluff #jungkook x reader #jungkook x oc #jungkook x you #devil.doc

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irwinkitten · 4 years

Text

men of mayhem | a.i

notes: so the majority of this is written already. but i probably won’t post the next part too soon. however, this is a sons of anarchy!au and i’ve been so excited about. you do NOT need to have watched the show to know what’s going on, but if you have seen the show, you may spot some familiar names and places. to give you a rough timeline, the oc (Michelle) and Ashton are born in 1978 and this part has various stages. She attends university in 1996 and the ending is taking place in the summer of 1998. We don’t see all of the guys in this part, but they will be making more appearances as the story goes on! A big thank you to @sexgodashton for going over this with a fine tooth comb and to @spicycal and @softbabiestan for being my cheerleaders. Love you guys. warnings: mentions of violence, hints of smut, mentions of guns word count: 5.7k

donate to my ko-fi here

When Michelle Morgan left the small town of Charming at the age of eighteen to pursue her dream career, she knew she was leaving behind more than her parents and baby brother, Matty. She was leaving behind a group who she’d grown up with. Many said that her childhood sweetheart would leave her in the dust, break her heart whilst she was in the big city, studying her chosen profession. But those many knew nothing about her hometown life.

Growing up with the Irwin’s had been something of a blessing for her. The Morgan’s took it as the sign that it was, because nobody in Charming messed with the Irwin’s. Although her father had never joined SAMCRO—the known biker gang who ran many things off the books as well as their mechanics business—he fully supported them, helping out with transport when they needed it.

Her friendship with Ashton—the only son of Anne-Marie and Bert Irwin—only formed because she’d been cornered by the playground bullies at the age of five, and her vicious kicks to their shins followed by Ashton pulling them away from her had the two kids as thick as thieves since.

They’d been childhood sweethearts from the get go, and with the rest of SAMCRO being an influence in her life, her father knew that she was going to be involved somehow. Her mother first mentioned being Ashton’s “Old Lady” when they were sixteen—celebrating her sixteenth birthday no less—causing both teens to blush furiously at her words. The other club members had laughed, and despite her bright red face, she scoffed.

“Don’t like the idea of that, lil’ lady?” Bert teased her, the nickname filled with nothing but the affection that he and Anne both had for Michelle.

“Someone is gonna have to pull your sorry asses outta the fire when your plans go to shit. That’s gonna be me. I’m gonna study and get into those bigshot firms. And I’m gonna come back and keep the lotta you out of trouble.” She missed Ashton’s look of awe, but the other club members hadn’t.

But her words had hit home for them, and so they toasted her luck on her sixteenth birthday.

That night, when the two were hidden away in their den—despite what their parents assumed when Ashton pulled her away—they were lay on the various throws and pillows that lived on the floor, cuddled up as he played with her fingers, gently bringing her knuckles up to his lips.

“Did you mean that Micha? You really gonna go away for however long it takes to be a big shot lawyer?” When it was just the two of them, he never hid from her. The fear was laid out for her to see.

“It’s gonna be seven years of school at least. Maybe a couple more to work with the big firms and get cases under my belt.”

The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable. Silence for them never had been since he’d confessed that he loved her when they were fourteen and had loved her since they were six.

“Ten years is a long time, sweetheart.” She turned in his arms to face him, her eyes searching his face. She could see the fear sitting there, plain as day for her.

“It is. But I’m not letting you go, Irwin. We’ve got ten years of love on our side, with another two before I’d have to go to University. Surely we can make it through another ten? I know your dad won’t put you on any of the runs, not till you turn twenty one. Which means we got four years of unfiltered time for you coming to visit, right?”

“Of course.” He whispered, his lips brushing against hers softly. “Reckon you’ll let me into your pants before you leave?” And she giggled, his own face lighting up in joy.

“Reckon you can wait till I’ve gotta leave. I know you’re not gonna complain when my lips can be put to better use for the next two years.” He rolled over with a playful growl, pinning her down which earned a small giggle as he playfully nipped at her neck.

“I reckon I can do that. But, I’ve gotta treat my birthday girl tonight.” His lips met hers and she didn’t argue.

When she was accepted into University, the club had celebrated with her, watching in anticipation for her acceptance. She’d studied so hard for her entrance exams and had already imparted some knowledge to Bert to keep him out of trouble.

Her first year had been daunting. Ashton visited her once a month at most thanks to the cost of gas, but it was enough for them.

That was when people began to tell her that they’d never last.

Men in her class would tell her that she’d be better off with them, but Michelle held her own. They didn’t like that. They tried to get vicious with her in the mock court sessions and various debates, but she had a secret weapon.

She’d grown up with SAMCRO, and in the words of Chibs, “she’s got balls of diamond that one”. Ashton had laughed at his words, and she’d thrown the drinks mat at his face, making the other club members laugh.

When she’d come home for the holidays, Bert had heard enough from Ashton to track her down and ask her if she wanted a second layer of protection.

“I can’t give you Ashton, I need him here unfortunately. Him and Hood get into enough trouble.” This made her grin.

“Throw in Hemmings and Clifford, and that’s going to be a disaster when they start doing runs.” Bert had snorted at her words.

“Either it’ll be crazy enough that it’ll work or a disaster.” He muttered before pulling the two of them back on track. “Instead of Ash, I figured it was about time that Chibs and I taught you how to shoot a gun, don’t you think?”

“I know how to shoot a gun,” came back the retort, and Bert smiled.

“Ah, but from a moving vehicle? And what about awareness of your surroundings, lil’ lady?” Michelle paused before reluctantly shaking her head at his questions.

“I guess not.” She finally muttered and he grinned.

“Chibs and I will start you tomorrow. Ash can come as well. Maybe get him to rope Hood, Hemmings and Clifford into it. The four of them are gonna be a force to reckon with when he takes over.”

“Oh no bet on that one. Cal will be his VP. You need to make sure that Bobby doesn’t murder them when they prank him because you know he’s gonna be their easy target.”

The two of them made their way back into the Irwin household. Michelle laughed as her little brother rushed to greet her. It had definitely been strange being away from Matty for so long.“You’re not wrong. C’mon lil’ lady. You’ve been missed by a lot of people.”

He’d guided her into the main dining and sitting room to find nearly all of the club there along with what was considered the next generation of club members. All of the younger members kept away from the free flowing alcohol, knowing that the following day was going to be daunting as it was. Michelle was happy enough to stay sober to talk to her parents and sit with Matty on her lap, listening to him going on about all the things he’d done in the months that she’d been away.

Ashton barely left her side.

The following morning felt like it was straight out of the movies. But she knew that this was the reality for the club members who did the various runs.

Unsurprisingly, Ashton helped both Bert and Chibs. Michelle hadn’t expected anything less from her boyfriend, but even then, it still stunned her the trust that he had in her not to hit him with a bullet when it came to being aware of club members versus rivals.

“Am I gonna really need to know this kinda stuff?” The complaint had been good natured, but the elder Irwin understood her hesitation. He hadn’t risen to her complaint, making her go through their course again. It was late afternoon before Chibs finally called to a halt, and they began to pack down, making sure nothing was left behind.

Once they were ready to go, Bert motioned for the other two to head off. Ashton scowled for a moment before his dad sighed.

“I just need to talk with your girl. I’ve got intel on her uni, and you need to go meet with Hood. the Harris’ have payments due.” With a quick kiss to his girlfriend, Ashton handed Michelle her helmet and then he was gone with Chibs.

“C’mon lil’ lady.” She didn’t hesitate to climb on the back of Bert’s bike. It was a level of freedom that she understood and part of her wanted her own to travel back to uni with, to show those men who thought she was easy that no one messed with her.

The drive wasn’t too far out of Charming. It was mostly desert, but there was a little spot that gave a nice view of the town.

When the bike was parked up, Michelle was off first, heading to a small bench that had been left there by a previous resident.

“Ashton’s gonna be Club Prez one day. You and I both know this.” Michelle did know this. Both her and Ashton had known since they were kids. Ashton had always so desperately wanted to follow in his dad’s footsteps.

“What time frame?” She finally asked, turning her head to the man who had turned into a second father for her.

“Maybe by the time he’s twenty five. I’ve been CP for nearly forty years, and it’s time to retire for me.” This shocked Michelle, her eyes going wide.

“But, Ash thought he wouldn’t be Prez til he was in his late thirties at least?” The surprise that coloured Michelle’s tone made Bert laugh as he threw his arm around her shoulders, squeezing her gently as he kissed her temple.

“I’m glad that you both have faith in this old man. But unlike the others, I wanna be able to spoil my grandchildren when they come. I’m surprised that my boy hasn’t made an honest woman outta you.”

Michelle blushed, making him laugh. “Shove off old man.” She groaned, pushing away from him, making him laugh even more.

“I just wanna know, what’s gonna happen. That’s all.” He raised his hands in surrender, and she sighed.

“We talked about it before I left in September. I want to finish school. He knows I’m already planning to spend maybe a couple of years in the big city in a firm so I have a few cases under my belt. He also knows that I want him. I never really wanted anyone else.”

“And I know that, lil’ lady. That’s why I want to help you protect yourself. When Ashton becomes Club Prez, you know we’ve got problems that he’ll inherit. The second they find out you’re a lawyer? That’s a pretty lookin’ red target painted on your forehead.”

Michelle nodded. “That’s why you had me take out the opposition vs our own.”

Bert nodded. “I don’t anticipate you being part of the club like that. But if you get into a situation, I’ll be relieved to know that one of my girls can get away safely. You know we’d be devastated if we lost you, Anne-Marie especially.” Michelle felt her heart swell for this man and his wife.

Her parents were good to her, and she knew that. And so were the Irwin’s. But knowing that they valued her like a daughter already made her appreciate just what she had in her life.

“At least by the time I’m finished with school, I’ll be there to haul his ass out of the fire coals.” Her murmured words made Bert laugh before patting her knee.

“And he’d be lucky to have you hauling his ass from the fires. C’mon lil’ lady. Let's get back before he goes off at me. I know you’re only here for a few more weeks, and he wants to spend as much time with you as possible.”

When the two of them returned, Ashton didn’t hesitate to almost drag Michelle out to the den that they’d built as teenagers, making Bert laugh at her exasperated eye roll. But once the two of them were secluded away from the world, she happily nestled against him, their clothes long gone as she traced his tattoos.

“What was dad after?” His fingers ran up and down her spine, her body melting against him as she fought to keep her eyes open.

“Told me why he was doing that today, why he wanted me to know how to at least fight back.” She murmured and his lips pressed against the top of her head.

“And why would that be, sweetheart?” Her head tilted up so that her chin could rest on his chest, her eyes catching his.

“You’re gonna be Prez eventually, Ash. Everyone and their mother know about us. He’s worried that when you take over, you’ll be inheriting problems he’s been dealing with for years. Just being associated with you paints a target on my back. When they find out that we’re together? That target moves to my forehead.” There was no way to paint it nicely, but Ashton understood, even if there was crease between his brows at her words.

“Hopefully being in the big city takes it away, you’re out of town for too long.” She smiled sadly at him before letting the subject drop.

“He also asked why you haven’t made an honest woman out of me. I think he forgets we’re only eighteen, and I’ve barely been away for six months.” Ashton laughed, and the mood changed drastically as she shifted, straddling his hips.

“Trust me sweetheart, when I’ve saved up, I’ll be making an honest woman outta you. Those big shots can get fucked when they see a nice, shiny diamond on your finger.”

“Oh there better be a shiny diamond eventually, Irwin.” He laughed as she leaned down to kiss him.

Time passed by for them. Whilst he was saving up the money he earned from helping the club and working with Bobby in the garage, Michelle worked her ass off.

Despite repeatedly telling men that she was taken, none really believed it. However, when she landed a few punches after one of them got too handsy with her, they quickly realised that it didn’t matter what they believed.

She could fight back, and she could put them down quicker than they’d ever be able to step away from.

When Ashton had found out, he’d taken a month away, despite Bert half-heartedly arguing, he realised that if anything, it would keep her safer if they saw what kind of boyfriend she had.

She was surprised when he turned up after her lecture to pick her up. The roar of the bike engine was so familiar that it sounded out of place in the big city.

Michelle had been chatting with Jennifer, as they’d left, deliberately ignoring the few guys that seemed to invite themselves along. When Jen had spotted her ride, she hesitated, unwilling to leave Michelle with the guys from their course, circling around her like vultures.

“I can see if Jack could drop you off, save you from these creeps?” They shared a giggle.

“Thanks but I need to head to the bar. Old Jerry wants me to stop by soon to try his new cocktails...” The roar of the engine made her pause, her eyes immediately searching out the sound.

“Chelle?” Jen had prodded her to get her attention, but once Michelle spotted the bike, her face lit up in undisguised glee.

“I don’t need to worry about getting a ride, mine just arrived.” The guys that had been lingering, scoffed.

“Really Morgan? You’re going after a lowlife, probably with no stable job and an arrest record?” She wasn’t sure of his name, Mike or Marc, but his words triggered her anger. As the bike pulled up, she spun around, ready to punch him before remembering where she was.

“If I wasn’t so determined to become a lawyer, I’d have decked you with no hesitation. However, that apparent lowlife has been my best friend since we were kids. Add in the fact he’s literally the love of my life, and you get the picture. No arrest record, his dad runs and owns a garage that he’s set to inherit one day and not to mention, I like my men a little rough around the edges. How about you go fuck the blow up doll your buddies got you for Christmas and get off my fucking ass.” She snapped and she watched as he glanced behind her.

“He gonna come in and save you then?” This time, she smirked.

“When you run around with men that look like they could kill you, you get taught how to defend yourself from creepy assholes. Try it and see where this will get you. Not to mention that I’m a scholarship student. Why would I jeopardize this chance for a career?” Her voice had turned innocent, sweet. But the dare was laid for all to hear.

“You’re an ugly bitch anyway.” He finally muttered before turning on his heel and leaving. She shared a look with Jen before they both started laughing. Michelle hugged her friend goodbye before running to where Ashton was standing, leaning against his bike.

The hindrance of her skirt meant that he could only pick her up and swing her around, but she was finally in the safest place.

“It’s been a minute.” She finally breathed when their lips pulled away, his smile only having grown wider.

“I know, but there are reasons. However, you’ve got me for a good chunk of time, doll.” This made her light up in excitement.

“How much time?” His smile was impossibly wide at this point as he dipped his head to kiss her once more.

“At least a month.” His voice was low, setting the fire off in her belly, but even that couldn’t squelch the joy that surged through her as she kissed him.

“Lets head back to mine then, handsome. I’ve got some new things for you to enjoy.” He had to swallow his reply as she got herself sat on the bike, a laugh escaping at the put-out look on her face.

“Sorry doll, but it looks so strange to see you dressed like that on my bike.”

“Yeah, yeah. Laugh it up. I haven’t got much of a choice. Dumb dress codes.” Ashton ignored her dar mutter as he placed her helmet on for her before climbing on and kicking the bike into life.

She’d missed the feeling of the bike underneath her. The way the engine rumbled was a reassurance, something that had come with years of riding around with Ashton and being taught to ride by Bert. It was a level of freedom that she never felt in the city, so enclosed and overrun with either pedestrians or cas. Bikes were around, but not ones like these, they were more what Bobby would call flashy toys, built for speed but would never survive one of the runs they did.

When Ashton pulled up to Michelle’s place, there were nosey neighbours who peered from their windows to see what the noise was about. She outright ignored them as she took Ashton’s hand and led him up the stone steps to the house she was renting, the door barely closed before he had her pressed against the wall with his lips on hers.

This was another thing she missed as she sighed into the kiss, the soft moan escaping as hands pushed up her skirt, and he began to tease.

“Do you think you’ll get complaints about any noise?” He murmured as his lips moved to her neck and she moaned at the sensations.

“Don’t care.”

She didn’t hold back and neither did he.

When they were nestled up in her bed, having gotten their welcome home out of their systems, Michelle was dozing off against his chest when he leaned over to the floor, rummaging through his jacket pockets.

“What are you doing? I had a comfy pillow.” She muttered indignantly. He chuckled.

“I had a whole thing planned out, but being with you like this? Honestly it's the best moment I think.”

This had her confused as he resumed his previous position but this time, she tilted her head so that it was resting on his chest, staring at him.

“And what moment would that be, Irwin?” He gave her the softest smile, one which she knew was reserved just for her.

“The moment to tell you that I’ve loved you for nearly my entire life, and I don’t want a life without you in it. Michelle Morgan, will you marry me?” he had the ring in his hands, and she couldn’t stop the gasp as she sat up, staring at him in shock.

“Ashton, this better not be a joke.” The tears threatened to fall and there was the soft smile again as he leaned forward to kiss her.

“I would never joke about this. You’re too important to me, Micha.”

The first tear fell as she moved her trembling left hand, offering it to Ashton.

“Yes. Yes I will marry you.” The joy on his face in that moment sealed it for Michelle. As he slid the ring on her finger, he kissed it before his lips found hers once more.

“My sun, my moon, my stars.” He whispered.

When she went into her class on Monday, Jen was the first to notice the very shiny diamond ring on her finger.

“Oh my god, really?” Her friend gasped excitedly before pulling her into a hug. Michelle laughed.

“Really! He had this whole elaborate plan set out but ditched it because it didn’t feel like us. He wants to celebrate, but since he’s staying for the month, his brothers are going to travel up for celebrations next week. Ash wants to meet you and Jack and have a quiet double date before his brothers show up.”

There were a few mutters from the men around them, but the two girls paid them no attention like they’d done from day one when the two realised they were the only females in the class.

“The only reason she’s getting married is because he probably knocked her up.” Mike-she was certain now after hearing his name called out on the register-muttered.

This time, she wasn’t going to let him slander her name like that. Those kinds of rumours not only fuelled fire but could potentially cost Michelle her career, and she wasn’t about to have any of it.

Turning in her seat whilst they waited for the lecturer to start, she scowled at him.

“Kindly refrain from making assumptions and starting rumours that you can’t back up with facts, O’Riley.” She kept her voice levelled, albeit slightly condescending. He scowled at her in return.

“What, scared that I’m right?” The taunt was a clear bait, determined to show she shouldn't be there. Both her and Jen had suffered from them.

The class had fallen silent at this, and Michelle smirked.

“How about I give you the facts first since you’ve spent the entirety of first year trying to make a point that neither Jennifer or I belong. I’ve known my fiance since we were children. Five years old to be precise. Whilst I’m at school, he works for the garage that his dad owns and will one day take over. He tries his hardest to visit once a month but sometimes he can’t because of obligations to the company means that sometimes the garage comes first.” She could see a few of the guys take on board her words.

Jen was smirking.

“If he were to have knocked me up, the last time I saw him was two and a half months ago. Notice how I haven’t swapped to any kinds of baggy clothing? Had I actually been pregnant, I’d have taken a leave of absence for a week so that I could go home and tell him as well as our families. Getting the picture yet?” His cheeks were burning as she so easily put him in his place.

“You have a go at the two of us, saying we don’t belong because we can’t be doing our studies right, we can’t be learning the same things as men. But if I look objectively at the situation, you’ve repeatedly tried to bait Chelle into an argument and lost every time. Most facts she’s been quite open about, and the others seemed to have put two and two together, but you can’t let go of the fact that she rejected you. So you hound her for anything. I hope that if you actually get into Law School after the undergrad program that you have to face her in the courts, because she’s clearly better than you.” Jennifer had spoken up in defence of her friend, and it had fallen silent before the lecturer began to clap.

Michelle hadn’t even realised that they’d eaten into the class time.

“Miss Morgan is correct, Mr O’Riley. Report to my office after class.”

Unsurprisingly, O’Riley left her alone, and before Michelle knew it, the end of the year was upon them and she was back home with her family.

She hadn’t had a chance to really pass the news and had forced Calum, Luke and Michael to stay quiet about it. Ashton knew better than to ruin this surprise for her, even though her family had been waiting for the day to happen ever since he’d asked her father’s permission the day after she’d left.

To say they were excited was understatement of the century. Both of them had winced at the high pitched squeal from her mother and her father was laughing at the scene before him.

They welcomed Ashton into their family when he was a child, but this was a different kind of welcome, one that really made him feel lucky to have the parents he had.

Unlike some of the weddings they’d seen from the club members, Ashton had been adamant. The wedding would be how Michelle wanted it, and if anyone had a problem then they could work at the garage instead.

Bert had surprisingly backed his son up.

“She’s practically been my daughter since he brought her home with a skinned knee and tear tracks down her face. This is her day just as much as his, and if Ash wants it to be how she wants it, then no one will say a fucking word.”

The prospects had eyed the father/son duo warily before nodding in acceptance. Ashton had already made it clear to them that they’d be around for security rather than the ceremony.

They’d watched one of their previous comrades learn the hard way not to insult Michelle Morgan around any of them. The last prospect who did that not only lost his chance to be in the club but also ended up in the hospital with broken arms and a bullet to the knee.

The warning rang loud and clear for them so they weren’t bothered by the fact they’d been relegated to security.

Despite the endless ribbing that Ashton had received from his best friends, he helped Michelle with ideas for what she wanted. They’d decided to plan and book it for the following summer, to let her get through her second year of university without worrying.

“I’m going to defer a year after we get married.” Ashton stared at her in shock. She’d told him that the career was important to her, and he couldn’t wrap his head around why she would do that.

He’d pulled her so that she was straddling his lap, the two of them sat on the sofa at his parents’. They were out for the weekend. He knew his dad was preparing for a patchover and his mom wanted as much time as possible with him without the two of them underfoot.

“And why are you deferring a year, doll?”

“So that I can steal you away for a year. Our honeymoon is going to be much longer than two weeks.” The grin on her lips was almost predatory, and he felt the corner of his own twitch up in response.

“Oh is it, Miss Morgan?” Her arms were resting on his shoulders as she leaned forwards, nibbling at the skin of his neck, her hips slowly rocking into his.

He was struggling to stay focused.

“A full year of us travelling. Motels, fancy hotels or hostels. Travel America and then maybe fly out and travel Europe. A whole year. I’m sure you wouldn’t be adverse to having sex in every state and then as much of Europe as possible.” Her teeth tugged at his earlobe, and he had her pinned on the couch, the look of shock amusing as his lips met hers.

“What my lady wants, my lady gets.”

Later when they’d redressed themselves and were looking at various places, Ashton let out a sigh. “You realise that it means I’ll definitely be doing more runs. And maybe a few hits?”

She squeezed his hand gently. “That’s why pops is planning on offering to pay for half of the trip. He knows what your dad does, they’re best friends. He knows what you do. He also knows that you’d protect me and move heaven and earth if you could. I wasn’t supposed to tell you this, so act surprised when he offers it.” This made him laugh as he kissed her temple.

“Secret is safe with me, doll. So July or August for the wedding date?”

True to his word, Ashton did act surprised when her dad made the offer, however, he didn’t have to fake his shock at the amount that he was offering.

“That’s, surely that would cover the entire trip?” Ashton barely breathed. Marcus Morgan laughed as he slapped Ashton on the shoulder.

“Son, I’ve been saving for this ever since she brought you home to us to introduce us to her newest best friend. At first it was small amounts which I was prepared to make her college fund, and then you two got together and her mother told me to start saving properly.” Ashton stared at his soon to be father-in-law, stunned.

He could do nothing but hug Marcus tightly in gratitude, in amazement, in awe. He wasn’t entirely sure. But he loved this man just as much as he loved his own dad.

Marcus understood the unspoken words and held onto Ashton just as tightly, giving him a moment to take in the significance of the offer.

“You realise that the second Michelle finds out, she’ll flip?” Ashton finally asked as he pulled back, and Marcus laughed loudly.

“Like I’d expect anything else from that girl. She’s her mother’s daughter through and through. I can only count my blessings that she found you early on to temper her impulses.” Ashton tried and failed to hide his smirk as his soon-to-be in-law rolled his eyes before they were drawn into a discussion about the newest modifications he’d made to his bike.

They still continued to plan, even when Michelle was back at University. Mercifully, after her verbal slapdown of O’Riley, both her and Jen had earned the grudging respect from their classmates.

That respect was a big help when it came to the appointments for her dress fittings and bridesmaid dresses. If Jen hadn’t been one of her bridesmaids, she knew her friend would’ve handed her any and all the notes she needed for missed classes however, both of them relied on the notes from their classmates and the occasional meeting with their tutors.

It was a much quieter year for both her and Ashton, despite all the appointments and meetings for the venues and vendors. It dawned on them how much work it took to pull off the wedding that they were planning, on top of their respective school work and jobs.

It was exhausting, but they pulled it off, she’d finished top of the class, with Jen close behind her and the business side for the Irwin’s had been thriving.

Before she really knew it, she was standing in the foyer of the church, gripping her dad’s arm to stop the butterflies causing havoc through her entire body, let alone her stomach.

“You nervous sweet girl?” Her dad's tone was reassurance of all these new exciting feelings. She let out a small breath of air as she finally let it sink in that it was just Ashton waiting for her.

She was marrying her best friend.

“Excited. I still can’t believe he agreed to let you practically pay for our entire trip.” It had been a constant disagreement until her mother had sat her down and told her why her dad was doing this.

“Call it payback for you actually telling him before I could.” And she felt her jaw drop. She knew that Ashton hadn’t told him, or at least they’d suspected she’d gotten away with her slip up.

Marcus chuckled as he gently tapped under her chin, her jaw shutting with an audible snap.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” She hissed dangerously, and he grinned in return, his eyes suspiciously bright as his hand lifted, the backs of his fingers tracing down her face. She relaxed into the comforting touch almost immediately.

“You’re my child. I’ve raised you and I know you. Ashton is also mine, even though your mother didn’t bring him into the world. The two of you grew up with your mom and I as well as his parents. You might be able to fool the world sweetheart, but you can never fool your parents.”

It was another sigh before she let out a snort of laughter.

“Figures.” The key changed in the music, and the butterflies were back with reckless abandon.

“Time to get the show on the road, sweet girl. I love you and I’m proud of you.” His lips touched her forehead, and it was almost like magic that her entire body relaxed. The butterflies finally settled as they began the walk down to her future husband.

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ceratonia-siliqua · 4 years

Text

The Good Boy (winterspidershield)

So remember how I said @send-me-your-hcs and I can’t be left alone without making nasty shit? Well here is said nasty.

Ao3 Link

Summary:

After months of living with his captors, Peter's grown mostly used to the humiliating way of life that's been forced upon him, including the baby bottles.

But tonight, he can't help but notice that his bottle tastes...different.

Warnings (SPOILERS): Forced Daddy Kink, Forced Infantilism, Under/aged (Peter is 16), Non-Graphic Diaper Change, Non-Consensual Come Feeding, Affectionate Captors, Mentions of Abuse, Post Kidnapping, and most importantly DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT.

The padded walls of the crib loomed over Peter. Left over from the days he’d taken to throwing himself against bars until he was covered in bruises. He hadn’t done it in what must have been months. It made him sick to think that it had been that long. He used to know the exact number of days, had scratched them into the plaster in the playroom behind the toy box. He’d counted 74 days before Steve had found it while moving the chest after Bucky decided to reorganize the playroom. Steve had spanked his ass until it was hot and red for ruining the wall. It was filled and painted the next day. Bucky had carried him on his hip and set him on soft pillows to offset the sting, but it couldn’t alleviate the claw marks scratched across his pride. He had so little of it left these days.

The men that held him captive were moving around downstairs, he could hear the faint notes of their voices. They left him unrestrained, he was painfully aware of that fact, but he knew better. He’d tried climbing over the walls before, it didn’t end well. They had placed a cover over it to ensure he stayed in, even restrained. It had felt like sleeping in a coffin. Dadd- Bucky. Bucky had caved after the first three nights of his panicked screaming, but Steve kept it on for the week. Had upped the sedatives they gave him in exchange for taking the cover off. That, though, was months ago.

He heard Bucky coming up the stairs, knew it was him by the way his bare feet slapped lightly on the wood. Steve always wore slippers around the house before bed and had thundering footsteps, like a man on a mission, even in the privacy of his own domain. The door opened slowly. The soft tone Bucky used exclusively for him drifted into the room, Peter ignored the relief he felt hearing it. The softer of the pair, he was always gentle, had never laid a hand on Peter, though he let Steve do it plenty for the both of them.

“Daddy has your bottle for you, sweet boy,” Bucky’s head appeared over the top of the crib, his long strands of hair pulled back into a low ponytail. “We need to change you before your bottle, baby. Up we go.” Bucky had set the bottle down on the table by the crib where the baby monitor sat. Hefted Peter up under his arm pits like it was nothing. All of Peter’s 5’3 height and 100 pounds (though he suspected by the gentle little pouch he was developing on his tummy that he was more than that now. Weird to think it took being kidnapped to finally leave the underweight bracket). To be sixteen and lifted like it was nothing was humiliating, but at this point it was just another ticked box. Bucky dwarfed him. Well over six feet and all muscle, he was terrifying. Which made his husband utterly petrifying.

Bucky cradled him in the crook of his arm, cooed and kissed at his cheeks, his forehead, his nose. Laid him down on the changing table like he was made of glass. Suddenly Peter felt it. Started to tremble but couldn’t stop it. Teared up as he saw Bucky notice.

Peter’s stomach dropped as Bucky took his day pants off. Folded them and set them off to the side to be washed later. It revealed the pull-up he was wearing underneath. He sobbed, saw shit leaking around his legs. Bucky rubbed his belly, slow soothing circles.

“Shh… you’re okay Petey, it happens. Let it all out. Daddy will clean you up when you’re all done.”

Everything else he could stick in a box, could power through and tell himself it meant nothing about him if it was done to survive this. This, though, this was always too much. Usually he could feel it coming, could make it to the plastic training toilet they had for him in the bathroom. They must have given him a laxative during lunch. The bastards.

Bucky stripped the pull-up off. Tore it around the side seams so as not to get it on Peter’s legs. He cried, long and hard as Bucky grabbed his ankles and set them both over one shoulder so Peter’s butt dangled off the changing table. Trembled as Bucky pulled wipes from the warmer to clean him up. The only time Bucky ever touched his dick was when he needed to clean it and this was one of those times. The whole time his captor whispered to him, tried to soothe him. Fuck him because, god dammit, it worked. With large, gasping breaths he settled. By the time he was taped up in a diaper, he was exhausted. It was naptime anyway, but this always laid him out.

“You did so well, baby. So good for Daddy.”

Peter hiccupped in response, didn’t want to play the game right now. Was glad Steve hadn’t been in the room when it happened.

“Pete alright in there, Buck?” Speak of the devil and he shall appear.

Peter couldn’t see Bucky’s face but he could tell he was giving Steve an almost sad smile by the tilt in his shoulders. “Yeah, his bowels finally cleared out. He won’t need an enema in the morning.” Peter counted the small blessing in that. The only thing he hated more than shitting himself was an enema.

“Ah, that’s good. I was worried the poor baby was hard as a rock and we were going to need a laxative with it.” Steve stepped further into the room. Peter never looked him in the eyes, was scared it would be like challenging a wolf, only Steve was far, far worse. He’d been nice to Peter lately, but he knew how quickly that could change. He resisted the urge to flinch when he felt that callous hand settle on his belly. He knew Da--fuck, Bucky, had convinced himself he loved Peter, showed it to some degree when he held Peter, kept him out of trouble when he could easily get into it with Steve. Steve, on the other hand… He could never read him.

“I think he’s ready for bed. I’m glad we didn’t need the laxative tonight, I always worried about over doing it.” Bucky moved back towards the crib. Laid him down and put the thick quilt over him. Peter blocked out what Bucky was saying. Pretended that Bucky was lying, even though he was well aware that as cruel as the pair could be, they wouldn’t play coy talking about it like this. Sure, they lied to him, but not between each other, even when it was in front of him.

He was left in only a diaper and a T-shirt. He was too weak to pull at the diaper straps; the last dose of sedatives would wear off soon, but the husbands were strict when it came to his bottle schedule. Papa was the one to guide the bottle into his mouth, didn’t let go as Peter lifted his hands enough to settle on his chest and prop the bottle up.

He closed his eyes and took the nipple between his lips. The nipple was designed so he could bite at it without breaking it, something Peter appreciated on the days he just wanted to take a chunk out of one of the men standing over him, watching. This moment, though - this was calm. He would never admit it, but the slow drag of milk was calming, the pace was his to control, he could be as fast or as slow as he wished. Tonight, he was more in the arena of the latter.

The bottles were normal by now, something that was always without fail to happen. One would think he would die without it with the religious dedication they had to getting it to him. He had grown accustomed to the taste overtime. Peter knew Bucky made it himself out of dry milk powder and powdered vitamins and minerals, there was always a little variation because of it, but tonight, something was… wrong. There was a bitter note, a hint of something salty. It made his nose crinkle and he pulled away with a pop!

Steve attempted to press it back to his mouth but he shook his head. “Noo, tastes funny.”

“Your Daddy just needed to add something special, honey, it’s good for you. You need to drink it.”

Peter made the very mistake he knew to avoid, he looked into Steve’s eyes. Intense blue depths met his. There wasn’t the normal threat behind them, but the way he was looking at him… It was scary. He knew that the pair got their kicks out of this, they had to at least somewhat, but Steve looked like he was enjoying this. Steve’s eyes pinned him to the bed as Daddy came into view and gently nudged Steve’s hand, and the bottle, against Peter’s mouth.

“You’re okay sweetheart. You’ll get used to it. You need the boost.”

He took the nipple back into his mouth, unable to look away from Steve until the suckling slowed everything down once again, and his eyes slipped close.

—

Bucky smiled down at his little boy; smiled wider when Steve wrapped an arm around the small of his back and pulled him into his side. He sighed happily and tipped his head to rest it on his husband’s shoulder, watching as Peter obediently drank from his bottle.

Their baby was a sight to behold. Everything Bucky had ever wanted. Peter had come a long way since they first brought him home, and Bucky couldn’t be more overjoyed about it. Steve still had his doubts, but Bucky knew they wouldn’t last – especially in moments like this, when Peter’s reservation about the strange taste of his naptime bottle wasn’t enough to make him disobey.

He was learning so fast.

They had the smartest little boy in the whole world.

The sedatives they’d added to keep Peter well-behaved were already taking effect – Bucky must have added a little too much in an attempt to offset the new ingredient. The bottle was only a quarter empty, and already, Peter’s hands were losing strength; his lips could hardly retain any suction at all as sleep overcame him.

But this bottle was special.

He needed to drink it all.

“Baby,” Bucky said, leaning down and patting the boy’s tummy to rouse him. “It’s not quite naptime yet. You’re not done with your bottle.”

“You need to drink it all up,” Steve added – not unkindly, but leaving zero room for argument, like always. “Come on – eyes open, Peter. You’re not even halfway done yet.”

Peter let out a soft, grumbling complaint as he tried to blink his eyes open. The sound melted Bucky’s heart, the sight even more so. Peter lifted one hand to sleepily rub at his eyes, the other clumsily trying to keep the bottle upright. The heavy bottle slipped and slid out of his small, tired hand, rolling across his chest, but Steve caught it before it got any farther.

“I think our baby needs some help, Buck,” Steve said. Bucky smiled, ignoring the way Peter’s body had gone completely still. He took the bottle from Steve and watched as his larger, stronger husband sat their boy upright, then lifted him out of the crib and into his arms.

“Come on, Petey,” Steve said. “Let’s get the rest of Daddy’s milk into you.”

Steve carried Peter over to the plush loveseat by the bookshelf and sat, cradling Peter against his chest, his small body resting in the crook of Steve’s arm, like an infant. Peter had his hands balled up in front of him and he was shyly avoiding Steve’s gaze, but other than that, there was no sign of discomfort from their angelic little boy.

Bucky sat beside Steve and handed him the bottle. Steve took a moment to adjust Peter comfortably in his lap, supporting the boy’s neck and head with his left arm as he lifted the bottle with his right. Peter whimpered as the nipple of the bottle pressed against his lips, but Steve shushed him.

“No sleeping till you’ve had your bottle, baby. You know the rules.”

Peter’s large, tired eyes nervously flicked to Bucky. The man smiled at him and set the boy’s legs firmly in his lap so he could rub them in gentle, soothing circles.

“Listen to your papa, baby,” he softly urged. “He’s just trying to take care of you. Be a good boy now.”

A look akin to guilt washed over Peter’s face. He sucked in a shaky breath and took the nipple gently between his lips, clenching his eyes shut as he began to suckle. Steve smiled and lavished him with praise immediately, telling him how good he was, how happy he made them.

Slightly more awake now, Peter drank his milk a little faster than he had before. The bottle made quiet squelching noises as Peter suckled from it, his face crumpled in a look of disgust from the unfamiliar taste.

“I know baby. You’ll get used to it soon,” Steve promised, repeating Bucky’s words from earlier. They didn’t seem to appease the boy much, so Bucky ran his hand up the boy’s bare thighs, over his padded pull-up and underneath the hem of his shirt so he could soothingly pat his tummy.

“You’re being so good, Peter. Our perfect baby boy.” He rested his head on Steve’s shoulder once more, smiling when Peter blearily blinked up at him. “So good for us. Look at you, you’re halfway there already. See? It’s not so bad, is it? Daddy made it special, just for you.”

He reached down where Peter still had his hands curled into tight little fists against his chest. Gently, he coaxed the boy’s left hand towards him, slipping a finger into the tight curl of his fist to slowly pry it open. It didn’t completely work – Peter just grabbed his finger instead, squeezing it like a little baby python – but that was okay. As long as their baby was relying on them for comfort, it counted as a victory.

“We love you so much,” he whispered down to him, the adorable bundle of joy in his husband’s arms. “You have no idea how long we waited for you, Peter. You’re the baby boy of our dreams.”

“And you’re such a good boy for us. Especially for your daddy. Couldn’t help but turn out to be a little Daddy’s Boy, could you Pete?” Steve said, teasing him gently. “There’s no one else I’d ever share him with.”

Bucky smiled. Peter probably thought Steve only meant Bucky, but little did the boy know, Steve absolutely meant it both ways. He might not show it as much or as obviously as Bucky did, but Steve was just as taken with their wonderful little boy as he was. Peter was perfect. He was worth the wait.

The three sat together and basked in each other’s company as Peter slowly drank, forcing himself with everything he had to stay awake. When the bottle was mostly empty – and Peter was too sleepy from the sedatives to suck the last little bit out – Steve sat him up and uncapped the bottle, tilting the boy’s head up and gently placing the rim against his bottom lip. Peter tried his best to drink the milk as it was slowly poured into his mouth, but a few drops splashed and spilled down his chin.

“Messy boy,” Steve chided, though he clearly wasn’t genuinely upset. He handed Bucky the empty bottle and used his thumb to wipe away the spilled milk, scooping it up the boy’s chin, gathering it on the pad of his thumb before he gently pushed it into Peter’s mouth. Peter gave another whimper, but obediently sucked his papa’s thumb clean, groaning at the taste.

Bucky watched the smirk spread across Steve’s face. They both knew why the milk was the most bitter at the bottom. It was the same reason it was the thickest and the most viscous. Poor Peter seemed clueless as to why, but that was for the best. Their baby boy didn’t need to know the details. He just needed to be good and do as he was told.

“You were such a good boy, sweetheart,” he said, carding his fingers through Peter’s soft curls. “So good for us, drinking all your naptime milk without a fuss. You wanna sleep now?”

Peter nodded, letting go of Bucky’s finger to rub his tired eyes.

“Use your words, Peter,” Steve reminded him. His tone wasn’t overly harsh, but Peter still stopped dead. The boy swallowed thickly and quietly said, “Naptime please, Daddy,” which earned him a kiss from Steve, right on the bridge of his nose, and another from Bucky, who leaned down to plant it on his little tummy.

“Our perfect boy.”

Steve effortlessly carried their little tyke back to his crib. Bucky tucked Peter in just as he had before, smothering the boy’s sweet little face in soft kisses as Steve prepared to raise the crib’s side railing.

“Love you, baby,” Bucky said, kissing Peter gently, before standing to let Steve do the same. They closed the crib, wished the boy a good sleep, and turned the light off as they left the room.

Bucky hardly made it four steps down the hallway before Steve was spinning him around, pinning him to the wall. He laughed into the desperate kiss Steve pressed against his mouth and let his lips fall open for the other man, arms wrapping tightly around his neck.

“God, Bucky – ”

“I know,” Bucky said, quieter, so their baby wouldn’t hear. “Me too, Stevie. Fuck.”

Steve bracketed him against the wall and rutted between Bucky’s legs. Bucky held him, soothing him as he trailed one hand down his husband’s firm chest, down, down, down until he gently grasped Steve’s bulge tightening the front of his pants.

“You know, the more consistent we are with his bottles, the faster he’ll get used to them,” Bucky said, whispering it into the shell of Steve’s ear. “How about tonight, at bedtime, we give him Papa’s milk instead?” He squeezed the mound of Steve’s cock, making him moan loud, deep and guttural. If Peter was still awake, he certainly heard it. “Feels like you have a lot saved up for him, Stevie.”

Steve pulled back far enough to crash their lips together. It was hungry – starving, really. Animalistic. Bucky whined as Steve thrusted their hard cocks together, sending jolts of electricity shooting up his spine.

“Tonight, I think Peter should get both his papa’s and his daddy’s milk,” Steve said, panting from their brutal kiss. “Don’t you, Buck?”

Bucky grinned and pulled his husband closer. “The sooner we start, the more milk he’ll get.” He kissed Steve square on the lips and dropped his arms from around the man’s neck. “Lead the way.”

#winterspidershield #winterspider #Stucky #nff #peter parker x bucky barnes #peter parker x steve rogers #peter parker x bucky barnes x steve rogers #peter parker #bucky barnes #steve rogers #siliqua writes

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starstaiined · 4 years

Text

The Five Times Anne Protected Kitty (And The One Time Kitty Protected Anne.)

SUMMARY: Being six years older, Anne’s always done her best to look out for her younger cousin. (Trouble seems to follow Kat around like a lost puppy.) But as quick as people are to point out how protective Anne can be, they always seem to forget the same is true for Kitty.

TW: Sexual abuse, slut shaming, victim blaming, anxiety attack

TAGGING: @whenallthestarscollide && @whoufflewhovian200311

ONE.

Katherine hated her brothers. Okay, maybe that was a little extreme. But as they mocked her, made faces, and tugged roughly on her ponytail, it’s all the six-year-old could think. It escalated as Charlie pushed her to the ground, laughing, and she began to cry. Then, in a blaze of glorious light, her cousin entered the room. Anne, twelve at the time, was two years older than Charlie and ergo a cool kid. Or at the very least, cooler than the boys.

She surveyed the scene with narrow eyes, before sighing. “Charlie,” She started, before he interrupted her.

“It’s Charles. I’m not a kid anymore.”

“Really? Because you’re sure acting like one, Charlie.” Anne shot back with a cool smile, not missing a beat.

Charlie’s face went bright red, brow furrowing in annoyance. “No one cares what you think, Annie.” But it was almost painfully obvious that he did care.

Anne shrugged, ruffling his hair and slipping into the most condensing voice she could manage. “Oh poor baby, did I hurt your feelings? Do you want a sticker and a juice box?”

The look of indignation on Charlie’s face drew a watery laugh out of Kitty. That seemed to be the final straw. He stormed off, pulling Georgie along with him. After they disappeared, Anne helped Kitty to her feet. “Boys, am I right Kit Kat?”

Kitty nodded, hugging her older cousin’s legs and sighing. “They’re so mean sometimes.”

“Well, you don’t have to worry about them anymore, kiddo. Come on, let’s go get a juice box. Then you can tell everything I’ve missed out on recently. Because either my eyes are deceiving me, or you’re missing a front tooth.” Anne’s warm smile made Kitty feel safe. She grinned, happily rambling on as they walked hand in hand toward the kitchen.

TWO.

Anne was visiting! Katherine was fourteen now, and ever since Anne had moved last year she seemed to be spending less and less time with her favorite cousin. So these rare moments where they could just hang out were few and far between.

Kitty spent the entire day glued to Anne’s side, and the next day too. She’d stopped going into the office. In fact, she hadn’t even thought about the office in hours. (Which had to be a new record.) But her temporary bliss shattered on the third night, when a knock on the door reverberated through the house. Anne paused the game they’d been playing, carefully edging towards the door and looking at it warily. “Who’s there?”

“Francis. Francis Dereham. Katherine hasn’t been to the office in a few days, I just wanted to make sure she was okay.” Came the gruff reply.

Kat froze. She could feel her heart pounding in her chest. Oh, she’d messed up. Was he angry? He didn’t sound angry, but Francis had always been good at hiding when he was upset...

Anne had turned to look at Kat, feeling the palpable anxiety rolling off the young girl. A bad feeling formed in the pit of her stomach. “She’s fine.” Anne answered curtly, all but glaring at the door. Her discomfort increased at his reply.

“I’m glad to hear that. Would she mind coming back to the office for a few hours? It’s an emergency, we could really use her help. She’s been sorely missed.”

Anne gritted her teeth. It was nearly six, what business did a damn grown man need Kitty to do that he couldn’t handle himself?

Kat moved toward the door, head down and shoulders slumped, as if resigned to working. Before she could get a word out, however, Anne stopped her.

“Sorry Mr. Dereham, but I’m afraid she can’t go tonight.”

“And why not?” He sounded annoyed, and Kat shifted uncomfortably again.

“I’m her cousin, Anne. I don’t believe we’ve met. But I’m only in town for a few days, I wanted to spend as much time as possible with my cousin. We were just about to head out.” Anne lied smoothly, nodding her head towards the table as if asking Kat to grab the keys. Kat, although confused, complied.

Anne waited a moment for Francis to head back to his car, grumbling, before loading Kit into the family car.

They went out and got ice cream, piled high with all kinds of toppings. Anne didn’t press the Dereham issue, afraid of making Kat uncomfortable, but it would be a decision that would come back to haunt her in the future. But for that night, there was nothing but laughter and love as they fell asleep in a tangle of limbs after a night of video games and sugar.

THREE.

Kat is cowering at her seat at the table while her cousin and the rest of her family go to war. In the last week, everything had come out. Mannox. Dereham. Henry. Culpeper. She can hear her brother making a noise of disgust, yelling out some derogatory term that makes her bury her head in her hands. She’s numb. She’d told her brothers, expecting sympathy. Expecting help. But instead they’d turned their backs on her. Her father was the worst one at all, he’d screamed about how she’d ruined the family name, how he’d wished he’d never had such a whore for a daughter.

What a day for her cousin to drop in for a surprise visit. Anne had walked in amidst her uncle’s screaming, and wasted no time rising to Kitty’s defense. When she’d learned about everything, she was furious...but unlike the rest of the family, it wasn’t at Katherine. She couldn’t begin to understand why they were angry at Katherine. “She’s sixteen!” Anne all but screamed at her uncle, as if that would make him see reason. But he didn’t.

He stalked over to the table, raising his hand as if he were going to strike Kitty, and Anne grabbed his wrist roughly. Her nails dug into his flesh, and she glared at him. “Don’t. You. Dare.”

He tore his arm away, and Anne stepped in front of Kitty. “I wasted my life raising her. My money. I meant for those music lessons to help her future, meant for that office job and that internship as learning experiences. And she flushed all that down the drain. Now all I’ll ever be is the man with a slutty disgrace of a daughter. What would her mother think if she was here?” He spat, and Anne could feel her temper rising.

“Probably that you’re nothing but a sick, narcissistic prick.” Anne shot back, and both Charles and George started towards her in a fury. But Anne didn’t budge, she turned her glare on them and dared them to try anything. He uncle stopped their advances before things could unravel further.

“If you care about her so much,” He hissed, eyeing both of them unkindly, “then take her. She can be your problem. But I don’t want to see or hear from either of you again.”

Anne stared him down.

When she left that day, it was with Kat tucked under one arm and a bag of clothes under the other. In that moment, she knew she would do whatever it took to protect her cousin, and help her on her journey to recovery.

FOUR.

A few months had passed since Katherine had moved in, and finally the spare room was ready. They’d spent forever making it inhabitable. Or well, Anne did. With some help from her friend Anna, they’d added new furniture, repainted to room in bright pinks and soft silvers, and hung up portraits.

But on the first night that Kat slept in her room, Anne woke up to the sound of screaming again. She rushed to Kat’s room, shaking her awake. Kat startled, lashing out before breaking down. Anne wrapped her in a hug, smoothing down her hair and rocking back and forth. “You’re okay.” Anne whispered, as Kat’s tears soaked her shirt.

Once Kat had calmed down, Anne had helped her dry her tears. “Kit Kat, why don’t you jump in the shower? Take a breather. I’ll go make a midnight snack, and see if there’s anything good on right now.” Anne whispered, and Kat nodded.

Kat jumped in the shower, letting the damn near boiling water wash over her tense muscles, then dressed in a soft oversized sweater Anne had stolen from Anna and a pair of worn pajama pants. She padded lightly into the kitchen, where Anne was piling whipped creams on two bowls filled to the brim with strawberry ice cream.

That night, they’d chatted softly over the movie. Anne managed to coax a laugh or two out of Kitty, and finally Kitty’s eyes fluttered closed as she curled closer to her older cousin. Anne sighed, staying vigilant and making sure that the nightmares didn’t come again as Kitty drifted off to sleep.

FIVE.

It had been years, and between therapy, the support of the other queens, and the show, Katherine was thriving. She’d grown more comfortable with touch, and interacting with strangers, but just because she was doing better didn’t mean didn’t have off days.

Kat had been ansty all week, shifting uncomfortably and avoiding sleeping for fear of the nightmares. Her body ached, but she didn’t want to let the girls down. So, she prepared for the show. Note for the future: doing a show on less than four hours of sleep and while emotionally unstable, not the best of choices.

Halfway through “All You Wanna Do,” her heart rate spiked, her head replaying the worst of her memories. By the end, when she was ripping away from the other queen’s grabbing hands, she broke down. Her knees slammed into the ground, hard, and her shoulders shook with barely repressed sobs. The rest of the queens exchanged worried looks, and eventually Aragon and Cleaves moved further downstage, ad libbing some piece about teenagers these days to keep the audience’s attention while Anne helped Kitty up and off stage.

“Kit, hey, Kit Kat, look at me.” Anne whispered once they were safely hidden in the wings. Her voice had dropped down to a soft level that she only ever had when it came to Kat.

Kat complied, but her eyes were brimming with tears and unfocused. “i’m sorry,” she choked out, trembling. “I’m so sorry,” She wasn’t entirely sure what she was apologizing for. The breakdown, the concern she was causing, messing up the show...everything.

Anne’s heart cracked in her chest, and she shook her head. “You don’t have anything to be sorry for, Kit.” She wiped away the tears rolling down Kit’s face before pulling the younger girl into a hug. “It’s alright. Whatever it is, you can talk about it when you’re ready. We’re all here to listen. Until then, just tell us what you need.”

“A hug.” Kat whispered back, nearly inaudible. But Anne heard, she always did. She wrapped her arms around her younger cousin until Kat had calmed down. They reentered with enough time to do the last song together, and afterwards Kat was buried in hugs from the rest of the queens. (In fact, Jane managed to produce some chocolate, much to the youngest queen’s delight.)

SIX.

Anne hated boys who didn’t know the meaning of the word no. They turned up far too often at parties for her liking. And just because she was used to the shit they pulled didn’t make it any less infuriating.

She’d been trying to tell this guy for an hour to fuck off — in fact, she’d flat out told him to do exactly that — but her refused to leave her the hell alone. She was about five seconds from tearing this prick a new one, but a voice from across the table made her had snap up.

Kat. She’d been sitting quietly the entire time, shifting uncomfortably more than once. (Parties weren’t really her scene, she was here because the rest of the girls were.) “She said she’s not interested, can’t you take a hint?”

“What’s wrong, gorgeous, you jealous?” The boy turned to face the girl who’d spoken, smile not dropping for a second as he scanned her up and down.

And Anne had to resist the sudden urge to smash her bottle over his head. When he’d been harassing her, he’d been an annoyance. But if he messed with Kitty, that was crossing a line.

But to her surprise, Kitty didn’t back down. In fact, she STOOD UP. While she was no means physically imposing, something about her stance made her look ten feet tall. She stalked over, ignoring his comment. Her dark eyes glittered like moonlight off broken glass, just as baleful as they were bewitching. The air in the room came to a standstill as she spoke, the words slow and menacing. “She said, leave. her. alone.”

The man instinctively took a couple steps back, almost cowering. He tried to puff up his chest but it failed horribly, and he quickly mumbled an excuse about a friend calling and all but booked it to the entrance.The second he disappeared from view, the adrenaline faded and Kat collapsed in on herself like a pile of playing cards. She had stood up to a stranger. Oh God, she had gotten close enough that he could’ve touched her….that thought steals her breath and her heart rate begins to spike.

Before she could panic too much, Anne pulled her into a quick hug before getting her to sit down. “Kit Kt, that was amazing! You looked, like, actually intimidating. If I didn’t know you, I would have been terrified. You spooked that poor bloke out of his pants....but he deserved it. Where did that come from??”

Kat shrugged, taking a shaky breath. “I just...reacted. He wouldn’t leave you alone, and I felt...I felt like I had to do something.”

Anne ruffled her hair affectionately, while Kat let out an indignant squeak. “My hero.” Anne laughed, pulling Kat to her feet and slinging an arm around her shoulders. “I think this is cause for celebration. What do you say we sneak out of here and raid the candy store before Jane can stop us?”

#beheaded cousins #anne boleyn #katherine howard #six the musical #six the musical fanfic #(finally got this done jnejenw)#(some parts im still iffy on but i tried)#(also kat can be downright terrifying when she wants/needs to be ... but she still baby)#x. ʏᴏᴜ ᴍᴀᴋᴇ ᴍᴇ ғᴇᴇʟ ʟɪᴋᴇ ɪ ᴀᴍ ʜᴏᴍᴇ ᴀɢᴀɪɴ. ( boleyn + howard. )

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etherealwaifgoddess · 4 years

Text

More Time - Chpt.16

Summary: In the wake of Bucky’s accident another unexpected hurdle is thrown into their lives. Stronger together than apart, the three grow closer as they face this new reality together. Master list can be found HERE.

Warnings/ Content: A little angsty, lots of feels.

Word Count: 2.9k

Author’s Note: I’m so sorry for that last cliff hanger, lovelies! I really am. Be patient though, we need to get through the woods in this chapter so our three main characters can move forward in their lives together. XOXO - Ash

Chapter Sixteen

So they waited. Neither Steve nor Emma was willing to leave the ICU waiting room so they alternated between sitting huddled together on an assortment of love seats and sofas, and pacing around the room. Pepper, Happy, Bruce, and Helen all urged them to consider getting some sleep or a shower or a decent meal but it fell on deaf ears. What sleep they got was leaning on each other in their seats. The food they picked at with disinterest was from the vending machine or what someone brought them. Steve would tell Emma stories from their childhood, good memories he had of Bucky when they were young, before the war started. Sometimes he’d get so lost in a particular memory his eyes would glass over and he’d trail off mid-sentence, the rest of his words caught by the lump in his throat. Emma told Steve about all the nights Bucky had come to visit her solo at Matty’s. How his smile had charmed her even when she had tried to ignore it. The way he was so easy to talk to because he genuinely listened and cared about what she had to say.

For two days they waited, the time passing feeling both too long and non existent. It was like they were trapped in the same moment in an infinite loop, frozen in time by their fear. The only thing keeping them from completely falling apart was the comfort they drew from one another’s presence. The one time when Emma had run off to the bathroom Steve looked around the empty waiting room realizing if it weren’t for her, he would have been all alone there waiting for Bucky to wake up. The pain in his chest doubled and he pushed past the thought, unable to think about how unbearable that would have been. And if Steve had clung to Emma a little harder after she returned, she didn’t mention a thing.

It was Bruce who came to get them after Bucky woke up. It was like a dam breaking as soon as the words were out of his mouth. Tears streamed from both their faces anew, relief and joy washing over them in waves. Steve started asking Bruce questions but he told them that they didn’t know much yet. Helen and the other doctors were busy running a series of tests and scans now that he was awake. They wouldn’t know much until the doctors had the results. As much as the pair wanted to see him right away, Bruce made them slow down as he led them back to Bucky’s room so that the doctor’s had time to finish up.

A tall, grey haired man came out of Bucky’s ICU room to let them know the scans were complete and they were free to go in. His only request was that they go easy on Bucky who was not entirely out of the woods yet. Steve and Emma nodded in unison, eager to get in Bucky’s room no matter what. When they finally were allowed through the large white doors it was like they could finally breathe again.

Bucky was reclining in a large white hospital bed, IV’s coming out of his right arm. His left was removed, sitting off on the far side of the room in a case for safe keeping. They had cleaned him up a bit but his hair was still disheveled and his beard had grown out a bit to the point where it was a proper beard, not just the scruff he usually kept it as. The bruises hadn’t all faded and he looked paler than usual, deep purple-blue crescents under his eyes.

“Buck.” Steve choked out, his voice breaking.

Bucky looked over at Steve, his brow furrowed, “I’m sorry,” he said, “Do I know you?”

Emma felt like she’d been punched. She barely got her arms around Steve as he started to collapse.

“Stevie no!” Bucky cried, eyes wide. “Shit, I was kidding!” he tried to scramble out of the hospital bed but two nurses immediately put their hands on his shoulders to keep him down.

“Fucking punk.” Steve panted. He pulled his inhaler out from his pants pocket and took two long puffs with shaking hands.

Emma was caught between wanting to hug Bucky and smack him. “You can’t do that to us!” she scolded him.

Once Steve was steady on his feet and breathing better, he and Emma made their way over to Bucky who gave them each a one armed hug, letting them hang on as long as they needed. He apologized to them both repeatedly for his ill-timed attempt at humor. They talked with the doctors for a while once they returned from the lab. Bucky would be okay, his brain scans were all fine, the bruises were healing, he just needed to wait out the break in his leg and be careful around the stress fractures along a few of his ribs on his right side. His right leg was going to be in a cast from his hip to his ankle for at least a month, maybe longer, and then he’d probably still need a brace after that for a little while. It was hard to gauge his healing ability but a normal person would be looking at six months in a cast and then a long road of physical therapy. Bucky was dreading every moment of his recovery.

After he woke up the hospital only kept him another day for observation before Steve and Emma were allowed to take him home. They were all restless by the time they got the all clear and couldn’t wait for a decent meal and their own bed. Emma had taken time off from the bar, letting them know there had been a family emergency and she would be out for a little while. She was thankful for her saved up vacation time and her savings account. Nothing was more important than being there for Bucky and Steve at that point.

Bucky was forced into a wheelchair to leave the hospital despite vehement protesting. It was policy, super soldier or not. At least they let him put his arm back on when he had gotten dressed. The trio felt, and looked, pretty grungy as they blinked against the midday sun; seeing the outside the world for the first time in three days. The sidewalk was packed with people. Some holding signs of well wishes and others holding cameras and microphones. Steve and Emma helped Bucky into the back of the car while Happy did his best to shoo the reporters away. The hospital staff intervened, making the crowd disperse so they could safely navigate the car out and away. It was frustrating but Steve and Bucky just sighed, resigned to the fact that this was life in the public eye. Avengers didn’t always have the luxury of peace and quiet.

Bucky sat between Steve and Emma, wincing every so often when the car bounced over a pothole. It wasn’t a terribly long drive but it was enough to wear Bucky out and they got him into their enormous bed as soon as they got home.

Emma offered to call in a food order and Steve was doing damage control with Pepper over the phone. He understood that the public was worried about Bucky and wanted to know how he was doing, that was okay. What worried him were the photos. The world didn’t know what had happened in Bruce’s lab yet and he was reluctant to have the news break just yet. He liked living in relative anonymity now that he was back in his smaller body. No one stopped him on the streets anymore, he could come and go as he pleased. He knew it was only a matter of time but he just wasn’t ready yet. Pepper promised to do her best but let him know that it was likely already circulating.

It only took an hour for the news to hit the internet. An hour after that, it was on TV. Pepper called apologizing but Steve knew she had done her best. There would need to be a press statement released. Steve gave her the okay to give a blanket “we’ll do an interview soon” statement and they would have a trusted reporter come to the apartment soon for an interview that could be taped and aired later. Steve was used to seeing the best and worst of humanity, he was still considered a hero and a criminal in turns. What he didn’t expect was for Emma to get drug into their mess. A few of the reporters had snapped pictures of her with them, the affection between all three clear as day. Stories circulated, most painting ugly scandals but some just asking “who is the mystery woman”.

Bucky came limping out on his crutches to find Emma and Steve sitting together and watching the news, their hands tightly entwined. “What’s going on?” he asked, his voice filled with concern.

Steve jumped at the sound of his voice, not having realized he was up out of bed. “Oh, you know, the news.” Steve tried to play it off but Emma’s stricken face told the whole story.

Bucky could easily guess what happened. He saw the reporters at the hospital as they were leaving and he was well accustomed to being smeared in the media. “They saw you didn’t they. They know.” he guessed.

Steve nodded, “Yeah, they know. I couldn’t hide forever.”

Bucky crutched over to join him, sitting on Steve’s side to wrap an arm around the smaller man. “It’ll be okay. It’ll be in the news for a while but it’ll die down eventually.”

“They got pictures of us, and Emma. There’s… There’s a lot of speculation about the three of us. Especially about you and I.”

“Well, we figured that would get out eventually anyway. It’s not like we’ve hidden what we are to each other since I got out of cryo.”

“We’ve never confirmed anything either though. And now Emma is wrapped up in this too. They’re making it sound like we’ve abducted her into some type of polygamist cult.”

“Hey!” Emma protested, “I don’t care what they’re saying in the news. I knew the risk I was taking the minute we agreed to give this relationship a try.”

“But you shouldn’t have t-”

“Nope, stop it right now Steve. I knew what I was risking. And you’re worth it. You’re both worth it. I wouldn’t give a minute of what we have just because some online bullies think what we’re doing is wrong.”

Bucky was grinning ear to ear watching Emma’s temper flare. She was so brave even in the face of their quiet little world exploding around them. He knew then that she’d be fine no matter what the outside world threw at them. Bucky had to let himself give her the same trust that he gave Steve. “So what do we do next then?” he asked.

Steve still looked torn but continued with a small huff. He was a master strategist, after all, and the moves were the same dealing with the media as they were in a war zone. “Well, we have to get a head of this thing before it blows out of proportion. If you’re feeling up to it we’ll get Diane from NBC to come over tomorrow and do an interview. We show them that you’re alive and well, talk about our plans for your recovery, make it abundantly clear that yes we are together and that Emma is a new addition to our lives. We’ll have to address my lack of serum somehow but we’ll be vague and keep the conversation moving. Pepper will make sure we control the dialogue so we can get the right message across the way we want it.”

“That sounds like a plan.” Bucky agreed.

“I need to run home and get some clothes if I’m going to be on TV.” Emma told them nervously.

“You don’t have to be on TV unless you want to be. We can confirm you exist without giving up your identity.” Steve offered, giving her one last out.

Emma shook her head, “No, I’m in this now. I won’t sit in the shadows and let you two do this alone. I just never thought I’d be on TV. It seems kinda daunting.”

“You get used to it.” Bucky shrugged.

Emma couldn’t imagine ever getting used to it but she knew she would manage with the guys by her side.

xxXxx

Bucky was like a whole new person the next morning after a full night’s rest and a few good meals. The shower helped the most, though he hated having to let Steve and Emma wrap his leg in a garbage bag so he could go in. He tried to be as self sufficient as he could but Emma and Steve were like a pair of mother hens fussing over him. A small part of him enjoyed letting them fuss, it was sweet and who would complain about being loved on by the two most amazing people in the world? It was love, he knew it for certain. They hadn’t said the words to Emma yet but the feeling was there. It was unmistakable in the little looks she and Steve gave each other as they moved around the kitchen cooking breakfast, the way she insisted on taking care of Bucky’s hair for him so it would be shiny and nice on TV, the sweet words of apology she gave General when she had to move his cat condo to make room for the camera crews equipment. Spoken or not, the love was there and he was going to make sure she knew it sooner rather than later.

Diane Hastings showed up at their apartment at eleven o’clock on the dot. She was a statuesque whirlwind of polished professionalism but who often let them drive the conversation in interviews. She was a bright woman who knew when to push and when to back off, happy to get exclusive interview rights even if it meant she had to bite her tongue from time to time.

Steve greeted her warmly, welcoming them into their home. She raised a perfectly manicured eyebrow when Steve said “our home” but didn’t ask. Bucky stayed put on the sofa, as much as it pained him to be impolite he knew the interview would be draining and wasn’t going to push himself. Diane was solicitous asking if he was comfortable and letting him know if they needed to stop or move to a different spot they could. She didn’t quite know what to make of Emma but she was polite, shaking her hand and making small talk. It was clear questions were flying through her head but Diane, ever the professional, kept them to herself.

Steve was seated between Bucky and Emma, holding each of their hands in his own. They could do this, together. With one last long look between the three of them the cameras started rolling and started the chain of events that would change all of their lives irrevocably.

xxXxx

The interview aired at 6pm that night after a few rounds of editing by the station’s crew and representatives for Steve and Bucky. It was condensed into a ninety minute broadcast despite taping much longer. They had mixed feelings about watching but agreed it was good to see how it played out after the editing. The three of them curled up on the sofa together in their usual spots sharing an assortment of Chinese food right out of the cartons. It was better than they expected in the end. The world was going to be a very different place for all three of them, for better or worse.

The world knew Bucky would be out of commission for a few months until he was healed enough to return to work full time. He gave a moving call for aid to help the areas impacted by the earthquakes. It was explained that Steve’s serum was gone and it was permanent. They skated around the issue by claiming the details were classified. They spoke about their lives together and their joy about having moved back to Brooklyn. Diane was smiling with genuine happiness for them when Bucky confirmed that yes, he and Steve were in love and had been for a very long time. They clarified that he was bisexual while Steve was pansexual. Emma was brought into the conversation at that point, the three of them sharing an abridged version of how they’d met. Both men were impressed with how poised and composed Emma stayed under the scrutiny of the video cameras. She was well spoken and witty, making sure the world understood that they were just like any other couple trying to live their lives quietly together. They all knew there would be more questions but for now it was enough. Pepper could release statements as needed after that.

Steve and Bucky’s phones lit up with congratulations from their friends shortly after the interview ended and Emma was surprised a few of her friends sent her well wishes too. It was a strange feeling having her life on display for the world but she was more than willing to deal with it if it meant she was able to stay together with her guys.

Tag list lovelies: @godofplumsandthunder @remilupin22 @supraveng @hiddles-rose

If anyone wants added or removed please lmk!

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sara-scribbles · 4 years

Text

Fae (Part 2)

Pairing: Ulquiorra/Orihime (UlquiHime) Theme: First Glance or Desire Word Count: 1,468

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7

@ulquihimeweek

From then on Ulquiorra sneaks into the woods to meet her. She’s always there when he comes. She talks about plants and how beautiful they are. She describes their medical properties and symbolism. She discusses her brother, who is busy with other things, so she’s often alone. She talks for the both of them as he often keeps quiet.

Sometimes he does talk about himself. He tells her how he moved to the remote village because of his parents. He doesn’t tell her about them or why they made him move. He mentions how his grandmother knits for everyone. He talks about his favorite books and promises to bring one to read with her. He explains color theory to her as best as an eleven year old can.

Other times he brings his sketchpad and charcoal with him. He draws the various plants she points out. Sometimes when she’s not looking he’ll sketch small drawings of her. Of course he keeps those drawings a secret and won’t let her look past certain pages. She’s fascinated by his drawings. Even more so, she’s intrigued when he shows her his watercolor work. Her compliments bring a warm flush to his face. She’s sincere in her praise; it’s easy to tell.

As seasons come and go, Ulquiorra spends his time with this strange girl. His grandmother continues to keep an eye on him. However her scrutiny relaxes when she notices that he’s happier. Winter passes and he’s unable to visit her as often. However the few times he does see her, he teaches her the joys of building snowmen. Things he decided were too childish for him, he does with her.

Soon the twelve year old boy is sixteen. And things change once more.

~o~O~o~

Summer brings the humid and suffocating heat. Ulquiorra spends as much time as he can in the shade. His fair skin burns easily in the sun. The grass is cool under his bare feet as he walks through the silent forest. His satchel bumps against his side. His black hair has grown a bit too long for his liking. He’s gathered it, as best as he could, into a small ponytail. A lot of hair still hangs around his face. Pant legs rolled up, he wades through a shallow river.

Finally he comes to his destination. A small clearing in an otherwise tree populated forest. A large tree provides shade as he sets his bag down.

He ignores the the ring of mushrooms in the center of the clearing. Logically they could be poisonous and who knows what kind of animals were there before. However, a small part of his mind, which sounds much like his grandmother, warns of another reason to stay away. Ever since Hime showed him this area, they made it into their usual meeting place.

He leans against the tree and closes his eyes. His white shirt clings to him as the humidity is still strong. Even the forest with its thick trees and foliage can only do so much. He can hear the river in the distance. School has been keeping him busy, so he hasn’t seen her in a while. Somehow she seems to know when he’s coming to see her. Perhaps he should be more wary about her. Yet his logical mind tells him not to worry. She’s just another girl.

Standing up again, he stretches. Dark green eyes wander back to the mushroom circle. His grandmother warned him to stay away from those. She always said never to step into one or risk being taken to the fae realm never to return. Ulquiorra scoffs at the memory. His grandmother is just another superstitious fool.

His vision is blocked out as two hands covering his eyes. “Guess who!” Her voice is filled with mirth

His mouth pulls down into a frown. “Release me.” The hands are gone in an instant. He turns to her, ready to scold her for her childish games, but his words are caught in his throat.

Her copper hair is much longer than he remembers. It sweeps down almost to her waist. Turquoise colored flowers adorn either side of her head as usual. Her eyes still hold that familiar spark of curiosity. There’s fondness in there as well. She wears a sleeveless dress of yellow-green. Flowers are dotted here and there, and her feet are bare. Yet there’s something he can’t describe that makes her more radiant than usual.

“You’re no fun, Ulqui!” She pouts, which just draws more attention to her lips.

He turns away from her. “Saying “guess who” is ridiculous when we are the only ones out here.” He sits under the tree again and pulls out his sketchbook and charcoal. She follows and sits next to him.

“Hmm...I guess you’re right.” She wiggles her toes. “I missed you. Do you enjoy your classes?”

He flips through the sketchbook. “They’re okay. Nothing is really much of a challenge. Though the commute can be too long.”

Having to travel to the closest town for school meant he had to get up early. The only transportation left at six. He would come back home by eight and just do his work while having dinner. Even on the days he didn’t have classes, he spent a lot of time studying. His grandmother encouraged him to study hard so he could get a good job. His parents hadn’t sent a word to him since he had arrived. However there was always money sent to them the first of the month. School left little time for him to visit her, so summer vacation is a welcome time.

“What’s that?” She points at one of his watercolor works.

“It’s the town center near my school. They usually change the flowers every month.” This month they have sunflowers. They add a brightness to the area. The fountain in the middle has been turned on from the start of spring. Many students spend their lunch times there, Ulquiorra being one. Most lunch times are spent drawing what is around him or studying for classes.

“How interesting. Though I prefer flowers in their natural habitat. I guess there is something beautiful about how fleeting picked flowers are…” She trails off in thought. Leaning closer to him, she inspects the drawing with deep concentration.

Her hair brushes against his face. She smells of something floral and earthy. Again, his heart beats a bit faster. He has the sudden urge to run his hands through her hair. Her locks look so silky, he wonders if they feel just as such.

These sudden and strange urges to be closer to her started a while ago. He denies his growing attraction to her because he just can’t comprehend his feelings. Ulquiorra has sworn off any feelings like this because all they have caused are problems since he was young. Yet he feels closer to her than anyone in his life.

She moves away causing him to break from his internal musings. “You have an amazing eye for color and detail, Ulqui.”

“Thank you…” She smiles at him with unabashed wonder.

Without thought he reaches out and gently runs his hands through the ends of her hair. They are as smooth as he imagined. He pauses as he looks at her. Her cheeks are stained a light pink.

“You’re...beautiful,” he mumbles. His complement makes her face tinge a bit darker. Brushing loose strands behind her ear, he leans closer. Sketchbook and charcoal forgotten, his gaze falls to her lips.

Everything is silent and still. She doesn’t move away as she watches him beneath her half-lidded eyes. Cupping the side of her face, he leans closer. Her eyes flutter shut as his lips barely brush against her own. He pulls away a bit before leaning down to kiss her fully.

He kisses her gently, afraid to scare her away. Yet when she threads her fingers through his hair, pulling the small ponytail out, he presses for more. His lips glide against hers before he gently nips her lower lip. She opens her mouth eagerly to let his tongue slip in.

Somehow she slides onto his lap. Both his hands cup her face as his tongue explores her mouth. She’s sweet like nothing he’s ever tasted. Finally he pulls away to catch his breath. She’s breathing just as heavily as he is. He presses his forehead against her own as he stares into her eyes. Her pupils are blown wide with desire and she looks ready to devour him. He wonders if he looks just the same. He wants to draw her like this.

“Hime, I-”

There’s a sharp cry and gasp of horror that makes them pull away. His grandmother and a few of the male villagers stare at them from the clearing.

#ulquihime #ulquihimeweek2019 #ulquihime week #UHweek2019 #ulquiorra x orihime #ulquiorra cifer #orihime inoue #bleach imagines #scenario

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imagineclaireandjamie · 5 years

Text

Flood my Mornings: Found

I know, right??? Thank you for bearing with me while I’ve taken a wee ten month sabbatical! And thank you, too, for dropping in every now and again to remind me of how much you love this story. It means the world! - With love, Mod Bonnie

This story takes place in an AU where Jamie travels through the stones two years after Culloden and finds Claire and his child in 1950 Boston.

FMM Master List

Previously: Hectic

Found

Early December, 1952

“Hey, Mummy?”

“Yes, pumpkin?”

“Um! Why come—”

“How....”

“—How come my hairs is all gray in all tha’ pictures?”

One grammar victory at a time.

“Cameras only can show things in black and white. Ours, anyway.”

Taking pictures was always great fun; poring over them once they’d come back from the developer, a joy, particularly coupled with Jamie’s still-sharp wonder in their implicit magic. Actually following through with organizing them into albums, though? A bloody-hateful chore I’d managed to put off for nearly a year, this time. The red album already held Ian’s first six months or so, but most of his subsequent life had accumulated in lazy shoeboxes and (better late than never) now lay scattered around Bree and me in a shiny arc on the living room floor.

“Wouldn’t them—those pictures be better if it was all the right ones?” She popped up from hands and knees to shove a fistful of ginger curls toward me. “The good colors?”

“Absolutely! Maybe someday.”

She nodded once, satisfied. “You should go tell them to.”

“Tell who?”

Shrug. “Camera people.”

“I’ll write Mr. Kodak right away.”

“Good. Which picture’re we doin’ next?”

“Hmmm....” It came out more like a ‘heeeeeee’, since I was grinning with complete, albeit exhausted joy at my unstoppable eldest.

“How ‘bout THIS one?” She came up with a snapshot from the Fernacre Halloween party this year: Jamie beaming as he held Ian securely atop Kugel, one of the newer horses.

“Oh,” I moaned, heart squeezing as I held the photo next to the page showing Ian at four months, fuzzy-headed and drooling happily with his hands clapped together. “Bree, when did my tiny baby become a grown-up boy?”

“He izzzz a baby, Mummy.”

“Well, yes, but....”

But oh lord, to see his infant photos again, compared with the walking, sometimes-talking little man across the house! Where had all the baby fat gone? When had the generic softness of his features been replaced with cheekbones and Jamie’s dimpled chin?! Jesus H. Christ, it made me want to curl up and sob for days and then get down to business making another one. (Except, no, absolutely not).

“He IS a real baby,” Brianna was saying, with a sass that spilled over into guilty-glee: “He still poopies in his pants!”

“Touché, lovey,” I giggled along with her, rifling through our pile to make sure I hadn’t missed any from Ian’s birthday. “OH! This is pure Ian, right here, don’t you think??”

This was from just last week, from the packet Jamie had picked up on his way home yesterday. No special occasion: just our sweet, sweet boy standing in the doorway to the back garden, beaming with a magnetic smile even as he shyly resisted any coaxing to come out, blanket over his shoulder and pressed comfortingly against his cheek.

Somehow, he alone had managed to miss the gene for curly hair. His was still thick, though, brown and unruly as mine, with a tendency to poke up in little cowlicks every time you turned your back (and good bloody luck to anyone that tried to come at him with a comb and triggered a caterwauling to wake the dead). His eyes—dark honey—were slanted, seeming even more so as he grinned at the camera. So like Bree and yet so much his own.

Resemblance wasn’t the only difference between my little ones, for Ian was less tempestuous than Brianna, to say the very least. Whereas she had seemed to exit the very womb inclined to speak (or howl) her mind with a fierce, vocal confidence in herself, Ian Fraser was a more subtle charmer. He got what he wanted by lavishing snuggles and carefully-placed puppy-dog eyes on his target, speaking his few words when necessary, but usually content to wheedle in his own way, or else let Bree do the talking for him.

His own unique spirit, I marveled, running my thumbs against the glossed edges. Bree was, in a word, intense; her brother..... what? More shy by contrast, absolutely, but I’d always hated the milquetoast connotations of that word. He wasn’t at all skittish or morose; when in his element, he could be as boisterous as she, and if he sometimes preferred to play by himself in a group of friends, it always seemed to be by choice, not exclusion. In fact, I’d observed that he even spoke more when on his own, when he was absorbed in organizing a Gathering of the cuddly toys, or making tiny stick-villages in the garden, narrating his playtime in a mixture of English, Gaelic, and (the vast majority) Toddler. It was only when someone was watching that he would flash them a sheepish grin and start keeping his thoughts to himself.

No, see, Ian’s quieter nature bespoke something beneath it, something that always struck me as remarkably developed and complex for a child of his age. Cunning, I’d call it, or some deep, satisfied knowing—slyness, in the best way! His twinkling eyes often seemed to so, so sweetly say, ‘You can’t make me do what you want, Mummy, but I sure do enjoy watching you try!’ A strain of the MacKenzies, I thought, not for the first time.

“Hey-Mummy?” My little Fraser had her brows scrunched up as though contemplating murder, poring over the blue album from the shelf under the coffee table. “I dinna remember this pictures.”

“Those are of you as a baby,” I grinned, “so you were too small to remember.”

“Well....then...Da! He must—!” She nodded, full of budding conviction. “He remembers a whole, whole-lot, then, cause he’s really big!”

"Ah—” My lips hurt as little fizzles escaped from between them. “You’re not wrong, smudge.”

“Uh-huh, I know.”

She had flipped open to the middle of the album, to a series of snowy shots taken when she was...what...sixteen months old? We had gone sledding for the first time, and Ms. Byrd had captured the fleeting joy of it so perfectly. Little Bree’s jack-o-lantern teeth bared in glee above her muffler, the point of her elf-bonnet tickling my chin. My own hat had flown off into the wind, curls a blurry cloud above us.

She turned the pages to the left, going back in time. Cackles erupted at the images from her first birthday, elbows and eyebrows deep in chocolate cake, then she straightened gravely at the evidence of some of her exuberant early steps. “Was I walkin’ as good as Ian?” she dared me.

“Very well! Though he did start sooner.”

“Hey-Mummy?”

I inhaled through a secret, tired smile. Eighteen hundred times a day. At least. “Yes, Bree?”

“Hey-Mummy, where’s Da?”

“Putting Ian to bed.” I glanced at my watch. “Which means you, sweet pea, need to get your pajamas on, and—”

“NO, where is he in heee-rrrrre?” She lifted the album, glaring. “Where I was the baby?”

My jaw was open as though I’d started to say something. If only I knew what it might have been. Maybe then I’d know what came next.

“See-look,” she insisted, turning the thick pages of the other album and pointing emphatically.

Jamie, showing Ian around the house on the first day he’d come home with us .

Ian, in my arms in the hospital bed with Jamie at my shoulder, smiling down at us with Bree on his lap.

She thunked the album down, half on top of the other, contrasting the very first family photos I possessed: just the two of us, meeting one another in the morning light of that lonely, heavenly hospital room. “Where’s the Da-ones for me, Mummy?”

“Da…he...”

Damn it.

“....He wasn’t there when you were a baby.”

Brianna blinked twice, and her eyes went fierce as she cocked her head. “Wasn’t?”

“No. He wasn’t.”

“Why wasn’t he?”

“He was away at—at the war when you were born.”

Seeing the questions stacking up behind her eyes, I tried to explain, though my blood was thudding in my ears. “You know how Miss Della’s beau Peter is a soldier? And how he has to be away in Korea? That's like where Daddy was, too. He…” My voice cracked a little. “He was away, and didn’t get to meet you until you were Ian’s age.”

“Da was-not away!” Bree insisted, though her eyes were wide, unaccustomed doubt creeping in.

“He was, though, darling,” I whispered. “You don’t remember because you were still very little when he came back.”

I turned the pages slowly, past those scattered glimpses of our early days, when we were the Randalls, then the Beauchamps. “Da was—” Goddamn it, what was the bloody story? “—captured, and we were told he died.”

I thought she hadn’t heard me. I cleared my throat and started to repeat myself, more audibly this time, but I glanced down and my heart clenched so hard the tears broke through. For, my little warrior’s face had completely fallen to despair. “....Daddy died?”

“No! No, no, no, sweetheart, he didn’t, but he was….lost....for a long time.”

She sucked in a breath, almost a gasp, all trace of fierceness gone as she searched my face. “Was he scared?”

I could only nod, the tears stinging, squeezing the walls of my throat. “But, one day, he did come back. He found us and he got to meet you. His wee lassie. See?”

Jamie, on our second wedding day, so very thin in his suit, but glowing as he held little Bree in his arms, looking down at her with unrestrained, awestruck tenderness.

“You made him — make him — so happy, lovey,” I whispered, pulling her close onto my lap and against my heart as I turned the page.

The two of them, stretched out on this very couch, both their mouths open as they slept, her cheek smushed cozily against his chest.

I pressed my own cheek against her head. “He’d loved you the whole time he was lost. Getting to finally meet you was....” I flipped over to Ian’s first photos, pointing to Jamie. “Just like how happy he was here, when he met baby Ian for the first time.”

“Mummy....I dinna—” Her voice was choked, tears streaming as she whispered: “I dinna w-want Da to be lost when I w-was Ian.”

“Ohh, love, sweetheart, I—”

The door from the kitchen opened. “Alright, Bree, your turn for—”

“DA!”

By long instinct, he dropped to a crouch to let her run, sobbing, into his arms. “Christ, what's this, then, cub?” He rubbed her back, coaxing brightly to ease her worries, his expert skill. “Heyyy, lass, there, now.....Dinna be troubled so, wee love—tell me what’s amiss.”

She couldn’t say anything coherent at first, but at last, she choked it out. “I dinna want—y-you to b-be—lost again!”

“I’m no’ lost, Brianna,” he nearly laughed. “I’m here, see? Safe and—”

“Mu—Mummy said you were dead and l-lost when I was littlest and–I don't—dinna—w-want—you—to—ever— ”

“Och, no, lass,” he moaned at once as he pulled her tight against his chest and rose to his feet, his eyes meeting mine with an understanding that ached in us both as he saw the tracks of my own tears. “Never. Not ever.”

He swayed with her for a very long time as she sobbed into his shoulder. His eyes were closed and I could barely hear what he murmured into her hair:

“That was the saddest time of my whole life, mo chridhe....�� In Gaelic: ‘I'll never be parted from ye again...nor your mother... nor Ian…...I swear it.’

“She’s truly growing up, then,” Jamie whispered, softly rubbing Brianna’s back where she lay curled up asleep on the sofa behind us. “That she can feel things so in her heart…..” He turned from her to lean fully against the bottom cushions, resting his arms on his knees. “It makes me want to weep, Sassenach. All the sadness that awaits them in the world....That I could keep all of it at bay.”

“Will we ever tell them differently?”

His head swiveled around, surprised. “Tell them what, mo ghraidh?”

“The truth.” The word was a ball of ice in my stomach. “About....everything. The stones... How we met. Who you really are.”

“I confess....I had assumed we never would tell them.”

“When it was only me and Bree, I had thought...well, it was a vague thought, only....but I assumed someday she would know. Now, though....it doesn’t seem as simple, somehow.”

“Aye.” His chest rose and fell heavily as he ran a hand backward through his hair. “In truth, ‘tis indeed a weight on my heart to think that they might never know all the dear memories—only the wee fragments, disguised as they must be.”

About Lallybroch. Jenny and Ian. All their little cousins. Murtagh. Brian and Ellen. Names the children knew, but only a surface-version; a bedtime story about people in a faraway land who were now lost; no more real than any other; far less so, with no photographs or brightly-colored illustrations to prove those people had existed.

Still more....might they never know what their father did for them at Culloden? Of the sacrifice and pain we both chose on that day?

“But we must bear it, no?” he was saying sadly, even as a half-hope grew in his eyes.

“How can they ever truly know us, Jamie,” I said, “understand us without knowing where we’ve been? What we’ve been through?” I thought of my own parents, shrouded in so much mystery, so much not known; unknowable, now.

“Perhaps...when they’re older? When they might be trusted to keep such a big secret, we might tell them. Though....” he considered. “They might both be fully grown before t’would be the right time for such a—"

“And yet, that’s the other side of the coin.” I hated this; scolded myself for being the devil’s advocate of cloying gloom. “It’s like adopted children that aren’t told until adulthood. If we wait so long, won’t they resent us for keeping such a monumental thing from them? The truth of who they are and how they came to exist?” My eyes must have looked as hopeless as Bree’s. “What do you think we should we do?”

A pause, then his mouth twitched in a weak attempt at a smile. “I wish I kent the certain path, Claire. I do.” Any light in his eyes ebbed. “In truth, we rob them — and ourselves, forbye — of something dear no matter the choice, aye?”

It might have lingered, the worry. It might have been a cloud over us throughout the fallen night. Instead, our eyes met and we softened in unison. He leaned his forehead against mine, pulling me closer to kiss my cheek. Many years stood between us and that day, should it ever even come.

I was about to rest my head on his shoulder, but a photo caught my eye, right there by my ankle.

It was barely in focus, fully half the image a diagonal, black nothingness, a childish finger covering the lens. Still, it had been captured at precisely the right moment, before Jamie or I had had time to react.

Both of us were in pajamas in front of the stove, my hair an absolute wreck (though, when was it not?), the cup of tea in my hand in serious danger of slopping over the side, since Jamie had me by the waist and was working to pull me close. His head was bent to my neck, his grin sweet and roguish, though his eyes were hidden. Mine were closed and my head was thrown back, as though no other damn thing in the world mattered but the moment’s silly joy.

I cradled it between us and spoke the simplest version of the ache within me.

“I’m so happy you’re not lost anymore.”

#;mod Bonnie #Flood my mornings #FMM Chapter 72

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themockingcrows · 5 years

Text

Familiar Ch. 4: Birthday

This chapter is available on my AO3! John/Dave This chapter is SFW

As years pass by, surely it becomes easier to cohabitate with a former crow familiar. Right? Right?

It was the morning of John’s sixteenth birthday, and the house was quiet save for the subtle thumps and clicks from the kitchen as Dadbert whipped up stacks of waffles for himself and the boys to celebrate. Some were confetti, sprinkles making warped colorful patterns, some were chocolate chip, and another stack was pumpkin and cinnamon. Different syrups were warmed and prepared in their containers, forks and plates ready to go. The only thing missing was the birthday boy, but if experience said anything it wouldn’t take long for him to rise and shine. Especially considering the extra help he had in the waking up section.

John’s room has been altered to make room for the new roommate, a set of bunk beds dominating a far wall with John down below. As they’d grown, Dave eventually stopped cuddling up nightly to John in favor of nesting on the top bunk some nights, expanding into his own space as he learned and adjusted more to appreciate space and privacy when it came to his best friend. The first to wake and half the time the last to sleep was always Dave, and today was no different.

In fact, he’d been waiting for some time for the perfect time to strike, waking near dawn and counting down time on the clock on the desk till it was a decent time to act. Six. Seven. Eight thirty. That had to be good enough time. Slowly he crept down the rungs of the ladder, wings flaring for balance on the way down before he climbed onto John’s bunk and straddled his hips. John remained deeply asleep on his back, arms flailed in different directions, lips parted so he could breathe deeply.

Sleeping in was a thing of the past thanks to Dave, but a guy could sleep every day as if he’d get that magical extra hour in the end all the same. Just in case, he’d be ready to snooze with the best of them.

Leaning down, Dave pecked John’s lips once, twice, three times waiting for him to wake up. He nuzzled his cheek and softly cawed, tugged the collar of his pajamas with his teeth since he lacked a beak, looking for signs of life. When he finally showed some signs of waking, Dave leaned back and cawed loudly, wings splaying, then dove back in to start tickling John’s sides with skating fingers.

“Happy birthday!”

Yelping, John woke all the way almost automatically and arched his back, squirming to get away from the onslaught as he laughed. Damn him for teaching Dave what tickling was, he’d literally never unlearned it and now it was a long lasting entry in his personal catalogue of tactics for attention.

“I’m up! I’m up I’m up! Holy shit, stop ahahaha I’m awake!” he cried, swatting at the birdbrain who was perched on top of him with open hands. When the tickling didn’t stop John grew rougher, grunting and grasping Dave beneath the armpits to try wrenching him to the side. The tussle for dominance grew in intensity till there were wings and caws and laughing cries ringing out, which finally prompted the door to open, James in his apron with his own plate of waffles piled high.

“Ah, I was wondering when he’d wake you up. Birthday waffle buffet is all set up, boys! Funfetti, chocolate chip and pumpkin. There’s also bacon and sausage on the side. Take as much as you want, there’s plenty.”

Caught mid-fight Dave and John blinked and stared at each other in their tangled position before deciding that, yes, there WAS something more important at play here.

“Waffles!” Dave cawed excitedly.

“Happy birthday, John,” James said with a smile. “Let me know what you want your dinner to be, I’ll get the ingredients later on and whip it up special.”

“Happy birthday! Happy birthday!” Dave crowed a few times more as he sat back on his heels with a playful smirk, letting John finally catch his breath as he sat upright. They made quite the sight, matching pajamas with needed alterations in place for Dave’s wings, hair wild and cheeks flushed.

“Sixteen years old now,” chuckled James. “Quite the young gentleman now. Or are you too cool to be anything but a hip teenager.”

“Daaaaaaaad.”

Still smiling, James winked at him and swept back out of the room to go enjoy his food while it was still hot. John glanced to Dave, then sighed and shuffled out of bed to get dressed, tugging his shirt off.

“You could’ve let me sleep in you know.”

“Where would be the fun in that?” Dave asked.

“It’s not fun, it’s. Come on, can’t I sleep in even on my birthday??”

“Naps,” Dave offered as a solution, definitely to be helpful and not because naps were prime cuddling times for him to indulge in.

"Yeah, I guess naps,” he sighed again, tugging on a clean shirt and a comfortable set of pants before leaving the space open for Dave. The blonde changed shirts with a bit of rustling before pulling on a set of sweatpants instead, feeling no sense of urgency to be well dressed for the day. All it would be was photographs probably, and he didn’t care how he looked in pictures so long as he could look at them later. Maybe this would be the year James finally trusted him with the special camera so he could take pictures of his own.

Just because the last attempt had wound up with the lens being broken due to a butterfingers move on his part shouldn’t mean a lifelong ban. James wasn’t that kind of man, not that Dave could tell. He just needed a bit more time and practice and he’d wind up taking pictures good enough to wind up in the photo album too!

Or maybe he’d get to have his own photo album full of things. ...Maybe he should ask about that later on after he’d eaten his fill of waffles.

John and Dave went downstairs to the kitchen together to fix their plates, each stacking higher than they could probably finish before taking a seat near James. The kitchen was immaculate as ever from his cleaning as he cooked, and though the counters were crowded with plates and syrups and the sides things were spotless and lemony fresh underneath. He was a man who appreciated cleanliness of his home as much as he appreciated a good shave. This had led to some issues in the last few years, especially with Dave having a human form now, but he was always up for a challenge.

“I know you’re cranky about birthday cakes still-”

“Dad, please, tell me you didn’t do a cake,” John immediately said, horror crossing his face as he poured far too much syrup onto his plate.

“I didn’t do a cake,” James said, watching Dave’s face fall. Darn it, he liked when James made big cakes. He always got to help lick the spoon or the bowl, and there was always crumbs to peck. ...Pick up. Not peck up anymore, pick up. The trimmings were always moist and delicious. “I made a pie instead.”

Though John looked relaxed at first, he soon looked suspicious and cut a slice of waffle to jam into his mouth as he observed his father with narrowed eyes. “...What kind of pie.”

“Lemon cream,” James said calmly, continuing to grin at John’s suspicion.

Dave, confused, looked between the two of them while he happily ate. Something was going down, though he wasn’t sure what. Pies were always exciting! Would they eat it? Would they throw it? Hard to say, it depended on the mood and some unseen cue that Dave still wasn’t able to decipher, but at least it always resulted in some kind of tasty dessert even if it was whatever could be salvaged off John’s face and the pie tin before he scrambled upstairs to wash off.

James never wound up covered in pie somehow. John’s aim was great, but with magic involved it always altered the trajectory. He trusted that someday John would deflect properly. Who knew, maybe he’d wind up covered in pie someday as well and join the family on another level that he hadn’t before.

The two stared at each other for a moment longer before Dave interrupted.

“John, syrup?”

“John, can I please have the syrup,” Jame corrected with a smile.

Dave frowned a bit, annoyed that he slipped back into basic habits. Darn it.

“John can I please have syrup?” he asked instead, holding his plate up in offer.

Distracted finally from the attempts at discerning his father’s potential plans with the pie, John blinked a few times before picking the syrup up and drizzling it over Dave’s plate. “Say when.”

“John, you know he never says when,” James chuckled.

“Oh, right. Yeah. Here, that should be enough to get everything,” John said before setting the container down. “Do you think we could have lasagna tonight for dinner, Dad?”

“I don’t see why not. It’ll take a little doing, but there’s nothing quite like a homemade lasagna on a nice day like this.”

The other unasked question was eating John alive. Questions, really. When would he finally get to practice with the car and get his license? Was he getting a birthday gift this year, or was he just getting money now that he was older? Would it be a surprise? Was it something he’d wanted for a long time? Would it be socks??

There was no way it was hidden in the house somewhere, because Dave would have come across it by now during his daily scouting attempts inside and out of the house, exploring corners and crevices he hadn’t been able to when he was thumbless. John never tended to bother him when he was doing these things aside from checking up on him now and then. Dave never left without one of his toys in his pocket, so there was no cue for a meltdown, but he seemed content in tiny entrapped spaces. Once he’d even been found in the dryer, though he barely fit at the time, curled up as if inside a tire ready to take off down a hill, grinning with pleasure at his own antics.

“Son, you’re getting older now,” James said. “An adult in your own right finally, and I’m so proud of the progress you’ve made over the years.”

John stopped eating again, attentive, squirming in his seat.

“And I think it’s about time I take you into town for some driving lessons, so you’re ready to use the car.”

“WOO!”

Dave, caught up in the excitement, lifted his hands the same way John was, fistpumping the air to share the thrill.

“How would you like to take a spin later on? I know you already remember the basics from me teaching you outside, but if we find a nice empty parking lot we can get even more practice in. Learners permit will be easy to get afterwards, then it’s just a lot of practice till you get your license and I won’t need to be in the car at all.”

“Dave, did you hear that? Just a while longer and we can do a road trip somewhere!”

“Er. ...No, son. Dave has to stay here.”

John’s face fell, though he stayed in place with his arms wrapped around Dave, simultaneously being wrapped in the same way by the bird. “Wait, what? I thought you said he could leave eventually with us..”

“Eventually, yes. Once we figure out a good way of hiding his wings that isn’t just a simple cloaking charm,” James said. “He’d still be knocking things over left and right that way, and be showing a lump in other cases. We need something stronger, strong enough to pass detection by those keeping an eye out for things like him, before he leaves the house.”

“Road trip! Road trip!” Dave cawed raucously. John stroked his hair, looking guilty.

“Yeah. Road trip.”

This was on him again, the ball once more in his court. If he wanted to be able to take Dave anywhere, he needed to find even more ways to change him. As if making him a humanoid hadn’t been enough of a blast in the face. He swallowed hard at the idea, suddenly a little less hungry than the mountain of breakfast in front of him from earlier suggested. It was his responsibility as Dave’s friend and his pseudo-owner to care for him and all his needs, and those needs would include being able to venture off the property as they got older. Even if it wasn’t on his own, John wanted to give him a bit of the freedom he himself would be tasting soon.

It was only fair.

“Now now, perk up. We’ve plenty of time for that. For now, enjoy your birthday and we’ll take a drive later on.”

“What about-”

“...Dave can come with us,” James decided quietly. “We’ll find somewhere out of the way, and we can see about keeping his wings folded under a coat. I’m grateful they’re not bigger than they are. It’s not perfect, but it would at least let him tag along for this one time before we figure things out. So he’ll know where you’ve gone in the future.”

That was a decent enough trade for the time being, John supposed. Dave was always a lot calmer knowing where John was at, so if he was off the property then knowing roughly where he was would probably help. Who knew, maybe the conversations Dave seemed to have with the crows outside could prove useful. Maybe the murder that seemed to shadow over the nearby town was keeping tabs on John and James both, letting Dave know what was happening where he couldn’t see, letting him know things were okay. That his humans were safe.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

John knew it was coming. He knew like he knew his own name, and there was no escape from it. The pie had been in the kitchen earlier in a metal tin instead of the glass one his dad liked to cook with best, settled on the counter after spending time in the fridge, keeping his father company as he readied pasta for the layers of lasagna in the baking dish. Then, it had been gone. James claimed he didn’t know what John was talking about, that he’d just put it back into the fridge to cool a while longer on second thought, but John knew better.

He knew so much better.

He’d snuck a peek around while getting a glass of milk he didn’t feel like drinking, and there had been no pie to be seen. A subtle spell from outside of the room didn’t give him extra sight to see where a cloaking was happening. It wasn’t in the laundry room or the living room, or even the car. The only places really left were the lounge and his dad’s room.. But the latter was definitely off limits.

Especially with Dave following hot on his heels, not wanting to leave the birthday boy alone too long. Or alone at all, if the last bit of the crows entire lifetime had been any indication. Where John went, Dave was set to follow him without question or invitation.

“Dave, you’ve got to let me know if Dad’s following us at any time,” he said urgently under his breath. “Try to focus. I know you’ve got the whole bird thing, but you’ve been around magic almost your entire life, you’ve got to have some kind of sense as my familiar.”

“No Dad magic. Got it,” he said simply, confirming what he’d heard. It’d have to do.

Slipping around the edge of the hallway, John slowly headed towards his father’s room, keeping an ear on the kitchen for the steady clinks and soft thunks of his cooking preparations, and quietly opened the door. His dad’s room was simple, boring in some ways, but fascinating when you looked close enough. Beneath the boring exterior were vestiges of his magic and different tools he employed while doing it. Places he’d explored, people he’d met, even memorabilia of the time he got perma-banned from Cirque de Soleil for causing a scene with magic when someone startled him with a pre-planned stage fall and he’d tried to help them while failing to cast a proper coverage spell to block the view. All they’d seen was a crazed man jumping the stage with what observers claimed was his hands on fire briefly, trying to grap at one of the aerial stunt divers.

Truly, there was so much history in this room.

“John, it’s you,” Dave said at a normal volume till John hissed and covered his mouth with a palm.

“Shhhh! I- ..Oh, you’re right, these are my baby pictures,” John realized as he looked at some of the framed images. One shot with his mother made his smile grow and soften, even now not over the empty feeling he got when he thought about what she must have been like, memory not able to go clearly as far back as she’d existed in his life. Another shot was him with Dave after he’d recovered, the crow covered in flour and John himself looking pleased as punch in the mess in the kitchen, a mixing bowl of what he was pretty sure was pancake batter on the ground where he could reach it. “Hey, this one’s you.”

“I know,” Dave said with a grin. “I was happy.”

“You were?”

“Yeah,” Dave promised. “I’m always happy when you’re there. Even when I’m mad I’m happy.”

John smiled a bit. ”Aw. That’s actually pretty swee-” He heard a creak behind them and his heart stopped, watching the door open with wide eyes. His father stood behind it with a pie in hand, the same pleasant grin on his face, and determination in his eye.

“John, you know I don’t normally like you boys poking around my room when I’m not in here,” he chuckled. “But I wanted to let you know! It’s time for dessert.”

“We haven’t eaten dinner yet,” John interjected, knowing his fate already.

“Oh, no son, I think you’re plenty ready for dessert before dinner,” James said as he lifted the pie. “Happy birthday, John!”

The pie flew with magic guided force, John raised his hands to try deflecting, but before the creamy concoction could splatter him head on.. Dave jumped in the way with both wings spread, taking the dessert full force to the face, splatters of it dispersing around his sides to catch John’s edges all the same.

Everyone froze and blinked, watching Dave closely. That.. hadn’t happened before. Usually there was cawing or excitement, but Dave had never taken the dessert for John before. They weren’t sure how he’d react, if at all.

“Uh. ...D. ...Dave?” John finally asked. “Are you okay?”

“I’m sorry there son, I was aiming for John since he was expecting it,” James tried to say, as if this were somehow his fault and not from Dave leaping in front of the attack.

Dave, still quiet, finally reached up to pull the pie tin off his face and rub his eyes clear of cream and lemon curd. He licked his lips, face a mask of sweet goo and fluffy cream, and crooned. “This is really good, Dad.”

James exhaled a breath before laughing, stepping around them all to go find the camera, wanting to capture the moment. John still looked startled, but with Dave continuing to croon as he savored the fact he was getting to essentially eat the majority of an entire pie by himself, he supposed there wasn’t much to worry about.

“Why’d you do that?” he had to ask.

Dave blinked at him, licking his fingers clean. “Because you said to keep an eye out for magic and I didn’t know he was there. Then it was pie time,” he shrugged.

“You… you didn’t have to do that,” John chuckled. “I mean, you know it wouldn’t have hurt me, right?”

“It hurt my carpeting more than it hurt either of you boys,” James said, making sure there was film and that the lens was uncovered before coming closer to frame up the picture. “Now then. Say cheese, you two!”

“Cheese!” Dave said, grinning beneath his mask as John leaned over to steal a taste.

“Huh. Y’know, Dad, this was kind of a waste, it’s REALLY tasty.”

“Good thing I’ve got another one hidden in the dishwasher then,” he said with a proud smile. “We can enjoy some slices with dinner once Dave’s all cleaned up and we’ve had our driving practice.”

Once Dave was all cleaned up, huh? Cream was all over his wings, in his hair, probably in his ears. It’d take him a while to get clean. It’d take them both a while to get clean, he mentally corrected, as Dave reached a messy hand over to glom some of the pie onto John’s face. The camera clicked a few more times as they dissolved into flailing with shared pie goo, James laughing all the while.

“Now, now, that’s enough, you’re grinding it into the floor haha. Both of you, go get tidied up. The Lasagna is ready for the oven now, I’ll pop it in just before we leave and it’ll be plenty ready not long after we get back. Sound good?”

“Yes Dad,” Dave said, releasing the sides of John’s purse lipped face once he’d firmly wiped the pie off on both sides and the front of his shirt. Then, wings folding as if being coated in lemon curd was the natural state of things, Dave sauntered off to the bathroom to shower with John sighing as he followed, glasses removed and squinted eyes trailing the black and blonde cloud in front of him.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

“Dave, hold still, it’s not going to hurt you!” John complained. “It’s like when you have a blanket on.”

“Blankets aren’t tight!” he cawed, clicking his teeth in warning for a bite before John reached up and popped the chewy into his mouth for him to angrily gnaw at instead of taking the potential injury to his hands or arms himself.

“It’s a jacket, you big baby!”

“Too tight! Let me use mine!” he growled around the toy in his mouth, close to spitting it back out to let it dangle around his neck so he could bite John after all.

“John, just get him one of mine so he can have everything covered. We can’t have your wings out, remember Dave? Your jacket won’t work,” James reminded him gently from the kitchen as he applied a final last minute layer of cheese and seasonings to the top of the lasagna and covered it with tin foil while the oven preheated.

The struggling slowly stopped as John stopped trying to shove the jacket into place and Dave folded his wings, disgruntled but willing to try alternatives. Especially if they were James’ alternatives and didn’t involve jamming his wings into small spaces. The replacement option was satisfactory, a long white trench coat whose weight weighed down on Dave’s folded wings to smooth the lump on his back considerably. It was comfortable enough, he supposed, and the added flappability of the overly long sleeves was appealing. Dave cawed softly in approval and let John securely tie the belt around his waist.

Soon enough they all bundled into the car, John eagerly in the passenger seat and Dave buzzing in the backseat with his face pressed into the glass of the window. They drove away from their well loved house and down the bumpy dirt and gravel road to the paved road, then to the highway. Dave’s eyes were massive as he watched the other cars come close and pass them one after another, coming and going in so many colors. There was one brief moment of James needing to remember the child locks for the back seat to prevent Dave rolling the window down any further than he already had, wanting to feel the wind on his face and through his hair as if he were flying again, but otherwise the trip was simple.

“I remember here,” Dave said as they pulled into an empty parking lot of a defunct mall. “And there too,” he added, gesturing to a McDonalds down the road. “Good food.”

“I’m glad we took you in, your diet no doubt added to your original longevity,” James chuckled as he parked the car and turned off the ignition. “Now stay put for me. John? Come on over, son. Let’s try some starts and stops, and some parking. I’ll get in the passenger seat instead.”

Eager as ever, John darted around to the front of the car, clumsily sliding over half the hood before slipping down onto the bumper and nearly crashing to the ground before saving himself and making it into the driver’s seat to buckle up. Dave, once again, was bouncing and cawing raucously behind them as James took his seat and did the buckle as well.

“Right. So. Turn it on,” John murmured, running through steps in his head. “Then… brake, shift to drive.. And gas.”

The vehicle smoothly went into motion with only a few initial anxious wobbles, the brief realization that he was piloting a thousand pound death machine with his father and his best friend inside of it catching up with John, before smoothing out and gradually picking up speed at James’ coaxing. The turn was a bit sharp at the end, making everyone tense up and hold their breaths, but subsequent attempts were more in control. By the end, John was even managing basic parking, backing up, and some parallel parking thanks to his dad and Dave both standing out marking the ends of where he was aiming.

All in all, a successful day.

Dave grinned and untied his coat near the end, flinging it open to stretch his wings out before the ride home, only to be nearly tackled by James tucking it back into place.

“Ah ah ah, I’m sorry Dave but no. Not here. Not right now. I know it’s not the best, but try to hold on till we get home..”

“Dad, can’t you just cloak him till we get back? He’ll just be in the back of the car,” John said from the driver’s seat as he parked and shut off the car to get out. Dave went wide eyed and nodded.

“Please? Itches.”

James sighed.. and nodded, raising a hand as he let the coat fall to apply a quick cloaking spell. As if melting away, Dave’s wings disappeared from view, leaving only the cut open back of his shirt. It was strange seeing Dave that way, John decided. No wings on his back, Dave looked naked in some way, vulnerable with his red eyes and wild hair, skinny frame and slightly stooped posture. Nothing was tethering him to the world anymore when he just looked like an out of place human instead of an out of place angel.

“Hurry into the car though. You never know who’s watching,” James urged, handing Dave the trenchcoat before making a shoo gesture with both hands. “We’ve got lasagna waiting on us at home.”

Dave remained outside of the car for another minute, just enjoying the wind in his hair and through his unseen feathers, savoring being somewhere familiar before he finally got into the vehicle as well and buckled up. He felt like someone was watching him and looked around, but let the feeling fall. Nobody was out there but the three of them, and besides: there were more important things afoot.

“Lasagna!” he cawed, appetite more than awake by this time.

“Yep. Lasagna,” John said from up front. All in all? A great birthday. He hoped the future ones could be as peaceful.

#johndave #john egbert #dave strider #homestuck #my fic

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mitchsmarners · 6 years

Text

baby we can make it if we’re heart to heart

pairing: richie tozier/eddie kaspbrak

summary: prequel/companion fic to no you cant stop time and you cant fence lovebut you don’t necessarily need to read the first part to understand this one

words count: 2.4k

read on ao3

The first time Eddie Kaspbrak and Richie Tozier ever talked about running away together, they were six years old and it hadn’t seemed serious. Richie had just found Eddie forced into one of the intermediate lockers by Henry Bowers nasty gremlins. It had taken several minutes for any sort of authority figure to finally take Richie’s claims seriously and the two boys now sat in the waiting area of the principals office, Eddie crying and Richie feeling like he was about to.

“I hate this place,” Eddie sniffled. Not really thinking about his actions at all, Richie’s arm jumped up to drape around Eddie’s shoulders. Richie’s arms were rather too long for his body; his mother told him it was a sign that he’d grown to be very tall, but right now it was just something else for kids to tease him about.

“Then I’ll take you away,” Richie had promised, tears stinging behind his pre-glasses eyes. “I’ll take you somewhere far, far, away from here where there’s no Bowers or anybody else that could hurt you again. Maybe we can even find somewhere in the world that doesn’t have germs.”

“Everywhere in the world has germs, stupid.” Eddie rolled his eyes, but he still cracked a smile. While Richie didn’t know how he’d get Eddie out of this place, or even what that meant, the smile made him want nothing more than to try.

///

The next time it came up, they were nine and sitting in Eddie’s attic. It was one of the only places Eddie had been allowed friends growing up, because his mother couldn’t make her way up the fragile stairs. She wasn’t a fan of Eddie spending too much time up there (“there’s so much dust up there, Eddie bear! You know it’s bad for your asthma to be around that.”) but she begrudgingly allowed him to send a few hours up there on Saturday afternoons with a friend.

That friend had once been Bill Denbrough, but had become Richie Tozier more and more. Eddie told himself that it was because Richie had better comics than Bill did, that his parents bought him more of a selection, but even at nine years old Eddie had that sinking feeling in his chest that he’d learn to associate with lying to himself about Richie Tozier.

“You know what, Eds,” Richie said, tossing his copy of Captain America. Eddie sighed to himself. Inviting Richie over for comic book reading left very little time for reading comic books, he knew.

“Don’t call me that,” Eddie said automatically. The nickname had only started within the last couple of months, and Eddie hated them. He didn’t know why they’d started, Richie had always called Stanley “Stan the Man” for as long as Eddie had known them. Lately though, he’d started picking up nicknames for Bill and Eddie, too, but Eddie felt like Richie attacked him with them more than anybody else.

Richie ignored the request, as he always did. “I think we should run away.”

Eddie wheezed and reached for his inhaler. “Run away? How would we live Richie?”

Richie just shrugged and smiled. “I’ll run away with you someday, Eddie Spaghetti. Watch me.”

“Stop calling me those stupid names, Trashmouth!”

///

It was brought up again they were twelve and Eddie was throwing it back in Richie’s face. Eddie had been leaning up against the brick wall behind the pharmacy, face starch white and broken arm cradled in his lap when Richie and Bill had found him.

After rushing over, Eddie had barely been able to get out the explanation of what had happened, what Bowers had done to him, through his sobs and shuddering wheezy breaths. Richie had forced the inhaler into Eddie’s mouth, releasing it. It hadn’t done anything to help Eddie’s wheezes and that’s when Richie’s true panic set in. Eddie was going to die, he was going to die, he was going to die. As Bill ran off to find help, Eddie’s blazing eyes found Richie’s and he looked surprisingly coherent in that moment.

“You promised me,” Eddie choked out, voice shallow but angrier than Richie had ever heard. “You promised you’d take far away and they never hurt me again. You lied.”

Tears blurred past Richie’s eyes. He hadn’t lied, he hadn’t. He was going to take Eddie Kaspbrak away from Derry and the terrible people in it if it was the last thing he ever did.

“I’m going to snap it back into place.”

“DO NOT FUCKING TOUCH ME!”

The snap of Eddie’s bone and then Eddie’s blood curdling scream echoed through the empty alley.

Richie promised Eddie again when they were fifteen and kissing.

“No, no, no,” Eddie gasped suddenly, pulling away. He crawled silently away from Richie, not far enough to break all content, but enough to let Richie know not to lean back into his space. Eddie glanced around the area frantically. It was nearing on nine (oh god, he’d need to go home soon for curfew. Fuck, fuck, how could he look at his mother after this?) and he knew that the quarry was empty but he couldn’t control the burning anxiety in his chest. “We can’t do this.”

“Why not?” Richie’s face curled up into confusion. A deep frown burned across his lips, lips that were still tingling. “I don’t…”

“It’s wrong!” Eddie whined. “We can’t, okay? What would people think? My mother, your parents, everybody in this stupid ass town?”

“I don’t care what they think,” Richie said, almost harshly. “I don’t. Eddie, I love you. I have loved you since I was like, eight.”

Tears burned Eddie’s eyes and he kept his gaze stubborningly on Richie’s dirty blue vans. “Richie, it’s not that simple, you know that. Maybe… maybe if we lived somewhere else? I know there are places that are better but, Rich, we don’t.”

“Then we’ll go there.” Richie promised, his voice softer and more genuine than Eddie thought he’d ever heard the Trashmouth sound. “I swear to God, Eddie, we’ll go. We’ll go, okay? We will.”

“That would be years from now,” Eddie said quietly. “I can’t ask to you wait until we live somewhere else to be with me, Richie. And I just… we couldn’t be together like real couples here. That’s not fair to you.”

“How come you get to decide what’s fair to me?” Richie laughed softly. “Didn’t I just say I’ve loved you since I was eight? I’d take being with you anyway we can be, Eds. It doesn’t matter if people know or not. We know.”

“Who are you and what have you done with Trashmouth Tozier?” Eddie scoffed teasingly, his voice thick with his tears. Richie let out a similar laugh.

“Get the fuck back over here,” Richie gestured towards his lap. “I wasn’t done making out with you, Kaspbrak.”

“aaaaaand there he is,” Eddie giggled, already quickly crawling over.

///

When a sixteen year old Richie brought it up next, he wasn’t even talking to Eddie. Stan had always known about him and Eddie, even if nobody else did. Stan had been aware of Richie’s aggressively painful crush on Eddie Kaspbrak since before Richie even had been. It had only been logical that he’d told Stan when they finally gotten together.

“I’m going to spend the rest of my life with him,” Richie said wistfully, staring up at the ceiling in Stan’s bedroom. Stan had been sitting cross legged on his floor, flipping through a comic book. He turned his head over his shoulder to look at his best friend.

“Eddie?” Stan asked, as if he didn’t already know. Richie turned to give a disbelieving look.

“No, Ben,” Richie snarked. “I’ve secretly been cheating on Eddie, the Love of My Life, with him this whole entire time. Surprise.”

Stan let out scoff. “Go back to being a sappy in love idiot, please.”

“Happily,” Richie said. “I was saying that I’m going to spend the rest of my life with Eddie. I am going to marry him.”

Stan frowned slightly, biting back the response that gay people couldn’t get married. He knew this and he knew that Richie knew it, too. There wasn’t any harm in letting him ignore it, even if it was just for one afternoon in the safety of his best friend’s bedroom.

“Not here,” Richie continued. “We couldn’t… not here. We’re gonna run away. Maybe after graduation or something. I don’t know how, but we will.

“I’d help you,” Stan said, turning back to his comic book. He turned the distinct ruffling on Richie sitting up on the bed.

“Wait, what?” Richie squeaked. “Really?”

“Sure. We could consider it my teenage rebellion.”

///

When Richie dropped the bomb on Eddie, he was seventeen, a few months shy of being eighteen. It was Eddie’s birthday, and everybody had already gone home from his gathering. Stan had given Richie a knowing look when Richie had said he was spending the night, but nobody else had questioned it. They never had. It was routine at this point. They’d all come to expect it.

“Hey, Eds,” Richie said mildly. “Remember when I told you that I’d take you away from here?”

“Uh, yeah, Rich,” Eddie laughed, tossing his boyfriend a pair of sweats he kept there for sleeping. “You say it at least once a week, how could I forget?”

“I know, I know, it’s just,” Richie fiddled with the pants. “It’s your birthday. You’re eighteen now, and I… I’ll be eighteen in a few months.”

Eddie raised his brow, watching his boyfriends’ nervous, jerking hands and the way he nibbled on his bottom lip. Eddie’s heart began to race, Richie couldn’t really be talking about what Eddie thought he was talking about… could he?

“We’ll both be adults,” Richie continued, his speaking voice slowly getting faster. “They couldn’t, they couldn’t… control us anymore, you know? They couldn’t..”

“Rich,” Eddie cut him off, heart practically in his throat. “I love you but please, for the love of God, get to the point.”

“We could go,” Richie cried out suddenly. “We could leave and nobody could stop us or make us come back here ever. Just like I promised, Eds, I’d never break that. I’d never-“

“I know,” Eddie said softly. He sat on the bed beside Richie, grabbing his fidgeting hands and pulling them close to him. “I know I wouldn’t. Hell, Richie, you made that promise when we were like… seven-“

“Six,” Richie corrected quietly.

Eddie’s eyes widened slightly and he sucked in a deep breath. “I just, I know you mean it. I mean it, too, I always have, okay? But a few months from now, are you sure you’re ready to do this now?”

“I’ve been ready for years,” Richie said, voice so full of truth and vulnerability that Eddie wanted to cry. “I’m ready whenever you’re ready.

Eddie looked his boyfriend up and down slowly, from his messy halo of brown curls and glasses crooked from being broken so many times. To his chapped lips and stained Hawaiian print T-shirt that even at seventeen years old Richie didn’t feel embarrassed to be seen wearing. His jeans were ripped, not from style but from ridiculous amounts of accidents caused by limb he hadn’t quite gotten used to yet, and the mismatched socks on his feet. Eddie swallowed hard.

“I think I-“ Eddie nodded, a slow smile growing across his face. “I think I’m ready.”

Richie’s face broke into the widest grin Eddie though he’d ever seen and he kissed Eddie, hard. There was no thought, no rhythm, just a complete mess of overwhelming emotions that neither knew how to describe. Once they pulled apart, both still grinning messes, Richie reached back for the sweats.

Eddie grabbed them from him and chunked them across the room. Richie started at him, brow crinkled. Eddie launched himself into Richie’s lap, clasping his hands behind Richie’s neck and stared deep into his eyes.

“You don’t need them,” Eddie said firmly. Richie blinked for a moment before his face blazed with understanding.

“Eddie, Eds, are you…” Richie cleaned his throat, hoping it would clear the hoarse sound. “You…?

“I’m ready,” Eddie whispered as he sealed their lips together again.

///

Richie was the one to step out of the truck first, walking towards where Stan stood at the end of the driveway. His best friend gave him a sad smile and Richie felt a terrible burning in his chest and stomach. Wordlessly, Richie launched himself forward and yanked Stan into his arms. Even though it was Beverly he always had height wars with, it was Stan whom he’d always been bouncing back and forth between with. Richie now had just enough inches on Stan that he had to tilt his head to bury it into his neck.

“Oh, fuck, man,” Richie said, voice gruff and quiet. “I fucking love you.”

“I love you too, brother,” Stan whispered back.

Richie kept a hand clasped to the side of Stan’s neck as he pulled away, and nearly lost it himself when he saw the misty look in Stan’s eyes. “Alright,” Richie cleared his throat. “No fucking crying, you hear me? Jesus Christ.”

Stan swallowed visibly and pursed his lips. “Rich-“ He cut himself off as he caught sight of Eddie approaching. He pulled the smaller into a hug, too; a softer hug, a shorter one. Richie could’ve burst into tears in that moment, could’ve turned around and gone back home just watching his best friend and the love of my life hugging. Thoughts of potentially never getting to see that again ate at Richie’s mind.

He forced the thoughts away, there wasn’t a choice. Not really.

“Thank you so much, Stan,” Eddie whispered as he pulled away. If Eddie was wiping at his eyes, nobody chose to acknowledge it.

“Yeah,” Stan replied, voice cracking like it always had during puberty. Stan had had worse than anybody aside from Richie. Richie had promptly called them The Crack Brothers for a week until Stan told him that if he didn’t stop, he was going to shove a clarinet so far up his ass that it would come out of his mouth. “It’s no problem- really.”

“Teenage rebellion,” Richie said simply. Eddie crinkled his brow in confusion but Stan shot Richie a smirk, and really, that had been the reaction he’d been looking for. “Come on, good chaps,” Richie said, letting an arm drape around Eddie’s shoulders. “We have tones of work ahead of us, on this lovely fortnight!”

“Oh my God,” Eddie complained with a grin. “Do not do the British guy right now, I beg you.”

“Especially since you don’t know anything about British slang, clearly.” Stan added, knocking his elbow against Richie’s.

“And here I thought you loved me.”

“How disappointing for you.”

#reddie #reddie fic #it fanfiction #tozbrak #my writing #am i making this verse into a series?#maybeso.gif

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sending-the-message · 6 years

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The creatures of Mammoth Cave by KyBlu_I_s

Its recently been brought to my attention what Gunney has started to tell a few of our stories from when we ran the Kentucky Office of Paranomalies[sic]. That's actually the name of our branch. Each state has an office that's a perfect counterpart to ours. Well they did. Until a few months ago. Anyway, I'm getting ahead of myself. My name is Keith. I'm a Chief Petty Officer, and these are MY versions of the stories. Gunney did a decent job of telling the Gluttony story. Although the first half was better than the second, but that's because he told it exactly like it happened. A little personal background;

I grew up in a broke ass family. My dad wasn't home because he worked two jobs to keep a roof on our heads. Mom was a drunken whore that was in and out of our lives. I couldn't play sports in school, because where I'm from that type of thing costs money. So, I read. And I read everything I could. I really loved to read about the macabre and the paranormal. By the time I was thirteen, I had read the local libraries entire section on paranormal and supernatural beings, rituals, magic, and ghosts. A little over four hundred books. But I started when I was seven. I would walk the eight blocks from my home to the library once a week with dad on Saturday morning, because he only had one job on the weekends. I would check out my limit, and usually find a way back to the library before Saturday for my next limit of books.

I graduated High school at the age of sixteen, having skipped sophomore and junior years. I waited for two years and joined the Navy. I knew Gunney from school, and we would hangout after school sometimes and play stupid kid video games til we passed out. So, when he told me he was enlisting, I figured that I would as well. Hell, they pay for college, train you for a career, and pay you while your active. Why not? Well, if not for Gunney I would have died. Several times over. So when he found a way for me to get off of that fucking ship, I was hella happy. I had wanted to study demonology in college anyway, and this way the government would actually pay for it!

Our first case was bad. Real bad. But you already know about that. See, what you don't know, is that even after Gunney left a year ago, I stayed. I'm here now. Alone. A single smartass against the evils of the wilderness. Let me tell ya, there's some freaky shit in Kentucky. Especially in the caves.

It was a crisp April morning when Gunney ordered us to assemble in the wretched bullpen. The overhead monitor displayed a torn and broken corpse. The head lay face down, the body chest up. The head had been twisted all the way around. Left arm ripped off and , and this is sick, shoved down the throat. The right arm lay broken, twisted and bloody barely attached. The legs were shredded and mangled so badly they no longer remotely resembled legs. The shredded remains if the legs looked more like a bad plate of chipped beef and raw burger meat.

" This was young miss Christa Jonas. She was seventeen years old. She was part of a six person group that took a discount tour of the Mammoth Caves. During the tour four of the six members were lost. Christa was the only one found. Her remains are on the way here so that Jerry here can perform an autopsy." Gunney paused, to point at our lone medical officer. He continued " Keith, do you recognize the injuries? Maybe have any idea what the hell got to thus poor girl?"

I shook my head as I wracked my brain for information, " No sir, I don't Gunney" I answered. I felt bad for leaving him in the lurch like that, but I really didn't have a clue what would have mutilated that girl so badly. Well, I didn't know what would multilateral her, and not eat more of her. Maybe we were looking at some type of previously unknown creature. My heart rate increased at the thought of being responsible for cataloging and naming a previously undiscovered animal, or being if another type...

As Gunney talked about the cave system, and ordered the others to get packed and armed, I went to the library of our new compound. We had more books on my favorite subjects than I had ever believed were printed. I quickly looked for anything that lived in caves, mines, or subterranean passageways. I found the book I was looking for, and carried it to a table. Taking a deep breath, I began to speed read, until I stopped on a description that chilled my bones. The creature was named a Cave Dwelling Ghoul. According to the book, the last one was thought to have been exterminated in the year 1909. However the way it kills is quite unique. Its known to take pleasure in the torture of young girls, often making them choke on pieces of their own bodies. It would then chew, but not eat a large portion of the body while the person choked to death, at witch point it would twist the head around twice. I quickly stood up and almost ran back to the bull pen. Gunney stood there waiting, and reading the case file.

" Gunney, I think I know what we have here. His many times was thus girls head turned? " I stammered, excited and full of dread.

" Uhm...It looks like twice. Yeah..twice. Why? What's that got to do with anything?" He looked at me like he expected some big speech, but I didn't have one.

" Its a CDG. A type of Ghoul that solely lives in caves. They were thought to be dead for over a hundred years. They can be killed, but its not easy. Iron bullets and thermite. Shoot them with iron, and then burn em. They'll be alive when the fire starts, just frozen. Iron to those fucks is like a massive dose of sucks to a human. It will paralyze them. However it won't wear off, til their bodies heal and the bullet is pushed out. Thermite is about the only thing that burns hot enough to kill them. They have poison glands in the base of their claws and in that mouths. A bite or scratch will knock a full grown man out for hours. When he wakes up he will be sick as a fucking dog for a few days. Nasty little bastards. Never even rumoured to be in Kentucky. Kinda weird that a species that's not indigenous and thought to be extinct suddenly shows up. So soon after...ya know."

He knew. We tried not to talk about what happened to our group, but it was an unspoken book mark in time. Like a piece of corn in a turd, just there, rather you want it to be or not. We knew that what we fought that day wasn't human. Even the civilians weren't human anymore, but it was still a tough loss.

Gunney told me to go get the thermite and try to find a source of iron ammunition while he briefed the rest of the men on what we were going to be fighting this time. I went to the armory and found the thermite. Iron ammo was another story. See, the last thing to use iron projectiles were civil war cannons. Well, a few other large bore weapons after that, but very few. I had an idea that maybe salting the lead with iron powder might work, but I couldn't risk our remaining troops on a might. So, needles to say I was fucking through the roof thrilled when I found a local black smith. I called and gave him the measurements of the projectiles that we needed and he agreed to make them. On barter no less. He wanted a hundred grams of thermite to speed his forge up and that's all. Well, it still took the man twenty eight hours to make four hundred rounds. Then I had to load them into shells. So, It was thirty three hours after the debriefing before we were actually ready to go. Since it was late, we decided to get up at 0430 and head out. We all went to bed at a little before 2300.

At 0445 the next morning we were up,loaded and heading out. It was a four hour drive from base to the Mammoth Caves state park. We arrived as the police that had closed the property off to tourists were changing shifts, so getting in was a fucking chore.

Almost an hour after arriving, we were unloading the black Humvees and heading for the main entrance. The cave we entered was honestly...Mammoth! No shit, right? The ceiling was almost thirty feet up, stalagmites and stalactites reaching up and down like crooked teeth in a rotten maw. The silence of the caves was deafening. I could hear the others hearts beating. Well, maybe it was in my head.

We walked to the coordinates that the tour guides provided as the last place the entire group was together. We set our GPS lock to those coordinates, and split up with our night vision activated. We decided to walk in a single direction for five minutes before returning to the point we marked. We did this four times before the first blur of movement was seen. Johnson saw a small man shaped thing run just out if his field of view.

" Report to my position. I have movement. I think its a single entity, but I can't be sure." He called out through the com unit. We all looked to our phones to see where he was on the map. He was less than fifty feet from me, so I was the first to arrive. When I got to his position, he was visibly shaken. His pants leg ripped in three slices torn horizontally across his right calf. Thankfully the thing hadn't touched skin, because Johnson was big ass dude, and I didn't want to be the one to evacuate his ass from the caves.

Gunney was next arrive, and quickly spotted the torn leg. After asking if Johnson had been scratched, he decided to call the tour guide on the radio to turn off the tourist lights. The cave went dark as Gunney told the others to remain in NV. The rest if our crew arrives one at a time a minute or two apart.

When we were all in the same spot, I whispered " Listen guys, these things are fast as lightening on crack. They're venomous and vicious. They want to torture us and then chew our flesh. That's how they feed. They chew, but only drink the blood and liquefied fat that they spill from our mangled bodies. Shoot them anywhere. It doesn't matter. The rounds shouldn't pass through them, they're low power and heavy bullets. Once the iron is in the skin, they're frozen solid. Then we have about eleven hours to burn them. The bodies won't burn unless we can powder them with the thermite and use the magnesium strips to start that on fire." I summed up as " Be careful, aim true. We don't have a lot of ammo. "

The men all nodded in agreement and left off across the caves. The next time I would see any of them, three would be unconscious, and badly beaten. But that's for tomorrows post.

#reddit #nosleep #scary #story

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