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diazevan · 3 years

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Evan Begins Again

With the help of his family, Buck learns to love himself, flaws and all - which starts with reclaiming his given name.

Read on AO3

Words: 4436

Warnings: Mentions of past Self-Hate, Brief Injury Detail (on a call)

It starts with Eddie, but these things usually do.

Buck wishes he could be like Eddie, somebody who can freely speak his mind without fearing the fall.

When Eddie has something to say, he makes Buck listen, even if it's not something he wants to hear.

Discovering that he would become Christopher's legal guardian if his best friend dies prematurely was unexpected, but Buck welcomes it.

The lengths he is willing to go for Christopher are infinite; he loves that kid like his own.

Strangely, that part of the conversation isn't what stuck or what keeps him up at night.

Being told that he's not expendable with such certainty, after a lifetime of believing that's all he is, has put his mind in a spin.

Maddie's told him that before, so has Bobby, Athena, Hen, Chimney, Albert, Taylor - everybody he cares about has, at one point, has told him that he's worth fighting for.

That wasn't anything new, but it's the way Eddie went about saying it, "Because, Evan, you came in here the other day, and you said you thought it would have been better if it had been you who was shot. You act like you're expendable. But you're wrong."

Evan.

Buck hates when people use his given name - well, at least he thought he did.

Hate wouldn't explain the warmth that spread across his chest when Eddie spoke his name, with just the right amount of love, with an unmistakable tinge of sass.

Aside from Maddie, whenever anybody says his name, he recoils like he's been burnt. He remembers his childhood, being reprimanded by his parents for his reckless behavior or called out by his teachers.

Whenever 'Evan' is used in a sentence, it isn't usually followed by words of affirmation.

Even with Maddie, she's adapted to using 'Buck' when she's proud of him or telling him how much she loves him. Emotions are high whenever she says, 'Evan,' like when he learned about Daniel.

"Evan, please don't leave. Just talk to me."

He talks to Dr. Copeland, and it's almost too easy for her to identify the problem.

'Buck' is meant to be a nickname, but it's bigger than that; it's a shield, a smokescreen, an excuse to hide his true feelings.

He separates himself into two; Buck gets to live while Evan suffers the weight of his hardships.

He can't keep doing that.

He has to face this problem, learn to love every piece of himself, even if it hurts.

If he doesn't, it will kill him.

Because one day, and soon, he'll become tired of 'Buck.'

The same way he did with Evan, then he'll be well and truly lost.

Things need to change.

***

It's a slow day, nobody's said anything to jinx that, yet, but the night is still young.

Athena has a day off; she's popped over like most Wednesdays, having helped Bobby with dinner.

Maddie surprises them all, dropping by with an excitable Jee-Yun.

Eddie and Chimney carry the stroller up the stairs while she holds Jee-Yun on her hip.

Taking his niece into his arms, Buck asks his sister, "How are you?"

The light in her eyes is brighter than the last time he saw her, "I'm better."

Buck sports his lopsided grin, "Good."

Jee-Yun jumps from person to person, delighted to be surrounded by her favorite people.

They settle on the couches; Jee-Yun stops on Maddie's lab, hit by the tired stick.

Buck sits, sandwiched between Bobby and Athena.

Maddie relaxes into the recliner while Chim perches on the chair's arm as he converses with Hen.

Hen and Eddie share a couch but have claimed separate ends; she sits nearer Chimney, busy discussing kindergarten admissions, which Buck can't believe, Jee-Yun's barely one.

Eddie is at the other end, listening to one of Athena's work stories.

Buck knows he should be involved, but he's lost track of where they were.

Everybody's conversations reach their natural ends - Buck leans in.

"Hey," He croaks - that's odd, his throat is tight, and he didn't realize.

All eyes are on him.

He fumbles with his fingers, "Can I ask you all something?"

Chimney shuffles forward, "Of course."

"Is everything okay?" Hen asks, eyes tracing over him.

Buck dips his head, "Yeah."

Athena takes his hand, "It doesn't sound it."

He insists, "Everything's fine."

"So," Eddie speaks gently, "What's up?"

Buck wonders if Eddie will catch on and understand that everything is changing because he is the first person in years, to remind Evan that he is worthy of love.

He clears his throat, "I want you to call me 'Evan.'"

The request is met by silence and pinched expressions of confusion.

"I'm still Buck," He blurts, "That's my nickname, always gonna be, but I was hoping that we could, like, switch between the two?"

"Okay," Bobby is cautiously gentle, "We can do that."

"It might take some adjustment time," Hen adds, "But of course, we can."

A weight shifts, "Cool, thanks."

"So, what's with the change?" Chimney asks, "I thought you hated your name?"

"I thought I did," He nervously rubs the nape of his neck, and his leg begins to bounce.

"Hey," Maddie sits up, startled, "You don't have to explain-"

Buck shakes his head, "You guys need to hear this."

Bobby presses his hand to Buck's knee, attempting to ease him.

"Talking with Dr. Copeland, I realized that in becoming Buck, I was trying to forget everything that came before," Buck explains, "It should just be a nickname, but it's not - it's a coping mechanism."

He locks eyes with a tearful Maddie, but she smiles with a nod, urging him to go on.

It's once in a blue moon when Buck opens up about how he's feeling.

"I can pretend that every bad thing that happened to me as Evan never happened," He continues, "Shitty childhood, bad friends, and Daniel..."

Everybody shifts uncomfortably on that note, especially Maddie, who draws her daughter closer to her chest.

Buck lifts his shoulders in a shrug, "But it doesn't work like that."

"No, it doesn't," Maddie speaks, quiet, "Those things leave a scar, Evan."

Hen speaks up, "An open one."

"I've never hated my name," Evan's lower lip trembles, "I hated me."

He expects pity or concerned gasps, but instead, he's offered understanding nods and intense gazes filled with love.

"I separate 'Evan' and 'Buck,' but they're both me," He cries, "Like with Buck, I've grown, changed for the better, have the family I've always wanted," Tears spill down his cheeks, "But Evan is buried, and I need to find me, again."

Maddie asks, "Because you feel loved as Buck but forgotten as Evan?"

He nods, "Yeah."

"Evan," Hen cries, her eyes wet with tears, "We love you completely."

Athena's gentle fingers grasp Evan's chin, her mouth curls into a smile, as tears freely fall, "Without a single string attached."

Buck breaths, "You promise?"

"We promise," Bobby reassures fast.

With a strangled sob, Evan crumbles, his shoulders sagging.

Bobby dives, collecting him in his arms.

Athena combs her hand through his hair.

Everybody moves, crowding him, in a hug.

Eddie kneels, gripping onto Evan's knee with all his strength, wrapping his arm around Hen, crouched beside him.

Hen grips onto Buck's forearm, her stance protective.

Chimney stands behind, hands resting on Buck's trembling shoulders.

Maddie takes the space beside Hen, taking Evan's hand, while she balances a half-asleep, confused, Jee-Yun on her knee.

Eddie speaks - his tone strong, "You're going to be okay, Evan."

***

It takes a month for the change to stick without the aura of awkwardness.

It is easy to get tongue-tied - in the beginning, there were many 'Buc-vans' and 'Ev-uk's,' but, at least he knew, they were trying.

After a couple of false starts, interchanging between 'Evan' and 'Buck' is set to stay.

Evan is sure that he's never been happier.

He stops over for dinner at Bobby and Athena's on Thursday nights.

While they're washing up, he gathers his shoes, slipping them on; he tries to be quiet, considering May's already in bed.

It's nearing midnight; he doesn't want to overstay his welcome.

"I better head home," Buck whispers, "Early start tomorrow."

"We have a free bed, you know?" Athena asks, gathering empty glasses off the dinner table, "Since Harry's with Michael."

"I wouldn't wanna intrude," He bends to do his laces

"Buckaroo, we invited you, remember?" Athena tells him, "Your apartment is almost an hour away—time you could spend sleeping."

Buck stops what he is doing and sighs with a grin; he knows exactly where this is heading.

"We're heading into a twenty-four shift, Evan," Bobby speaks warmly, "We'd feel better if you stayed."

Buck slips off his shoes, "I'll stay."

Athena shoots a smile in Bobby's direction, "There should be some pajamas for you in the drawers, the second row down," She instructs, "Your toothbrush is in the medicine cabinet."

"Thank you," Evan skips up the stairs, "Goodnight."

***

The following morning, Buck is woken by his seasonal allergies.

He's survived a truck explosion, a pulmonary embolism, and a tsunami, but hayfever still sucks.

He snags an antihistamine from their medicine cabinet and creeps into the kitchen, careful not to make any noise.

May's left for work - there's a note on the table explaining that she'll be late home as she's checking out her new apartment with Michael.

Buck's downing his second glass of water when Athena steps out of her bedroom, "Buck?" She questions, "You're up early."

Evan rubs his eyes, "Allergies."

Athena rests a hand on his back as she opens the fridge door, "You need an antihistamine?" He asks, "May's a sufferer too, so we're stocked up."

"I took one," He smiles - uncertain, "Sorry, I didn't ask."

Athena fixes him with her parental glare as she tuts with a laugh, "Evan, you don't have to ask," She assures, "This is your home too."

Evan stares at her, mouth dropping open, "Thanks."

His mother's words ring in his head; You're under our roof, Evan, so you have to respect our rules.

Growing up, his parents never once referred to their house as his home.

Athena pats his arm, "Come on, you're helping me with breakfast."

"Of course," He claps his hands together, "Where do you need me?"

***

Being called 'Evan' again by those he trusts is second nature, almost like things have never been any different.

Buck struggles to see the floor as he heads into May's new apartment, box in his arms, "Hey, May," He calls, "This box isn't labeled."

She rolls her eyes, "It is, but Dad covered it with tape," She tries to peel the corners off, "Again."

Michael defends, "I'm cautious."

"And I'll be spending the next two weeks trying to cut free my possessions," May taunts; she taps the top of the box, "Bedroom."

Buck nods, "Gotcha."

She smiles, "Thanks, Ev."

Warmth spreads over Evan's chest, he smiles, hanging his head; well and truly caught up in the euphoria of acceptance.

His pseudo-sister was the first to try 'Ev.'

It works. Buck loves it.

"Buck, can you help me in the kitchen when you're done?" Athena calls, "I'm gonna your help with these latches."

"Sure!" He places the box on the floor and turns into the kitchen.

Chimney, who is in the middle of constructing a bookshelf with David, turns, "Oh no, brace yourself," He taunts, "Fire Marshall Buckley is back!"

Buck remains straight-faced, "Ha."

"Why do I need these, Mom?" May quizzes, "I'm not a kid."

"We have around ten thousand earthquakes a year," Evan explains; he grabs the latches, "Things get broken. This is an added safety," He points to the windows, "Especially this high up."

May narrows her eyes, "So, what I'm hearing is that this was your idea, not Mom's?"

Buck nods, "I suggested it."

Athena squeezes his shoulder, "I accepted the suggestion."

May bops her head, "Oh, I see."

"Buck's got an eye for safety," Bobby praises.

Eddie walks in with May's ironing board, "Which is saying something."

Buck glares, "You're so funny."

Michael walks over, "Thank you, Evan," He says, all actively ignoring Eddie and Chimney's mischievous laughter, "Earthquakes aren't a thing I considered."

"You're not gonna remember everything," Evan holds up the latches, "If you want, I could set some of these up at your place."

"That would be wonderful."

Athena sports a fond smile, "It's like having our own personal handyman."

Buck jokes, "Well, if that's the case, you can all pay me."

***

Buck lays on his front, across Maddie and Chimney's carpeted ground, his eyes fixed on his niece.

She's busy chomping down on one of her many toys, but she stares at him with her wide brown eyes, fixated on his face, much like he is on hers.

Sometimes, even thirteen months into her life, he can't believe that his sister, and one of his closest friends, came together to make a human being.

"How can somebody be this cute?"

Maddie steps over, "Oh my, God," She laughs fondly, "She's covered in drool."

"That's fine," Buck gathers a cloth, wiping it over Jee's face, "She's still adorable, aren't you?"

Jee-Yun throws her hands in the air, "Yeah!"

"Yeah," Evan repeats, bopping her nose.

"Should I be worried about you two?" Maddie asks, sitting on the couch, "You're gonna be partners in crime."

"Just wait until we join forces with Christopher," He scoops his niece onto his knee, "It will be over for all of you."

"What is it about you, Evan?" Maddie asks, "The way she looks at you - the way everybody looks at you, it's like-"

He asks, curious, "Like what?"

"I don't know," She tilts her head, "Like you're the key to the mysteries of the universe."

He barks a laugh, "Maybe, I am."

Maddie grabs her book from the coffee table, "Chim thinks you're a trained hypnotist."

"No comment."

Maddie throws her head back with a laugh.

Buck turns to Jee, "Where's my nose?"

She reaches up, grabbing his nose.

"That's right!" He praises, "You're a genius."

Jee-Yun blabbers, "Ev-an!"

Maddie sits bolt upright, "Did she just?"

Jee-Yun knows a couple of words - Ma, Dada, No, Yes, but she's hasn't ventured any further.

Jee-Yun swings her arms around, "Evan!"

Oh, and he melts, a delighted cry catching in his throat.

His teary eyes meet Maddie's.

Every time someone utters his given name, Evan is one step closer to the light.

With Jee-Yun's soft squeal, he's out - the darkness now, a distant memory.

"Yes," He holds her up, "That's me!"

***

By Halloween, Evan barely notices the change - it goes to show how fantastic his family is.

He fishes out the insides of a pumpkin, humming 'This is Halloween' under his breath.

Hen's amused look bores into him.

He shakes his hands, "This is fun."

"How?" She laughs, "I once had my hand inside a man's chest, and somehow, this is worse."

Buck reclines his head with a laugh; he grabs a cloth, drying his hands.

"Hey, Evan!" Chimney sings from downstairs, "I need you and your abnormal height!"

"Again?!" Buck hollers back, not dropping his grin, "Chim, this is borderline exploitation!"

Hen bows her head, chuckling.

Buck hears the ladder being pulled out.

Hen raises her eyebrows, "You better go, Buck, or we'll be taking him to the emergency room."

"Oh," Buck runs, "Stop it, Chim, I'm coming!"

***

Buck's definition of a perfect weekend is spending it with the Diaz Boys - teasing Eddie endlessly and sneaking treats with Christopher, even though they both know that Eddie sees what they're doing.

Evan was apprehensive when Eddie suggested they took a trip to the carnival - rollercoasters, and crowds - reminded him too much of the calm before the tsunami.

He agrees to go - 'exposure therapy,' Eddie calls it, and Buck knows he's right.

It's okay, and they have a ton of fun.

Buck wins one too many prizes for Christopher, which Eddie ends up carrying, along with Christopher's crutches, but he doesn't complain.

It's easy to understand why Christopher wants to hold Buck's hand - he remembers the day at the Pier, too.

Knowing that the ocean is an hour away helps because at least that's not a natural disaster that could stop them in their tracks.

Thanks to the pandemic restrictions, there are fewer people, which eases the pressure further.

Sunset was almost two hours ago, and Christopher keeps yawning in-between words.

Without a second thought, Buck kneels, holding out his hands, "Here we go, buddy."

Christopher shuffles forward, tucking his face against Evan's shoulder.

Buck gathers him, letting Christopher tangle his legs around his middle before getting up, "There we go, I've got you."

Eddie smiles fondly, "We should head back to the car."

"Yeah," Buck sings, patting Christopher's back, "Which way is it?"

Eddie points, "That way, I think," He darts his head around, "Hopefully."

Buck snorts a laugh, "We'll find it, eventually."

Christopher is ten, he usually doesn't like being carried around anymore, but he settles in Buck's grasp, content.

Buck fears the day that they won't be able to scoop him up - he knows that anxiety is doubled, in Eddie's case.

"You okay with him?" Eddie whispers.

"Of course," Buck grins, "I'm legal guardian material."

Eddie scoffs a laugh, shaking his head.

"He's getting taller recently," Buck comments, "It's insane."

"Usually what happens with kids, Buck," Eddie teases.

"Ha, ha," Buck replies, monotone.

"Dad, Buck...." Christopher shushes, "I'm sleeping," He mutters.

Eddie bits his lip to conceal a laugh, "Sorry, bud."

"We'll keep it down," Buck adds, tapping his back.

Christopher tightens his arms around Evan, his head lulling on his shoulder.

"You okay there, bud?" Buck asks.

"Yeah," Christopher breaths sleepily, "You're comfy."

"Well, thank you."

Christopher goes quiet, and for a moment, Buck thinks he's fallen asleep, but then he speaks, "Love you, Evan."

Evan's breath catches sharply; he tightens his grasp, "Love you too, kid."

His family, Buck can't quite believe his luck - they're perfect, in every sense of the word.

***

Unfortunately, not every use of his given name comes at a happy time, but that would be beside the point.

'Buck,' 'Evan,' and even 'Buckaroo,' - they need to be used, freely, no matter the time of the day or what is happening. It helps; it means that he can't associate any of them with a particular emotion or trauma.

Evan scouts the roof of a decrepit apartment complex - that is, according to dispatch, set for demolition, but they've received calls about somebody being trapped on the top floor.

Time hasn't been kind to the structure, narrowing their time for a search and rescue.

So, starting from the roof and working down seems like the best bet.

Buck steps towards the door, the foundation creaks, dangerously loud under his foot.

He grabs Hen's low-hanging wrist as the roof gives way below them.

He doesn't remember what happens next.

With the dangerous nature of their jobs - Evan's name and all the possible variations are often uttered in worry.

He blurts awake with desperate rapid breaths; every ache and pain catches up with his concussed mind, "Hen?"

Hen's panicked voice cautions, "Buck don't move!"

The light is low, but he can see, despite the abundance of dust particles.

His back rests against debris; he can tell by the throbbing pain in his biceps that he didn't land in the position he was in, more likely manhandled into place.

He doesn't want to consider the time that Hen spent alone, waiting for him to wake, "Hen," He repeats - desperate.

"I'm here."

He lifts his head, "Are you hurt?"

She crawls into view, hauling her gear along with her, "I'm fine," She promises.

He traces his eyes over her - she's got a couple of scratches, but nothing too worrying, "We both fell?" He asks, confused.

"Yeah," She seems guilty, "But I was lucky."

"Why?"

She presses her fingers to his pulse point, "I had a soft landing."

"Yeah?"

"You."

"Oh," He laughs at the absurdity, "I'm an excellent crash mat."

She glares, "That's not funny."

"It kind of is," He offers her his dopiest smile, "Glad I saved you."

"Thank you," She kisses his forehead, "Now, stay awake."

His eyelids are heavy, "What about the victim?"

"Dead," She sighs.

Buck changes the subject, "What's wrong with me?"

"Broken arm," She lists, "Some blunt force trauma, and—" Her throat cracks; she can't say it.

"And?"

"Ruptured spleen," She sniffles, "I think."

Buck mutters, small, "Oh, that's not good."

She grips his hand, "All you've gotta do is stay awake, okay?"

He tries, but his eyes are heavy.

"Evan," She grabs his chin, "Please don't close your eyes."

"Hen."

"You're not dying on me," She orders, "I won't let you."

He smiles, weak, "Okay."

"I'm right here," She vows, "I'm not going anywhere."

He praises, "You're gonna be a great doctor."

"I know," She tells him, "You don't need to tell me that now, though."

"I have to, just—"

"Zip it, Buckaroo," She snaps lovingly, "We're getting out of here, you hear me? You're gonna help plan my surprise party when I graduate, and then we're gonna get drunk together."

"I'd like that."

She presses their foreheads together, "Just stay awake."

"I will."

***

Buck knows he's far too comfortable in hospitals; he is familiar with the staff and can easily snag an extra pudding at mealtimes, thanks to an older nurse who first treated him following his emergency tracheotomy and had on every subsequent visit.

Still, despite the laughs he has, he can't wait to escape - back to normality.

He folds his LAFD hoodie when Eddie swings inside, hand grasping the doorframe, "You ready?"

Buck turns his head, "Did you grab my meds?" He asks.

Eddie holds up a clear bag, "Right here."

"Thanks."

Eddie steps inside to place the medication into Buck's backpack; he then takes over, zipping up the bag.

Evan hums a laugh, "I can do that, you know?"

"I know," Eddie prods Buck's shoulder, "But we wouldn't want you to throw your stitches."

Buck perches on the bed, "Hen would kill me."

"Hen would kill us," Eddie corrects, "Mainly me."

Evan snorts, "Why?"

"I'm in charge of keeping you in line, apparently," He chuckles.

Buck hangs his head as he laughs, rubbing at the nape of his neck.

Eddie's tone turns sincere, "Are you alright?"

Buck's okay - really. The pain medication is doing its job, and he barely feels the ache in his side - what's on his mind is more complicated than that.

Eddie grips his shoulder, "Buck?" He fixes him with a concerned glance, "What's going on?"

He shrugs, "It's complicated."

Eddie sits, "Do you want to talk about it?"

"I almost died," Buck lets go of a breathless laugh, "Again."

Eddie holds a hand in front of his face, failing miserably to hide a grin.

Buck's eyes widen, "What's so funny?"

"Sorry," He moves his hand away, "Just déjà vu - but last time, this was the other way around."

"It was," Buck confirms - the conversation is falling in the direction he needs it to go, "When you told me about your attorney and Christopher, I was scared. I never thought that anybody would trust me as much as you do; Christopher is your life, your everything, and I'm just me."

"You're you," Eddie repeats, softly stern, "That's why I made the decision."

Buck's shoulders sag, "I know."

"You fight for what you believe in, Buck, and you've never once stopped fighting for him," Eddie starts, "You almost killed yourself trying to find him during the tsunami," He takes a breath, "Hen told me about the well collapse; how one of the only words they could get out of you was Christopher's name. Your concern for him became your priority, even when he wasn't in any danger. I knew, then, that it was you because if I had died that day, you would have been taken away from each other, and that wouldn't have been right."

Evan's world would fall apart without Eddie, so would Christopher's - at least together, they'd have somebody to cling onto.

"If I die on this job," Eddie continues, "I'll die knowing that you two have each other."

Tears glisten in Buck's eyes, "So, that's why you changed your will."

"Yeah."

Buck settles his hands on his rocking knees.

Eddie questions, "Is there something else?"

Evan nods deliberately, "When I get hurt, Maddie can get a little short with me."

"She's afraid of losing you."

"Of course," Buck fidgets, locking his fingers together, "Maddie's lost too much. She's already had to stand by, watch our brother die, and live with the fallout. The decisions my parents made when they had me."

Eddie hisses, "Buck—"

"I know, I am wanted," He assures, "By her, by you, by the team - but this isn't about that."

Eddie's expression relaxes, glad that he doesn't have to lecture Buck on his importance again.

"It's just," Buck sighs, "Maddie latches to those she loves, and she can't let go - I wouldn't want to put her in a place where that is her only option."

Eddie brow furrows, "I'm not following."

"I'm going to make an amendment to my living will," Buck concludes, the space between each breath grows shorter.

"What amendment?"

He lowers his head, "I'm going to give you power of attorney."

Eddie's face softens, "Oh."

"Maddie has it right now," Buck scratches at his cheek, "But I've spoken to her about changing it."

Eddie's eyes widen, "You have?"

Evan nods, "It was my parents before, but they don't know me, well enough, to make the right decisions, but you do - and I know that you'd be strong enough to make them."

"Evan," Eddie meets his gaze, "I can do that, for you," He vows, "And, I understand not wanting Maddie to make those decisions, but what about Bobby?"

"I thought of Bobby, but then I remember—"

Eddie realizes, "His kids." Bobby is one of the strongest men they know, but if he was ever faced with the decision to take Buck off life support, he'd crumble under the weight of it all.

"I know this is big and that these decisions would hurt you," Evan croaks, "But I have faith that you could make them."

"I could," He confirms, "Evan, if I die, you become my son's legal guardian, and I'm sure that wasn't easy for you to process because yes, I trust you, but in that scenario, I'm dead," He lifts his shoulders in a shrug, "If you could do that, I can do this."

Evan leans, gathering his friend in his arms, "Thank you," He whispers, gripping tight, "For everything."

#911 fic #911 fanfiction #evan buckley #eddie diaz #hen wilson #maddie buckley #christopher diaz #athena grant #bobby nash #chimney han #liberty's writing

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multific · 5 years

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Not a Player Anymore

Chris Evans x Reader

Summary: You knew he was a player, yet you fell for him, that was the first mistake. The second was that you actually made yourself believe that if you stay by his side, he’d notice and learn to love you.

Warning: Swearing, Angst

Chris was a player.

He loved the attention that women gave him. He had a different woman in his bed every night, sometimes even two.

And you, being his best friend had to be there for him. Even if it broke your heart.

You always wanted more than just friendship with him, when he wasn’t flirting with someone, he was the sweetest and most genuine person you have ever met. He always made you laugh and was kind to you.

You remember that in the beginning, before you knew about his lifestyle, you really tried to win him over and to become his girlfriend. You saw potential in him, he was an amazing uncle, he was good with animals and had the sweetest laugh. But that image of him crumbled when you went to the club with him Mackie and Sebastian. Sebastian told you everything about Chris and after a few shots, maybe a bit too much.

The once sweet, caring, handsome man became a player, unreliable mess. Although you never told him that.

And you don’t really know why you stayed after the fact. Maybe it was his blue eyes and his smile that convinced you to stay and be his friend.

And that you became one of his best as a matter of fact. He often came to you when he had problems or in need of advice. He often came to you when he was bored or needed to spend some time with someone.

He became that shameless friend who would make you come to his place, just so he can pretend that you are his wife so his one night stand would leave quicker.

It always broke your heart, both to see him with someone else and to know that it was normal to him. You remember one time he called you over because the girl he picked up the night before didn’t want to leave since she thought that it was more than a one night. When you got over there she yelled at him and in the end, she slapped you in the face. Of course, Chris apologized and tried to do everything to make it up to you.

And you don’t really know why you stayed after that.

Maybe it was the love that you began to feel for him. A hopeless one-sided love. You always wondered what will be the last straw. The last thing that he can do that will make you completely forget about him or that will make you confess everything for him.

You didn’t have to wait long though.

After three long years of friendship, three long years of you hoping for something that will never happen, he did it.

He managed to fuck up so badly, that it made you both yell your feelings at his face while leaving him behind forever.

You called him after a long day at work, you were desperate for some movie with him and a little alcohol and chocolate maybe, a nice relaxing day after a horrible and stressful week of work.

Of course he agreed and you headed to his place after work.

Since you knew were given a key to his place, you quickly walked in and you immediately heart the undeniable sounds of sex. Moaning, groaning and skin slapping against skin.

It wasn’t the first time you came over while he was with someone, but this time, you were pissed.

You talked to him about how tired you were. He promised a day where it was only you two and that bottle of wine you just brought. You heard the woman moan out his name and you thought you recognized it, but you were so full of anger, without even taking your shoes or jacket off, you stormed into the house and to his bedroom. They obviously heard you since you stormed down like a horde of buffalos would.

As you swung the door open you got another slap in the face but this was like a cold shower of reality. The man, the man you were in love with was not only in bed with any woman, but your best friend. The friend you told him about. The friend who knew about your feelings towards him. The friend who knew you for so long it felt like she was your sister. The same friend who comforted you when you cried over him was now on his bed naked. And there you stood, stunned watching them as they tried to dress up. You found your voice a second later.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt, please, continue.” you said and slapped the door behind yourself. You silently begged that he wouldn’t come after you. You knew that if he would start talking, you wouldn’t be able to stop yourself and you’d end up telling him everything.

You were nearly out of the house when Chris came after you.

“What the fuck is wrong with you, Y/N?” you immediately stopped at his voice. All you saw was red. You were crying from both anger and the betrayal that you just felt.

“What? I told you I’d be over around six! And you not only fuck someone when you promised that we would have a relaxing night, but you are fucking my best friend! I came here to spend some nice time with you. You knew I was coming and yet you choose to do this instead, just how addicted are you?” in the middle of your yelling, Chris just stood there stunned, he never heard you raise your voice. Your friend arrived at the front door as well, trying to leave but you had none of it. “And you. Bitch of the year. You knew how I was feeling towards him! You knew I loved him and yet you just can’t keep your legs closed, what kind of friend are you?!” you turned to leave but Chris grabbed your wrist.

“Hey! Don’t leave, what feelings are you talking about? Y/N!” you jerked your hand back, making him let go.

“Don’t ever call me or look for me, I don’t want to see either of you ever again!”

And you stormed out, not looking back.

Of course after the incident, both of them tried to contact you, but you never picked up the phone or opened the door for them. You didn’t want to see their faces. You thought about moving away and starting a new life.

After about a week they both stopped trying to reach you, Chris even went to your workplace trying to talk but you were lucky and that day was your day off and your boss didn’t give him any information thinking that he might be a stalker of yours, you will forever be thankful for that to her.

***

Weeks, months and even a year passed.

And now, you were over it.

Only your memories of Chris was left and that empty void in your heart that he left. You thought about way you can make yourself feel full again. Maybe a new job, a new pet, a new relationship or a new car, new clothes? Nothing was inviting enough.

Then you heard a knock on your door.

Must be the takeaway. You thought as you stood from the couch to grab your dinner.

But it wasn’t the delivery guy, it was Chris.

You let out a long disappointed sigh. You didn’t want to talk to him. It already has been a whole year you thought he forgot about you just like you did.

“If you brought me my Chinese, I’ll take it, but if not, please leave.” you waited for a second and just as he opened his mouth a guy came up from behind him.

“Delivery for Miss Y/L/N.”

“Thank you!” you gave a nice tip for the guy and grabbed your food, you wanted to close your door but Chris’ foot was in the way. From behind the door, Chris heard your voice call out.

“Take your foot away or I’ll break it. You are trespassing. Don’t make me call the cops.”

“Please, I just want to talk!” he begged. You opened the door just enough to look at him.

“And what makes you think that I want to?”

“You left so abruptly on that day! I had so many things to say.”

“Too bad you’re thinking with your dick instead with your head, right? I really thought you noticed my feelings and this was your way of making me fuck off. If that was the plan, it worked. Now, leave, go, get out, never come back, forget me, my address, my phone number, everything and LEAVE!” you really hoped that he’d understand and leave once and for all.

“I-I, please just let me in, give me ten minutes to explain myself.” you let out an irritated groan. But you knew, he’d be back if you hadn’t let me speak, so you let him in. You were sitting at the table across from him eating your dinner like it was the normal thing to do while drinking your ice tea. You looked at your watch and then at him.

“You have two minutes, go.” you grabbed your fork again and waited for his excuse and explanation so you can finally close that chapter of your life.

“Ok. I did not know about how you felt for me. When Anna left that day she told me. I felt horrible. You knew how dense I used to be. But I changed. And I have been trying to talk to you for a year now. Now that I think back, I can see that you tried to make your feelings obvious to me, but it didn’t work. I remember when we went to the club one time and Seb complimented you, you wore that nice dark green dress, you looked stunning. And to be honest, I had and still have feelings for you. I was just an idiot and pushed them aside. But now, I want you, even as a friend is fine. Just-“

“Thirty seconds left.”

“I know that it is my fault that your heart was broken, and I get why you are cold with me. But I’m asking, no, begging you to take me back as your friend and let me prove my love for you.”

“Time’s up.”

You set there in silence, he assumed that you were thinking about his suggestion, and when you finally spoke up, his heart got broken into millions of pieces.

“You’d honestly think that after what you have done, I’ll waltz back to you. You embarrassed me, I felt both betrayed and stupid. I had such deep and true feelings towards you. I saw myself with you, I told myself that I will help you stop being a player, a playboy and become a real man. But instead, you turned into a pig. And I don’t care about the strangers that I had to get out of your house for you. I’m not talking about the woman who hit me because you lied to her. I’m talking about that bitch, Anna. She knew about my feelings, yet she choose to do that. You, I wasn’t really surprised, but she… she disappointed me. And the fact that you’d think that after it all, after everything I’d come back to you and fall in love with you again? Fuck no. And now, as you promised. Leave and never come back.” you were done. Done with it all. He was crying in front of you but you didn’t even feel sympathy for him.

“I will die without you, Y/N. You are everything to me.”

“Sounds like a you problem. Maybe next time, be honest with your feelings and don’t fuck everything that has legs and boobs and you’ll notice the real thing in front of you.”

“Please, one chance is all I need.”

“Don’t make me say things that I will regret just to make you leave me the fuck alone.”

“You can’t.”

“Don’t give me a challenge.”

“You can’t say anything that Mackie or Sebastian hasn’t said already when I told them why you left.”

“Chris, please just go. Find yourself someone for the night and forget me.”

“I stopped having one night stands.”

“Wow. What happened? Someone left you a nice disease? Or you finally managed to knock someone up?”

“No, and no. I realized that I’m in love.”

“Disgusting.”

“What?”

“The fact that you’d think I’d touch you even with a stick after I saw you with her.”

Chris didn’t know what to say to that. He was stubborn, yes, but it was obvious that you just said those things to make him leave, and he won’t give up so easily.

“I love you.” was his reply.

“Don’t.”

***

For the next week, Chris has been coming over to your place but you never let him in. He stood in front of your door for hours and then he left. Every. Single. Day. Didn’t he have a life?

But you were also surprised how determined he was, he stood there no matter what. However, when a storm happened, you couldn’t keep your cold, defensive façade up any longer.

As the rain poured and the wind blew you opened your door and yelled at him.

“For Christ’s sake, get in!” he didn’t need to be told twice. Like a lost puppy, he got into your house. “Wait here, I’ll get you a towel.”

You went to get him the towel while he took his soaked jacket and shoes off.

You threw the towel at him.

“Go take a shower. You will catch a cold.”

Without saying a word, Chris left to take a hot shower while you prepared a cup a warm tea for him.

He sat down right in front of you at the table, just like a few weeks ago when he came over. He slowly drank his tea.

“Thank you for letting me in.”

“You should have left, it’s not fun to stand in the rain.” you’d know. On the day you found him in bed with Anna, you did the same thing. And you got yourself a nice cold that lasted for a long time.

“I need to prove to you that I’m serious, that I’m not a player anymore. I’ll keep repeating it until you believe me.”

“I do.”

“Y-You do?” he looked so surprised.

“I believe you stopped. But I can’t see anything other when I look at you but the time I saw you with her.”

“I know that it’s something you find disgusting that I was with her. But I changed. I was such an idiot back then. You were right, I didn’t see the good when it was right in front of me. I’m not here to give a big speech about why I did it, I’m only here to ask for your forgiveness and to get you back into my life.”

“I can’t. I don’t want to get hurt, not again.” all that confidence that you built up during the year left, all you had was nervousness and fear in your heart. Fear that he might repeat, fear that he might go back, fear of another heartbreak. Just like the old saying fool me once shame on you, fool me twice shame on me. And you weren’t ready to be led by your nose and then thrown away.

“I can promise you that you won’t! I will do anything in my power and more. I want this to work, us. Give us a chance. Please, this is the first time in my entire life I have felt like this. It actually hurts. Love is both the worst and the best thing that ever happened to me. Thanks to love I can feel this amazing thing towards you, I can be happy, but I also lost you.”

“Chris, I don’t know.” you felt so conflicted. You wanted to give him a chance but at the same time, you didn’t.

“I’ll give you time. How about that? I won’t come here. You still have my phone number?” you shook your head. “Okay, then I’ll write it down and leave it for you. If you are willing to try even as friends, call me. Anytime, any day and I’ll immediately come for you. If you are not… then just threw the number out and forget me. I won’t come here ever again and even if I know that it will be hard, I’ll try and forget you.”

Surprisingly, he kept his word. He didn’t show up. Which was a hard thing for Chris to do since he was so used to going over to your place and wait for you like a lost dog. Chris found himself staring at his phone even at work, he didn1t even notice this habit only when a cast member called him out for it.

“Waiting for the lady to call?” the person hit the nail right on the head and he didn’t even knew it.

You on the other hand, contemplating your options, you even wrote a whole page full of cons and pros of the situation and what the future might hold.

It was true, even if your heart got broken and defeated, there was still love in it. Love for Chris. And that tiny part was aching and begging for you to call him already.

And you ended up not calling him.

You texted him.

Come over tonight at 6pm.

Chris’ heart fluttered and filled with hope. While yours just got more anxious and nervous.

He was there 6pm sharp. With a single white rose in hand.

“Here, this is yours.” he said and handed you the flower.”

“Thank you.”

He watched as you placed the delicate thing into a vase while he sat at the couch. His eyes shined as you smelled the flower and smiled at the sweet scent.

“Look, I won’t make you suffer any longer and just say it as it is.” you said and he was too afraid to breathe let alone speak. “I will give you a chance, but and this is a huge but, be yourself please. Be the funny, caring, kind Chris who a known and learnt to love. Be the one who makes me laugh until I can’t breathe. Don’t be the desperate Chris who wants me back. Please. It hurts me to see you like this.”

“I promise, yes. Thank you, oh Y/N thank you for trusting me again! I will take you on a date! A proper one!” he was so caught up with his thoughts he didn’t even realized when he hugged you and kissed your head. He was going on and on about the dates that he was planning and one thing he established right at the beginning.

“I will treat you well! Like a real princess, I promise!” he made a lot of promises on that day. You ended up smiling and laughing at his expressions so much that your face began to hurt.

You were happy to have his old side back, the one you knew and loved. And you were more than happy to finally be over with your grudge and happy in life, with him.

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#chris evans fanfiction #chris evans scenarios #chris evans fan fiction #chris evans imagine #chris evans x reader #chris evans x you #chris evans x y/n #chris evans imagines #chris evans #actor #actor fanfiction #chris evans scenario #chris evans angst #angst

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eggos-world · 4 years

Text

Complainers (A MHA fanfic)

Midorya x Fem! Reader

(A/N : So this is my first fanfic EVER and I've really been into MHA for a while now and I LOVED reading all the fanfics, and I saw this particular ask to a blog if the reader had a writing quirk and how would Midorya and two other characters would react (I am so sorry I forgot the blog who wrote that) but I wanted to put my spin on it and make the reader be into slam poetry and let their tongue be their weapon. This particular poem is by Rudy Fransisco!! Not my original poem!! Hope y'all enjoy!)

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When you write, it's like the whole world around you finally goes silent. You live out the daydreams in your own head feeling the words on the page a safe space. This was your quirk. Even if it didn't seem as great to be in combat fighting villains, at least it's something to fight your inner demons. That to you was enough.

Midorya was well use to the song and dance of getting you to snap out of your world when the bell rings, apologizing in advance. In truth he hates breaking your concentration, he knows full well that he hates the feeling being separated from writing his notes. But he knew you would sit there for hours on end just writing in your book, even if you finish it all in one go you wouldn't notice that you were writing on the desk. (And yes he had to get you out of there and insisted to clean it up for you). Even after all of this he still admired your quirk no less.

The bell had rung for lunch and everyone stood up and packed their books away and walked out one by one. You feel a tap on your shoulder not a minute later, and a familiar soft spoken voice breaks you from your concentration. " Hey, Y/N, I-Its time for lunch" He says with a smile and you close your book and packed it into your bag, walking with him side by side to the lunchroom.

"So what was today's story in your book?" He asked with a smile looking to you.

"Not a story today, I've been into poetry for a while. So I figured I might try something different. " You say smiling back.

"Woah, I didn't know you were into poetry. That seems really cool! What was it about? "

You were always so surprised that he was interested in your work. Since it was such a personal thing to you and you haven't really shown off your work due to self consciousness, he was always very supportive even from the beginning. Later on you realized that he also loved writing. That was one of the many things that formed a great friendship between you both, besides from your love of heroes and nerding out with each other of course!. You both carried out your conversation while getting your lunches. Sitting down on the table along with everyone else smiling and joking you all causally eat your meals. You pull out your notebook, sliding it over to Midorya to take a look after you promised him too. He smiles and opens to the bookmarked paged, but a soon as he does a hand flashes and snatches the book out of his hands.

"Please tell me you don't think your sorry excuse of a quirk would get you into the top ten!" Bakugou loudly exclaiming with a smug look.

Well shit.

While he was chuckling you were about to stand and get it back, but Midorya beat you to it trying to pry it off of his hands, but Bakugou only lifts it up higher. "What's your deal nerd? Trying to stick up for your little girlfriend?" He says chuckling louder.

"S-she's not my girlfriend kachan! Give back her book! It's not yours!" Midorya says with a blush forming on his face. But Bakugou shoves him away and faces you.

"What makes you think that writing fairytale lands and princesses would make you pro hero? That's not going to save you from the real world. What's going to happen if a villain comes in and starts destroying everything around you? You're gonna write him a love story with a happily ever after!? Give me a break! " He says with a laugh.

"Kachan! You need to stop this" Midorya says stepping back up to him. "Not everyone's quirk is perfect!"

"Heh! If you really think she could handle the world on her own-" He says before holding out the book "Let's give her a chance to prove me wrong! "

And just like that, your notebook, your work your safe haven was blown up to flames. Bits of burnt paper flown into the air, your book quickly into ashes. You didn't notice midorya quickly moving to get his water and put the fire out, your eyes was fixated on Bakugou. A smirk had formed on his face that made your heart sink into your stomach. A lump forming within your chest as you fought the urge to cry. He moved his arms and raised his eyebrows, waiting for you to make the next move. But you felt a hand around your arm.

"Y/N, you don't need this now. Let's just go-"

"No... " You say stepping up to Bakugou. Taking one last look at your destroyed book you turn your head back to him. "It's a shame, because the poem I was just writing... Was about you. " You say with a sad smile and a nod. He blinks back in surprise, his smirk growing larger than before. "That's not a good thing.. " You later say. Even though it was still in the works, even if you didnt get to finish it you felt your tongue burn. An unfamiliar sensation forming in your mouth. Usually you would feel it within your hand as you write, a soft glow transferring onto the words you'd write on the page. But now that feeling had made it's way from your throat and to your mouth.

And it's telling you to speak the fuck up.

You took a breath, looked him deep in the eye and let your mouth took the wheel.

"The following are true stories.

May 26th 2003 Aron Ralston was hiking, a boulder fell on his right hand. He waited four days, then amputated his arm with a pocket knife.

On New Year’s Eve, a woman was bungee jumping in Zimbabwe. The cord broke, she then fell into a river and had to swim back to land in crocodile infested waters with a broken collarbone.

Claire Champlin was smashed in the face by a five pound watermelon being propelled by a slingshot.

Matthew Brobst was hit by a javelin.

David Striegl was punched in the mouth. By a kangaroo.

The most amazing part about these stories is when asked about the experience they all smiled, shrugged, and said “I guess things could have been worse.”

So go ahead.

Tell me that you’re having a bad day.

Tell me about the traffic. Tell me about your boss. Tell me about the job you’ve been trying to quit for the past four years. Tell me the morning is just a town house burning to the ground and the snooze button is a fire extinguisher. Tell me the alarm clock stole the keys to your smile, drove it into 7:00 AM, and the crash totaled your happiness.

Tell me! Tell me!

Tell me, how blessed are we to have tragedies so small it can fit on the tips of our tongues?

You see, when Evan lost his legs he was speechless. When my cousin was assaulted, she didn’t speak for forty eight hours. When my uncle was murdered, we had to send out a search party to find my father’s voice.

Most people have no idea that tragedy and silence have the exact same address!

When your day is a museum of disappointments hanging from events that were outside of your control, when you find yourself flailing in an ocean of “Why is this happening to me?”, when it feels like your guardian angel put in his two week notice two months ago and just decided not to tell you, when it feels like God is just a babysitter that’s always on the phone, when you get punched in the esophagus by a fistful of life, remember that every year two million people die of dehydration so it doesn’t matter if the glass is half full or half empty, there’s water in the cup.

Drink it, and stop FUCKING complaining.

Muscle is created by repeatedly lifting things that have been designed to weigh us down. So when your shoulders feel heavy, stand up straight and lift your chin – call it exercise. When the world crumbles around you, you have to look at the wreckage and then build a new one out of the pieces that are still here.

Remember, you are still here.

The human heart beats approximately four thousand times per hour.

Each pulse, each throb, each palpitation is a trophy engraved with the words “You are still alive”...

You are still alive...

Act like it."

When you felt the sensation cool from your lips and the tip of your tongue, Bakugou's eyes were wide. His smirk had fallen. Silence filled around you, even from Midorya. Everyone has seen and heard the whole thing. Just as you were about to walk back to your table to grab your things and leave, you hear a slow clap. Then another. Then another. You turn your head to see everyone clapping and cheering. You smile a little. Bakugou steps back and walks off with a smack of his teeth.

"Tch, whatever weirdo.. " He mumbles under his breath.

You walked over to Midorya smiling and he quickly gives you a hug. "That was amazing! The way you kept firing words at kachan was incredible! I never seen him so speechless like that! " He pulls away with a smile and a blush.

"Oh hehe! It was nothing really" You say forming a blush yourself, looking away shyly.

"I'm really sorry about your notebook though. I could buy you another one and bring it to you tomorrow! "

"Oh no it's okay! I have extras at my house-"

"Nope! It's my treat." He smiles and the bell rings again, making everyone pack up and ready for the next class. Midorya grabs his bag and hands you yours. Making your way back into the building he stops you for a second. "Hey, speaking of treat, d-do you think we could both head out f-for some ice cream after school? " He says with a heavier blush and fiddles with his tie. He always did looked cute when he blushed. You smile and giggle a bit.

"I would love to.. "

(Woah hey! First fanfic done! Hope you all enjoyed that!! 🤣💕)

#my hero academia #midoriya izuku #poetry #slam poetry #deku midoriya #mha fanfiction #mha #izuku x reader #mha bakugou

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feminarrie · 5 years

Text

national anthem [c.e]

a/n: this is very much unedited, but it’s 3:15am and i cba oops. a very special thanks to @pastelshawns for killing me w chris evans concepts and breathing life into this blurb

smut below the cut! (18+)

when chris meets your parents for the first time, he pulls into the driveway of your childhood home a full hour before the party. your mom is busting herself in the kitchen—bowl of tuna mac cradled in the crook of her arm and a plate of sliced watermelon in her right hand—in anticipation for the rest of your family. judging from the absence of other cars on the black asphalt, you’re the first to arrive. chris had insisted on showing up a little earlier to help out your parents as a way to make a good impression. you spent the entire ride from the airport attempting to convince him that they’d fall in love with him simply because of who he is.

still, he climbs out of the car and quickly makes his way toward the passenger side to open your door for you. you thank him with a soft, reassuring smile and a kiss to his cheek. chris makes quick work of grabbing the fruit tart from the back seat and the pan somehow seems smaller in his large hands. his free hand comes to rest on the middle of your back, exposed in the cobalt blue dress that barely sits at your mid-thigh. his hands are cool against your back and it’s a welcome relief from the humidity that wraps itself around your airways.

“my mom said to go ‘round back to say hi to my dad before we head inside.” you say, leading chris in the direction of your backyard. you separate from chris momentarily to reach your arm over the gate, standing on your tiptoes until you manage to get the stubborn lock to slide open. it all happens in a matter of seconds, but chris feels like he’s stuck in a loop. the image of the swell of your ass peeking out from beneath your dress plays on repeat in his mind even as you push the rusted gate open. the space where your ass meets your thighs is easily his favorite place to nip at until splotches of red and purple taint your pretty skin for the next few days.

you prompt him with a call of his name and it’s enough to pull him from his thoughts. as he rounds the corner of your house and onto the concrete patio, he tries to remind himself that he has to be on his best behavior tonight. he knows it’ll be a challenge, but he really wants your parents to like him—to see him as much more than the actor-guy she’s been dating for the past year. chris thinks he could settle down with you, if he’s honest. a white picket fence, a new friend for dodger, and the pitter-patter tiny feet.

introductions go smooth enough that your father asks chris for help with the pool after he’s met your mother. an affectionate guy already, chris welcomes the hug he receives from her and promises to help bring all of the food out when the party draws closer. you watch as it all happens, wide smile that shows all your teeth and a sweet ache in your heart at the sight of your parents with chris. a pair of ray bans perched on the bridge of his nose as he bounds past you to help your dad with the pool cover.

you busy yourself in the kitchen with your mom as she puts the final touches on everything. there is far too much food for the amount of family you have attending the party, but you don’t question her. you simply finish mixing the ambrosia salad before tossing it in the refrigerator for the time being.

“you seem very happy with him.” she says, setting down two plates of cheese, pepperoni, and crackers on a neatly decorated table. your flushed cheeks feel even warmer as you nod, cheeks nearly splitting with your smile. your eyes trailing over to where chris is laughing along with your dad, hand to his chest as your dad takes a seat on the pool deck. chris seems to have noticed you because he grins in your direction before he’s taking a seat opposite of your father.

“i am. i think i might have to fight dad for his attention today, though.” you say, half-joking. your father is so clearly enamored with chris and you’re hopeful that it has eased some of the tension chris had felt for the few days prior.

judging from the way he’s talking animatedly with your father, you think all his fears have dissipated.

. . .

chris is trying really hard to keep his attention on whatever your uncle is talking about. he thinks that he’s talking about how some family drama that chris doesn’t think he wants to know about, but he’d been roped in to listen nearly twenty minutes ago. meanwhile, you’re crouched down to grab some of the trash that had blown off the table. he can see down the front of your dress and while he knew you weren’t wearing a bra already, the empty valley between your breasts looks all too inviting.

when a gust of wind blows a few stray napkins away before you can grab them, chris uses it as his excuse to escape the conversation. he mutters something to the effect of needing to help you before he’s taking easy and quick strides across the yard. he appears next to you in a matter of seconds, napkins clutched in one hand, and he’s offering them to you with a smile.

“thanks, bub.” you say, leaning forward to press a chaste kiss to his lips. chris cups your cheek in his palm, deepening the kiss just slightly. it’s just long enough for you to feel yourself getting lost in the way he captures your lower lip between his and rubs his thumb across the apple of your cheek. he pulls away moments later, lips still centimeters apart. blue irises swirling with a hint of green and a familiar edge that sends a shiver down your spine. you tap at the back of chris’ hand as your faces move further apart. a silent reminder that not here, not now. not even if you want nothing more than to feel the heavy, warm weight of him on your tongue.

chris thinks that if you’re not willing to let him fuck you in your childhood bedroom while everyone else gathers in a disorderly line for food, he can at least satisfy himself with having you nearby. even if that means having you quite literally in his lap after he’s grabbed you a plate of food. you feed him a few pieces of fruit after chris has completely cleared his own plate. his lips linger for just a second longer than they should each time and the fire between your legs is stoked. you attempt to smother the growing heat by talking with your aunt about her new job. despite the way he carries on a conversation with her, asking her all the right questions at the right time, it’s clear that chris knows what he’s doing to you. the hand not holding the corona is keeping your back pressed to his chest, arm wound around you tightly. to anyone else, it’s sweet image of two people very much in love.

sweet enough that nobody pays any mind to the way you wiggle in chris’ lap after your aunt and uncle have excused themselves to go for a dip in the pool. his lips are at your ear and the absolute filth he is whispering into your ear has your cheeks staining red. “gonna let me bend you over my lap later, sweetheart? are you gonna let me mark your ass up since you wanna show it off?”

the quiet whimper that makes its way past your lips is all the confirmation that chris needs to know that he’s got you right where he wants you. needy and he can practically see your resolve crumbling before him. he does little to tease you after that, but a constant hand on you is enough to have the ache between your legs spread. your temperature feels as if it is climbing and you’re itching to move.

you sneak away from chris when your father has pulled him aside to talk. chris slips into the conversation easily and hardly notices when you’re emerging from your house wrapped in a towel. he keeps his eyes trained on your father as you make your way to the pool, too afraid that if he looks at you, he’ll absolutely lose it.

it’s not your intention to rile chris up, either. you’re simply too hot and incapable of sitting still, feelings that the pool washes away the moment you’re slipping into the cool water. you’re submerged up to your collarbone, squinting at the few children and adults around you. it takes little time before the ache subsides in favor of splashing around and laughing when your cousins ask to be thrown into the water.

it’s only when the first warning firework goes off that you get out of the water. a towel wrapped around your shoulders as you make your way toward the patio, a shiver coursing through you at the sudden drop in temperature. you continue shivering as you approach chris, hands wound tightly in the fabric in an effort to keep it closer to you. chris notices immediately, wrapping an arm around you despite you being absolutely soaked and rubbing your arms.

“let’s get you inside and changed, baby. fireworks can wait.” chris utters the words with such warmth and authority, you don’t question him. you simply nod your head and follow him inside as if it’s his home. the cold from the air conditioning has your nipples pebbling beneath your thin bikini top and you truly can’t wait to get out of your bathing suit.

it’s clear that chris is just as impatient, checking over his shoulder before he’s pulling you into the guest bathroom. his lips are on you in an instant and though surprised, you’re kissing him back with an equal amount of fervor. your bottom lip is between his lips, teeth nipping at it as his large hands make their way down your sides, over your hips, and down to knead at your ass. long and slender fingers squeezing and massaging at the flesh there before moving his hands to your hips again. he toys with the tied straps of material that keep your bottoms together and pulls back with a gentle tug of your bottom lip.

“please.” you whisper with a nod of your head. chris unties the strings at your left hip and then your right, a satisfied smirk tugging at the corners of his lips as he watches you undo the ties of your top. if falls away from you easily and chris uses a foot to shove both of them to the side.

“oh, sweetheart.” his voice is thick with arousal. a hand comes up to cup your cheek as he tilts his head down some to look at you. “do you know how much of tease you’ve been today, hm?” he raises a brow at you, thumb smoothing over your cheek bones as he searches your face. there is only a thin ring of blue around his pupils.

you shake your head, grabbing at chris’ wrist and guiding his hand down between your legs. you’re already slick with your arousal and it earns a quiet groan from chris. his thumb finds your clit easily and you don’t think you’ll ever get over the way chris knows just how to touch you to have you whining his name without much thought. there is no fear of the possibility of family members coming to knock on the bathroom door, but rather than chris will stop touching you if they do.

“oh, my sweet, greedy girl.” chris says as he pulls his thumb away from your clit. he runs a single digit up your slit, collecting your arousal before bringing it to your lips. as times before this, you accept his middle finger without question and moans softly at the taste of yourself on his finger tips. it’s a sight that has chris’ cock hardening in the tan pants that do little to hide much of anything. “want me to fuck you in this bathroom, sweetheart? fill you up while everyone else is outside?” and the pitiful you noise you release from the back of your throat is all that chris needs to lift you up by your thighs and carry you the short distance to the bathroom counter.

any other time, chris would gladly lower himself to his knees and have you cum on his tongue—over and over again until your eyes were glassy with tears—but, he doesn’t think you’re allotted that much time. it’s clear that you don’t either because you’re grabbing at his pants, undoing his pants and pulling him from his boxers. hard, thick, and pink, you’re positive that chris’ cock is the only one you’d call pretty. a long vein that runs along the underside that you’ve traced with the tip of your tongue on more than one occasion. you have every intention of doing it again tonight, chris sprawled out on a bed much too small for the both of you and swallowing every drop he has to offer.

right now, though, you’re desperate to feel the stretch of him. it’s something that you voice and has chris pulling his boxers to sit just above his knees. he puts a hand over your mouth as a way to quiet you, soft and breathy moans that are muffled by his palm, as he presses into you inch by inch. it’s a dull pain that you welcome as he stretches you.

one arm wraps around his neck while the other drapes over his shoulder, nails finding purchase somewhere along his broad back. it’s not long before chris bottoms out inside you. he quiets his own groan by burying his face in your shoulder as he begins slowly thrusting in and out of you. his bare cock rubbing along your walls so tantalizingly slow and god, you don’t think you’ll ever get tired of the way he feels inside you—as if he’s made for you and only you.

“taking me so good, sweetheart.” chris mutters praises into your shoulder as he fucks you. one hand is braced on the counter as he angles himself just right to hit you in the deepest part of you while his other hand moves to cup your breast. his thumb and forefinger tweaking your nipple until it’s pearling between them. “always so fucking warm and tight for me.” he continues, hips snapping into yours and you have to bite back the obscene noises that want so badly to fall from your lips.

it’s only a matter of minutes before chris is muttering how he’s going to cum. chants of your name as you press kisses from his sternum to just below his ear. you nip softly at the spot just behind it as you whisper your own praises and encouragements into his ear.

“gonna cum for me, chris?” your words come out soft and breathy. “please? want you to cum for me.” and chris can’t really help himself when you sound so breathless and fucked out. so, it’s not long before he’s painting your insides with his cum and mumbling promises of making you cum as many times as you like that night.

#chris evans x reader #chris evans x you #chris evans smut #chris evans fluff #chris evans blurb

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teecohenc · 4 years

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stitch by stitch, tear apart .

WHO: Tina Cohen-Chang & Tanya Cohen-Chang with mentions of Ji-Hun Cohen-Chang, Santana Lopez, Sam Evans, Hunter Clarington & Rachel Berry. WHAT: Happy Holidays???? ( Not in Castleport, my dudes ). WHERE: Tanya Cohen-Chang & Ji-Hun Cohen-Chang’s home. WHEN: Thanksgiving. WARNINGS: Mentions of parental death & hints at depression.

“Mama?” Tina called out as she carefully stepped over the threshold and into to her old family home; a dark and barbed weight settling in her chest as it tended to do ever since his funeral.

Honestly, she didn’t know how her mother could stand to still live in a place where each room was now a crippling reminder of the sunshine presence that would never fill them again. Hell, it was only last week that she’d been able to put back up her favorite framed photo she had of her and her father ( her, sitting atop his shoulders at 6 years old with a missing front-toothed grin while he laughed and laughed and spun them around ) without collapsing into tears.

They’d both agreed weeks back that Thanksgiving wouldn’t be celebrated this year. The mere idea of it was just too hard to comprehend. Truthfully, there was nothing more Tina wanted than to just stay at home for the night, curled with Salem and a few mugs of generously spiked cider while she watched a mind-numbing series on Netflix. But her mother had asked her over the day before yesterday, and there was no way she could or would refuse.

However, the sight of the small, well-loved living room table filled with gimbap, kimchi, and soju all laid out neatly across its surface was pretty paramount in both startling and confusing the absolute hell out of her.

“What—?” but her voice cut off as soon as her mother appeared from down the short hall. For a long moment, Tina just watched her come closer, incredulous to what was happening, as a rush of blinding anger came to the forefront of her senses. Was this for real? Why in the hell would she do this? Why would she do anything that would make them remember him so soon? Too soon.

“His favorite foods from home that he liked to make,” was all Tanya offered after a tense silence, but it only made the emotions ricocheting inside of her that much worse. What was she thinking? Was she serious?! But just as she opened her mouth to shout and reprimand her mother with everything she had, she found herself beat to the punch yet again.

“Don’t. Please.” Another leaden pause thickened the air like a suffocating smog.

“You know he wouldn’t have wanted the house like this, Tina; filled with this awful silence and sorrow. You and I mourning. You know he would have hated it.”

The harsh words were loaded and like a violent shot to the chest — her breath hitching as she tried to fight back the hot press of tears that prickled at the corners of her eyes.

God, hadn’t she cried enough? Why couldn’t it just stop already? Why did she do this?

Tina opened her mouth once more — to say what, she wasn’t too sure — but the sudden and harsh bursts of fury, sorrow, and loneliness she’d felt coalescing to dangerous heights mere seconds before died out when she caught the open and earnest look reflected in her mother’s own watery eyes; something she hadn’t seen in months.

It reminded her of the days she and her mother and father spent during her youth; goofing around in the kitchen and dancing sporadically to old rock music, or camping out in the backyard as her dad made silly-voiced shadow puppets on the tent walls with a flashlight, and so, so much more. Each moment was filled with the same heartfelt and loving air that she’d always felt and cherished the most from her parents that surrounded practically everything they did. They were the memories ( and everything that came with them ) that she’d so desperately tried to shove down in the aftermath of her father’s death for fear of a complete and utter breakdown. But in that one, singular instance and whispered plea from her equally suffering mother in her old family home, she found that she now, more than ever, wanted desperately to cling to them like a stubborn, spoiled child.

And despite vaguely wishing she’d been talked to first about the whole set up; despite being ambushed and knowing she had the right to be upset in some form or fashion, Tina looked at her mother, over to the table of food that her father always swore by for the heaviest of hearts, and felt her tight, burning muscles lose all their fight and strain.

Fine. Fine. She was right, wasn’t she?

Wasn’t she . . .?

Nodding her head, Tina smiled a choppy, but somehow sincere smile of her own as she pushed down the niggling urge to run off and throw up.

“Yeah. Okay. . .”

&&. ___________

It was a mere few hours later, and she was on that pleasant precipice of tipsiness that came just before you fell straight into being drunk. There were only a few traces of food left in bits and pieces on the table as she watched from her place on the couch — whole body warm and uncontrollable giggles tumbling free — as her mother regaled a story about the utter disaster that was her father’s proposal. It was one that she’d heard about a million times before, and yet, it never got old.

The start to their rather unexpected evening had been difficult and somewhat stilted despite the mini intervention of sorts. But once they’d stared to eat and the more they talked and began to laugh and tentatively reminisce ( the more they drank ) the easier and more enjoyable it got. Hearing about her father like this: happy and silly and whole as he ever had been, and from the only other person who knew him so well and loved him just as much as she did was something she hadn’t realized she needed; something she didn’t think would be so cathartic after the endless sad of it all.

Tina had just poured two more glasses of peach soju for her and her mother once their mingled laughter finally died down, when Tanya slowly leaned back with a small, satisfied sigh and smiled in that seeking, motherly kind of way.

“. . . How are things with you, though, honey? You know, outside of work. You’ve had so much go on with that poor Rachel girl, and this town’s never-ending need for drama outside of themselves. I haven’t heard much from you about, well . . . any of it lately.”

Well, that was absolutely a conversation that didn’t need to be had.

“Yeah, it’s all fine. I mean, it’s been hard, of course, but I’m . . . you know, dealing. I have Hunter, my friends, and work, so I’m not lacking,” she replied airily as she waved the question off. But Tanya just stared at her daughter for a long, calculating moment, and Tina felt her stomach drop at what she hoped wasn’t coming.

Anything but that.

“You should know better than to try and lie to me like that, sweetheart.”

Fuck. Fuck. Of course, yet again, her mother had gone and disarmed her with only a sentence ( paired with the liquor in her system and slew of emotions and issues ) as the repressed realities of the past year came slithering like grotesque vines to grip at her heart. How exactly did one tell their mother that, besides an old schoolmate dying after months of being missing, she and her friends had also been dealing with some freak tormenting them with secrets and blackmail? How she’d been on a rollercoaster with Hunter from the second he’d gotten back into Castleport that finally seemed to be slowing down and in their favor for once, or the nasty fight she’d got into with Santana that left her feeling enormously guilty and murderously irate at the same time? And worst of all, that she’d gotten Sam’s father drunk, took him home, and took a picture of what she’d done in order to save Double C’s from being shut down ( or worse ) after a series of horrible threats?

. . . Then there was her father; the haunting, painful memory of how he’d smiled a ghost of her favorite smile at her as she held his hand tight in hers ( as though that was enough to tether him to life ) before closing his eyes for the final time.

How it felt that she was just a hollow shell — a husk of nothing important or worthy of anything, and maybe she always had been.

Tanya must have seen the clear crumbling wall of emotions falling across her daughter’s face; her own showing nothing but heartbreaking empathy as she gently reached the short distance across the couch they sat on and cupped Tina’s face in her gentle hand.

“내 작은 해바라기가 너무 슬퍼 보인다.”

That.

Hearing her mother speak so gently to her in Korean along with the nickname she’d had since birth was what broke the damn, and hard. There was no stopping it.

Tina let out an ugly, wrenched sob as she buckled forward and into her mother’s ready, protective, and comforting embrace. Her whole body shook as she cried — cried for everything that’d been her life as of late, and to the one person she knew would just let her, without judgement, without discomfort, without fear or phony reassurances, cry.

There, a daughter curled up with her mother in a heavy home filled with old, bittersweet memories and an emptiness that was felt achingly.

And there she stayed for a long time.

#cporttask #cporttask11

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hunypie-sugalump · 5 years

Text

Hero Sitter

(This is a WIP)

Chapter one

"Lady Justice, we meet again." Said the evil mastermind, Asinine Hope.

The girl in front of him, Lady Justice, grinned, taking a bow, "Here I am. Y’know, for someone named Asinine, you don't realize your stupidity."

"Funny! As usual. You see, Lady Justice, this time I have my victory assured! 20 years ago, after my home was destroyed by a knife wielding deer, I was taken in by my aunt and uncle. And when they too died by the hands of that snollygoster of a deer, my uncle, a Russian veteran from WWII, left me… This." Asinine pulled out a gun of silver and red, with a sinister smile on his face, "This gun, though looking as simple as a glock, is a gun with the power to shoot rounds at 70 miles per hour, and is loaded with bullets able to penetrate even SuperMan himself! Lady, give up while you have the chance."

"I know that you think you have to do this to redeem yourself and your family, but you don’t. Stop this madness, Asinine."

Asinine laughed, "I'm not gonna fall for that bull crap. You’re gonna get shot whether you like it or not!"

Before anyone could utter another word, the wall behind Asinine crumbled to pieces, revealing a woman in a suit of red and white. As soon as this woman saw that darling boy and his sweet butt, she grinned, “Asinine! There you are!”

Once Lady Justice focused real hard she noticed that this too was a villain, one that had only recently made the newspapers, "Gabby Power?" Lady muttered, furrowing her eyebrows in confusion.

Gabby glanced at Lady, but quickly looked back at Asinine, "Oh, look at you, facing your arch nemesis! You think you're gonna beat her, right? Huh? Well, too bad!"

"What?? Gabby, what are you even doing here?" Asinine asked in reply.

"Baby, I told you you'd regret breaking my heart! I told ya, lover boy, that you'd wish you'd never been born! I'll put you through the process I call H.E.L.L.E! Short for, 'Harley Evan's Long Life Ended'!” Gabby grinned and pulled a ray gun from behind her, lifting it onto her shoulder, “Say goodbye, babe!”

Meanwhile twenty miles to the east

A man walked down the street with a gun in his coat pocket, a grin on his face, and no worries on his mind. As he strut down the sidewalk, people gave him funny looks from all sides; mothers passed by in a rush, covering their children's eyes, and men avoided eye contact. It would be easy to say this man was a thug, or a widely known assassin, but the truth is much easier to state. The man had forgotten to put pants on.

Peter Harris was not a serious man whatsoever, and took his sweet time with simple things. Unless you count putting your pants on. Let’s just say, he really does not like those dastardly things. At this moment in time, Peter was on his way to meet with his boss, Asinine Hope, at the abandoned warehouse, of which he had forgotten the whereabouts. What a huge mess.

“Well I’d never! Young man, where are your pants?” Asked an old lady.

Peter looked at the lady down at his legs and back at the lady, “Well, where are yours?"

"I'm a lady! I don't wear pants!" She said patting down her dress.

"See? We all have our different reasons. Different strokes for different folks." Peter shrugged and went on his merry way. This man did not care for other people's opinions of him, as all of those opinions were, quote un quote, Ninnyhammer’s having a wack at being high and mighty.

With a whistle and a skip, Peter started to wonder why he was outside in the first place. There had to be some sort of reason, after all. If he had no reason to go out, he would still be sitting on his bed, eating cheese puffs and playing cs go with his friend Mark. Or maybe he’d be climbing through his boss’s window to steal some cheese puffs.

“Wait a minute!” Said Peter, his eyes widening with realization, “I’m out of cheese puffs!”

Of course! What a completely sensible reason to get out of the house, cheese puffs! He thought to himself. Pete started to march himself to his boss’s apartment to steal his supply of cheese puffs once again. But another realization kicked him in the rear; he had been walking for six miles, which explained why his legs were as sore as pillaging monkey during the civil war. Not that he cared or anything, but man was this inconvenient at that exact moment in time.

Peter sighed and stopped at the side of the sidewalk, giving his legs a stretch before walking into a shop called ‘The Comfy Cafe’ with pep in his step. Once the cafe’s door opened, a ring sounded, causing people to instinctively look over.

And how they wish they didn’t. Everything went silent as Peter walked through a group of women and picked up a book, flipping through it’s pages. After a while the silence was lifted by a few mutters, which were seemingly about Peter and his lack of pants. Though many others would be uncertain, he knew they spoke of him! But, not caring at all, he simply sat down on a couch and crossed his legs.

He read on from an intriguing line that was, ‘barrels of apples filled the cavern in miss liberty’. Reading at the speed of a mildly slow giraffe, he started to feel well rested and calm; despite the fact that there were three young women standing in front of him with their arms crossed.

“Ahem.” Said the tallest, standing in front.

Peter then slowly looked up and smiled, “Can I help you?”

She shifted her weight onto her left leg, “Yeah, do you mind?”

“Hm?” Peter looked around before shaking his head, “Oh! No, I don’t mind at all, no one’s sitting here.”

“Uh… What?” The lady tilted her head, as she was now puzzled. Probably malfunctioning, thought Peter, so he stood like a proper gentleman.

“In fact, I gotta go, I’ve been sitting here too long. See ya, robo bird babies!” Peter grinned and threw the book onto it’s shelf before strutting right out of the cafe. What an interesting encounter, Peter thought to himself. He shrugged and kept walking towards his boss’s apartment, he knew if he thought about it too long he would surely forget the whole deal. Now that his mind was off the ladies at the cafe, he realized that the streets were now near empty, though he hadn’t a clue as to why. Perhaps it was early dinner time? Once he looked at his watch, that seemed totally reasonable; 4 pm is usually when his boss ate early dinner.

This wasn’t the least bit concerning to him, but there was one thing. Peter’s boss usually calls him to ask him over for early dinner. Maybe his boss was busy? Maybe, just maybe, he was dealing with a certain hero?

“Hey, someone put up a poster of Lady Justice!” He said to himself with a grin, “Cool.”

Normally a villain's henchmen would despise their boss’s arch nemesis, but not Peter. He had what you would call a major crush on the hero, and he didn’t mind that his boss knew. Thinking of Lady Justice and Asinine hope made his mind feel weird, as if he were forgetting something. Something that was not cheese puffs. That knife wielding deer, maybe it was taking care of that knife wielding deer! Nope, didn’t sit right. Was it making that poisoned cake for Asinine’s adopted sister’s abusive boyfriend? Peter was especially excited for that, he made a killer poisoned cake. But that wasn’t it.

Maybe it had to do with both Asinine and Lady Justice! He thought to himself with a grin. And then it struck him. Peter stopped dead in his tracks and grinned, his life source emitting pure despair, as he realized,

“I FORGOT TO FEED MR. TWINKLES!” Cried Peter, instantly disappearing and reappearing in his home, aggressively opening a cupboard, grabbing cat food, slamming it shut, plopping the cat food on a plate and slamming it down on the ground. Once he had done this, a small black and orange kitten came running, and started to eat the food.

“I’m so sorry, Twinkey babey, it’ll nevah happen again!” Peter rubbed his face on the little babey, before standing up and putting his hands on his hips.

A long dip of silence then pursued the room, when suddenly Peter snapped his fingers, “I’m supposed to be helping boss fight Lady Justice! Eh, I’m only an hour late.”

#wip #hero sitter #need writing advice

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xadoheandterra · 5 years

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Title: Fait Accompli Fandom: Harry Potter, Assassins Creed Characters: Harry Potter, Petunia Durlsey, Ginny Weasley Warnings: Major Character Death, emotional manipulation, heavily implied mental manipulation, poor coping methods, heavily implied eugenics, implied child abuse, misuse of science Parts: I | II | III Summary: Petunia Dursley neé Evans had a lot of regrets in her life. Her sister, their estrangement, her marriage. This, she determined, would not be one of them. Notes: I finally figured out how to start the next story in this universe On Broken Wings so I feel comfortable posting the last piece of this one. It’s not a good story, it’s not a nice story. Petunia is not a nice women. So. Be warned. A lot of death in this one.

“Let me help you with that,” Petunia reached out and carefully pulled the cups out of Ginny’s hands. At first Ginny tried to talk her out of it, but Petunia turned on a charm she hadn’t used in decades. Ginny let her bustle the cups into the kitchen and showed her where to place them. The girl had been awfully polite about Petunia’s perceived notions about her abilities, even.

Ginny made Harry a good wife, left him happy and content to let things lay. Petunia didn’t doubt that her nephew could have a good life here, a happy one, filled with the laughter and smiles of his children. Yet Petunia had told herself, when she stood in front of that door, that she would not fail in this. Not like she had with Lily, or with her marriage. She would not fail.

The knife felt firm in her grasp from where she grabbed it, and the girl had barely a chance to respond. Petunia looked into her eyes and felt no remorse.

“It is for the best,” Petunia said as she pulled the knife back and Ginny crumbled to the ground. Her hair spilled around her like blood, except too orange and bright and Petunia couldn’t help but wonder if this was how Lily looked when she died. Pale, with red-as-blood hair haloed around her in front of a crib and infant son.

Petunia crouched next to Ginny whose eyes dulled with death and asked with the tone of someone who merely wanted to know the weather, “The boys are upstairs, right?” She didn’t get a response. She didn’t expect one. “Right. I’ll let the others know.”

Petunia stood up, turned, and set the knife down on the table before she moved out of the kitchen. The acquisitions team waited for her outside, and she let them in with a bland smile and pointed them up the stairs.

“Be quiet,” she told them. “The boys are sleeping.”

The boy came home fifteen and changed. He never did tell Petunia what happened but she could read it in the way he didn’t talk, like how she knew something happened the year before. Harry had nightmares that were something fierce when he was fourteen, turned fifteen, and the mess that followed after still left Petunia with a bitterly cold feeling deep in her chest. The fact that the boy came home now fifteen and silent, well, Petunia knew something changed.

The distance only grew from there.

He’d always reminded her of her precious Lily, and the mirror image that struck her now made her feel just a little shy of nauseous. Lily had been fifteen when she changed, too, or at least when it started. Fifteen was when her mind began to turn and she began to find fault in the path and plan lain out for them. Could Harry be any more Lily’s son then, and turn from Petunia at that very same age? She wished it weren’t true, but she could taste it in the same way she could see the coldness in his eyes.

Petunia pressed her lips together and ran the rag over the cups in the sink while she thought. At eleven the boy had been forced to take his first life and lamented. At twelve he’d found a comfort with a blade, killed again, and hated it. Death dogged his steps like some sick and twisted fate and Petunia tried—she tried—to teach him better. Now it haunted his eyes—Lily’s eyes—and Petunia just knew. The boy tasted death and found a liking to it, found a naturalness in it, and that unnaturalness would spread from here on out.

The beautiful, bright boy that was all Lily’s before Lily turned from her—Petunia had lost him, just as she had lost Lily. Petunia knew. She failed.

Sixteen, seventeen, and finally at the age of eighteen Petunia finally learned that the war that Lily feared so much had taken off after only a scant decade of a pause. War was such an utterly human creation, the idea that those who might’ve worn connections to Those That Came Before would fall into flights of fancy that meant war and death and violence abhorred her. Yet they did, and it made Petunia wonder just how much humanity corrupted the First.

Then, all of a sudden, it was over. The boy came to tell her that she and Dudley and Vernon were safe now, but Petunia could read the lines of his gait as easily as she could read Lily’s. She didn’t need to grasp at his left arm to know that a blade could be found hidden up the sleeve, although she did so anyway for her own peace of mind before she bade the boy to go.

Death had claimed Harry Potter and robbed Petunia Dursley neé Evans of her last chance. Then Dudley was twenty-one and married. Vernon had a heart attack on the day of Dudley’s wedding, and barely a week later does the boy come to her doorstep with condolences. He was a man now, twenty, almost twenty-one himself. He had a wife that Petunia wasn’t even aware he’d married. He still stood with the gate of a killer, the blade still strapped to his left arm, but he smiled like the boy used to when he was small and Petunia felt the coldness ease just a little inside.

“Dudley told me,” Harry said softly over a cup of tea. His wife had left him on the doorstep with a kiss to his cheek before she headed down the road, left him and Petunia alone at Number Four. Petunia refused to give up the house, even if it felt so very empty with no children and the absence of a dead husband she never did quite love.

Petunia sipped at her tea.

“I know you didn’t love him,” Harry continued with his too-old eyes set upon her, bright and filled with that uncanny intelligence.

“Then why are you here?” Petunia asked.

“He was your husband,” Harry said, as if that was all that mattered. Petunia saw him off shortly after, stole up to her bedroom, and picked up the cross necklace that was a gift once. That she’d left behind once.

Like a seal Petunia placed the cross around her neck. It felt almost like a noose; it stole her breath like how the boy bore an assassins blade and walked hand in hand with Death. Vernon had been her husband, yes, but he’d been cherry picked for her by her Uncles just as she’d been cherry picked through genetics to exist—just as Lily had.

Somewhere Petunia had forgotten that. She placed her hand over the necklace and closed her eyes—and whispered, Father of Understanding, guide me, as if it held any meaning at all.

Dudley had his first child at twenty-two, and a year later Harry reported to her about his own firstborn son. Petunia kept up correspondences and tea with both her boys while she returned to her work within the Order. Petunia took up a job as a secretary at Abstergo, now, though once it’d been Grunnings. She worked diligently as they needed her to, reported about her son and his beautiful wife and their utterly plain and ungifted child.

When questioned about Harry Petunia gave away the information just as willingly. She knew they traced the bloodline back, knew he had Assassin in him as much as he had Templar, and she knew that when they were ready they would tell her. She told them everything, played diligent and used her gifts when warranted. They wanted her to help with a new program, so she did, until they came to her after Harry told her of his second son, his second pride, and said they wanted to test something new.

They called it ‘Animus’ and whatever it was had been in the works perhaps as long as the Project that made Petunia had been; perhaps longer, Petunia wasn’t privy to that information. What she did know was that they wanted her nephew and his sons—they had nothing on the wife, the boys would be able to give them that and they also would have what their father had, supposedly, as it followed the genetic lineage. At any rate when they demanded, Petunia followed, and finally found a way to redeem what she felt she failed at.

Petunia’s job had always been to better prepare Lily, precious Lily, for the fated day when the world would come to burn once more. The idea had been that perhaps they’d find some means and manner to save it in the depths of knowledge from the Precursors, hoarded by these ‘witches’ and ‘wizards’ that were both old and new. The gifts that Petunia had, that Lily had, also meant they were talented in ways that could help through other means, as well, with the pretty baubles and shiny trinkets left from a world long passed.

The world was destined to burn, and Lily and Petunia were meant to stop it. Petunia still believed that—only now she knew that Harry would have to. So, aware of what her job had always been—to guide and protect—Petunia listened when she was told to take a team and retrieve her nephew and his children. Petunia listened, and planned.

There was a clock on the wall that nobody paid attention to. Petunia stared at it as she sat in the kitchen with a cooling corpse, the acquisitions team just now up the stairs quiet as can be. The clock didn’t read time, but read something wholly Other. One hand said ‘Danger’ and another ‘Death’ and the last ‘Betrayal.’ The hands weren’t what moved, but little tiny faces of the people who lived in the house. Upon Death rested a portrait of Ginny, who lain in her own blood, belly swollen with what should’ve been life.

Two boys, toddlers, rested upon Danger, while a portrait of Petunia’s own face settled on Betrayal. She knew this clock, and she watched and waited and sipped upon tea until she could hear the familiar silent-steps of her nephew as he moved through the open door, into the hall, and then into the kitchen. She said nothing as he took in the sight of the room and saw his dead wife with their unborn child.

Harry sucked in a weak sort of breath. “Aunt Petunia?”

Petunia set her cup down and stood from the table. She walked over to her nephew and pulled the boy’s gaze away from his wife. She towered over him, as she knew she always would. One hand cupped his cheek.

“What did I tell you, boy?” Petunia said, voice soft. Her right hand reached down and grasped his left, pulled it up and tightened her own fingers around the hidden blade.

“To never let killing be natural,” Harry said, voice a whisper.

“What did you do, boy?”

“Aunt Petunia—”

Petunia squeezed his wrist right and leaned down enough until the edge of the blade poked at her throat, until her necklace slipped out of her blouse. She stared down into his vibrant too-old eyes that gleamed unnaturally.

“What did you do,” Petunia asked. The boy’s gaze caught on the cross.

For a moment Harry was silent, and then he whispered, “I never let killing be natural, Aunt Petunia.” His gaze darted back up to her eyes. “I—” Petunia smiled at the lie.

“I do this for you,” Petunia said. “I do this all for you.” Her left hand slipped from his cheek, reached to the kitchen table, and swung the knife she stabbed Ginny Potter with against his left arm. She swung it into the mechanism of the blade hard enough that she hoped it would shatter. She said, “This is—”

Petunia’s world went dark with death.

#and that is where it ends #assassins creed #harry potter #petunia dursley #ginny weasley #abstergo #templars #assassins #death #fic: fait accompli #fic: with broken wing

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