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acollectionofficsandshit · 2 years

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Chapter 5: Three Of Us

Max Verstappen x Reader (Single Dad AU)

Chapter 1 + Chapter 2 + Chapter 3 + Chapter 4

Chapters: 5/?

Rating: Teen and Up

Word Count: 9,139 Words

Masterlist

I’d like to thank @lightsovermonaco for being my beta and for more importantly keeping me sane because without her influence it’s anyone’s guess where I’d be. I also owe @sassybatflowerpaper an enormous thank you, not only for being my friend but because this story, at it’s very core, is our love child.

Sunday, September 2nd, 2018- Monza, Italy

Italian Grand Prix, the Autodromo Nazionale di Monza

So, when you feel Max finally stir awake behind you, you pretend to still be asleep, and perhaps he does too, because you remain like this for a little while longer, until reality comes rudely traipsing into your room in the form of Daniel Ricciardo, who'd you'd promised you'd go for a run with this morning and had forgotten about entirely, until now.

"See, I knew you'd sleep through your alarm, this is why I insisted you have them make a spare keycard-" you hear his voice before you see him, which only gives you the space of a second to realize what was happening before it happened.

"This way you can't just stand me up, like you always do-" Daniel chokes out mid-sentence, whatever he'd be about to say forgotten in the blink of an eye, as he stares in absolute bewilderment at the sight that greets him.

"What the fuck is going on?" Max asks dazedly, still half asleep and bleary eyes, his body still curled around yours.

"Now, I could ask you the same thing, couldn't I?"

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

Look, Daniel might not have particularly wanted to get up this morning, and he'd wanted even less to go for this run that he'd somehow conned himself into going for with you, but now?

Now he was vowing he'd never complain again about the six am wakeup call this jog had required because it had gotten him here and he'd gotten to see this- and fuck, he was never, ever going to let this go.

He was going to be absolutely fucking insufferable because as far as he was concerned, if you and Max were going to do whatever the hell this was, whatever it looked like it might already be, then now was as good a time as any for the pair of you to start learning a thing or two about not getting caught.

Honestly, if anything, Daniel was doing you two a favor by making this a thing and blowing it entirely out of proportion because that's what would likely happen elsewhere, so who was he to deprive you of a learning opportunity?

It was just the honorable course of action, anyone could attest to that, he was only being a good friend to two of the people he loved, because it would be nothing short of dereliction of duty if he didn't capitalize on the moment.

And if part of his core motivation to make sure things only got more uncomfortable was because, fuck, he'd needed this, he'd been desperate for a distraction from the 30-place grid penalty he'd been saddled with this weekend, then so be it, and it was no one's business but his.

"Christmas in September? Oh, you shouldn't have!" Daniel gasps dramatically, pressing both hands to his chest in a mockery of heartfelt gratitude, the motion only a partial imitation of the real emotion.

"What are you on about?" Max asks his teammate, his voice retaining a quite discernible note of disorientation, giving his words a rather muddled, haphazard quality.

"This, mate," the Australian sweeps his hand through the air nonchalantly, like the scene before him is the kind of thing he sees every day, easily encompassing the entirety of the hotel room in a single arching gesture, "I'm talking about this."

"Can we just not do this today?" You yawn as you ask, both arms raised in the air above your head and hands clasped together.

You take your time stretching, apparently entirely oblivious to the impact the action is having on the man beside you, Max's eyes lingering on the strip of skin that's been left expose, his mouth hanging slightly ajar until he catches himself openly gaping at you and catches his bottom lip between his teeth, worrying at the chapped skin absentmindedly until it splits and blood beads in the middle.

"Depends," Daniel answers, carefully considering his next move before making it, unwilling to let the moment pass just yet.

"On, yeah?" You inquire as you change positions, both arms still held aloft but one now slightly bent at the elbow, leaning to one side and then the other, using the opposing hand to stretch the limb behind your head, "on what?"

"Oh, on a number of things," he remarks with a dismissive gesture, waving away the suspicious expression on your face with a nonchalant hand.

"Like what exactly?" You're addressing him, but you're not looking at him, your attention now resting wholly on his teammate, "Max, stop that," you say sternly, firm in your admonishments for chewing on his split lip, shaking your head incredulously, but incapable of keeping the fondness out of your tone.

"Like..." Daniel drops one shoulder, shrugging noncommittally, "how easily the two of you start confessing to your sins."

"What sins do you think we've committed, hm?" You ask, reaching out to the man next to you in bed with a gentle hand, nudging him in the arm in an effort to get his attention, continuing, "hey, Max, you're bleeding, quit that, you're making it worse."

"Tell me you at least used protection," Daniel narrows his eyes at the two of you, finding that you've remained impassive, and while you don't look particularly impressed by any of this- and he's certain he will be hearing about his conduct this morning from you shortly- it's clear that in this, Max is the weakest link.

"What the fuck are you on about?" he loses that far off, glazed over quality he'd had to his eyes, and his mouth is already three steps ahead of his brain, Max's mind instinctually finding fault in what Daniel had said, and challenging it on principle. His return to consciousness is bright but fleeting, a flashbang that burns out just as quickly as it had sparked, disappearing in the same manner it had appeared, unencumbered by any overture or preamble.

"Because as happy as I am about that one," he jerks his head in the direction of Kaia, who is by some miracle still sleeping soundly, "I think one is more than enough, unless you want to put Horner into an early grave that is."

"Seriously, what the fuck are you talking about-" consumed as he is by demanding answers from Daniel, Max is mid-sentence when you cup one side of his face, your fingers curling along his jawline and his chin cradled gingerly in the palm of your hand, you press the pad of your thumb to split down the center of his lip, "oh."

Daniel isn't quick enough to catch the sound that starts somewhere deep in chest and burbles up out of him then, or perhaps it's that he just can't help himself, because the noise that involuntarily escapes from him is just about as dignified as what had just come out of Max's mouth. Because in his eyes, as far as he's concerned, this puts him and his teammate on equal footing, leveling the playing ground but, as Dan soon finds out, he's without company in this particular opinion.

"Hey Dan?"

"Yes, Max Emilian?"

"Kaia, ears," the Dutchman lets his gaze slip from Daniel's, only looking away for a split second, just long enough to glance at his daughter, who lays freshly awake in her bed, making sure she'd listened, which she had, her tiny little palms pressed to her ears.

"Cute trick," Daniel offers, giving Kaia a small smile that quickly grows wider when the little girl beams back at him, "that's a good skill to have in your back pocket."

"Really, Max?" You look like you're on the verge of smothering him with a pillow, "she is your daughter, not a dog."

"Oh, really? I had no idea, thank you for letting me know," Max deadpanned back, "but you'll have to forgive me if I don't take notes on the finer details, I think I've got it covered."

"Says the man who came here last night on the verge of tears-"

"I was not on the verge of tears; I was fucking joking-"

"Children, please," Daniel held his hands up placatingly, "no fighting-" he points to you, then to Kaia, who's still beaming, just happy to be involved regardless of the fact that she has no clue what's going on, "no fighting-" and finally to Max, "and you, you especially, no fucking fighting."

"Get out. Now," Max grinds out, a slight feathering on one side of his face instantly catching Daniel's eye, the taut muscles of his jaw flexing involuntarily as he forces the words out from behind clenched teeth, "and don’t quote Tommy fucking Shelby to me."

"No," he replies simply, crossing his arms as he leans back, propping himself up against the wall, looking down his nose at Max, knowing he didn't need to say anything further to get his message across because his body language communicated it clearly enough- he was going to do what he pleased, “and I’ll quote who I want.”

"Here's a wild idea, how about both of you get out because unless you've forgotten this is my room-"

They responded in perfect unison, cutting you off mid-sentence without a moment of hesitation.

"No."

"Yeah, no," Daniel says with a shake of his head, the flurry of movement quickly catches your eye, instantaneously winning him with the wealth of your attention, pulling your gaze away from Max and onto himself.

"Absolutely not," Max, thoroughly unimpressed by your proposition, snorts out a laugh, the sound instantly pulling your focus back to him, "seriously, that's the worst idea yet."

"Yeah, of course it is," you mutter under your breath, rolling your eyes, "fucking entitled dickheads," Daniel couldn't quite hear everything that came after that, only catching bits and pieces, a mumbled 'insufferable' followed by 'egotistical bastards' and what sounded remarkably like 'must be compensating for something' but he couldn't say for certain.

Before you have time to realize what's about to happen, or to do more than stare at the man beside you in bed with eyes wide in fear and face clouded with apprehension, Max has already struck, leaning back against the mattress and swinging his body sideways, so that when his foot makes contact, it hits you just below the hip.

Kicking out with all his strength, the Dutchman sends you toppling backwards over the edge of the bed, squawking in protest and making threats that only make Max laugh harder until suddenly, without warning, the smile is wiped off his face.

Daniel watches on in amazement, in a awestruck, near reverent silence as, one handed, you somehow manage to grab onto Max, whom, a moment too late for him to do anything about the course of events that's about to unfold, comes to the sudden realization that, by failing to retract his leg quickly enough, he's made a fatal mistake, leaving himself vulnerable to acts of retaliation, and in doing so has made a grave miscalculation, one for which he's about to pay for dearly.

Because, as if in slow motion, you wrap one hand around his ankle, the force of your grip turning your knuckles a suffocated shade of white, you finally lose your balance and fall over backwards, the momentum of your body doing most of the work for you as you go careening wildly over the edge of the bed and take Max down with you. The pair of you go crashing down to the floor in a knotted tangle of limbs and land in an unceremonious heap in the narrow gulf of space between the two beds.

Max splutters indignantly, already beginning to try and extricate himself from the pile you're both twisted in, complaining about your hair as he goes, spitting it out in the same breath he complains about getting a mouth full of hair, while you just lay there beneath him, completely winded from the impact of the landing and groaning at the rippling waves of pain that radiate through you, since you'd broken Max's fall.

The full, dead weight of his body had caught you square in the chest, and, for the most part, that was where it still remained as Max squirmed around, flailing about with about as much dignity and gravitas as a fish out of water.

"Get your fat ass off me!" you protest loudly from your cramped spot beneath Max.

"Stop fucking pushing me," Max snaps back, glaring down at you but not doing much in the neighbor of getting up, "and my ass is not fat."

"Your ass is fat, and I'll stop pushing you as soon as you get off of me!"

"I am trying! If you'd just leave me and my fat ass alone long enough to try-"

"Doesn't seem like you're doing much of anything," you scoff at Max, who retorts instantly, echoing the sound back at you in a mocking tone, "if you'd stop whining for two fucking seconds then we'd already be out of this but oh no, God forbid you do anything without complaining about everything-"

"You're such a fucking child," the Dutchman props himself up on one arm but shows no sign of moving any time soon.

"Oh, you're one to talk, it'll be a miracle if-"

"Close your mouth before I-

"Before what, Max? Before you do what exactly?"

"Before I fucking close it for you."

"Like you could! I'd like to see you try," in a show of sudden strength, both hands pressed to Max's chest, you push him off of you, the action catching him entirely by surprise and sending him sprawling sideways into the bedside table.

"Ow! What the fuck was that for?" Max demands indignantly, rubbing at his head, which in his defense Daniel could concede he'd actually just hit pretty fucking hard, the sound of his teammate's crown making contact with the wooden facade of the table had hurt him to hear and earned him a sympathetic wince.

"What do you mean what was that for? What do you think it was for, Max?"

It was around now that Daniel realized that Kaia had dropped her hands, a development which didn't surprise him in the slightest thanks to the ruckus you and Max were causing at such close proximity to where she'd been sitting, patiently doing like her father asked far longer than most children would have. The pair of you were none the wiser though, consumed as you were by one another, remaining entirely oblivious to anything going on around you that wasn't something the other was doing, hardly even taking note of his presence any longer.

In Daniel's expert opinion, this wasn't much of a surprise, because as he had long since learned to accept and come to terms with, this was just the way things were with the two of you and there was little that he, or anyone else for that matter, could do to change it- getting lost in one another, embroiled in a disagreement or laughing about some unspecified subject, and forgetting the world around you still existed was just normal procedure.

Saying a silent prayer that the little girl will understand what he's trying to tell her and follow his instructions, Daniel holds a finger to his lips and winks with a conspiratorial air. Kaia looks at him thoughtfully, blinking slowly and head tilted in consideration, then gives him a small, shy smile. Taking this as good of a sign as he's likely to get, he lowers his finger from his mouth and gestures, waving her forward, something which she wastes no time before doing.

Now, comfortably perched in his arms, her tiny frame swallowed up by what is instantly recognizable as one of Max's shirts, the color pallet of which, in combination with the team branding, gives it away almost immediately, Daniel says in a stage whisper, "I know, I know, it's a lot to process this early in the morning but believe me, you'll get used to it soon enough."

Staring up at him through dark lashes, her blue eyes spread wide, she listens to what he has to say with a solemnity he wouldn't have expected of a two-year-old- but somehow still unsurprised to learn Kaia is more than capable of. Shrugging at him as if to say, 'if you say so', she cuts her gaze away from him, looking down at you and her father in concern.

"Why?" Kaia asks in a hushed voice, the word coming out so quietly that Daniel would have missed it if he hadn't been watching her face when she'd spoken. Clearly preferring falling back into a comfortable, companionable quiet to engaging in a conversation with him, she doesn't elaborate further but he doesn't need her to, he knows exactly what she'd meant.

"Wish I knew. Believe me, I wish I knew," he shakes his head, "if I ever figure it out, believe me you'll be the first to find out. That sound fair to you?"

"Fair," Kaia parrots back at him, though Daniel's not entirely convinced she'd understand much of what he'd just said or, for that matter, knows what 'fair' means but he keeps his concerns to himself.

"Fair indeed, Ms. Thing," bouncing Kaia up and down on his hip, Daniel taps the tip of her little upturned nose, "let's give mommy and daddy some time alone together, what do you say?"

"Dan, put the child down," in unison, as one, Daniel and Kaia whip their heads around at the sound of your voice.

The former opts for a sheepish grin, one hand raised lamely in greeting but doesn't follow orders, electing to ignore them altogether while a happy little smile blooms on the latter's face, dimples thrown into sharp relief on pink tinged cheeks as the expression unfurls from the corners of her mouth to twinkle in her eyes.

"You heard her, Ricciardo," Max doesn't concern himself with manners or niceties, preferring cutting to the chase to beating around the bush or playing at some sense of false, forced civility, "and if you call me, her, or us, that again, I'll make you wish you'd never been born. Got it?"

"You, Verstappen," Daniel figures it's only fair he tosses Max's last name at him like he'd just done, "are such a sweet talker."

"We don't have time for this," the younger man says dismissively, climbing to his feet as he speaks, "come on, up you get."

Reaching down towards you, both hands held out in an offer of assistance, Max doesn't wait around for such inconsequential things as you accepting his help, he just simply takes you by the arms and hauls you to your feet.

"Um, thanks?" Your tone comes out uncertain, like you're not entirely sure what the procedure is for such an unforeseen circumstance as finding yourself on the receiving end of an unsolicited act of kindness from Max, let alone one so freely given.

Evidently somewhere along the way Max had come to some privately held conclusion that the best course of action would be to fall quiet and keep his own council because he doesn't say a word, doesn't make a peep or move a single muscle, he simply stays frozen in place, his feet rooted to the ground and mouth pressed into a straight, unforgiving line.

"Thank you, Max," you repeat yourself softly, a sweet note of tenderness to your voice, the tone bleeding through to color your words a shade more vivid than Daniel thinks you intended to, but he doesn't make a remark.

Preferring instead to direct his attention elsewhere, Daniel takes note of the manner in which you're speaking, like man beside you is an animal you’re scared of spooking instead of what he actually is- a 20-year-old who's staked his career on being unshakable, whose achievements have been cemented in greatness on the grounds of a fearless streak- one which runs hot, that flirts with the line between daring and reckless, leaning to the latter every day of the week that ends in y.

"You're welcome," he replies tersely, avoiding meeting your eyes as he casts his attention around the room, lacking any better options, "don't mention it."

"He means it, don't," Daniel contributes with a laugh then promptly ducks, moving just barely quick enough to dodge the pillow Max lobs at him with all his strength, "that, that was aggressive, even for you! It felt like it had the weight of what?" he looks to his teammate, considering, "what would you say? Somewhere in the neighborhood of a good three years’ worth of grudges packed into it?"

"Sounds about right to me," Max says with a dismissive wave of one hand, then asks no one in particular, "more importantly, what's the plan for today?"

"Oh, so now you want to talk about plans," you roll your eyes at him, huffing out a dramatic, long-suffering sigh, "awfully convenient, isn't it? You don't have any interest in figuring out the plan when I suggest it but as soon as it's your idea to come up with something, now it's suddenly worth your time to ask."

"Maybe I just wanted an excuse to roll around on top of you before getting down to business," Max retorts shamelessly, eyebrows raised in silent challenge, daring you to say so anything, to come up with something before he continues but you don't, you merely stare at him, mouth hanging slightly agape, because for the first time that Daniel can recall, Max is wholly responsible for rendering you at a complete and utter loss for words.

Newly smirking, an insufferably self-satisfied look on his face, the Dutchman continues speaking, "Great! Since the two of you clearly won't be going on that run you had planned anymore, that means that for you, Daniel, your schedule has suddenly cleared up! So, can you take Kaia for a few, give me some time to go back to mine and shower-"

"Mate, you sure you don't want to stay here for that?" He can't help himself; the question is out before he can stop it, promptly earning him a new round of dirty looks from the pair of you but nothing further, which in Daniel's books, goes down as a win.

"Thank you for that very helpful contribution there," Max remarks dryly, "but if you don't mind, I'm going to get back to what I was saying before you interrupted. You take Kaia, give me 20- no, make it 15 minutes to shower and get ready and I'll meet you wherever to trade off. By then it should nearly be time for the briefing, while still giving me a few moments to track down GP and ask him a few things. Does that work for everyone?"

"Um, and I fit into this plan... how, exactly?" You drawl out, sounding less than impressed by what's just been proposed.

"You don't," Max says simply, "we all get out of your hair and let you get ready in peace," he shrugs a shoulder, like it's most obvious thing in the world, "it's the least we-"

"We didn't do jack shit," Daniel interrupts, electing to ignore the glare he gets for cutting in so rudely, "you- it's the least you can do- not me. I didn't do anything to anyone."

"For once," you snort, smothering a bout of giggles that surface in its wake, "there's a first time for everything."

"Quite," you and Max exchanging a knowing look, one which neither Daniel, nor Kaia are made privy to, something which only seems to bother him, since the toddler is more than content where she is, arms now wrapped snuggling around your neck, her blonde head of wild, messy curls resting against you and that little pixie-like face of her's pressed into the crook of your neck.

"Dickheads," Daniel tosses out, though his delivery leaves much to be desired, which is in large part thanks to the fact that he'd spoken up more out of an interest of the principal of the thing, than any real, honest desire.

"Eloquent as ever," you say, keeping the comment deliberately light and playful, shooting the older man a teasing grin for good measure.

This interaction, when looked at on a whole, in the grand scheme of things, isn't one that strays far from your regular, every day treatment of Daniel, not even in the slightest, but which still, somehow proves to be more than capable of having a rather marked effect on Max.

"Seriously, boys, as much as I relish every second I get to spend in your company, looking at your handsome faces and listening to your brilliant commentary, it's time to get out," the polite expression your features have been expertly arranged into, highlighted by the professional smile that's been plastered on your face but doesn't quite meet your eyes is familiar to Daniel and Max, both of whom have known you long enough to recognize in an instant the mask you keep neatly in place while on the clock.

"Come on, let's get a move on," you start shooing them through the room, herding the two men like they're little more than wayward cattle, "we don't have all morning, let's move those feet."

"Can I at least have my child?" Max snarks, rounding on you the moment after he and Daniel step into the hall, "or will you be keeping her?"

"I haven't decided yet," you reply loftily, "but for now, at least, you can take her-" you point a warning finger in Max's direction, "make sure you don't get it twisted, Verstappen, this is only temporary, she's only on loan to you."

"Only on loan my fucking ass," he trails off, muttering incoherent words under his breath that Daniel only manages to catch snippets of here and there, none of which is even a vaguely intelligible.

"Okay, baby, here's what we've got to do," you stroke Kaia's head as you speak, running your fingers through her hair with gentle motions, gingerly working through knots when you snag on one, "you're gonna let go of me," you pout at her sadly, commiserating the same sadness that's easily read in her little face.

"I know, baby, but you're gonna go with Uncle Dan and Daddy," Max audible chokes at that, promptly trying to cover up his reaction by faking a coughing fit which only serves to draw greater attention to the initial response, "for just a little while but then, I promise, Kaia, I'll come find you and Daddy-" only an anguished groaning sound escapes from the Dutchman this time around, "as soon as I can, okay?"

"Okay," the two-year-old replies glumly, her bottom lip starting to tremble, "okay."

"Max-" you start, only to be cut off by Daniel.

"Don't you mean Daddy?"

"Get fucked," Max takes a well aim swing at the Australian as he passes him on the way to his daughter, arms already raised to take Kaia from your arms, a hand catching Daniel in the side of the head and walloping him hard enough to make him yelp in pain, "come on, vlinder, we've got a long day today and all we have so far is a late start and a whining Uncle Dan to show for it."

Their heads bowed together, their foreheads resting against one another's, whispering amongst themselves, snatches of decipherable conversation smattered in here and there,

Max and Kaia wander away, heading back the way the former had come from last night.

"Don't think you're going to get off that easy," Daniel said to you with a laugh, the words tossed over one shoulder as he ambled after the father and daughter duo, his pace unharried, like time had no effect on him.

"Wouldn't dream of it."

"That's my girl," he shoots you a wink, "I'll see you at breakfast for interrogation, I'm feeling a little less 'good cop, bad cop' and little more 'bad cop, bad cop' this morning."

"You're unhinged!" You call out merrily.

"Well, at least I slept alone!" All Daniel gets by way of a reply to that is the slamming of your door behind you, preferring to make your thoughts on the final shot he'd just taken by leaving it undignified by a response.

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

If he’d gotten more than four hours of sleep the night before and he hadn’t gone to your room last night, if he’d resisted the temptation to go to you, to ask you for help, or even if he’d not let you climb into bed with him, then perhaps, Max might have been able to be honest about the emotions that were running rampant inside of him, or to, at the very least, acknowledge what the feelings currently wreaking havoc on his mind and body were actually called.

But since he hadn’t slept more than four hours and he had gone to your room, since he had given in to temptation, he’d asked for help and he’d not only just let you in his bed, he’d welcomed you into it, he’d pressed his body to yours, and he’d let himself enjoy it, because he was a fucking idiot and because it had felt good, it had felt really, really good.

So, Max wasn’t honest with himself, and he didn’t acknowledge a fucking thing.

And instead, well instead, Max refused to admit to anything, and pretended like his current state of denial wasn’t exactly what it actually was, a mere precursor to what would inevitably come next- anger, then bargaining, which would be followed by depression, before finally reaching acceptance.

He wasn’t inept, he could do the math, he knew what that particular set of emotions hallmarked, but that didn’t mean it made any fucking sense to him.

Because Max wasn’t in mourning, and he had no reason to be experiencing grief and it’s five little stages, not unless he could bring himself to admit that- no, absolutely fucking not. He wasn’t going to do this today; he didn’t have the time or the emotional bandwidth it would require.

No, this morning, just for this morning, he was going to let himself be selfish and make a stupid fucking decision, and he was going to deal with all of this later.

Max was in denial, and he didn’t fucking care about it.

Stomping across his room and into the bathroom, Max turns the shower on, fiddling with the taps until he’s become well enough accustomed with the lay out to be able to figure out how to get the water running all the way hot, since God knows, that every hotel has to have a different set up, guaranteeing that every race weekend brought with it the inevitable battle to learn a new system.

Reaching back, grabbing his shirt by the neckline at the nape of his neck, Max pulls his t-shirt over his head and off his upper body in one fluid motion, his forehead wrinkling and his brow furrowing when he catches a familiar smell in the air, one that immediately derails his train of thought, taking with it all the focused he’d had on the moment at hand.

Even if he hadn’t spent all night with smelling it, he still wouldn’t have any difficulty identifying it, the scent instantly recognizable as yours, a blend of your perfume and your shampoo, with a hint of what Max thinks might be the body oil he’d caught a glimpse of in your shower this morning when he’d gotten up to pee in the brief stretch of time between Kaia falling asleep and you getting into bed with him.

Pressing his t-shirt to his nose with a grunt, the sound shifts into something different, a defeated grunt that devolves rapidly into what can only be described as a moan, the strung-out noise escaping, slipping out from between Max’s lips before he can stop it.

Frustration floods his senses as he throws the balled-up piece of fabric away from him, knowing he can exercise his pent-up emotions on it without damaging anything, Max lets out his resentment towards you and towards your smell that lingers on his shirt, his anger at how he’d caught himself savoring the scent of you on his clothes and on his skin pouring out of him.

He feels almost disgusted by himself for the visceral, physical reaction he’s suddenly found out he has to you, which flouts every rational thought, that contradicts his mind’s insistence that he feels nothing for you, that he barely tolerates your presence, that he has no conscious desire to be around you for extended periods of time.

Regardless of how much Max is adamant he abhors being around you, that he disdains being in your company, absolutely certain that he feels nothing for you, that whatever he’d felt for you in the past is dead in the water, that doesn’t change the fact that there is nothing he can do about the way his body is responding to just the smell of you, to the simple thought of you, to the mere memory of how you’d felt pressed against him beneath the sheets.

It serves only to exacerbate further his most base desires, the bestial, animalistic urges that he’d just barely kept in check all night and that he’d very nearly lost control of in the early hours of this morning, until now when, under the sudden assault to his senses, in the privacy of his room, that what had been simmering just below the surface for Max himself didn’t even know how long, finally, at long last, boils over.

Kicking off his joggers, quickly followed by his boxers, Max opens the shower door and steps in, hissing at the temperature of the water when it first hits his skin, gritting his teeth as he forces himself to stand under the scalding hot spray, refusing to let himself move a muscle, waiting for the heat to come full circle, burning so white hot that his senses max out, suddenly only capable of recognizing the sting that smarts his skin as ice cold.

Billowing up around him in thick, roiling clouds of water vapor, the haze no longer translucent at all but an opaque shade of white, the steam is finally dense enough that Max can’t see his own body when he looks down, which is exactly what he’d been after, what he’d wanted.

That way, when he finally gives in and wraps his hand around himself, he can’t see a thing, which means he can pretend this hadn’t happened, and then he doesn’t admit to the rest of it, to what he’d thought about or the sounds he’d made, to how the name he shouldn’t have ever let himself say had tasted on his tongue.

He lets his eyes fall shut, as he leans forward, his left arm braced against the shower wall, his head heavy against his forearm, and loses himself in the pleasure, easing the throbbing need he’d been humming with like a live wire since he’d woken up to your ass pressed to his pelvis. Max couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this desperate to touch himself, and in all honesty, he didn’t think his cock had ever been hard enough that it ached.

For a few moments, only for those few moments, did Max wholly lose himself in the fantasy that took shape inside his head, refusing to let the guilt he knew was waiting for him outside of the marble and glass shower walls keep him from enjoying the debauchery, in living, vivid detail that surfaced with such astounding ease.

Telling himself that in letting himself have this, to think about you like his mind so desperately wanted to, Max tried to convince himself that if he committed to the daydream now, just this once, then it would alleviate this little problem he seemed to have developed.

Finding himself suddenly fixated how you’d look with your lips wrapped around his dick, on your knees for him, only for him, clad in nothing but that red lace lingerie he’d gotten a good fucking look at last night, Max’s imagination kicks into high gear, his hand pumping his cock strokes him a little harder and little faster than it had before.

His thoughts venture further along, wandering off to conjure up how that smart little mouth of yours would feel around him, taking as much of him as far down your throat as you can, the vibrations of your whimpering, the moaning little sounds that escape you at his praise, his words of encouragement as you gag around him, eyes watering but wanting more, demanding more.

‘You’re doing so well for me, lekker ding. Look at you baby, being such a good girl for daddy, aren’t you?’

Max didn’t fucking care about how depraved he must look right now or how obscene and indecent the words he whispered to you inside his head would sound if they were said aloud, he only cared for how good he fucking felt right now.

But, when the orgasm that had been building to a fever pitch finally tipped over the edge, his mind a wash of sinful scenes and wanton, dirty little confessions, Max came with a groan, spilling over his fist.

Chest heaving, Max tries to catch his breath but to no avail, because even when he’s done showering, once he’s started getting dressed and readying himself to go hunt down Daniel and Kaia, all his efforts still prove to be in vain, he still struggles to breathe normally again.

He doesn’t know if he’ll even be able to look you in the face again, let alone just being able to meet your eyes at any point today, but Max has, at the very least, come up with that nickname you’d asked him for, which if nothing else, gives him a reason to not avoid you altogether.

Not that Max is even entirely sure he’ll ever actually let himself call you it, because the thought of that, of calling you lekker ding might not be something he actually does.

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

“And you call yourself my friend, you bitch!” Daniel throws himself down into the chair opposite yours, grinning from ear to ear, and unceremoniously slings his bowl of oatmeal down onto the table, ignoring entirely the heavy weight of countless eyes on the two of you.

“I’m reporting you to H.R.” You inform him glumly, poking at your yogurt parfait with little interest, whilst putting every ounce of training, experience and expertise you had incurred over the years into not looking around the space for Max.

“No, you won’t,” Daniel says cheerfully and promptly starts shoveling down his breakfast, continuing to speak around a mouthful of what looks to be lukewarm oatmeal that’s been cooked down within an inch of its life, “you know I mean it sweet.”

“I turn my back for one minute and next thing I know, I’m finding out that neither one of you tell me shit! Seriously, how long has this been going on right under my nose? Wait, no- don’t tell me- later, tell me later, we have more important matters to discuss.”

“Don’t you dare, Dan- I swear to God-“

“How is Verstappen in bed? Like what are we talking about? What are we working with?”

You’re about three seconds away from wrapping your hands around Daniel’s throat and not letting go until one of you is dead or at the very least has gone quiet- God fucking knows that right now you’re not above anything, you’d willingly commit war crimes and violate every statute of the Geneva Convention in an afternoon if it means that he would shut the hell up before someone hears him.

“I swear to God if you don’t lower your voice right now, I will-” you don’t even know what to threaten him with because your mind has suddenly been wiped blank, the exhaustion compounded by Daniel’s inability to understand the basic concepts of inside voices or a filter- like he’s not a grown ass man- has just laid you out flat without any hesitation.

“Come on, just tell me this one thing-”

“For the last time, Max and I have never, and more importantly- I want you to hear me when I say this- we will never fuck-”

“Like does it curve to the left or the right because-“

“I love you very much but seriously, what the fuck is wrong with you? Like what bullshit is going on inside of that den of iniquity that you call a brain for you to think to ask me something like that over breakfast? Hm?”

“But like, come on, it’s a good fucking question, even you can’t deny that-”

“Oh, absolutely not, absolutely fucking not, I am not about to sit here while you shovel oatmeal in your mouth like a feral child that’s been raised by a pack of wolves and pat you on the back for thinking to ask me which way his dick curves-”

“Which way who’s dick curves?” Max’s interjects from somewhere behind you, his familiar accent still warmed at the edges by the husky, sleep weary note it had had to it this morning, like his words had been tumbled around by the gravelly tone of his voice, softening his vowels and easing the sharp corners of his consonants until they have an almost polished quality to them.

“No one’s-” you don’t miss a beat, knowing inherently that there is no time for hesitation, you need to shut down this line of questioning as quickly as you can, and you need to do it now.

“Coincidentally, actually, yours!” Daniel says brightly, giving Max a cheery smile, or at least as much of one as he can around a mouthful of oatmeal, “what?” the Australian has the audacity to look confused by the expression of horrified disbelief on your face, merely shrugging a non-committal shoulder at you, “What? Why not tell him? There’s no point lying to the man, you know how much he hates being lied to-”

“I mean he is right, I do really hate being lied to,” Max concedes, nodding his head thoughtfully at Daniel, “you do have a point,” he cocks his head in your direction, “look, while his execution of it was pretty shit and I’m not sure if I’ll ever be the same after being asked that question by him, even you have to admit he did make some good points here.”

“I’m not going to even dignify that with a response because this, this,” you point back and forth between the three of you, “this is really, really weird and, honestly boys, I’m just going to pretend that none of this ever happened, okay?”

“Fine by me,” you nearly sighed in relief at Daniel’s words, at the tone of deference in his voice as he decided to follow your lead, offering you the out you’d been all but begging him for, knowing that if he yielded, Max would follow suit.

“Yeah, doesn’t matter to me,” Max looked glumly down at his breakfast, poking at his overcooked oats with his spoon with disgust, gagging dramatically and shoving the bowl away from when instead of sinking in, his plastic utensil hits the already congealed surface and bounces back.

“Drama queen,” you snort at his theatrics, rolling your eyes at the disgusted expression that twisted his features as he stared at his abandoned breakfast reproachfully, like he was waiting for it to apologize for what it had just put him through.

“I’m not eating that,” Max defiantly, wrinkling his nose at the mere thought.

“I’m not going to make you eat it, if that’s what you’re worried about-” you cut out mid-sentence, your train of thought derailed in the blink of an eye when, without warning, without any preface, Max’s face falls slack, his skin taking on the pallor of soured milk, all the color leached out of it in instant.

“What just happened?” You ask no one in particular, hoping that one of them will have an answer, but remaining unsurprised when what you get instead is a jerk of Daniel’s head, the clipped motion directing you to turn around and look behind you.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Max repeats the expletive again and again, muttering it under his breath like a prayer that he says over and over and over, clinging to the four lettered word like it if he says it for long enough, with enough conviction, it’ll help him.

“Oh my god… we didn’t,” you breathe out as you turn in your seat, in a state of utter disbelief.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

“We did, we definitely did,” Daniel is on the verge of full-blown, all-out laughter, his voice already shaking with repressed mirth.

“Fuck, fuck, fuckkkk,” he drags out the last letter like it’s done him some great, personal wrong.

“Max, tell me you didn’t…” you whisper, not expecting him to respond but needing to say something, say anything, nonetheless.

“Fuck me! Oh my god... you forgot you had a girlfriend, didn’t you? We all did,” Daniel’s composure finally slips, busting out in peals of raucous laughter, the contagious sound bubbling up out of your own chest before you can stop it, “this is poetic, mate,” he claps Max on the back.

“What are you laughing at?” Cassandra Dormer-Bancroft halts half a step away from Max’s chair, her hand already curled over his shoulder possessively. The picture-perfect smile painted across her face is hollow, the imitation of warmth not quite reaching her eyes, as she looks down her nose at you and Daniel, “Seriously, can I help you? What in the hell are you laughing at?”

“Well, Cassandra, the thing is,” Daniel’s features light up in amusement, “we fucking forgot you exist.”

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

“Can I speak with you alone, Cass?” Max’s voice when it came out was surprisingly stable, all things considered, sitting in stark contrast to the panic, harried repetition of ‘fuck, fuck, fuck’ that had preceded it.

“I don’t know, Max, can you? Are you sure you don’t need to ask for permission first?”

Max, in a show of restraint that you’d not been expecting in the slightest, elects to ignore the jibe entirely, refusing outright to play into his girlfriend’s hands by reacting, by letting the shot she’d just taken at him, and at you and Daniel by extension, because he knows that in doing so, he puts himself at an advantage, which is something he desperately needs at the moment.

“Can you go help GP?” He doesn’t elaborate further or go into any greater detail because he doesn’t have to since he’s speaking to you and you can read what remains unsaid in his eyes, gleaning anything else you need from the planes of his face or from the positioning of his body across the table.

He doesn’t have to tell you to get Kaia, who’s currently in under the watchful eye of Max’s race engineer, nor does he instruct you to watch over her while he handles Cass, a task you don’t envy in the slightest, or to keep his daughter away, at a safe distance, until he says otherwise.

“Yeah,” you nod your head, already pushing your chair back from the table, shoving what remains of your breakfast in Max’s direction, knowing that he’ll eat what you didn’t get too, “I’ll check in with Horner and then go straight to him.”

“You know, I can’t imagine GP would want her under foot right now, Max,” Cassandra chimes in, perching herself on her boyfriend’s lap, entirely oblivious to the pained expression on his face, clearly made very uncomfortable by the display of public affection, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you with him before, his work is quite beyond your personal…” she drags her blue eyes down the length of your body, from head to toes and then back again, utterly unimpressed, “talents.”

“No, she’s going,” Max cuts in deftly, “you’re going. I’ve told him to expect you.”

“Why don’t you sit? Stay, it’s been so long since we’ve spoken and I’m just dying to know how things are with you,” Cassandra wraps her claw like hand around your wrist, her long nails digging into your skin as she turns to Max, her mouth arranged in an exaggerated pout, “why can’t she stay?”

“Go, now,” his words are directed at you even though he doesn’t look your way once, instead cutting his gaze at Cass before flicking it down, moving them away from her face and to her hand, to where she’s still holding onto you, silently instructing her to let you go and to be quick about it.

“Don’t fucking touch me,” your face is hard as you speak, glaring at Cassandra with barely concealed disdain scrawled across your features.

Wrenching your arm out of her grasp, you take a half step forward, absolute elation washing through you when the violence with which you tore yourself free of Cassandra’s hold is mirrored in the savage grin that follows it when, to your eternal delight, your discover the same deep seated, unadulterated hatred that burns in your eyes, that’s been stoked low, reduced to hot coals to keep it in check, is reflected in her’s.

“I don’t care who your father is, who your grandfather was or who you’re dating, I don’t give a flying fuck who you know or which one of my friends you’re fucking- because if you ever do that again, if you ever fucking touch me again, they’d have to kill me before they could get me away from you- and I fucking mean that.”

“Is that a threat? Are you threatening me here, in front of not just one witness but two?” Cassandra asks apathetically, one perfectly groomed blonde eyebrow arched in question, as she glances around the room, taking in the sea of people, of team members and employees, the vast majority of whom she’s interacted with for two years but still doesn’t know by name or by face, “in front of a room of witnesses?”

“If you think I’d ever testify for you, you’ve vastly underestimated how much I hate you, haven’t you?” Daniel snorts derisively, “I don’t know what testimony you think I’d ever give for you because, to be entirely honest, I’d help bury your corpse and commit perjury under oath a hundred times if over the opportunity presented itself but you’d need to kill me to get me to testify for you, because over my dead body, would I ever get up on the stand and tell the truth, if the truth had the grave misfortune of being in your favor.”

“See, what I’m hearing here, Cassandra, is that regardless of who’s speaking, whether it’s me or it’s Dan, you remain the same, just about as capable of critical thought as look like you would be- which is to say not at all,” you laugh coldly, endlessly grateful that the little charade of polite company has ended, the unspoken pact of civility now declared to be null and void, “I always just assumed but it’s nice to have the confirmation.”

“I don’t know who you’re calling stupid when you are the one making threats in front of countless witnesses to the fact,” it takes every ounce of restraint and self-control left in you to not abandon all sense of self-preservation by giving in to temptation and knocking that smug, superior smile on her face.

“I’m not threatening you, I’m promising you- just give me a reason to,” you know instantly when it finally clicks in Cassandra’s head that what the two of you are doing isn’t play fighting that starts and stops without ever escalating beyond barbed words and veiled insults because her face goes slack and her shoulders fall, curling in slightly, giving her the appearance of a sail when the wind goes out of it without warning, the change in the air sudden and unexpected.

“Go. Kaia. Now.” Max doesn’t leave any room for protestation or pushing back, he gives order to be obeyed, sparing you the small mercy of a reminder tucked neatly away in the middle of the directive.

Go to Kaia, your place is not here fighting my battle for me but with my daughter until I can be there myself. What I need, what Kaia needs, is for you to trust me to handle this like I already trust you to handle her- completely.

I’m not asking you for blind faith, I’m simply asking that you find a way to put your wants and needs aside, to relinquish them regardless of their validity, to put Kaia’s wants and Kaia’s needs ahead of your own- I’m asking you to meet me in the middle.

“Fine,” you force the word out through gritted teeth, refusing to tear your gaze from Cassandra as you say it, “but as soon as-“

“Yes,” he presses a hand to your shoulder, the unanticipated point of contact instantaneously becomes absolutely impossible to ignore, the heat of his touch, of his palm and his fingers pressed against you, a newly tangible thing that’s bleeding through the thin fabric of your team shirt to warm your skin, “as soon as I’m done here, I find you, I’ll come right to you- to the two of you, alright?”

“Alright,” grudgingly, you relent, forcing yourself to yield to Max, to do as he’s fairly asked you to, to accept what he’s said, because deep down, whether you like it or not, whether you care to admit it or not, he’s right, regardless of how you might feel or what you might want, you have no right to his fight, it was not yours to lay claim to.

“Aw, now isn’t this just heartwarming,” Cassandra pushes out her bottom lip in an over exaggerated pout, her words sickly sweet, “what a touching little performance!”

“Oh, go fuck yourself, Cassandra,” you retort scathingly, “Dan, you coming?”

“I, uh-” Daniel looks to Max in silent question, giving his friend the opportunity to decide whether he stays or goes, and making it abundantly clear to all parties involved that when it comes down to it, both you and he defer to Max above all else.

“Go,” the Dutchman answers, giving a shallow dip of his head in assent.

“Understood, chief,” in an effort to lighten the tense, dreary mood, Daniel salutes Max as he stands, pushing his chair in before, in the same fluid motion, he sketches a bow in Cassandra’s direction, “as always, it was awful to see you, Ms. Dormer-Bancroft. Give my regards to your father, I hope things aren’t too hectic in hell this time of year but clearly things must be manageable if he and the tortured souls could make do without you for the day.”

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

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buckybarnesowl · 3 years

Text

It Never Ends - Chapter 4

Pairing: College!AU Bucky x fem! Reader

Series description: Bucky and Y/n are fourth-year undergrads with the same major. They’ve always had a crush on each other but were too reserved to do anything about it. One horrendous night pushes them together and they’re forced to navigate the fallout, for better or worse.

Series warnings: 18+!!! This series is not for minors. The main plot line is based around sexual assault/rape themes and the fallout that comes from that type of trauma. Please if you are not 18+ do not engage. You are responsible for your own media consumption.

A/n: I’ve decided I'll likely fail the Whumptober completion. I felt the prompts were forcing the story into an unrealistic direction and I want to do this justice. It might take longer than expected, but I will finish this series.

Please take care when reading this. As a survivor (multiple times over) I know how reading stories like this can be triggering without even realizing it. If anyone wants/needs to talk don’t hesitate to send me a message. Love you all. Thanks to everyone for reading and commenting and reblogging so far.

Chapter 4 warnings: blood, violent fighting, swearing and derogatory slurs, reference to non-con, trauma, anxiety

Chapter 4 word count: 3k

Chapter 4 prompts:

No. 3 - STICKS AND STONES MAY BREAK MY BONES BUT… taunting | insults | “Who did this to you?”

No. 5 - I’VE GOT RED IN MY LEDGER betrayal | misunderstanding | broken nose

No. 19 - JUST A SCRATCH bitten | bleeding | stabbing

Previous Chapter | Series Masterlist | Masterlist

Bucky could feel the crick forming in his neck and stiffness in his back before he even opened his eyes. He stopped the groan from leaving his lips when he remembered where he was. Not wanting to wake Y/n, he slowly freed his hand from hers, freezing when she stirred. She rolled over and Bucky only continued moving once he was certain her breath had evened out once more. With the stealth of a trained assassin, he gathered all his things and left the three roommates sleeping.

The campus was unsurprisingly dead for just past 7:00 a.m. on a Sunday. The cold morning air whipped his cheeks as Bucky left the dorm building. He should have walked straight to his dorm and caught up on sleep. It was the final week of classes before Thanksgiving break which meant mid-term assignments. And he needed all the rest he could get after what a late night Friday turned into and the shoddy floor sleep he’d just had. But he couldn’t. Not when his insides were buzzing with so much rage he thought he might combust in the middle of the East Boulevard.

Quentin fucking Beck.

Brock fucking Rumlow.

Quentin motherfucking Beck.

Bucky’s teeth were clenched so hard his jaw started to throb. He had forced himself to remain calm the night before. As soon as he’d heard her say their names, he swore to himself he wouldn’t make it worse. Y/n was already suffering enough, she didn’t need him getting all macho and protective when she’d only just remembered the horrendous details.

But now that he was alone, the fury erupted in chest and seared through his veins.

Bucky wasn’t a violent man. When they were teenagers, Steve was the one getting into fights. Bucky would come to his friend’s rescue often, only resorting to violence when absolutely necessary. But the Terror in Y/n’s eyes when he woke her from her nightmare was enough to make him plan out every excruciating and gory detail of Beck’s murder.

Quentin was in graphic lit with Y/n and Bucky this semester and Bucky already loathed every word that came out of the obnoxious douchebag’s mouth. Not to mention the way Bucky always caught him staring at Y/n. It ignited a jealous flame in him—not that his crush meant that Y/n belonged to him or anything. It’s just he could see the way he undressed her with his disgusting leering. So it was no surprise when Y/n named him. Could you really blame him for wanting to knock the guy out?

Gross staring habit aside, Bucky had heard and read the stories about Beck and Rumlow. But everyone in the Faculty of Arts knew Beck’s father was one of the college’s biggest donors so he was next to untouchable. That didn’t mean Bucky couldn’t have a little “chat” with him the next time he saw him.

Which turned out would be as soon as Bucky entered the 24-hour coffee shop between his and Y/n’s residences. The only students in there were either die hard studiers or those making a pitstop on their walk of shame from Saturday night debauchery. Quentin and his ever present sidekick were the last in line.

Bucky’s chest started heaving and he had to dig his nails into his palm as his right hand made a fist to ground himself, the prosthetic quietly whirring as he clenched his left.

“God, I can’t believe how much we drank last night. I need ALL the coffee right now,” Brock groaned.

“No shit. Where’d you end up anyways? With that brunette? Or the slutty blond?”

“I can’t even remember, man. I just grabbed my hoodie and left this morning. What about you?”

“Same, man. I just remember it being good.”

The two laughed at Quentin’s insinuation.

“And thank fuck I didn’t get barfed on this time.”

“I still can’t believe that bitch threw up on y—”

“Hey, what'd I say, man? Don’t call her a bitch. I should have remembered she couldn’t handle her shit. She was always such a lightweight in high school,” Quentin hissed at his buddy in a low tone.

“Jeez, cool it. I forgot you actually like that one.”

“Shut the fuck up, man. Just order our damn coffees so we can get back to the dorm. I’m going to go take a piss.”

Bucky watched as Quentin disappeared into the cafe’s washroom. He was counting his breaths and trying to focus on the burning sensation of his nails in his palm. Before he could decide what to do, his legs were already turning him around and sending him through the doors he’d just entered minutes before. The coffee shop was the last business on the strip of the East Boulevard that led to Bucky’s dorm, the same as Beck’s and Rumlow’s. His feet continued to rush him to a section of dense trees just before their building, only stopping when he got to the wooden bench he knew was there.

Hidden from view by the shade of the changing foliage, Bucky sat, waiting. It didn’t take long before his ears registered Quentin’s voice. Bucky held his breath as the two men approached him. He watched them pass, oblivious to his presence on the bench.

Not yet.

Now.

“Hey Beck! Fuck you.”

Bucky’s heart was nearly pounding out of his chest as he watched the two dark haired men stop and look at each other before turning to see him sitting on the bench, knee bouncing.

“I’m sorry, who the fuck are you?”

“James Barnes. We’re in graphic lit,” he returned as he stood up.

“Riiiight. You’re the pathetic war amp that’s always sitting with Y/n. She was always taking pity on the retards.”

Bucky’s left hand was around Quentin’s neck so fast he even surprised himself.

“If I ever hear her name come out of your putrid rapist mouth ever again I swear to fucking god I will end you.”

Quentin was gasping, clawing at Bucky’s metal arm as it lifted him ever so slightly off the brick walkway. “B-Brock, fucking p-punch this asshole!” he managed to choke out.

Suddenly Bucky was seeing stars as his mouth flooded with the taste of copper and iron, a blinding pain radiating from his nose. But his anger was still controlling him as he swung his arm in defense, making contact several times, though not certain with who. It was enough to spook the two hungover friends. They hurriedly put distance between themselves and Bucky, walking backwards towards the dorm.

“You’re gonna pay for this, Barnes!” Quentin yelled.

“What, you’re gonna tell daddy you got beat up ‘cause you like to drug and rape women?!”

“Fuck you, Barnes!”

“Not even in your fucking dreams,” Bucky returned cooly.

His pulse was still raging and his teeth were chattering, and yet everything was crystal clear. He knew he should be feeling pain, but it was as if a warm calm had washed over him. The only other time he’d felt like this was when Steve pulled him out of the water after his cliff diving accident. He was in shock. He texted his group chat with Steve and Sam.

Bucky: U 2 up? Need help.

His phone rang not even thirty seconds later.

“Where are you? What happened?” Steve’s voice boomed through the speaker.

“At the bench by the trees, you know just before our dorm? Got into a fight with Quentin Beck and Brock Rumlow. I think my nose is broken.”

“Jesus Christ! We’ll be down in less than five. Stay put.”

“Thanks, Stevie.”

“‘Course, Buck.”

It only took two minutes for his friends and roommates to find him. Sam had a bag of frozen peas and Steve had a wet towel.

“Holy shit, Buck, that’s a lot of fucking blood!” The blonde handed him the towel.

Bucky hissed as he wiped his face and pressed it to his already swollen nose. “Ugh,” was all he could say. The shock had worn off and the pain was setting in.

“Here man, this’ll help,” Sam assured as he handed him the bag.

A muffled “thanks” came out from behind the frozen vegetables, followed by another groan.

“What the fuck happened, Buck? Why the hell are you getting into a fight with those two dicks at 7:30 a.m. on a Sunday?”

“It was them. Fuck, I shouldn’t even be telling you, but I’m so fucking pissed. It was them. They’re the ones who…”

Bucky couldn’t find the words. He couldn’t bring himself to say it out loud. And he didn’t have to. Sam and Steve pieced it together immediately.

“Shit.”

“Yeah,” he sighed, closing his eyes at the slight relief the peas were bringing him. The pain was present now, and morphing into a sharp ache that spread across his cheeks and behind his eyes.

The three friends stayed silent for a moment, then Steve spoke up.

“Before I start having to figure out how to get one of my best friends out of jail for murder, can we take you to the clinic?”

Bucky chuckled at how well the blonde knew his thought processes.

“Sure, no murder for today. I promise.”

“Good. Let’s get you up then. You think you can walk the five minutes to the med building?”

Bucky nodded, and the two friends each took a side, guiding Bucky away from what looked like a violent crime scene and towards the clinic.

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

When Y/n awoke to an empty room, her heart sank a little. She looked at her clock: 8:17 a.m. She sighed, rubbing her hands over her face. How could she be crushing on someone after everything that had happened? How could she even want to be around men after that?

But maybe it was because of what happened that she wanted Bucky even more now. To prove to her not all men were sex-crazy assaulting assholes. That not all men just saw her as an object. That maybe there might be someone that wanted her for her, not her body. That respected her and was actually interested in who she was as a person.

Bucky seemed like one of the good ones. He would laugh when she made jokes about white male fragility. When the outing of sexual aggressors that was happening on campus came up, Bucky seemed to listen so intently when Y/n had shared some of her shitty experiences with him. He’d mentioned the training he was making the swim team go through. She’d never met any man like him. So supportive, aware of his privilege, and genuinely committed to making a difference.

Maybe that’s why Y/n felt so safe with him when he found her on Friday. And why she was actually relieved when he said he was sleeping over the previous night. He didn’t make her feel embarrassed about what happened. He just listened, like he always did.

Y/n sighed again, then forced herself out of bed. She felt exhausted yet wide awake, and suddenly was overcome by an urge to get out of the house. She’d go grab a coffee or maybe something more soothing—she didn’t really need anything upping her anxiety at this point. Then she could pick up the medical letter from the clinic. That could be her outing for the day. Dr. Cho had said to take baby steps, after all.

By the time Y/n got to the clinic she was already worn out and just wanted to be back at her dorm. Nat and Wanda were still asleep when she got up and she had wanted to try going out by herself. But once she’d made it to the cafe, regret for not waiting for the redheads to accompany her began seeping in.

She felt so exposed walking around campus, as if somehow every single person she passed knew what had happened to her. It made her chest flood with shame and embarrassment and all she wanted to do was crawl up into a ball in her bed. The almond steamed milk was calming her nerves a bit, but only enough to get her to the clinic. She’d b-line back to the dorm immediately after.

“Hi, I’m here to pick up my letter from Dr. Cho? My name is Y/n L/n, I was here yesterday but the printer wasn’t working?” Y/n said meekly.

“Right, there was a sticky note saying you’d come today. Dr. Cho also wanted me to give you these,” the receptionist said as she handed Y/n what looked like a few info-sheets. She couldn’t bear to look at them at that moment so she folded them along with the note and stuck them into her bag.

“Thanks, tell her thank you.” Y/n’s expression dropped. “I’m sorry, I’ve got to go, that’s my friend,” she quickly turned away from the reception desk as she saw Bucky walk out of the exam room hallway.

“Oh my god, Bucky, are you ok?”

“Y/n, what are you doing here? Are you hurt?”

“Jesus, you’re covered in blood and your face is swollen and you’re worried about me?” She put her hands on his shoulders to inspect the damage more closely. The worry in her eyes was enough to melt Bucky’s heart.

“I’m ok, I promise. It’s a hairline fracture in the bridge, but didn’t have to get it reset or anything. Doctor says it should be healed in about six weeks. And I get the next three days off, so there’s that.”

“How did it… who did this to you?” Y/n asked as she pulled her arms from his shoulders, as if she might already know the answer.

Bucky rubbed the back of his neck with his metal hand, his eyes shifting away from her as he searched for a way to avoid the truth. He didn’t want to upset her, didn’t want her to think he’d betrayed her. Unintentionally, Sam and Steve came to his rescue.

“There you are, Buck. That was fast. Oh, hey, Y/n! Good to see you... again...” Sam trailed off, realizing the awkwardness of the situation.

Y/n’s cheeks burned immediately as she was bombarded with flashes of Friday night. “I’m, um, thanks… uh—”

“Hey, don’t be embarrassed. Please. We’re just, we’re glad we could help.” Steve chimed in.

“And we’re so fucking sorry that happened,” Sam added.

“Guys! Jesus. Not really the right venue, hm?” Bucky cut in sharply. “Let’s all get out of here, yeah? You want me to walk you back to your dorm, Y/n?”

Y/n’s shoulder’s dropped. Saved by Bucky, again. “Are you serious right now? You’ve got a broken nose and are asking to walk me home? Does he have any self preservation?” She turned to the two friends?

Sam and Steve burst out laughing.

“Oh, I like her,” Sam chuckled. “We’ve actually gotta run to practice, we’re already 15 minutes late. I’ll tell coach you’re going to be off and will be in touch with them. Y/n, do you think you could make sure this moron makes it back to our dorm?”

“You got it, captain,” she grinned warmly.

“Y/n, you really don’t have to—”

“Don’t listen to him,” Steve cut in. “He needs all the help he can get.”

“I’ve got him, don’t worry, boys.”

And she meant it. The anxiety and panic that had been building in her chest was now squashed by a sense of duty and purpose. What a powerful medicine, to be needed.

The four walked out of the clinic and into the crisp autumn morning, parting ways after saying goodbyes that were much less awkward than their hellos.

“You really don’t need to do this. It’s only five minutes from here.” Bucky protested as they started down the walkway.

“James, please. It’s the least I could do after all you’ve done for me these past few days. I want to help. Let me help.”

“You don’t owe me anything, Y/n. I need you to know that.” He stopped and looked at her with a fierceness in his eyes that made her shiver.

“I, I know. I just, please, it’s helping to have a distraction,” she admitted softly.

“I’m glad my pain and suffering could bring some benefit to you,” Bucky returned cheekily.

“Fuck, sorry!” Y/n covered her mouth in embarrassment. “That’s not what I meant, I’m so sorry.”

“Y/n, sweetheart,” he backtracked, placing his hand on forearm to lower it from her mouth, “I was just joking. You’re all good.”

“I… you never answered me. Who did this to you?”

Bucky sighed. “I need you to know I didn’t say anything specific. We’ll not at first. I just, after you told me last night, I was so fucking pissed. And I know I’m making this about me and I shouldn’t be and that’s exactly why I didn’t say anything last night. And you weren’t supposed to even find out about this. But I saw the two of them this morning at the cafe and I just fucking snapped and I called him a fucking rapist and started choking him and then I threatened him to never say your name again and then I think Rumlow punch me and then I threw a few back and then—”

Suddenly Bucky’s nervous rambling was cut off by Y/n’s tight embrace, and he could feel her chest hitching slightly against his.

“Thank you,” she whispered, “thank you so much.”

Bucky exhaled in relief. “I thought you would be mad at me, that I had betrayed your trust. I’d never get involved without your consent. I know it’s not my place. I just lost control and I’m sorry but I’m not really sorry because he fucking deserves so much more than that and—”

“Bucky,” Y/n stopped him, releasing their hug to gently place a hand on his cheek, “You have no idea how much this means to me. You words, your support. Everything is so fucked up, but having you around during this has made me feel safe. So thank you.”

Bucky leaned into her touch. “Whatever you need, Y/n. I’m here. Anytime, any place.”

Y/n searched his eyes for a moment before nodding once. “Let’s get you home and under some ice. That looks painful as fuck.”

Bucky laughed softly, “Yeah, it’s not the most pleasant feeling.”

The two turned back towards the dorm, Y/n lacing her fingers with Bucky’s as they continued down the path.

Next chapter

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nevervalentines · 4 years

Text

in which dani and jamie sit in the dark kitchen of their vermont rental at 3 a.m. and flirt and bump bare feet under the table

On the nights she can’t sleep, Dani finds her way to the kitchen.

They’ve only been in the rental for a few months, but she already knows the shape of it in the dark. The nightmares rouse her from her sleep about two or three times a week, and with Jamie beside her, it gets harder and harder to drag herself out of bed.

But if she stays, she’s liable to slip back into the dreams – the waking terrors that make shapes out of the shadow of the doorframe, that coax faces from the scritch of branches against the window pane. She swears, one night, that she sees the Lady at the foot of her bed and doesn’t sleep right for days.

Dani makes it through the hallway without casualty, but jolts her hip on the mid-century modern sideboard in the foyer with a muffled curse. The rental is a tiny, one-story cottage outside of Montpelier, with a postage stamp backyard and screened in front porch that Jamie is already over-filling with potted plants and flower boxes.

Dani keeps reminding her not to get settled, that they might leave soon, might not be there for long, and Jamie gives her that fond, squinted look she often does, ducks in for a kiss rather than reply.

The former tenant of the cottage leaned hard into late-70s interior design, with garish wooden paneling and plush, sepia-toned rugs. Dani mutes the art-deco color blocks of linoleum in the kitchen with only the watery light above the stove, and puts the kettle on in the half-dark.

Already, staring hard at the red flare of the burner, she can’t remember the dream that woke her. Just the muddled shape of it, the discomfort and anxiety steeping in her chest, a dark rot that threatens to blacken her from the inside out.

She preps the tea in a ceramic pot on the stove, the loose-leaf blend that Jamie prefers, then milk, sugar, enough that she can feel the ghost of Jamie’s wince from three rooms away.

Slumping over the tiny table in the kitchenette, the mug warms her palms, soothing away the late-fall chill, sweatpants settling low on her hips.

She doesn’t hear Jamie until she is already behind her, the shush of her footsteps, a warm hand on the back of her neck.

“Okay, sweetheart?”

Startling, Dani turns into her touch, soothed to find Jamie looking grumpy and bed-rumpled, dark curls a mess, sleeves of an overlong flannel slipping down her wrists.

Sweetheart is the sleepiest of Jamie’s affections, with Poppins reserved for daylight and teasing, and baby for when Dani is sad, for wiping tears off her chin or tucking her against her shoulder. Most times, there are no pet name at all, just a brusque tone and a hand on her cheek.

Sometimes, to take the piss, Jamie calls her Danielle and mimics her American accent, words flattened and elongated enough to make Dani scowl. But sweetheart is for the kitchen, for kettle warmed fingers and cold tiles.

“You didn’t have to get up,” Dani says. She reaches for Jamie’s hand, brings it to her mouth and brushes a kiss over her knuckles. “I’m fine.”

“Couldn’t sleep anyway,” Jamie says. A lie, but the harmless kind. The things she says to put Dani at ease. “Bed was too still without all your tossing and turning.”

“There’s tea,” Dani says, “If you want some.”

Jamie approaches the stove wearily, and Dani gets up to follow, fetches a mug from the shelf over the spice rack.

“I don’t think,” Jamie says carefully, “that you would ever intentionally hurt me.” She squints skeptically at the pot. “But mistakes do happen.”

“Baby,” Dani says, stuck between laughter and a pouting, little-kid-petulance, “it isn’t going to kill you.”

She steps closer until their hips bump, taking Jamie’s sleeve between a thumb and two fingers and ducking in.

“Aren’t I getting better? I feel like all the practice we’ve been doing,” she lingers on the words, noses at Jamie’s cheek, talks like this might not be about tea, after all, “I think I’m really learning a lot.”

Tucking her lips into her mouth, Jamie disguises a smile, eyes hooded. “It has been a very educational few months, I’ll give you that.”

Dani buries her face in Jamie’s neck to hide a blush and camps out there for a while, just because.

Blanket-warm and sleepy, Jamie still smells like the sheets on their bed, like detergent and soft cotton, the milky skin under her jaw holds a trace of perfume. Dani purses her lips in a quiet just-because kiss against her throat, then another, open mouth, humid breath.

Jamie worms in closer, hips butting, reaching around Dani to take the ceramic mug from her hands and rest it on the stovetop.

“Careful, there,” she says. “You’re going to wake me up for good if you keep that up.”

Dani nods into her neck, accepts an arm around her waist, curls her fingers in the front of Jamie’s flannel. “I’m not going back to sleep, anyway.”

A hum of concern. “Bad dreams again?”

“Always.” This mumbled, grumpily, and Jamie pulls back to pet her fringe out of her eyes.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not really.” Dani leans harder into the touch, proffers her cheek for a kiss. Jamie obediently obliges, before pushing her away to continue preparing her tea, nudging Dani back toward the bench seat of the table.

Closing her eyes, the clink of the spoon against the lip of the mug is familiar. So is the sound of Jamie turning off the stove, the hiss-spit as the gas clicks off. Jamie settles at the bench across from her, sets her chin in her palm.

“Think I’m going to pick up groceries in the morning, if you want to come,” Jamie says.

Dani opens her eyes, watches Jamie watch her, and realizes, all at once, how perfectly settled she feels. Grounded, for the first time in years, maybe ever. With a flicker of embarrassment, she realizes that the thought of going to the shop with Jamie does actually excite her – hands knocking between them as Jamie stands for far too long in front of the water-misted produce, a kiss stolen in the narrow aisles of canned goods, cold-cut sandwiches picked up from the deli window next to the butcher.

It’s sickeningly domestic, and perfect, and awful. Jamie looks at her steadily, and Dani looks back.

“I really, really like you,” Dani says, a little woozy. Sleep deprived, and drowsy, the stove still radiating a steady heat, and Jamie looking at her like that – all soft eyes, cupped chin, bare feet knocking under the kitchen table.

Jamie smiles, a little flushed, pleased. “Is that a yes to groceries, then?”

“Definitely a yes.” Dani reaches for her, and Jamie takes her hand, plays a thumb across her palm, stroking gentle over her love line.

Dani wants to say: I didn’t think I could ever have this.

Wants to say: I never thought sitting across from someone at 3 a.m. watching them drink the shitty tea that I made in a pair of shorts I’m pretty sure are mine could make my entire body feel like melted butter, that I could feel pleasure just from the way you touch me, that I would stand in an endless line at a crowded supermarket every Sunday morning if you were in front of me in high-waisted blue jeans picking out a chocolate bar for us to share on the ride home.

Instead she says: “If we have time, we could go to the farmer’s market after? Get those apples you like?”

Jamie answers her with a kiss. Leans across the table and catches her mouth messily, jarring Dani’s mug of tea and sending the lukewarm liquid sloshing. She pulls away laughing, rubs at her own mouth like she’s embarrassed.

“Yeah, Poppins, I figure we can fit that in.”

***

After the store and the market and a meandering drive home – one where Dani spends too long groping at Jamie’s thigh at every stop sign until she gets batted away – they find an autumnal patch of sunlight on the porch and drag the wicker chairs to meet it. Every hour, as the sunlight shifts, Jamie makes a show of moving the chairs a few inches to the left, often with Dani still in hers, giggling as Jamie groans the whole time.

There is a paper bag of apples at their feet, Honeycrisp and McIntosh, more than they could ever readily eat, though Dani promises, absently, to make a pie. Jamie will swear Dani was conned into it by the pretty girl at the apple stand, and Dani laughs, genuine and loud, like she could have eyes for anyone but her.

“Yeah, but we all know pretty girls have always been your weakness,” Jamie says. She inspects the apples for bruises and chooses one carefully, like the decision could determine the entire fate of their afternoon. “I mean –” she gestures at herself, buffs the apple on her knit sweater, “look at me.”

“Oh, modest,” Dani laughs, inching her chair closer to pinch at her arm. “I wasn’t even—”

“You were most certainly flirting.” She reaches for a paring knife resting on the window sill beside them and peels away a long stripe of the apple’s skin, mottled red and green, tossing it into a separate pile for composting. “Don’t think I didn’t hear you, all ‘oh, yes whatever you say, miss, I mean you are the expert, and so good with your hands, too.’”

At this she drops into an awful approximation of Dani’s midwestern accent, seeming to derive great pleasure in doing so, payback for Dani’s even worse British one, hardly making it through the sentence before she starts to laugh.

“I absolutely did not say that,” Dani says, fully affronted now. “And I definitely don’t sound like that.”

Jamie swivels in her seat to face her, grinning, all-together too pleased with herself, speaking around a mouthful of muffled laughter and a slice of apple.

“I took some creative liberties,” Jamie says. “I have every right to, anyhow. I mean you did travel across the ocean with the first pretty girl you saw.”

“Not the first. And can you blame me?” Dani asks, a little quieter, tilting her head to meet Jamie’s eyes full-on. Her words are more weighted than she means them to be, because that’s the thing isn’t it – that it isn’t just any girl, that it’s Jamie, her Jamie, and – “I’d do it again. Travel across oceans, I mean. For you.”

Two points of color rise in Jamie’s cheeks, and she ducks her chin into the lip of her sweater, hiding from Dani’s eyes for a second.

“Christ, Dani,” she says, emerging. “Didn’t have to go full romantic on me.”

“I wasn’t flirting with the apple girl, anyhow,” Dani says, biting hard at her lip. “I just know you like the apples, so.”

“Yeah,” Jamie says, eyes dropping somewhere low on Dani’s face. “They’re my favorite.”

Taking the knife to the fruit, she carves away a bite of tender, white flesh, holds it out for Dani to take. Dani opens her mouth, and Jamie’s eyes narrow, lips parting. She feeds it to her slowly, Dani’s teeth scraping against her fingers, a hint of tongue.

It’s ripe, tart, pared perfectly with the sawdust-sunlight clinging to the porch, to Jamie’s fingers lingering on her lips, to the rest of the afternoon stretching ahead of them, and maybe a few more after that.

“You didn’t sleep too well last night, did you?” Jamie asks, clearing her throat.

Confused, Dani wrinkles her forehead. “No, but, I mean, you knew that.”

“Right, well.” A shrug. “I just figured you must be tired, we could get a head start on it, then. Head to bed now, maybe. If you wanted.”

“Oh.” Eyebrows jumping, Dani feels the thrill of it, down to her fingertips, tilts her head to check the kitchen clock through the open doorway. “It’s 3 p.m., how ever will we fill the time?”

“I can think of a few things.” Already, Jamie is moving to her feet, reaching out a hand for Dani to take. Her fingers are sticky with juice from the apple, her cheeks still a little flushed, hair falling wild out of its haphazard ponytail.

Dani thinks about taking the fingers to her mouth, again, thinks about all the things that can fill a Sunday afternoon when you have nowhere else to be. Leaving the bag of apples behind them, it’s Dani who leads the way inside.

Laughing, Jamie hurries to catch up.

#the haunting of bly manor #jamie x dani #my writing #shout out to that anon two weeks ago who asked if i would ever write fic #its not 15k words but i literally cant stop thinking about them #also shoutout to a friend who made me want to take a closer look at a snapshot of the two of them sitting together and drinking tea while #looking way too enamored with each other

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somedayonbroadway · 3 years

Text

Room

Chapter 2

Room Maserlist

TW: Implied rape/non-con (Nothing shown)

Tyler yawned when he heard familiar beeping. There were always six of them before something buzzed above him and a soft scraping noise signaled the opening of the metal door into space. Spider lived in space. He wasn't an alien, but he could live out there. Jack didn't like Spider even though Spider brought them Sunday Treat by magic. Tyler didn't really know him. He was never allowed to speak to the man.

"Hey… I brought jeans," the old man said. He was always loud. Daddy didn't answer. "Got you canned peaches. And no, I'm not wasting my money on any breakfast meat. You don't need it…" Still, Daddy remained silent.

Tyler let out a breath as he slowly sat up, tracing the broken board of Wardrobe that let him see into Room at night. He could see Spider set down a bag of groceries as he laughed, looking down at the table. "What is that? A birthday cake?" Spider took a fork and took a bite out of what was left. "That's why you asked for flour instead of new socks… you're such an idiot," the man laughed, almost playfully. "How old is the little guy now? Four?"

"Five," Tyler whispered, knowing the man wouldn't hear him. He watched the old man step out of his pants and walk closer to his daddy. "I'm five…" Daddy didn't correct the man. In fact, Daddy didn't say a single thing.

"You should've told me. I would've gotten him a present." The words made Race curious. He tried to peer out, but he wasn't allowed to open Wardrobe when Spider was in Room. Daddy wouldn't be happy with him if he did.

It was not the first time Race had seen this happen. Daddy had drawn little ticks on the wall above him. Race was supposed to count them when he woke up in the night and heard the squeaking coming from Bed.

So that's exactly what he did.

"One… two… three… four…"

It was easy to count those marks. There were at least a hundred of them. So Race often let his mind wander while he counted, not liking the sound of that creak that always seemed to happen when Spider came into Room.

He thought about Room. There was Room and then outer space where all of the TV planets were. Then there was heaven. It's where he was before Room. He couldn't remember it. Daddy said that it was another life, one where he was free and happy. Race never understood that. He was happy here, with his daddy, in Room.

One day, he promised his daddy that he would take them to the TV planets. He thought Daddy might be happy if he saw the TV planets. He knew his daddy wasn't happy here. He just pretended because Room was all that was here and the aliens couldn't hear them when they called. But one day, Race was going to change that.

The TV persons weren't real, they were flat and made with shapes and lights and colors, but the aliens that made them were. Plant was real but trees weren't and forests and oceans were much too big to fit anywhere. Spiders were real though and not Spider the old man but the bugs. And one time a mosquito had sucked Race's blood. Cats and dogs weren't real though. Well, except for Hammer. He was Tyler's puppy that was going to come for them as soon as he could hear them from space.

But for now, he was in Room. And he was with Daddy. And he was just fine with that.

Jack stared straight up at the ceiling. He breathed evenly as the man beside him held a strong arm around his bare waist. He stared up at the sound tiles that made up the ceiling and tried to forget that he could feel Spider's breath on his neck. All he could do was wait, counting the second until the old man finally left him alone.

It had been nine hundred and seventy six second since he'd started counting. He didn't stop. It helped him lose focus on the things his mind would tend to wander to when things were quiet and he was alone and he didn't have a five year old to focus on. He didn't like where his mind went at night, but he couldn't get himself to sleep. Not when Spider was here, making him feel like another object in Room, like he only served a single purpose.

Maybe he did.

He kept counting, forcing himself to continue breathing normally. Spider wouldn't sleep in Room. Not for much longer, anyway. Soon enough he would go back into space. Then he'd come back tomorrow night and the horrible cycle would begin again.

Nothing was going to change now. It was useless to dream. It was useless to imagine what might have been had things been different, where he could have been had there been a single thing he'd done differently on one particular day of his life that had seemed just like any other. This is where he was. This is what the universe had chosen for him.

Room was the whole world. There was nothing else out there.

Not for him.

When Spider finally left, Jack swallowed the lump that always seemed to make itself known in the back of his throat. He waited until the big metal door was shut again before he pulled his pajama pants back on and carefully shuffled his way over to Wardrobe. He let out a breath as he opened the doors of the thing to find a little boy sleeping. He expertly scooped the child up in his arms, careful not to wake him as he whisked him back to Bed and lay him down, cuddling up against him as he pulled the single blanket he had over the both of them.

Tyler stirred only a little as Jack shushed him.

Jack pressed his head into the boy's small shoulder and let his eyes close, allowing himself to drift off into oblivion with his baby in his arms.

The next day began just as the last one had. Quiet. Nearly silent.

It was just a little bit harder for Jack to get out of bed.

Running low on cereal, Jack knew that they had to have a small breakfast and he begrudgingly cut up an apple, using a knife with its tip broken off, barely sharp enough to cut through the fruit. He didn't care. His wrist throbbed but he ignored it, sniffling and rubbing at his exhaustion stung eyes as he continued on, eventually handing his son, who was banging on the bottom of a small bucket in the bathtub, half of the small thing without a word.

Quietly, the child put down his wooden spoon and accepted the food, taking a bite of it immediately. He watched Daddy curiously, wondering if this would be one of the days that he didn't speak at all before he saw the man wince.

A pain spread throughout the back of Jack's mouth. He felt something come loose and he placed a hand over his mouth as he began to try and assess what had just happened. After a moment he reached inside his mouth and tugged on the tooth that had been bothering him for weeks.

It came out without any more trouble.

Tyler's eyes widened. "What is it?" he asked, not understanding at all what had happened.

As Jack inspected the small thing, he sighed. "It's a bad tooth." The small molar that was supposed to be white had a black hole in it and Jack could taste a little bit of blood where he'd just pulled it out. Emotionlessly, he held the thing down towards his son who was ever so inquisitive and let the boy's wide blue eyes linger.

"Can I hold it?" Squinting a little bit, Jack bent down to hand the child the blackened tooth and he watched the boy gaze in awe. "Whoa…"

Jack smiled for only a second before it was gone again and he looked back down at the apple on the counter. His stomach was tight with hunger but he didn't want to eat. For a long while, he just stared at the fruit like it had betrayed him somehow before his mind wandered back to what would happen that night. He put his head in his hands and rested his elbows on the counter.

His head hurt. He was exhausted and he didn't want to be awake. So he set the apple back in the fridge and wandered back over to the bed, curling in on himself as he pulled the blanket up and closed his eyes.

Today was just one of those days.

Still fascinated by the tooth, Race only knew Daddy had walked away because he heard Bed squeak. He looked over to find that Daddy's face was covered by Blanket. Race knew right then that it was going to be a gone day.

On gone days, Race would read. Daddy said he was still learning, but he was a really good reader. Only, Race didn't want to read right now. He wanted to play. He wanted Daddy to dance with him and run around Room with him. He wished his daddy would smile. He loved hearing Daddy laugh.

But he knew that he had to be quiet now. So he climbed out of Tub and wandered over to Egg-Snake, fiddling with him instead of running around and making noise. Egg-Snake was his best friend. He was the best at hiding from Daddy. Sometimes they'd play hide and seek when Daddy was happy. And when Daddy found Egg-Snake, he would pick Race up and hand Egg-Snake back to him with a smile and say "Nice try, Tyler James." Sometimes he'd get sad and say that there was nowhere to hide in Room. Tyler just thought he liked playing games and he wanted to be able to play himself, but he didn't know why.

Daddy was really good at finding things.

So lost in thought, Tyler didn't even notice that hours had passed him by. Rather than continuing to rattle Egg-Snake or bang on buckets, the little boy found himself picking at the loose edges of Rug after getting bored of staring at pages of his book that he couldn't get himself to read. That is, until he heard a squeaking noise.

It wasn't like the squeak that Bed made at night or the one Wardrobe made before he slept. It was much softer and much faster than that. So those big blue eyes peered up from Rug. That's when Race saw it.

He'd seen one once, in a movie, he thought. It was so small and such a soft looking grey color. It was eating a crumb of bread from the birthday cake. Spider must have dropped some of it last night. Daddy never left crumbs on the floor before they went to bed.

Fearing the small creature might be hungry, Race stood silently, reaching for the plate that still held their birthday cake, carefully taking a fist full of crumbs and letting them fall into a pile on the floor before he scurried away quietly. He lay on his tummy on the ground, not wanting to scare his new friend away. He believed the animal's name was Mouse. Mouse looked at him. Tyler could see every breath the animal took as it hesitantly crept forward towards the cake crumbs.

He'd never seen a real live Mouse before. He hadn't thought they were real. They were supposed to be made up, just like cats and dogs and dragons. Daddy had said that bugs could get into Room because they could fly, but Mouse couldn't fly.

The tiny thing began to nibble on the small peace offering as Race's mouth opened, creating the shape of a perfect circle as he gazed up at the creature in pure amazement. He crawled closer to it, watching it for another moment longer before he carefully and gently reached towards it, his hands cupped so he might carry it.

He flinched when something flew past him, hitting Mouse dead on. Race gasped and scrambled back, glancing up to see his daddy walking with purpose towards the crumbs to see if he'd hit Mouse. "Hey!" Race cried.

Jack sighed, grabbing the book he'd thrown from the floor and making sure the rat was gone. He tossed what was left of The Bible back onto his bed and kneeled down, trying to figure out where the thing came from, but he couldn't find any visible hole. Maybe if the rodent had gotten in, there was a weakness in the wall somewhere. Somewhere their noise could be made louder.

"Mouse wasn't doin' nothin'! He was bein' quiet!"

"It would've eaten our food," Jack stated, nearly monotone as he still found nothing. Sometimes he wished he would just turn to metal.

Tyler pouted, stomping over to his daddy and glaring up at him. "I gave him some food! He was hungry!"

"That thing's filled with diseases. It would've bitten us in our sleep." Race lightly hit Jack's leg at the words, letting him know that he didn't believe that.

"You killed him!"

Jack let out an irritated breath. "No, I didn't," he assured, running a hand through his hair. It was down to his chin now. He hated how long it was. He tried to ignore the fact that it immediately fell back in his face as he began to pick the crumbs up off the floor. "Mouse is just fine in the backyard with his family."

"The backyard?" It wasn't until Race asked that question that Jack realized his mistake. The young man paused for a moment, glancing down at his son. "Mouse lives in a backyard like in TV? Does he live on a TV planet?"

Biting back a frustrated groan, Jack shook his head, reaching over for the stupid book he'd thrown back onto the bed. "Here… why don't you go draw a dinosaur 'r somethin'," he suggested, trying to change the subject as quickly and calmly as he could.

A small sigh escaped the child and he looked at the torn up Bible for a moment, almost doing as he was told. But he paused. "Why didn't you tell Spider it was my birthday?"

Biting his lip, Jack stood, fighting back the only feelings he ever seemed to have anymore. Anger and despair. "Tyler," he warned, really not wanting to have this discussion again. "You're supposed ta be asleep when Spider comes."

"He said he would bring me a present!" Tyler whined. "I've never had a present…" he wondered.

Jack knew that his son hadn't meant those words to be so hurtful to him, but that didn't mean they didn't hurt more than anything. "He was lyin', Race. Spider ain't our friend," Jack said, throwing away the crumbs and dragging his feet back over to his bed.

The child stood up fast, watching Jack nearly collapse on the bed, wanting to just let the world swallow him whole. "It coulda been my puppy!"

"We can't have a puppy, Tyler. There's not enough room— space," Jack corrected himself, sitting back up and rubbing at his eyes again and not looking back at his little boy. "We don't have enough space n' I can't handle the scratching n' the biting an' the barking—"

"Hammer promises he won't—"

"There is no Hammer!" Jack argued, his head pounding. He'd kill for some pain killers right now.

Stomping his foot, Tyler screamed, "Yes there is!"

"No, he's not! You made him up in your head! He's not real!"

The words came out much harsher than Jack had meant them to. He froze, finally letting his gaze trail back down to his son. His heart tore apart at what he saw.

Tyler's bottom lip trembled as his big blue eyes welled up with tears. The child's shoulders slumped a little as he turned away. Jack melted. "No… no, baby, I'm sorry…" he tried, getting up and quickly gathering the five year old up in his arms. "Come here, come here, I'm sorry, I didn't mean it, please don't cry…" The boy turned to him and rested his head on Jack's shoulder as he cried. "Please don't cry, sweet boy, I'm so sorry…" Jack climbed back onto the bed with his son snug in his arms. He tried not to break down right along with the child. He rubbed the boy's back and kissed his head and played with his hair. He sniffled, closing his eyes and resting his forehead against Race's temple. "I'm so sorry…"

His child whimpered and sniffled against him, not understanding why Jack had gotten angry. To be honest, Jack didn't understand why either. Getting angry and irritated didn't help anything. It just made the weight of everything else sit heavier on his shoulders. He rocked the boy back and forth, swallowing hard as he shoved back his own sobs.

"Shhhhh… I'm sorry…" Jack hushed. "How about a story, huh? You wanna hear a story?" he tried, his voice shaking just a little. When Tyler nodded his head, Jack sniffled and relaxed back onto the bed, letting his back hit the mattress as he played with the child's hair. "Okay…" he began, staring up at the ceiling for a long moment before he tuned out the sound of his own voice. "Did I eva' tell you the story about the boy who lost his shadow?"

The story would only last so long, but Jack could at least get lost in the images and pictures that he'd had as a child. His imagination used to run wild with this story; a tale of adventures, ruthless pirates, beautiful mermaids and a boy who would never have to grow up and face the reality of the world that didn't exist to Jack anymore. That boy could just fly away from his problems and never have to return.

It wasn't fair.

Despite his jealousy of a fictional character, Jack managed to continue on with the story, calming the boy in his arms as he spoke in a soothing, slow voice until he managed to force himself onto his feet. He held Tyler in his arms as he turned the stove on and began boiling up some rice for dinner as his boy nearly fell asleep on his shoulder.

"... and up in the sky, they could see it," Jack whispered. "A pirate ship in the stars flyin' away while the Darling children went to sleep, believin' all of it was just a dream."

Race yawned, nuzzling his head beneath Jack's chin. "Was it?"

Jack peaked down at him. "Was it what?"

Lifting his head to face him, the child watched the water in the pot boil. "A dream?"

Pausing, Jack sighed. He bit his lip. "I don't know…" he admitted. "Maybe…"

It wasn't long after that that the rice was cooked and Jack served Racer some in his bowl. He let the kid take it to his chair that was pushed in front of the TV and started eating as Jack joined him. For a moment, it was quiet as the television was clicked on and Race chose a channel to watch. "Where do we go when we sleep?"

Only glancing at the small child, Jack replied, "Right here in Room."

"But what about dreams?" Race challenged. "Do we go into TV for dreaming? Or to Neverland?"

Taking another reluctant spoonful of rice, Jack shook his head, reaching out to smooth back his son's hair. "We're never anywhere but here," he assured brokenly, glancing at the metal door, agony in his gaze as he ran his fingers through Race's long blond curls. He forced himself to keep eating as his mind went blank and he watched three cartoon ducks get into trouble over and over again.

The rest of the night went on like normal. Jack got Tyler bathed along with himself and he helped the boy into his sleep shirt, running a comb through his hair to calm him down enough to sleep. He sang until those blue eyes closed and then he shut the wardrobe, leaning his head against it and closing his eyes, sending a wish into the heavens or higher that this boy would sleep through the night.

He didn't think he was asking for a lot.

Then he trudged back over to the bed and lay down, curling up tight and closing his eyes. He tried pretending to sleep before. It never worked.

When those six beeps and a buzz sounded over him, he remained motionless, letting a hand tug on his hair.

He didn't move. He just lay there and let the man talk. "Your hair is much too long. We'll have to cut it soon." Jack stared straight ahead at the wall. "I brought you something…" The young man stopped listening. He just let the old man roll him onto his stomach and he didn't say a word.

He didn't want to wake Tyler.

But by the time it was over, Jack could hear a soft whispered voice coming from the Wardrobe, counting, "Thirty three… thirty four… thirty five…" Jack swallowed back a whimper as he turned his head away from the man who was practically on top of him, his eyes meeting the scribbled, left handed drawings he'd managed to create on only pages of that horrible book people meditated and prayed on. The sketches looked back at him, smiling gently at him and Jack almost reached for them, stopping himself when Spider grunted in his sleep.

Of all the cruel things Spider could do to him, what he'd done tonight was among the worst. Jack felt a tear fall down his face, but he refused to cry. He just kept looking up at those pictures of those people instead of looking back to the kitchen table where that thing sat. He didn't want to think about what it meant, what the Spider was thinking when he bought it. It was all too much.

Jack just wanted to be able to sleep again.

Arms around his waist and breath on his neck, Jack swallowed hard, silently listening to the breaths and whispers of his little boy. The arm that tightened around him made him bite down on his tongue. He tasted blood but he didn't care.

When Spider stirred beside him, Jack refused to look at him. The man sat up beside him and pulled his pants back on. A hand brushed through his hair and lips pressed against his cheek possessively. Jack didn't react. "Make sure Tyler gets his present. I'll see you tomorrow night."

Still staring right past the man, Jack set his jaw. But the hand that brushed through his hair tightened and turned his head.

Jack hated looking into those black eyes. "Say 'goodnight'."

Scowling a bit, tears still in his eyes, Jack couldn't argue. "Goodnight," he breathed.

The hand released him and Jack glared at Spider all the way out the door. The second the door was shut, Jack stood, nearly stumbling to the ground as he pulled his pajama pants back on. He caught himself and made his way to the wardrobe, opening it up to find his little boy, nearly back asleep. Gently, he scooped the child up in his arms. Tyler moaned. "Shshshshshshhhhh…" Jack coaxed, cradling the boy to his chest before he lay the child in the bed to tuck him in.

This is normally when he would lay down beside the child, cuddling against him and shielding him from the cool air that the door had let in. But tonight he didn't even want to sleep. Instead he sat down at the table. He sat in his yellow chair and he stared down at the box in front of him. He glared at it.

Five years and he'd never been able to so much as buy his son a birthday present. He should be happy that this year he'd gotten one at all. But all he could feel was anger and resentment.

There was no sleep for Jack that night. He just watched over his son, knowing nothing would happen to him. Not in Room.

Nothing new ever happened in Room.

It was just Room.

#newsies #newsies live #newsies musical #newsies fanfiction #modern newsies #modern au #modern era #jack kelly #racetrack higgins #room #angst #captivity #baby race #teenage dad #slight whump #chapter 2

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grazieschillivera · 3 years

Text

A day off

Authors note: filled with randomness and comfort here and there, just wrote this to escape from studying

Word count: ca.2400

The third bang on your door, made you give up on getting your sleep.With sloopy steps you made it to your door, only to find Frenchie,Hughie and Butcher happily standing in front of you, once you your eyes could focus propberly.

,,There she is.Morning sunshine.'' said Butcher stepping past you into your dorm.

,,Is that a Star Wars poster?'' asked Hughie following Butcher.

You were far too tired to reacte, too overwhelmed with this situation.The long sleeves of your hodie hid your yawn.

,,Naww petite Y/N.All sleepy and cute.'' said Frenchie bringing you in his embrace petting your messy bun.

,,Guys!Its fucking Sunday what are you doing here?'' you asked with raspy voice, still hiding your face from the sunlight that came in, due to Butcher shoving the curtains away.

,,Right.Perfect timing for some quality time for the group.What could be better for that than a Comic Book Con?'' asked Butcher joining Hughie with getting through your stuff.

,,Fuck off boys.I need sleep.I finished my essays just four hours ago.'' you whined not at all convinced of that idea and resting in Frenchies arms.

,,Shut up Y/N I thought you were into this stuff.'' said Hughie while looking through your merchandise.

,,Can't I just go back to sleep and bring you some waffles later?That would have way more quality.'' you said but already gave in and pulled away from Frenchie.

,,Nope.Actually we have a little mission to do there.'' said Hughie turning with your lightsaber in his hands to you, looking amazed at it , when it turned out to be a green one.

,,Besides Frenchie makes the better ones.You were the one who wanted to join us, go get dressed.'' said Butcher taking the lightsaber from Hughie.

,,Fine.Just give me second.'' you said gathering up some clothes, your lightsaber from Butcher and your washbag and left your room.Only to come back after a moment to throw your weapon onto your bed, when you realised that you still had it in your hands.

,,Hey did you guys ever heard of privacy?'' you asked when you had entered your dorm again and saw Butcher at your laptop and Hughie still going through your merchandise stuff on your shelves.Frenchie layed in your bed, almost half asleep.

You walked strictly to Butcher and looked at your laptop's screen, seeing the text of your essay, but you could swear you saw the screen just had changed.Giving Butcher a daring gaze while you brought your washbag back into your vanity, trying to analyse his hidden grin.

,,What is that?I don't even know that.'' said Hughie looking at your gallyfreyan writing.

,,What ever this might be proves that Y/N is more of a fucking nerd than you are.'' said Butcher.

,,Its Gallyfreyan for fuck off.'' you said when you took the papers from Hughie to put them back into their box.

,,Can we go now?'' Butcher asked standing up from your desk and clapping on Frenchie's shoulder when he walked past him.

,,Just a second.'' you said, when you reminded yourself to do something you insisted on, now that you had Butcher here at your dorm.

You showed him a news article from the university, about your litertature club, writing about their performed works from last weekend praising especially your work.

,,Behind her creativity always lies an interesting critic to several current topics, that is clearly structured and could even knock out Homelander.'' you read out loud, while doing an awful job of hiding your pride.,,See I was right when I said I could at least put you over my knees rhetorically.Appearingly I can do that even with Homelander.'' you added.

Butcher continued to read the article.,,Homelander is a stupid cunt, who somehow managed to get taking serious while wearing latex.'' said he when he had enough of the reading.

,,I don't care about Homelander, I care about you Butcher.'' you said when you took the article and laid it back on your desk.

,,Now you're becoming soft on me again Y/N.'' said Butcher while walking outside of your dorm with the rest.

,,I mean it.Did someone wrote something like this ever about you?'' you said, insisting that this got accpreciated by him, since his critic on your arguments left you frustrated last time.

,,Listen love.I don't need an article that tells me I'm good in putting everyone over my knee.Even though I start to think you wouldn't mind if I did that to you – rhetorically of course.'' he added with a grin leaving you a bit irritated behind him,when he walked further down the hallway.

You were thankful for yourself bringing sunglasses for today to hide your tired eyes, since Hughie listened loudly the radio during the whole trip to the Convention, taking the last chance of sleep from you.

The plan was to talk with a supe about some former actions form Vought he should know of.Frenchie and Hughie were send to do this, while you and Butcher waited for them on the convention, that reminded you of a graveyard that came halfheartedly back to life.

,,Seriously ,did I really need to come with you guys for this?Its not that we do something helpful.'' you said still looking around.

,,We do.We stay here until Frenchie and Hughie are done with their part, I'll do the driving part and you can just take a break from studying.'' Butcher said.

,,Writing.About what?Failed artists or sexual frustrated fans?'' you asked not very convinced.

,,Funny that you mention that.'' said Butcher while he took out his mobile to show you something.

,,You asshole.How?'' you only managed to ask, mouth opened in disbelieve when you recognised your account with your posts.

,,I have my sources.'' said Butcher with a grin and started to scroll through your account.

,,I stayed logged in from last night.'' you said already knowing the answer while palming your face.

,,That answers my first question.All those thirsty posts from you are current?'' asked he while grinning down at his mobile.

,,No!They are in fact very old.Almost as old as you are.'' you said trying to stop Butcher from reading your stuff.

,,Screw this stupid article and you for that - I'm not that old.This is just pure smut- or is there also a perfectly argumented critic behind getting fucked by Eddie Vedder.I can't believe it you're writing texts to jack off to. '' said Billy still amused.,,Our sweet and intellectual Y/N does such naughty things in her spare time.''

,,My only texts to jack off to are my works, once they are approved by my professors.'' you said not interested in talking about your dark past.

,,And thats the problem.You need a day off, even I noticed that you have been fucking tense lately.'' Butcher said, you could tell that the last part was truly concerned.

,,With spending my day at this sad convention.Thank you Butcher.'' you said playing it down.

,,I can't let the guys be alone by themselves love.Besides I think I might can help with that, getting rid of some tension, you know?'' he said in his cocky voice.You eyed him up with a strange grin.

,,Is that an offer? I never thought you could be so generous yet so romantic.'' you said with a snort.

,,Same goes for you, in all this dirty talk and kink stuff I still can find your romantic side between the lines.Even though many seemed not to think so, according to your likes.'' said Butcher with a last look at his mobile while you gave him a last warning look.

,,That was not written from my heart nor my head, and I'm lucky my libido is not supposed to generate likes.'' you said.Butcher had to laugh at this genuily, before both of you continued you walk.

,,This is just fucking sad.When you read all those comics you can clearly read what people need right now and if you compare it to our reality it makes this whole shit even more worse.I hope Frenchie and Hughie can handle this guy.'' you said when you had stoped by a booth with comic books and looked over them.Butcher humed.

,,I guess they will be fine.The only special thing he can do his talk to animals.'' said Butcher and you noded with a chuckle, now you knew what Supe they wanted to meet here.

,,I thought you like this stuff, at least according to your shelves.'' said Butcher looking over your shoulder into the comic you held in your hands.

,,Since when do you look for people to interriogate that I could possibly like?'' you asked with smirk, before you put the comic back.

,,I'm not.That was just a lucky coincidence.Or unlucky - you still seem pissed.What's wrong?'' Butcher asked.

,,Honey I have work to do.Sundays are planed for studying.'' you explained tired but still had to smile since you thanked Butcher for his effort.

,,Honey huh? You really start to become soft with me.'' said Butcher with a smirk and followed you when you turned away from him to continue your walk.

,,You should know by now that I use those names when I just don't want to call you something mean.'' you said.

,,Well if you hate it here we can at least have a bit fun with your writing.'' Butcher said putting his mobile out again.

In the next minutes Butcher managed to get to know about all your preferences that your posts could reveal and he clearly seemed to enjoy that.You would also start to ask him out since you wanted to keep this interriogation fair, that leaded to the both of you having a very open conversation about sex and some weird stories about some experiences, almost in the middle of a convention.But you didn't care this entertained you clearly more than the comic books.

You got interrupted by a call you had to answer.After some time you came back to Butcher to tell him that you needed to go back to your dorm since a friend reminded you of the upcoming test next next week.

You already wanted to turn on your heel and call your friend back again, when Butcher reached out for your hand.A discussion started about wether you would leave this convention or not.

,,Are you mad you can't just forbid me to stay.'' you said after you gave up on explaining yourself properly.

,,When was the last time you just did nothing?You're completly stressed out Y/N.Have you at least eaten something today?'' asked Butcher.

,,No.Thanks to you guys I got kicked out of bed.'' you said, having Butcher cursing under his breath when he realised that.

,,I will make it up for you, just try to stay calm now.Your lips look terrible already.'' said Butcher still holding your hand in his.

,,What?'' you asked clearly a bit confused at this remark.

,,You always chew your lips when you're stressed out and they look awful right now.'' said he and you had to praise him again for being sensitive, recieving an grumpy look.But he was right when you gave him a smile in response you noticed how chapped they were.Great now you looked tired and terrible.

,,Maybe next Sunday.I still need to get a job once this whole detective thing with us is done.'' you said, tears started to fill your eyes caused by your rising stress level and even with the sunglasses Butcher could tell how you felt right now.

In the same moment Hughie and Frenchie ran to you , being completly out of breath but still managed to tell you that they messed up.The Supe had no interest messing around with Vought and called the security.You tried took calm down, that your tears would stay in your eyes and focused on the conversation between the boys.

,,This stupid eco- fucker.'' said Butcher.

,,Did you just asked him nicely or did you also brought some good arguments with you.'' you asked.

,,What should we havve against him? Sometimes you just have to hope that some people still have the balls to do something good.'' said Hughie.

,,Or you have to hope that they also just assholes.'' you said and pulled your phone out to search for something.

,,Here that's a list of women , who accuse him of sexual harassment, there are even videos and pictures on this side to prove their accusations.I thought you were prepared.'' you said and handed Hughie your mobile.

,,Where did you get this from?'' asked Butcher.

,,I have my sources.No matter how stupid the fandom we nerds stay together.'' you said a bit exaggerated.

,,At least something for today.'' you said now a bit satisfied when you looked after Frenchie and Hughie who walked back to the supes booth.

You even allowed Butcher to lay an arm over your should to pull you close to him.

,,That was fucking diabolical.Don't you ever think less of you love.'' said Butcher.

You pressed yourself against him and hid your face in his jacket, afraid that someone would see you start crying otherwise.A deep breath came from him and you could hear his smile out of it, while his hand stroked your hair softly.

,,Thanks.'' you said once you found your voice again, with your head buried in his shirt.

,,Come on lets get you back home.Guess the boys won't take long now.'' said Butcher and brought you to the car with his arm still around you.

While you were driving back you fell asleep.Butcher had decided to take you with them despite your saying but when you woke up after some nice hours of sleep and all cuddled up in your blanket you didn't mind at all.Frenchie had even made some waffles before he and Kimiko went away to spend the rest of the day together.

,,You know when you aren't tired or hungry you actually look kinda hot, even with those chapped lips.'' said Butcher when you stood next to him to you lay your empty plate on the kitchen island.

You gave him a smirk.,,Do you always flirt with women like this?'' you asked.Your gaze on him tried to stay unimpressed, when he pressed you against the table with his familiar smirk on.

,,Only if they are also into quickies on kitchen tables.'' said Butcher, his hands roamed over your curves carefully to test the waters.

,,You really needed my bad writing for this?'' you asked in disbelieve, when you already were sat on the table and started to kiss Butcher.

,,Don't worry love I myself have plenty of ideas for us.'' said Butcher before he started to kiss you again.

#the boys #billy butcher x reader #billy butcher #billy butcher imagine #the boys imagine

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theevangelion · 3 years

Photo

Temperature Checks: Supercorp Medfet/CGLG-ish Sneak Peek

(Lena x Reader) Reader is sick and hides it from Lena. When Lena finds out she punishes Reader with babying, tough love, and a thermometer where she knows it is most accurate and embarrassing. (Doctor Lena/MDLG-ish/Slight Dub-Con.)

***

On Sunday, the sniffles start with a runny nose and sore chest that can’t seem to decide whether it’s coming or going. One moment you can breathe, the next it’s too stuffy.

It’s the kind of cold that can be put down to hayfever or allergies for now; an inconvenience more than actually feeling under the weather. Or, at least not yet feeling too unwell to justify calling in sick to work despite your wife, Lena, suggesting that if only this once, you should really just stay in bed and rest.

It’s not often you’re sick. In fact, three years of marriage and it’s the first spell on record. Lena doesn’t seem to know what to do with herself over the next twenty-four hours. She’s helpful—or at least she tries to be.

Monday morning comes after a terrible night’s sleep, there is hot lemon tea with extra honey in a flask waiting for you on the kitchen counter. There is some medicine for your head cold too, and when you potter around to start making two lunches ready for work—one for you, one for her—Lena appears with a concerned look on her face.

“Baby I already made you something to take to work.” Lena presents you with a microwave lunch bowl that, through the clear plastic lid, you can see is more liquid than tangible meal. “Soup noodles, bone broth, I made it a little spicier than you normally like to help get your chest and nose clear.” She briefly presses the back of her hand to your forehead, then her expression furrows. “Your temperature feels up baby—”

“I’m fine,” You promise, pushing a very forced smile at the worrier, because you are not feeling fine at all and the headache is starting to compound itself. “I promise, if I start to feel too unwell I will come home from work.”

“Baby girl, you will have to forgive me, but I cannot help but find that very hard to believe.” Her dark eyebrows lift at you with a genuine sense of amusement at the statement—and yet she doesn’t laugh in the slightest. “You’re already burning a fever and your poor chest too! You were awake all night tossing and turning, it sounded like you could hardly breathe.”

“I promise, it’s just allergies.”

“Name one thing you are allergic to?”

“Okay, fine, then it is just a little bit of a cold?” You change your answer as though it might appease Lena.

Lena fixes a worried expression. She lifts her brow, sighing and well aware there is no arguing with you. Her hands find your cheeks, so gentle and loving, and her emerald eyes fall on you with a look so expressive there can be no denying you are the closest thing to her tender heart.

“I’m going to call you at lunchtime,” she says, “If you don’t sound good then I’m booking a doctor’s appointment. Your chest sounded awful last night.”

“Alright, okay,” You concede and slip your hands over the fingers on your jaw while her lips peck the outskirts of your temple, then your cheek, then the corner of your smile. “But don’t worry, it’s probably nothing.”

READ IT HERE PLUS A TASTY SUBMISSIVE ALPHA!LENA STORY

#supercorp #medfet #medical #temperature checks #dom lena #doctor lena #sub kara #kara x lena

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soyforramen · 4 years

Text

Blame @sullypants for this one since weird dreams are a common theme lately:

“Hey, Jug.”

Shaken by some unknown force, Jughead groaned and nestled further into his arms.

“C’mon, wake up,” Archie said, his voice coming from a universe away.

Sleep was a dense fog that settled in behind Jughead’s eyelids and he couldn’t muster the energy to push it away. He’d fallen asleep in school again, that much he could discern from the hard table beneath him. But at least the desk was a lot more comfortable than the janitor’s closet had been.

“Dude, let’s go,” Reggie said.

With a hard tug, Jughead was snapped awake. With a wide yawn he stretched out, his back giving a satisfyingly loud crack.

“What’s up?”

“School’s over, Rip Van Jones,” Reggie said. With a roll of his eyes, he ran a hand through his already slicked back hair. “The girls are waiting for us at Pop’s. Apparently we have to have a set list for Sunday and they wanted to go over it after school. Or at least we were supposed to before this knucklehead got us detention from Grundy again.”

Jughead blinked, convinced he’d heard Reggie wrong. Grundy was dead, murdered by the Black Hood. Even if she had come back to life, what was she doing around high schoolers?

“How was I supposed to know she meant a rhyme scheme from Donna Sweet and not Saweetie,” Archie muttered. “Besides, if we leave right now we still might make it before they ditch us.”

Wait, sweater vest. Why was Archie wearing a sweater vest? And was was Reggie acting so cordial?

Certain that this was another weird dream, Jughead reached for his Serpent’s jacket and found that the back of his chair was empty. Serpent’s jacket?

“I still think that we should ditch Jingle Jangle,” Reggie said as he headed out the door.

“What? It’s my best work,” Archie said as he followed him out.

With another yawn, Jughead picked up his books and followed them out into the cool autumn air. With a start, he realized that it was just a dream, a really weird dream to be exact. There was no biker gang that gave out jackets to kids like candy. He and Archie and Reggie had always been a strange sort of friends; and Grundy was never anything more than a septuagenarian determined to drive herself into an early grade by teaching high brow literature to idiot high schoolers.

On the way to Pop’s, Jughead ignored Archie and Reggie’s argument over some girl the next town over and worked to piece together the dream. It had all been so real that it wasn’t a wonder he’d been confused. Everything in Riverdale had been the same as it was now, except it was all off just enough to cast a dark shadow across their sleepy little town.

Hiram Lodge, a well known philanthropist and entrepreneur who tolerated his daughter’s friends was not a corrupt Wall-Street con-man looking to rule the world. The Coopers, an All American family, was not rife with dark secrets that would eventually tear them apart. The Blossom’s, while certainly devious and conniving in their own ways, were not ripped from the pages of a gothic horror novel.

And the Jones…

Jughead shuddered at the thought. Sure, they weren’t the perfect family. But they loved each other, took care of each other, and were as normal as they could be. That image of his family brought up a wave of guilt about how his subconscious had portrayed his parents.

(He couldn’t help but grin, however, at the idea that baby Jellybean could not only hold her own, but was a fan of Led Zeppelin. It was a nice touch. Maybe he’d roundup his mother’s old records tonight and he’d teach her to appreciate the finer things in life.)

But it wasn’t until they’d walked into Pop’s to find the girls seated at their regular booth that the realization that this Betty - sweet, caring, lovely Betty - wasn’t his that he felt a pang of longing for his dream world. Despite how horrific that dream had been, Betty was the golden lining in that dark world, a comfort meant only for him.

The feeling passed quickly when Betty’s eyes locked on Archie. Jughead couldn’t help but wonder, though, what if things had been different?

For the rest of the afternoon, the members of The Archie’s debated and argued over the set list, while Jughead did what he did best. While Archie was arguing for the merits of Sugar, Sugar, Jughead polished off three baskets of fries and a milkshake. When Veronica demanded to sing Bang-Shang-A-Lang solo, Jughead ate two and a half cheeseburgers and drank half a pot of coffee. As Reggie was arguing for… well, whatever it was he wanted, Jughead nursed a chocolate milkshake and a basket of fries (extra chili cheese, heavy on the onions and cheese, add bacon).

Occasionally he inserted his own opinion - no he would not let Reggie ruin another drum set just so he could show off to Ginger Lopez, nor was it feasible for Veronica to burst out, and ruin, his kick drum at the start of the show. But even as he played at normalcy, his mind kept coming back to that dream. Detention with Grundy could never be long enough to contain an entirely parallel universe, and yet it was the most realistic dream he’d ever had.

“Earth to Juggie,” Betty said as she waved her hand in front of his face. He blinked, his gaze centering on her, and she giggled. “Anything you’d like to share with the class?”

He glanced around and found that despite his attempts to stay present, he and Betty were the only two left.

“Veronica roped Archie into installing shelves for her,” Betty explained with an over exaggerated pout. She then pointed over to where Reggie was chatting a short, dark haired teen. “And Midge came in without Moose, so you know Reggie’s not going to miss that opportunity.”

Midge.

The world around Jughead spun and he felt lightheaded when he stood. He walked over to where the pair stood at the counter, and when Midge turned to him Jughead wrapped her in a tight hug, tears threatening to pour from his eyes.

“You alright there, needle nose?” Reggie asked, his eyes filled with concern.

Apparently Jughead hadn’t been able to play as normal as he’d thought.

“Yeah, I’m okay,” he said, loosening his hold. He stared at Midge, still trying to comprehend why he felt so relieved that it was all just a dream. “I’m just… happy to see you is all.”

“I’m always happy to see you, Jughead,” Midge said. She placed the back of her hand across his forehead, the corners of her lips pinched. “But maybe you should let Betty take you home?”

Jughead nodded as the surreal threatened to overwhelm him. When he turned, he found Betty behind him, her arms full of their schoolbooks. She set a hand on his arm and gave an encouraging, if worried, smile. It was easy enough to let her lead him out of the diner. That way he could remind himself that the world where Midge had been slaughtered wasn’t real.

“Penny for your thoughts? Or maybe I should offer a nickel?” Betty asked. When he didn’t respond, she bumped her hip into his.

The contact, friendly, playing, concerned, burned his side. It brought up just how touchy they were in his dream world, along with false memories of things he’d never paid any attention to before (especially not about her). He shivered and quickened his step. Betty, ever the Teflon personality, matched his stride and slipped her arm through his.

“Just a strange dream,” he muttered, far too distracted by how much heat she gave out to come up with a good lie.

“Sounds like a pretty intense dream if you’re still thinking about it this much.”

And with that simple statement, the entire thing tumbled out of him. Nothing was left out, though Jughead did edit some of the more intimate moments they’d spent together in his dream. He was so wrapped up in making sure to include all the details - the corruption, the ever-burning ember of hope, the rocket - that he almost missed the fact that Betty had guided them through the town square three times as he divulged the dirty laundry about the underground boxing rings and Maple Club.

By the time they’d reached his house it was twilight and he was telling her about the prep school murders and fake FBI stings. His mother (his real mother, thankfully, and not the drug running mom that had run out on him) brought them out dinner just as he got to his own faked death.

And for the first time in his life, Jughead’s entire focus wasn’t on getting seconds (and thirds).

When he was finally done with his tale, Betty let out a long whistle. She pushed around the remaining bits of pie on her plate, lost in thought. Now that his head was empty of that bizarre dream, Jughead’s appetite came back with a vengeance. He leaned over and snatched the rest of her pie crust and popped it into his mouth.

“Well?” he prompted, curious to get her take on his dream.

“Do you think the fish Ms. Beezley served today was off?”

He rolled his eyes and grinned at her ability to lighten the mood. Jughead leaned back and set his elbows against the porch step behind him to look up at the sky. Betty set her plate down and sat down next to him, primly smoothing out her skirt before she spoke.

“Do you really think we …” she paused. “My mother? And your dad?”

Jughead groaned and ran a hand down his face. “I’d hate to think what Freud would say.”

“Well, he’d definitely agree it wasn’t a pipe,” she snickered. “Maybe your subconscious is trying to tell you something?”

“Convince Archie that Jingle-Jangle is a terrible song to play to middle schoolers?”

She shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe not.”

As the world turned around them, they sat in companionable silence. As curious as Jughead was to know what Betty really thought, it was these quiet moments with her that he felt truly at peace. Perhaps that’s what the dream had signified. With all the clamor and turmoil over senior year and applying for colleges, maybe his brain was trying to tell him to slow down and enjoy these little moments more.

Or maybe it was just a sign he shouldn’t shotgun a whole liter of soda before Grundy’s lecture on Dashiell Hammet.

“Walk me home?” Betty asked suddenly.

Without waiting for an answer, she hopped up and pulled Jughead to his feet, the same as they’d done a million times before. Only this time Betty tugged a little too hard and Jughead stumbled into her. He was about to apologize when he noticed the twinkle of mischief in her eyes. To hide his smile, he bent over and tucked his shoulder into her stomach. Betty shrieked as he lifted her up over her shoulder, precariously balancing the two of them as he picked up her books.

“Put me down Jones,” she said through her laughter, “or I’m telling Ethyl that you’d love to play D&D with her.”

“Dirty pool, Cooper,” he shot back as he casually sauntered down the block to her house. He ignored the faint whisper of the peaches and cream lotion she used on her skin and the breathless lilt of her voice. Because no matter how right it felt in the dream, they were only friends here. “And it’s G&G, remember?”

Once back on solid ground, Betty slipped her arm through his and they strolled along under the streetlights. Just another night in the neighborhood without a care in the world.

“Maybe it wouldn’t be all that bad,” she said almost absentmindedly. When she didn’t elaborate, Jughead’s heart gave a heavy, painful thump. “I could always use more help with the B&G.”

He snorted and reached up to scratch his forehead to ignore the sudden disappointment. “Toni does have some strong opinions about the gym’s new paint job.”

Betty stuck her tongue out at him, her face scrunched. Jughead almost tripped trying not to kiss the tip of her nose.

His mood darkened when they reached her house. Archie was on the front porch, napping, and the small seed of possibility withered into dust. But instead of running towards Archie, Betty paused next to him. Her teeth worked across her lip and she stared, unfocused at him. Her hand on Jughead’s arm tightened and she shifted almost imperceptibly towards him.

With a small nod, Betty stood up on her toes and kissed Jughead on the cheek. He flushed as the sun exploded in his chest.

“Meet me at Pop’s tomorrow after school. There’s a new French movie at the Bijou, and I’d hate it if Veronica saw it before me.”

He knew the smile on his face was just as goofy as the one’s he made fun of Archie for, but Jughead couldn’t help but wonder at this strange new turn. For once, he was excited to spend time alone with a girl. (He was always excited to spend time with Betty Cooper, but this time she wasn’t just Betty.)

His smile lasted all the way home and continued until he settled into bed. Just as he was falling asleep, his phone rang with a text from Betty.

‘Some of your dream sounded nice enough to try out in real life, don’t you think?’

To say that Jughead had trouble falling asleep for the first time was an understatement.

#bughead fanfiction #bughead appreciation week #thank you sully for letting me know we're all having weird dreams lately #and boom #this #trope 1: it was all just a dream #also i'm without anything but the most basic internet so i'll be a ghost in the machine again #but also i didn't want to do my art homework (which has nothing to do with art but ya know)#so #also thank you anon ;.; got me crying over here #i will answer you just when i have functioning internet

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everwitch-magiks · 3 years

Text

dance with somebody (ch. 22)

start from ch. 1 | back to ch. 21

It's 13:52 on Sunday afternoon when Whiskey knocks on the open door to coach Hall's office.

"Do you have a minute?"

Coach Hall looks up from the folder he's browsing through. If he's surprised to see Whiskey wearing jeans and a hoodie when practice starts in less than ten minutes, he doesn't show it.

"Connor. Good to see you." Coach Hall sets the folder aside. "Will mentioned that you had something very urgent come up, this week."

"That's right." Whiskey closes the door behind him and sits down in the chair opposite coach Hall's desk. "I'm sorry I had to be absent at such short notice."

"No notice, is more like it," coach Hall points out. His tone is not unkind. "I hope, Connor, that you feel comfortable talking to me and Murray when there's something that you're dealing with. We're always here to support you, you know."

"... Right." Suddenly, Whiskey wonders why he hasn't once considered the idea of talking through the situation with his coaches. That might've actually helped him figure things out, sooner. "Yeah, of course."

"Well," coach Hall says mildly. His expression is tentatively curious. "Was there something specific you wanted to talk about, today?"

"Actually, yes."

There's really nothing left, now, except to come right out and say it.

"I just turned down a six-figure contract with the Houston Aeros."

Coach Hall sits up a little straighter.

"Connor," he says, almost sharply. "Connor, that's… That's a really big deal. And certainly not just financially."

"I know," Whiskey agrees. "It would've been. But I've thought about it a lot, and realised that it's just not right for me, right now."

Coach Hall opens and closes his mouth, twice. He's frowning slightly.

"Are you sure?" he asks, a little wearily. "Are you absolutely sure? You do know just how big of an opportunity this is?"

"No, I know. And I'm sure." Whiskey actually smiles. "Going to Houston this week has reminded me that I'm actually exactly where I need to be, right now. Their team is very good, and I did appreciate the ambition of the Aeros's organisation, but there are many places I could play that meet those exact requirements and Samwell happens to be one of them. Besides, there’s still so many things that I'm learning, here, that I honestly don't think I could truly develop anywhere else. I've come so much further with how I think about teamwork and leadership, but at the same time I feel like I've only just scratched the surface of all of that, and I just… I'm not done, here. No matter what comes next, I know I need to finish this chapter, first."

Whiskey falls silent. Coach Hall watches him for a moment, before he responds. He's smiling, now.

"As long as you're sure," he says warmly. "Obviously, we would absolutely hate to lose you. It'd be such a nightmare, trying to get this team to have some semblance of direction without you."

"Oh. Uh. Thank you, I guess." God, Whiskey is definitely not used to coach Hall looking so openly proud and emotional. At least not when they're not winning NCAA championships together. It's more than a little unsettling. "Jack Zimmermann says hi, by the way. He thinks I should probably start to consider getting myself an agent."

"Don't tell me those Falconers are after you, too," coach Hall says amiably. "Our dear Jack definitely makes a good point, though. You know, me and Murray could actually help you look into all of that. If you'd like us to?"

"Oh," Whiskey says again. Another possibility he's never once entertained. What was it Dex said at the beginning of this week, about relying on all of his support systems? "Actually, that would be so great."

"I'll make a few calls," coach Hall promises. "Right now, though, I believe you and I both have practice to attend."

"Actually, I'm going to need to sit out, today," Whiskey says quickly. "It's been a pretty rough week. But, uh, I'd really like to just speak to the team, first? Just quickly. I promise I won't keep them for long."

Coach Hall smiles again.

"Of course. That's perfectly fine. Go on, then, Connor."

When Whiskey enters the locker room, the ongoing conversation immediately quiets in a way that isn't exactly subtle. Pips is looking at him, and so is Louis, and when he makes no move to change into his hockey gear, he soon captures the full attention of at least half the room.

"Can I talk for a second?"

It's maybe a silly thing to say, given that most of them are clearly listening to him, already, but it still makes the energy change significantly. There's something expectant in his teammates's expressions as they all turn to look towards him. It's almost like they've been waiting for his moment of truth this entire week. Which, Whiskey belatedly realises, they actually might have been.

Well. Nothing else for it.

"I'm going to sit out practice, today. I've had a bit of a week, and I honestly just need to go and crash. But first, I really want to get you guys in the loop about something that's been going on, now that it’s all settled."

Whiskey pauses. Making the call to Houston was tough, but this is somehow turning out to be much more nerve wracking. Which doesn't really make any sense. This is supposed to be the easy conversation, the one where he doesn't need to deliver any bad news.

Whiskey takes a shaky breath. If he just gets this over with, he can finally get some actual fucking sleep.

"I’ve just spent four days training with the Houston Aeros, who have offered me the opportunity to sign a contract with them, which I’ve decided to decline. So, that’s that."

A few seconds pass as the entire team stares at Whiskey in silence.

"Wait," Joyo says slowly. "The Houston Aeros? Like, the NHL team?"

Whiskey has to bite back a smile.

"No, the other Houston Aeros," he says, just a bit dryly. "Yes, Joyo, the NHL team."

"What the fuck, man," Louis says. He looks oddly impressed. "That sounds pretty big."

"Yeah," Bully chimes in. "That sounds very big. Extremely big. Are you, like, completely sure?"

There's something of a murmur of agreement.

"I'm sure," Whiskey says firmly. "There are obviously a lot of pros and cons, but ultimately-"

"What if you regret it?"

It's Pips who's spoken up. He looks a little more shaken up than the rest of them, and there's a definite quiver in his voice as he continues.

"Playing in the NHL is what you want, isn't it? What if you stay, to play here with us, and we don't… And it ends up not being worth it, in the end? What if we're just holding you back?"

"Hey, no. No." Impulsively, Whiskey takes a step forward. "Look. I've never thought more about anything in my life, and I've honestly never felt more certain about a decision. Not ever. Please try to believe that."

Pips doesn't look like he believes that. He looks more like he's about to fucking cry. Whiskey desperately tries to recall everything he managed to tell coach Hall just minutes earlier, all those perfectly coherent thoughts and reasons he's settled on after a whole week of careful consideration. He fails. It's like those words don't even exist inside his brain, anymore, now that Pips is looking at him like Whiskey has just made his entire world fall apart.

The words that do come to Whiskey are a lot more vulnerable than he’d ever thought he might find himself comfortable with.

"You know, it's actually kind of funny." Whiskey smiles, helplessly. He knows he must be looking all soft around the edges, and there's a very poorly concealed tremor in his voice. He still carries on. "I've realised so much, this week, but it hasn't been about hockey, or even about the reality of going pro. Honestly, it's been more about all of you. You guys have all taught me so fucking much, and every time that I stepped out on the ice in Houston, I just… I felt that. It was like I was carrying that with me. Like I was carrying you with me. You guys make me better, always, and there are still so many ways that you're helping me grow. And the thing is, I'm not anywhere near ready to let that go. Maybe I should be, maybe it'd be smart or whatever, but I'm just not, and I'm the only one who gets to make that call. So, I'm not going anywhere. I'm staying. I'm going to be a senior on this team, and I'm going to graduate."

He pauses briefly. It's not like his words have the exact effect he hoped for – Pips is actually crying, now, for one – but Pips has started to smile, too, and so have many of the others. Tango is wiping at his eyes, and Ford's got an overwhelmingly fond expression, and Dex is looking all sorts of proud and pleased and emotional. Fuck. If Whiskey doesn't manage to lighten the mood, somehow, this is definitely going to derail into some sort of collective crying session.

"And we're going to take this thing all the way through the fucking playoffs!" he adds, with as much energy as he can manage. "Right?"

There's a few whoops of approval and some much needed laughter. Pips is still crying, though, and actually, so is Jader. And suddenly, both Dex and Ford are getting up to give Whiskey a hug. Soon, there's an actual fucking line forming.

He’s not crying. He’s not.

"If you weren't already fucking locked in for the captaincy," Tango says under his breath when they hug, "This would've sealed the deal."

The team doesn't make it out on the ice for quite a while. Their coaches don't come looking for them, though, most likely because Hall probably had a hunch something like this might happen. He can be awfully perceptive, sometimes.

"I carry you with me," Louis quotes, grinning. They've all settled down a little. Emphasis on little. "Is that gonna be the new got your back, now?"

"Nah," Ford says. She sounds surprisingly confident. "It's just different words for the same thing."

"Is it, though?" Louis wonders thoughtfully.

"It is," Whiskey admits. He's finally managed to sit down. "It absolutely is."

"Dude," Hops says eagerly. He’s looking at Whiskey with something like actual excitement. "You've got to give us the scoop on the Aeros."

“Oh, yes!” Joyo agrees enthusiastically. “Oh my God. Start with everything.”

“What’s their usual practice like?”

“Are they even any good?”

“Think they’re gonna make the playoffs?”

“That signature play, when Ducky passes to Lacer as he's moving down the ice without as much as a glance over his shoulder. How the fuck do they time that?”

Whiskey smiles.

“They don’t. Time that, I mean. They just fucking shoot, and then pray, and somehow, it connects. But no, I don’t actually think we’ll be seeing them in the playoffs. They’re very good, and some of their defensive plays are really something, but their best forwards are gonna be out for a while and they’ve got a little too far to catch up. But, uh, maybe don’t tell Ducky I said that.”

“Whiskey,” Pips says admonishingly. He’s actually full-on grinning, now – finally. Whiskey is so relieved, his eyes almost water all over again. “When and where, exactly, did you imagine that we’d all be exchanging chirps with Ducky?”

“Um.” Whiskey hasn’t been sure of when he should mention this part. Apparently, there’s no time like the present. “At our next game? I ended up getting a couple of the guys tickets. And actually, I sort of already promised Ducky that I’d get him a signed Samwell jersey, so. You guys all better have my back on that.”

It takes about five seconds before the room collectively loses it.

ch. 23

#check please #omgcheckplease #omgcp #connor whisk #will poindexter #louis #probably has a last name?#coach hall #makes an appearance #almost actual hockey #pips #here we go y'all #it's happening #evie writes #dance with somebody #fanfiction

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inorganicone2230 · 4 years

Text

Aos Sí (Part 1) Yandere!Erasermic x Fem!Reader

TBC in Part 2

Summary: You've just moved to a small, quiet town to with hope of getting some peace and quiet, unbeknownst to you, you've attracted the attention of two individuals who have no intention of letting their newest interest go unaware of them for too long. It’s been so long since they found someone they can agree on and they are willing to do what ever it takes to keep it.

Warnings: Not meany for this chapter, just some light stalking/chasing, and some suggestive implications.

As always, a huge thank you to @talpup for all the brainstorming and for just being an awesome friend in general! I know how much you've been looking forward to this one. lol

Grams shop sat wedged between a cheap liquor store and a small rundown café. Chipped red brick and stain glass windows in colors of blue, green and purple gave the place a warm glow on the inside, the colors reflected off the shelves and made anyone who entered the shop believe as if there was real magic being woven into all the items showcased inside. The store was small and dimly lit, it’s shelves and walls lined with items that were purchased online or special ordered from people Grams had met during her early years traveling the world. Sometimes she would even put out items that she had handmade herself, though that was a rare occurrence. These days, if someone wanted one of her personal items, they had to know to ask her and pay a little more for the extra care and work that went into them.

Working in a novelty shop was a rather interesting experience and like with all jobs, it has it’s pros and cons. There were days when it took every ounce of your willpower not to roll your eyes at the love struck schoolgirls that came in asking about charms to get their crushes attention and other days where you were happy to talk to a customer about the interesting myths surrounding the use of tarot cards. It was all about attitude with you and how your mood affected your work ethic for the day.

Grams was under the firm belief that one need only believe in magic to make it real, which, while a perfectly charming notion, was not one you yourself held. Grams had every excuse in the book to believe in all that hocus-pocus nonsense, she was the one who owned the shop after all, it would be strange if she didn’t believe in it at least a little bit. You on the other hand, you had no such tendencies. As much as you loved her, you only worked here because of how well she paid you and if the pay wasn’t good, then family or no family, you would have been employed elsewhere.

You still had your own expenses to pay after all, even if they were relatively small ones.

Today was a Sunday though, which meant that the shop was as quiet as a graveyard, it also meant that with the lack of traffic in the place today, you were free to close up a bit early and head home. Grams insisting that you take the next few days off.

“Are you sure Grams? I can come back tomorrow and help you with inventory, I really don’t mind.” You said, shrugging on your jacket and grabbing your purse while Grams went around checking the windows and locking the doors.

“Nonsense! I may be old (Y/N), but I’m still capable of running my own business without help. I live here, but there’s no reason for you to spend all your free time in this place. Enjoy your youth while you still have it, lord knows you’ll wish you had when you get to be my age.”

Your shoulders shook as you let out a hearty laugh. The old bat was barely into her 50’s, as far as you were concerned, she was still young and spry. “Alright, alright. I know when I’m not wanted.” You said, waving as you walked out the door. “Have a good night, love you!”

“I Love you too Sweetheart, be safe on your way home.”

—————

The walk home was a quiet one for you tonight in the small tourist town you now called home and you took a deep breath of the fresh mountain air while you bask in the peaceful silence. It was quiet now, but in just a few weeks, the streets would be packed with city goers wanting to escape the hustle and bustle of their busy lives in exchange for a taste of the peaceful countryside. Winter was only just now ending, the snow had only just finished melting and the evening air still had a bite to it, but you didn’t mind, it was just another reason why you were so happy about your decision to move out here.

When Grams had called you, explaining that she would like to have some help around her shop for pretty decent pay, you had jumped at the opportunity, especially when you were told that there was already a place available for you to move into, a small cabin that a friend of hers owned. It only took a few short days to pack up your worldly possessions and before you knew it, you were sitting in the passenger seat of a moving truck and on your way to the next chapter of your life.

Three weeks later and you were feeling pretty good about this spur of the moment decision.

But if you had to be honest, it did all seem to be too good to be true, you kept looking over your shoulder half expecting someone to jump out and yell “Psych!” at any given moment. But so far everything had been fine, the only thing you were expecting to cause you any kind of inconvenience wasn’t even due to start until the weather warmed up.

The owner of the cabin let you live there rent free on the condition that you keep an eye on the high fence that surrounded a small patch of privately owned forest, it was a habitat for a few rare species of bird and apparently there was a rather large pond out there that the local kids liked to try and sneak off to party at. All you we’re supposed to do is call the cops if you noticed anything suspicious going on.

Easy peezy lemon squeezy, right?!

The cabin was on the edge of town and surrounded by a grove of maple trees, away from any neighbors and the owner was getting up there in age, so being closer to town was better for him, which is why he was now letting you live there. You had tried to offer him some payment regardless but he refused to take it, said that any family of Grams was family to him and family never pays.

“I really need to buy a bike. This trek will be much easier with a bike.” You mumbled to yourself as you approached the front door, glancing around the quiet area nervously, half expecting a serial killer to jump out and start waving a knife at you. “Note to self, include a flashlight and pepper spray with that bike.” You said as you quickly slipped inside and promptly locked the door.

You breathed a sigh of relief now that you were in the safe confines of your new home and proceeded to go about your nightly ritual of slipping into some soft spandex and a tank top before making yourself a quick dinner. You still had a bit of unpacking to do, but since Grams had given you the next few days off, you figured you could procrastinate for one more night and relax with a cheesy horror movie.

—————

Sometime later, you awoke to a strange sound in the otherwise silent room. At first, you thought it might be the TV, but the room was dark, indicating that the device had automatically shut off on it’s own.

Sitting up and rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you realized that the sound was coming from outside. It was faint, but it almost sounded like a flute. Stumbling towards the door, you cracked it open just a bit to try and make out the sound a bit better.

But…

As soon as you open the door, the sound was louder than before, almost like it was right next to your ear. Your mind goes blank and you can’t think or feel anything, all you know is that this melody is so sweet and so entrancing, that you could listen to it forever and never tire of it.

Before you knew it, your feet are carrying you through the gate and into the forest. You didn’t feel the cold, nor the branches that left the occasional bloody scratches on your exposed skin, all you could do was follow that wondrous sound straight to its source.

On and on you walked, further and further into the dense trees until at last you came to a clearing. The same clearing that held the aforementioned pond, a body of smooth, crystal clear water that perfectly reflected the full moon in all its glory, surrounded by lush green grass and patches of wildflowers with scattered petals fluttering in the warm breeze.

It was only when the lovely sound faded away into silence that your mind suddenly snapped back into reality and you felt a sudden onslaught of terror despite your picturesque, and very out of season, surroundings.

Your mind swam with so many questions and the sheer force of emotions overtaking you at that moment threatened to make you pass out at any moment.

How had you gotten here?!

When had you gotten here?!

What was going on?!

Fear seized hold of you as you realized that you couldn’t remember how you had reached this place or how long you had been walking. You couldn’t even remember what direction you had come from when you entered the glade.

Snap!

The sharp sound of a snapping branch and two deep chuckles immediately snapped you back to the present and you spun around, a frightened yelp slipping past your lips, only to come face to face with two men. At least, they looked like men, they were still relatively hidden by the dark shadows, having not stepped into the bright moonlight just yet.

“W-Who are y-you? This is p-private property, you need to l-leave now before I-I call the cops.” You wished that your voice sounded stronger, but you were still so confused and scared, that weak threat was all you could muster.

The two men chuckled again and looked at each other before turning back to you and, was it your imagination or were their eyes glowing? That had to be your imagination or a strange trick of the light… right…

The one on the left spoke first.

“I think you’re mistaken Little Dove, we’re not the ones trespassing here, you are.”

Before you could speak, the one on the right spoke next.

“You’re the one that’s wandered into our territory Kitten. If anything, I think you should be the one getting punished. What do you think Zashi?”

Something about his tone unnerved you and you weren’t sure if it was a conscious decision or some primal muscle memory, but you turned to run. You didn’t care what direction you were going or where it would lead you, all you cared about was getting away. Something in the back of your mind and in your gut was telling you that you had to get away from these two. No matter what.

You had made it maybe 10ft away from them when you felt yourself collide with what felt like a wall made of solid flesh, the force of your collision sending you flying back and when you opened your eyes to see what it was, you couldn’t believe what you were seeing.

Somehow, they had managed to get in front of you without making a sound and now that they were standing in the moons light, you were able to get your first real look at them.

And what you saw both horrified and fascinated you all at once.

Both were absolutely gorgeous and dressed in normal clothes, jeans and t-shirts, but it was the rest of their appearance that had truly caught your eye.

One had long blond hair that fell down to the middle of his back, and swirling green eyes that glowed eerily in the dark and his ears, his ears were tall and pointed, like an elf in some fantasy movie. His smile was large and twisted, sharp canines were clearly visible and they flashed dangerously when he tilted his head to the side as he regarded you thoughtfully.

The second was as dark as the other was light. His black hair fell in messy waves around his shoulders and neck, a face full of stubble and the same pointed ears. His eyes glowed as well but red, like the color of fresh blood and whereas his partner could pass for human if not for the ears, he could not, not with the dark, spiraling ram horns that jutted out on either side of his head.

“What are you?” You managed to squeak out as you began to crawl backwards, only to be halted as vines slithered out of the grass like snakes and constricted around your wrists and ankles. No matter how much you struggled and pulled though, they would not break.

“That’s a very good question Little Dove. But before we answer that, I think we should introduce ourselves first. You can call me Hizashi.” The blond says, his voice is soft and melodic and you feel yourself relax just a little bit before catching yourself and putting up your guard again.

The dark haired one gives you a different feeling all together when he flashes you a sultry smile and introduces himself as Shouta. His voice is deep and echoes in your ears and you are ashamed when you let out the tiniest of whimpers as you clench your thighs together.

They both smirk at that, as if they know exactly how your body is reacting.

“Now, what’s your name? We gave you ours, I think it’s only fair we receive yours in return.” One of them says, their voice dripping with honeyed words.

But when you go to open your mouth, the only sound to escape is an ear piercing scream as the fear you’d been feeling finally bubbles over and and consumes you.

The sound rings out for a split second before more vines erupt from the ground and wrap around your face, covering your mouth muffling anymore sounds you tried to make as you thrashed and struggled and cried for release.

“That certainly wasn’t very nice. And here we were being so cordial with you.” Shouta says as both he and Hizashi tower over you, their eyes racking up and down your form in a way that does nothing to hide what they are thinking about.

“I mean, we already know who you are and what your name is, but you still could have been polite enough to introduce yourself before you screamed like a banshee.” Hizashi says, his words doing little to soothe your already racing heart.

“But,” Shouta continues, his red eyes locking with yours. “if you can avoid screaming again and speak like a good girl, we’ll uncover your mouth. Can you do that for us? If not, then we’ll just leave you like this for however long we want.”

You nod your head frantically, you’re willing to do anything at this point to get out of this situation and you feel the vines immediately retract. You steel your nerves and do your best to control your voice when you speak next.

“P-Please l-let me go. I won’t come b-back, I s-swear, I d-don’t even know h-how I got here.” You sobbed quietly.

Your plea went completely ignored,

“Oh, my apologies.” Says Hizashi and you look up to see him holding a set of pan pipes. “That was my doing. We were eager to finally meet you so I just decided to get your attention with this. Did you enjoy the song (Y/N)? I composed it just special, just for you.”

“How do you know my n-name?”

Shouta knelt down and reached out to stroke your face, uncaring for how you turned your head and fought to get away from his touch.

“We’ve been watching you since you first moved here, it’s been so long since anyone interesting has lived in that cabin and we have been waiting for a chance to finally talk to you.” He smiled and again, you felt your libido spike as you clench your thighs together when a sudden wave of arousal clouded your senses.

“Ease up on the compulsion Shou, Save that shit for later.”

“Says the one that couldn’t wait to get her out here.”

They went back and forth like this for a bit before your fearful crying brought their attention back on you and they regarded you with more gentle expressions.

“It’s been a rather long night, so why don’t we just cut to the chase.” Hizashi said as he to, knelt down on your other side to join his counterpart. “We’re willing to let you go back to the cabin safe and sound Little Dove, but only if you’re willing to give us something in return.”

Something about his voice calms you down and you find yourself speaking before your brain has a chance to register what your mouth is saying, you’re so sleepy and all you want is to go back to bed and forget this craziness.

“Anything. Say it and it’s yours, just let me go.” Your tired eyes are wide and look back and forth between the two smirking creatures as you try and figure out what just happened, even as your mind becomes cloudy with sleep and you feel yourself drifting off against your will.

“Perfect.” They all but purr as both reach out, each taking a lock of your hair from the nape of your neck to braid and cut off with a knife that each passes to the other so they can retrieve their prize.

You don’t even have the energy anymore to feel frightened by the weapon or to ask why they took your hair of all things. All you can do is close your eyes and let their voices carry you deeper into a dreamless slumber.

“We’ll see you again very soon Kitten, there’s no getting away from us now.”

“We’re going to have so much fun, just you wait and see. We’ll take such good care of you.”

First chapter is done and out of the way! Hopefully the rest will come to me a bit easier. lol

I hope you all enjoy this newest story!

#yandere!erasermic #yandere!erasermic x reader #yandere!aizawa #yandere!hizashi #yandere!aizawa x reader #yandere!hizashi x reader #fem!reader #reader insert #aizawa x hizashi #yandere bnha #fey #fairies #light stalking #suggestive themes

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scorpiosanssexy · 4 years

Text

Shiratorizawa Car Boot Sale Headcanons

look these are the headcanons no asked for but have been stuck in my head for days so here we are.

to all my non-british followers here is a link explaining what exactly is a car boot sale (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Car_boot_sale)

to my british babies @sugawarasimp and @lydzisanerd this is for you.

The Beginning

it all started when the Shiratorizawa Volleyball club funds were low, like really low

you would think that seeing as it is a private school that it would have decent funds

wrong! the money is mostly spent on paying the coaches, which is then used as drinking money

so the team got together to try and come up with ways to earn some extra money so they could go on nights out and have some fun

Goshiki suggested a lemonande stand (nobody came), Semi thought that busking would work. ( tendou just scared everyone on the street)

so they were in despair until a low voice in the background said

“What about a Car boot Sale”

Shitorizawa Boot Sale

if you haven’t guessed already Ushijima is the one who has suggested it

farmer boy over here has been doing these sales ever since i he was a child with his mother

he forces the team to get out of bed every sunday at 5am and meet him in the field in order to set up the boot

like this man takes his car boot sales seriously, like you do not want to be late

one time shirabu slept in and let’s just say that ushiwaka ran all the way to his house and came into his room and ripped the curtains open and proceeded to drag shirabu out the house

yeah don’t mess with him

he also seems to know everyone there, like it is weird, he will be chatting to these like old men who are selling antiques about farmer tings

like what is the best time of year to grow tomatoes or like how the vegetable patch is coming along

the team have never seen him this socialble ever.

he doesn’t buy much though when he is there, he just kind of guards the table making sure people are not stealing

he may or may not bring his portable radio with him and have the country radio on in the background

and forces the team to sing with him

Tendou is loving the car boot sales, like this is the first time he has ever been to one so this kid is the early stages of awe and wonder

he always the only one that is really chirpy when the team arrive in the field

no one questions it tbh like that is just tendou

susprisely he can is a very good seller, comes with ridculous stories that some of the customers believe so they buy the items

he earned the highest amount of money for the team, ushijima has been checking

look you know that 1 pound fish man song, i feel like tendou would do something like that ( here is the link lads it is an actual banger: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m_Jvo7U39-A)

he buys mostly anime figurines because they are much cheaper

Now Semi i swear is the only voice of reason on the team

like you can tell on his face, that he is straight up not having a good time when ushijima forces everyone to arrive at 5am

tendou usually buys him some instant coffee which he is very grateful for otherwise he would be cranky for the whole day

he is usually broading with his camping chair and a huge jumper over the top (airpods in) just kinda taking in the fresh air

his job is usually in the setting up as i feel he has a good eye for aesthetics

so he coordinates where all the items go on the table and how to get everything to fit in the boot

ushijima also forces him to bring his guitar and play country songs to “attract customers”

i feel like he has a really nice singing voice, and tbh most of the girls only come to the boot because there is this really hot mysterious looking guy there

he is also makes sure the younger years do not get in trouble

Shirabu is a bit like semi in the fact he would rather be sleeping but he hides how annoyed he is not to piss off his senpai’s ushijima

he is the treasurer because i feel like this boy is good at maths

ushiwaka will come and ask shirabu how the sales of the day are doing, just like a CEO would to a subordinate (which is hilarious)

like he takes his job seriously

he also helps with the sales with tendou but he usually explains all the prices tbh

he sometimes treats himself to a fresh bacon sandwich and i will sit and eat it with this cute little content look on his face

he mostly buys textbooks tbh, like he is a hard working student and textbooks can be expensive so he loves the fact he can get these material a lot cheaper

he also likes buying stationary

Goshiki, poor goshiki.

baby really isn’t a morning person at all

but he tries so hard because he wants to impress ushijima, like he arrives extra early with his packed breakfast

but he is pretty useless in the morning, he just yawns constantly, he will try and help with the set up but he forgets instructions easily

however once the day actually begins he perks up a bit more he is actually quite good at talking to customers

like he is actually the only normal one there lmao

the old ladies absoulutely love him, like they think he is so kind and handsome (and they dig the bowl cut)

honestly the only reason he goes back every week is the fact that these ladies literally gas him up and bake him some jam tarts

now goshiki get’s really excited when looking at all the stands

i definetely see this man as a hoarder so he buys some much random crap (for example a huge garnet cystal to put in his room)

ngl he is the type of person Tendou usually cons.

Their Stall

ushijima usually sells some of his home grown vegatables, like these are his pride and joy

he will not barter at all, like in his eyes his products are the best like he will not settle for less

tbh i would be scared to barter with, like have you seen him

Tendou usually sells his old Shouen Jump which are popular with the little kids

he also sells h3ntai magazines too, which are popular with y’know some of the older men

Semi sells some his old CDs and records, like they are really vintage ( carla would buy them)

He also might have some old band posters from his emo phase that he sells too

Shirabu does the classic stuff from childhood, like old clothes that don’t fit him, old toys he doesn’t need, also might sell some his old textbooks from junior high school

Goshiki sells his old volleyball trainers or something or some old volleyballs too

i also feel like he went through harry potter phase so he has the really wackass merch (he is a huffepuff btw)

Overall, their stall has a mixture of everything and is really popular at the car boot sales because it is such a comical site

also they are like the only good looking people there, so all of sudden girls carla are popping down on a sunday morning

Honestly, If any of my mutuals are into drawing and are stuck on ideas, I would sell my soul to this drawn

Like this team does weekly car boots and you cannot change my mind.

Carla

#shiritorizawa #shiritorizawa headcanons #ushijima headcanons #tendou headcanons #shirabu headcanons #semi headcanons #goshiki headcanons #car boot sale #come on down

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waejinyoung · 4 years

Text

Can’t Swim - EP . 5

word count: 4.4k+

a/n: a quicker comeback unlike last time. i know the ending might annoy some people but i wanted to try out a cliffhanger having got the chance.

warning: swearing, thats it lol

EP . 1 , EP . 2 , EP . 3 , EP . 4 , EP . 5 , EP . 6 , EP .7 , EP . 8 , EP . 9

Well, Friday was unexpected. Friday answered many things. Jinyoung’s job. Jinyoung’s friends. Your feelings. Jinyoung’s feelings towards your feelings. So much happened in one day even you couldn’t believe your life had gotten so much action.

Now it was the weekend and luckily you had things to do to take yesterday’s doings off your mind. The eco-hotel.

Saturday Midday

You had Beck come over for the weekend to work on the eco-hotel together. The sheets for the new hotel plans were distributed across the living room floor and the sun was at its peak. You went over to your air con and switched it on. Beck wasn’t a stranger, so you were dressed in a pair of shorts and an oversized short sleeved top. Your hair was up in a messy bun with a pencil behind your ear. You had all your equipment around the room. To be completely honest, the room was an organised mess. Note the word organised.

“Y/N can we take a break? It’s boiling in this room.” Beck looked absolutely drained from the morning session working to finish the eco-hotel.

“I was about to ask the same thing. Want an ice cream or a cold drink?” You signalled that you were gonna head to the kitchen.

“A cold cup of water should do. I’ll be out on the balcony.” You headed over to your kitchen and grabbed a glass of cold water for both of you.

You made sure to manoeuvre through the sheets of paper without dropping a single drop on the them. You gave the drink to Beck. He downed the whole glass in seconds.

“Beck, if you were this thirsty you’re no stranger you could have gotten some water.” You chuckled at his obvious thirst. You sipped some of your water.

“I didn’t even realise how thirsty I was either. Let me go grab another glass.” Beck went back to grab more water.

“Be careful of all the sheets on the floor. No frog movements please, just be extremely careful.” You shouted back into your home hoping he got the message.

You thought to yourselves how you’ll be able to have all the drawings done for Monday morning. You and Beck decided that it was both of your faults for having one of the pieces of land stolen from the next door firm. Hence why you called off all your employees that were working on this project. So, it was just you and Beck until Monday morning

“It’s going to be a rough weekend isn’t it?” Beck came back onto the balcony and saw your nervous face.

“I’m so scared we won’t finish it on time. I even considered calling the client and completely blowing off the project.”

“Good thing you didn’t. I believe we can do it. Even if it does mean less hours of sleep. This is nothing new Y/N. This has been our lives since the first year of architecture school.”

“Speak for yourself. I didn’t cut any hours of sleep for our under grad.”

“That’s true and somehow you still completed your work with flying colours.” You brushed your shoulders and flicked your hair trying to act out the phrase ‘what can I say? I’m that good’ in actions.

“Don’t get too happy. We need those skills back in action until the end of this project.”

“I think what hurts is that this project is actually finished but the client wants hand drawings as well as digital orthographics. Who even wants hand drawings anymore?” You sighed at the unnecessary request by the client.

“Ya! Don’t say that, especially not near the client.”

“I know, I know. He’s a big deal. Everyone knows him and his creations. Who thought he’d want a hotel built in a small town like Jinhae?”

“I guess he heard about the increasing number of tourists coming to Jinhae, especially during the cherry blossom season. If you ask me, it’s a smart move.” You nodded in agreement.

“Come on, let’s get back to work. Enough chit chat.” You headed back into the living room. Beck straight behind you.

“I finished the floor plans. So, we have elevations and sections to draw. We’ve done the axonometric drawings digitally anyways. Mr Chan is gonna have to excuse us for one missing drawing. I may try and do it if we have enough time.” Beck looked at you with a shocked expression.

“You have all the plans done already? Why in hell are we stressing then?” Beck had a smile on his face. Why in hell is he smiling?

“Why are you smiling? We still have so much to do, come on.” You faffed your hands around trying to get Beck to now focus on his work.

“Okay, okay! I’m working.” You guys returned to working at a reasonably fast pace hoping to have most of the drawings done by the end of today.

6:00 PM

You both ended the day by 6:00 pm. You guys had most of the drawings done by then anyways. Beck had never actually had a sit down session alongside you and was shocked at how quick you were. You were done with your drawings, but he had a couple left which you guys both agreed on finishing for Sunday. You still insisted for him to stay the whole weekend which was the original plan.

You guys made eye contact having declared that was enough for the day.

“Takeout.” You both mouthed to each other at the same time.

“Great minds think alike.” Beck exclaimed as you grabbed your phone to call in your usual order. Pizza. A food that’s simple, easy and you just can’t go wrong with.

“Can you order a x-large for today? I’m feeling extra hungry.”

“Alrighty, give me a second?” You rang up the usual place and processed your order. The person on the other end of the call took your order and read back that it should be there in 20 minutes.

“We have 20 minutes to kill. What do we do?”

“I think you should make a call to the leisure centre too.”

“Why?” Were you missing something?

“The meeting is at 11:00 am. Your swimming lesson?”

“Ah shit. I was looking forward for that lesson too. Maybe I can move the lesson so it’s after the meeting. Are we available then?”

“Bad news. The client said to leave the rest of the day free after the meeting. He didn’t say exactly why but I say we listen to him.”

You were looking forward to seeing Jinyoung. More than that whenever you couldn’t make it for your lessons, Max would be the one to cover for your group. Although, everyone knew that wasn’t a good option considering the awkward situation. But you had no choice, it was now up to Jooheon to solve the issue.

You dialled Jooheon’s number.

“Hey Y/N!” He seemed really cheery. You were sure the news you were gonna give him now would kill the mood.

“Hi Jooheon, got some bad news.”

“What is it?”

“You know about the eco-hotel… The presentation for the project is at 11:00 am on Monday meaning I won’t be able to come for the 10:00 am beginners class.”

“That’s fine. I’ll let Max know he has a cover for Monday.”

You waited in silence hoping Jooheon got the idea why it was bad news.

“Oh shit…” Took him long enough.

“Yh… hence why I said bad news.”

“We don’t have anyone else free during that period too. You know about that.”

“I was going to see if we could rearrange the time but turns out the client wants the whole day off with us. No clue why.”

“I’ll talk with Max, you don’t worry. If you can contact Jinyoung prior to the lesson too that would be great.”

“I’ll try my best to squeeze in some time. We are busy as you could imagine.”

“You guys get back to work. I’ll solve the problem. You don’t need to worry. If that’s all I need to get back to my own work too. Talk to you later Y/N!”

“Thank you so much Jooheon!”

You hung up.

“Sorted?”

You nodded at Beck.

The afternoon continued calmly, and you guys discussed the eco-hotel presentation that’ll take place. The pizza arrived and you guys tucked into your food. Your anxiety was growing as the minutes went by. How was Monday going to turn out?

…

Sunday Evening

You guys were actually ready. You both were shocked after rehearsing the presentation for the 10th time how well produced all the work was.

“I wouldn’t have even thought that I’d be getting a night’s sleep before this meeting.”

“I think sleep was the big motivator. You know how I can last on a hand full amount of sleep.”

“That’s true. You’re useless when it comes to working during the night.”

“Wooow, rude much.”

“I’m kidding. You performed really well. You reminded me why I partnered with you to start up a company.” You smiled at this compliment.

“You gonna stay over tonight as well or crash at home?”

“Could I stay over so we can just go to the meeting together tomorrow?”

“Yeah sure, this is like your second home after all. I feel like you’d also want to take advantage of my signature breakfast.”

“Was I that obvious?” Beck laughed at his failed attempt.

“I can read you like a book. You don’t need to hide your intentions.”

“Damn it.”

“I’ll prepare the long awaited breakfast tomorrow morning. Be up for 9:00 am. Set an alarm if you have to. I’ll tuck into breakfast with or without you.” You headed over to your bedroom and waved Jooheon goodnight.

“Goodnight! Sleep tight, don’t let the cantilevers bite.”

You went back to react to his really dead architecture joke.

“Get in the bin.” With Beck laughing at this really bad joke, you went back into your room and headed off to bed.

…

Monday morning

“Beck get your ass up its 9!” Typical, he hadn’t moved a single inch for the past minute that his alarm has been going off for.

“Y/N 5 more minutes.”

“5 more minutes and you’ll get no breakfast.”

“Breakfast…BREAKFAST!” Beck jumped out of the bed and flung himself grabbing some clothing on the way straight to do bathroom.

“This guy” You laughed at his reaction.

You left him to get ready and went back to the balcony and poured both of you some rich black tea. You settled in your usual seat and started filling your plate with all the different delicacies you laid on the table earlier on.

“You’ve done it again! I love these Mediterranean breakfasts you make. I need to come here more often.”

“Be my guest. It’s sometimes lonely enjoying a feast alone.”

“I could imagine. Although, that should have changed no?” What was he on about?

“Once you’re gone I’ll be back to having lonely breakfasts.”

“No, I mean you and your new boyfriend. When were you planning on telling me? You’ve been silent all weekend about it- “

“Boyfriend?? In who’s world did you hear that I have a boyfriend?” You used all your strength to not spit out the tea you had just sipped.

“The singer-actor guy? What was his name again? You were making headlines with him all weekend have you not checked your phone at all?”

You leaped back inside and grabbed your phone. No messages. No calls. What? Was this some kind of joke?

“Beck I haven’t got a single notification. Are you taking the piss?”

He grabbed your phone from you and enabled your WIFI. He knew you would switch it off whenever you had important things to do like this weekend. As soon as your phone connected to your router, all sorts of things flooded your phone screen. You took it back off him and read all the headlines.

Love strikes under the full moon

Waves were not the only things crashing that night

GOT7’s Jinyoung and his secret lover

Who could she be?

Secret Girlfriend and Aspiring Actor kicking it off on the Beach

“You’ve got to be kidding me?! Right before an important meeting as well. The company’s image. My image. My parents. How in the hell did this all happen?”

“Y/N sit down. It’s kinda late. You’ll just have to explain everything to whoever asks. Don’t worry about the company’s image, we all know how hardworking and talented you are.”

“Give me a sec. I need to make a call.” Jinyoung must have seen all the news too. You gave him a ring but no answer. He might be thinking that he’ll speak at one point during the leisure centre and you hadn’t found the time to let him know you won’t be in.

“Y/N calm down. Focus on the meeting please. You can sort out whatever this is afterwards.” You sat back down and tried to calm yourself down. Beck was right. You guys had an important meeting to focus on.

“Sorry.”

“Y/N shut up. I don’t want to hear it. Eat up, we have a long day ahead of ourselves.”

You tried to eat something, but it just wouldn’t work. Every mouthful felt like labour. You guys cleared up the table and went to prep for the meeting. You brushed your teeth and took a quick shower. You knew you were ready for this meeting, now it was just time to act on what you knew. You took out a pair of cream shorts alongside a white oversized tank top and a brown belt. You grabbed your nude heals and the gold accessories off your drawers to put on as you left. You had your hair wavey from your twisted bun that you always slept with in and a little mascara, the usual. Beck had loaded your car with all the sheets to pin up for the meeting alongside all the small scale models you had at your house.

You locked your house and ran to your car. Beck was ready in the passenger’s seat running over the minor things on his iPad.

“Have you rung the company to check the room is prepared, refreshments all that jazz.”

“Erm… yeah but there’s apparently loads of paparazzi that security is trying to hold off.” Your head shot towards Beck. As if that was needed.

“Guess we are entering through the back entrance. Call the client at let him know to do the same.”

“On it.” Thank god for Beck.

…

20 minutes later

You were driving past the usual entrance of the company and saw the tons of people that the security was blocking off. In a million years you wouldn’t have thought you’d have paparazzi at your company door.

“Can today get any worse?” You questioned out loud.

“Don’t say that. Just get in through the back, it’ll be over soon.”

Your receptionist let you through the back entrance and you guys moved to the meeting room that was prepped for the meeting.

“The room looks great. Just like how we agreed on.” You smiled at your receptionist.

“The presentation team did a great job. I’ll treat them for a meal.” Beck offered. You agreed with his statement.

“Mr Chan should be here in 30 minutes. Let’s pin up the sheets and bring all the models to this room.” You both left your belongings in the room and went down to the fabrication labs down stairs. To head to fabrication, you guys had to walk past the front entrance. You peaked to see if the people had gone but no. It had gotten worse. There were more people we even bigger cameras. How on earth?

JINYOUNG’S POV

You were right on time for your lesson. You and the kids were waiting at the pool side for Y/N. You kind of felt giddy after what happened on Friday. What stage would you call you and Y/N now? You checked the clock and saw that she was 5 minutes late. This didn’t seem like Y/N, she’s always early. Or has been for the past 2 lessons anyways.

“Woojin, is Miss ever late?” Woojin shook his head no.

Jaehyun heard from his dock and decided to let you know about the news.

“Jinyoung hyung, Y/N has a really important meeting today. She called in to say she won’t be making it for this lesson meaning Max will be taking over for today.”

Max… is taking over? This isn’t going to go well.

“Thanks, Jaehyun.” Jaehyun saluted which is his way of saying ‘no problem’.

You were thinking why Y/N wouldn’t have told you until you realised… the missed call this morning. She tried to get in contact with you, but you weren’t available. Damn it.

“Jaehyun, do you know where Y/N’s company building is at?”

“Yh, it’s the one and only big fancy glass building in the town centre.” She works there? She’s very humble for a CEO.

“Right, I’ll be absent for today. You can let Max know when he does the register. Also, what time is the meeting?”

“It starts at 11:00 am, why did you ask?”

“I’m going to attend.”

Jaehyun started cackling, “Do you think you can just walk into a client meeting? You must be mad. Jinyoung hyung it’s a serious meeting, you can’t just barge in.”

“Fine, I’m going to wait for there then.”

“No can do.” Max was behind you ask he listened to the conversation. You turned around to face Max.

“I can leave if I want.”

“Kids, do we want Jinyoung to leave this lesson? We all want him to stay don’t we?” You couldn’t believe he was going to use the kids as bait for you to stay.

“Yes, Jinyoung oppa please stay!”

“Jinyoung hyung, don’t go!”

The kids started whining, hoping you would stay for the lesson. He used his weapons well; you couldn’t break the kids’ hearts especially when you knew how much Y/N cares for the kids. You were gonna stay for her sake.

You knelt down to the kids and gave them a smile, “Fine, I’ll stay.”

You gave a glance to Max and hopefully you both sided with getting through this lesson without any disruptions. And so, the lesson commenced.

“We will be doing a test today.”

“A test?”, Hyungwon gulped, “But Miss didn’t mention a test last week?”

“Well Hyungwon, this is a surprise test. I’ll be marking everyone on how well they perform on the things Miss taught in the past 2 weeks.” This guy is doing this on purpose.

“How will you be marking us?” You spoke up.

“3 columns. Speed. Technique. A race. The place you come in the race will determine how many points you get for the ‘race’ column.”

“I’m gonna beat you all.” Woojin was already hyped to get the highest score. You would have probably been as excited as Woojin if the teacher was different.

“Right, we will be starting with Technique. I’ll be going off the register order so line up in that order and I’ll be testing your technique swimming front stroke.” You lined up along with the kids. You were obviously last.

Max got to you. You had a feeling he was gonna try and do everything to give you a bad mark. You remembered all the things Y/N had taught you and starting swimming to the area Max marked. You hated that this man was good at something you weren’t. Knowing he was ahead in something gave him more say and material on you.

“I feel sad for Y/N,” You waited for him to continue to see what he meant, “For having such a crap student.” He jotted down a fat 0 next to your name under the technique column. Jaehyun heard from his dock the comment Max had made and made eye contact with you. He was pleading for you to not react to Max’s words since that was exactly what he wanted to do. You clenched your fists and took a deep breath. You weren’t gonna lose this easily.

“I feel sad for Y/N too. Different reason though.” You gave Max a dirty look so he got the idea that you were referring to him in some way.

“Max hyung, are we moving onto speed now?” Woojin separated both of your focusses onto him.

“Yes Woojin-ah, get ready I’ll be timing you guys. You all have to swim in whichever style you want from one end to another.”

“Get to the side.” Max turned his face back to you and spoke in a demanding tone. He was really grinding your gears. This was going to be a long hour.

Y/N’S POV

“Good morning Mr Chan. I hope your flight yesterday was well.” You shook Mr Chan’s hand as he took his seat in the meeting room.

“Good Morning Miss Y/L/N and Mr Longing. I arrived without any problems. I got some rest too. All in all, I’m ready for today’s meeting.”

“Agreed, Mr Chan. I’ll begin with the site analysis and our response with our design.” You and Beck agreed for Beck to start the meeting and then you to end it.

“So, as you may have heard one of the plots of land were taken out of our hands. There was some complications with the landowners, but we decided that one plot of land was enough to fulfil the criteria of an eco-hotel.” With that Beck continued with explaining the new updates on the hotel design after the land issue.

“Mr Chan, the maquettes and models are laid out in the order of development. This is how the overall design developed into the final result. The 3D printed large model at the end is the final version of the hotel in a simple representation of the surrounding area around it.” You moved towards the model and showed Mr Chan where the sun would be travelling throughout the day. You brought along all the hand drawings from the past couple days too to show what each individual room would look like from all angles.

“These look amazing. I’m really thankful for the models and the drawings, they give a really good idea of what the final outcome will look like.” You and Beck looked at each other and gave a smile. All the hard work you both had put on for the past couple days had come through.

“Although, I wanted to ask one thing.” You diverted your attention to Mr Chan.

“Yes, Mr Chan go ahead.” You were nervous from his sudden question. You were sure you and Beck hadn’t missed out on any information.

“It hasn’t got to do with the project.”

“What exactly are you referring to Mr Chan?”

“You, Miss Y/L/N.” You looked up at Beck. What could Mr Chan want to know about you?

“Go ahead, Mr Chan. I’m listening.” If you were honest, you weren’t feeling well. You started breathing heavier than usual scared of what Mr Chan was going to ask.

“The paparazzi’s at the front door. Why are they here?” Fuck. This should have been something you should have thought about earlier on. You looked at Beck for help. You had no answer to give.

“That wasn’t Miss Y/L/N, Mr Chan. There has been a misunderstanding. The news reports are still speculating who the person is and Miss Y/L/N has just been mistaken for the girl that the actor was with. As you may have seen the photographs were taken at night, so it is hard to tell who it is, as expected.” Beck covered up for you.

“I see… and Miss Y/L/N what do you plan on doing about the news.”

“I’m aiming to get in contact with the actor’s agency to speak up and deny allegations about my involvement since that is the truth. I’ll also be holding a conference soon to news outlets about the situation. I don’t want anything like this to throw dirt under our company’s name.”

“I thought it was you Miss,” Is he being serious?, “I was going to congratulate you on your new relationship. That was the reason for the flowers. You’re also human. I thought you were taking a step forward in your person life. I know about how popular you are among fellow architects, for your work and for you too.” Me? Popular among architects? Step forward in my person life? Can life stop throwing new surprises nowadays, you were happy with your boring life.

“Mr Chan.” Beck addressed your client.

“We thought you would be disappointed about the truth. If that is the case I’d like to firstly apologise for what I just said. I didn’t mean to lie Mr Chan, but we didn’t want anything to cause you to- “

“It’s fine Mr Longing. Congratulations Miss Y/L/N. It’s really nice to see the new generation finding love. I’m sure you have found the right person for you.”

“Mr Chan, I appreciate your comments although it’s a little more complicated than that. We are not exactly dating or haven’t exactly clarified it between ourselves.” You struggled to keep eye contact with your client at this rate. Beck eyed you knowing you could have just suggested that you had a fling days before an important meeting.

“I’m sure you guys will even end up getting married one day. I sensed it when I saw your photos side by side.” You just smiled at Mr Chan’s observations.

“I hope whatever is best for the both of us is what happens.” Mr Chan agreed and focussed back on the project.

“Was there anything else you’d like to ask Mr Chan?” Beck wanted to make sure Mr Chan was completely clear of the new changes in order to process the build.

“Can I decide on which trees and floors to have planted in the hotel? I know the botanic designers tend to do so.”

“Of course, Mr Chan. As long as the greenery you choose passes the climate test meaning they’ll stay alive in Jinhae’s weather conditions, you can choose which ones we decorate the hotel with.”

“Great, that marks the end of the meeting. You guys have done an outstanding job. Better than what I expected. What’s the estimated date of completion?”

“If everything goes well, the hotel should be completely finished and ready for service for the month of March 2022.”

Mr Chan clapped in happiness. You were happy to have made your extremely important client over the moon.

“I’d like to take you guys out for dinner. I hope you guys made sure the rest of your days are free-“

You were getting a call from Jooheon. You never get calls from Jooheon during meetings, he knows not to disturb unless it’s an emergency.

“Mr Chan, could I please take this call?”

“Sure, go ahead. Me and Mr Longing will decide on where to eat.” You smiled and left the meeting room and picked up the call.

“Jooheon, what is it?”

“Y/N.. I-“

“Jooheon please tell me. Did something happen?”

“Jinyoung…He’s in the- “

“The what Jooheon can you just say it already?”

“The hospital.”

“HOSPITAL?!?”

---

Oooooo… the suspense. I haven’t tried these sorts of endings before, so I wanted to give it a shot. I want to leave it up to you guys for now to imagine what may have happened. Until the next episode, see you! Next episode will be extraordinary, you can count on me.

writer-nim x

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peteywillproceed · 4 years

Text

Hot Mess

Author’s Note: I really don’t know what this is, but I had fun writing it! If you’ve heard Hot Mess by Cobra Starship you will know EXACTLY where this came from! I’d just like to say thank you for everyone’s lovely comments, you guys really are so so sweet! Anyway, hope you enjoy! x

Summary: A party you never expected to attend turns into more than you could’ve believed.

Word Count: 3,612

You peaked through the slats in the blinds, glancing up the street as the familiar roar of the engine rumbled in your ears. Electric blue streaked towards your house, the speed totally inappropriate for your tiny road, but the face behind the wheel was set with a shit eating grin and it sent shivers down your spine.

Tom made it look so effortless, one hand carelessly on the wheel, the other running through his mass of brown curls. He was chewing something today, drawing your eye to the way his tongue ran deliciously over his lips, and you stared mesmerised as he swung into a gap in the street and pulled out his phone.

Your pocket buzzed, and you disappeared from the window, knowing exactly what the text said.

Running your hands one last time over your dress, you fled down the stairs and out onto the street, barely remembering to lock up behind you. The car door slammed somewhere across your road and you spun on your heel, stuffing the keys into your pocket, and catching sight of Tom leaning against the open passenger seat.

“Well, hello darling,” he drawled, and you felt heat creep into your cheeks.

“Hello yourself, Thomas,” you winked, walking towards him and pointing at the open door “How polite of you.”

“Wouldn’t get used to it, mum told me to be nice today.”

“How sweet, still doing what mummy dearest tells you.”

You laughed as he clicked his teeth, sliding onto the expensive leather and spreading your skirt across your legs. He’d left the air con on and goosebumps rose on your arms whilst he shut the door behind you and crossed round to the other side. You took a moment to run your eyes over him, privately enjoying the way the crisp, white shirt stretched across his chest, his fingers fiddling with the cuff links as he moved. He was wearing the navy suit you’d only seen him wear at weddings, and you wondered what could be so important he had to drag his ex-girlfriend out of bed at eight o’clock on a Sunday night.

Plenty of people had asked how you knew Tom, especially when they saw he was still your phone background. Mostly, you played it off as simply knowing him through school, and very few people actually knew the truth. For about two years whilst Tom had been filming Homecoming, you’d been seeing him privately, neither of you wanting to make a big deal out of it considering the circumstances. It had ended mutually enough, although you still wished you hadn’t spent those three weeks crying, and you’d been friends for a good three years by this point.

Never, though, had he asked to see you so urgently.

“So you gonna tell me what’s so important I have to curl my hair, Tommy?” You arched your eyebrow as he climbed into the car and threw you a look.

“Y/n, since when have you called me Tommy?”

“Since I want to know why I’m not in bed!”

He sighed, gunning the engine and shoving the car in reverse. Slamming his foot on the accelerator, you shot out of the space and down the road, swinging round corners and passing red lights like road rules meant nothing. Yeah, you hadn’t missed his driving.

“It’s a stupid party my mum’s organising, I couldn’t think of anyone else to bring.”

“You? Multi-millionaire ladies’ man Tom Holland didn’t know who to bring?” You scoffed as he hit your leg.

“Hey! When you’re hot shit you’ve got choice!” he protested.

“More like hot mess,” you pointed out, and he pursed his lips.

“You liked it enough when we were dating.”

“And that’s precisely why we are no longer dating.”

He laughed, glancing over to you as the city lights raced by. Truth was, you might have been the one to end things, but you’d never lost what you felt. Anytime you saw him on the cover of some glossy magazine, posing for the next promotional poster, you felt the familiar tug on your heart strings, the constant sting of the reminder of what you’d given up. But then he said stuff like that, and you wondered why you’d even cared in the first place.

“God, I wish we could do anything else right now,” Tom groaned, throwing his head back against the head rest as he brought the car to a halt at a red light. You gulped, tracing your eyes over the rippling skin, and tore your eyes away before they betrayed you.

“Well, what’s stopping us?” You shrugged, reaching over for the radio and turning the knob. “God, what is this shit?”

“That’s good music I’ll have you know,” Tom slapped your hand away and the car shot forward. You grabbed your seat, watching nervously as the speedometer climbed slowly past the sixties, into the seventies, until it was just a blur of small, white numbers, and Tom was laughing in your ear.

“I forgot you hate my driving, darling.”

When you didn’t respond, he simply smirked and pushed his foot further on the accelerator, rock music blaring louder in the background, and you wondered if that would be the soundtrack to your death. “If you’re going to crash, please put the tree through your half of the window.”

“I’m not sure I can control physics, darling.”

“Call me darling one more time and I’ll prove to you I can.”

Tom laughed at that one, and a warm, fuzzy feeling you hadn’t felt in a long time crept through your veins. It was slow, but it felt like you were vibrating against the seat, and you could barely focus as he turned the car onto a mountain road and you started climbing into the sky.

“What’s this party even for, anyway?” you murmured, long nails digging into your palms to distract you from the way he bit his lip.

“The Brother’s Trust, we’re trying to get new donations for a hospital, there’s only a couple of grand to go.”

That stopped you, confusion hitting you like a truck. “What?”

“Darling, you spent two years with me, I’m not that much of a selfish bastard y’know.”

You nodded, processing the information. This dude, this annoying, frustrating, uptight dude had helped to raise enough money for a hospital, and you had simply missed it. The warm fuzzy feeling was back, and you almost groaned at how much your body ached to stand next to him, inexplicably drawn to the way his fingers curved around the steering wheel. You were still blitzing down a narrow road, but the scenery had faded until you were only focused on him, and nothing else. Maybe you were going crazy after all.

After what felt like an age, Tom swung into a bay in front of a brightly lit restaurant with people streaming in through the front doors. You’d spent the rest of the trip mostly in silence, until Tom had asked you to pass him his phone, and you’d laid into him about the dangers.

“Ready, darling?” he appeared on your side, arm held out to help you out of the car, and you couldn’t help the roll of your eyes.

“Still trying, Thomas?”

“Always.”

Loud, vibrant music pulsed through the glass doors, urging your body to move to the beat the minute you stepped into the room. Hundreds of people littered the dance floor, dressed in evening gowns of all shapes and colours, and you suddenly felt underdressed, your simple, white outfit feeling too boring.

“You look beautiful,” Tom whispered against your ear, sending shivers across your body.

“Am I even going to know anyone here?” you asked, trying to push the thoughts that were running wild in your mind to one side.

“Sam, Harry, Paddy, my parents maybe. I think some of the cast might be here somewhere…” he trailed off, casting his eyes round the room when you were suddenly grabbed by the elbow and let out a small shriek.

“You must be Y/n!” a face you placed instantly appearing in front of you. “I’m Zendaya, Tom has told me so much about you!”

She pulled you in tightly for a hug, and you let out a strangled chuckle and glanced nervously at Tom. “He has?”

“Oh yeah, tonnes!” she beamed, and now you were really confused. Who talked about their ex-girlfriend voluntarily?

Behind you, Tom cleared his throat, and a jolt of surprise ran through you to see the blush evident on his cheeks. “Daya,” he greeted, kissing her on the cheek “Do you have to be taller than me every time I see you?”

“Grow then!” she replied, turning back to you with a grin “I’m far more interested in Y/n!”

“You are?” you asked, but before the actress could reply you were interrupted by two familiar, boyish faces, and the exasperated sigh of the one trying to shepherd them.

“Y/n!” Harry yelled, nearly jumping on you in excitement “I didn’t know it was you Thomas was bringing!”

“Neither did I until yesterday,” you laughed, embracing them in turn. “Nicki, it’s so good to see you!”

“You too, Y/n,” she smiled, although she sounded confused as she shot Tom a wary glance. “I think we’re all surprised to see you! I told Tom to bring a date!”

“Mum!” Tom hissed, and you laughed nervously.

“It’s fine, I’m just here to support Tom. I had no idea you guys had raised so much money!”

“Well it’s mostly due to Thomas,” Sam shrugged, punching his brother in the shoulder “not all of us have twenty three million women running after us.”

“And men, don’t forget them,” Tom winked, and everyone burst into laughter.

“Speaking of, is Jacob here tonight?” Zendaya cut in, and you suppressed a giggle as Harry turned to gawp at her.

“Err…some…somewhere,” he stuttered, and you nudged Tom with a smirk. He seemed to have clocked it too, narrowing his eyes at the exchange as Zendaya remained blissfully unaware.

“Great, imma go find him and make sure he’s not drunk off his arse yet,” she grinned, waving as she raced away across the dance floor, pulling Nicki with her.

“If you’re going to try and sleep with my co-workers, mate, I’m gonna need a few more drinks,” Tom look pointedly at Harry, who was still staring after Zendaya’s fading back.

“I wasn’t!” Harry protested, and you shook you head.

“Yeah right!”

“Oi, shush you! Just because Tom’s totally into you again does not give you the right to rat me out!”

You started laughing at first, not realising what he’d said, but the stunned silence quickly had you trailing off as you ran the words back through your head and it hit you like a tonne of bricks. “What did you say?”

“Oh, nothing,” Harry backtracked, thrusting a clear liquid into Tom’s hand and backing away. “Enjoy the party you two!”

You turned to Tom, arms folded across your chest as the boys disappeared, seeing embarrassment written across his face. “What did you tell them, Tom?”

“Nothing, I swear!” he gulped down the liquid and tossed the cup in the bin. “They’re just idiots.”

You frowned, surprised at the disappointment that coursed through your veins. When Harry had said it, you couldn’t deny the spark of hope that had lit in your chest. But before it could spark into a fire, Tom quenched it with just a few words, and you suddenly felt deflated.

“Well can I at least get a vodka and coke then? If I’m gonna deal with that bullshit all night, I wanna be at least a little drunk.”

Maybe, if you let the alcohol take over, you’d forget about the tingles that shot through you every time Tom smiled at you.

***

You lost track of time pretty quickly after that, spending most of the evening wrapped round Zendaya’s arm. You were sure it was early morning, but you’d thrown back too many shots to care, and now you were on the dancefloor whilst some pop song blared in the background and you shook your body to the beat.

“You seriously can’t dance!” Zendaya yelled over the music, and you threw your head back with laughter.

“Tom says that toooooooooo!”

She raised an eyebrow, smirking dangerously. “I thought you two were broken up?”

“Oh we are!” you giggled, too drunk to notice the implication in her voice. “But we’re still friends!”

“Babe, that’s what they all say.”

The song was slowly fading out into something much sultrier and darker, and you froze, feeling eyes on you from somewhere in the room. You spun around wildly to see Tom watching you from across the bar, hair splattering across your face and sticking against your slightly damp forehead.

You waved happily whilst Zendaya laughed next to you, but Tom’s eyes were still fixed on you, and a wave of cockiness washed over you. It was the way he looked in that God damned suit, clean lines off set by his mess of curls, and you couldn’t help but imagine the way you’d move against him if he were right next to you. Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe the feeling had always been there, but now you were running your hands over your dress and trying to lose yourself in the music, hoping he’d take the hint.

The lights had dimmed and you were sure nobody could see, but so what if they did? You couldn’t keep denying how you felt about Tom, and it was about time you let your hair down. So when the warm hands wrapped around your waist, you sank back into his chest and gave in to the feeling that was so familiar yet completely alien.

“Thomas,” you whispered, gently moving your waist against his grip.

“Y/n,” he replied, bending down till he was whispering in your ear. “Just exactly how much have you had to drink?”

You giggled, not sure whether you were drunk on Tom’s whispers or the alcohol. “Not a loooottttt.”

“You mean to tell me you were eye-fucking me from over here whilst completely sober?”

You knew you couldn’t answer him without giving away just how fast your heart was beating right now, and instead you spun to face him, looping your arms around his neck, and taking pride in the look of shock that passed over his face. You pressed your forehead against his, wondering just how much you’d regret this come morning, and let out a breathy sigh.

“Cat got your tongue?” he whispered, but it came out more like a stutter. You moved your hips in time to the music, casting a quick glance over your shoulder to make sure nobody was looking over at you.

“Just want a little dance,” you winked, moving his hands so they cupped your hips.

Silence stretched between you, neither one of you breaking the eye contact, determined not to be the first one to give in. You trailed your hand down Tom’s chest, hearing him suck in a breath as you moved lower, and you smirked, suddenly remembering why.

“I forgot you were ticklish, Tommy.”

“I suggest you don’t go there, I’d rather not make a scene.”

You bit your lip, looking up through your eyelashes and held Tom’s gaze. You tried not to get distracted by the pools of brown or the smug smirk that stretched across his face, instead focusing on the way he moved against you. You felt sparks of electricity race through you, lighting little fires that burnt every fibre of you skin. Hot desire spread like wildfire to your toes and back, finally falling into place in the little pit you tried desperately to forget about. But when his hands slid below your waist and squeezed your butt, you were a gonner.

Suddenly, your lips collided with his, and for a moment you couldn’t tell who was kissing who. You were tangled together, moving like it was your last few days on the Earth, and you clung to him like he was your oxygen. It was intense yet familiar all at once, and you wondered why you had ever let this, him, go. You were breathless and desperate, barely fighting him as he backed you up against the wall and pressed his body further against yours.

“Is this okay?” he whispered, and you glanced nervously over his shoulder.

“Can they see us?”

It was dark in the corner, and you were pretty sure nobody would notice two bodies tangled together in the dusty nooks of a random restaurant. But even with your heart beating out of your chest and your brain alight with a thousand naughty thoughts, you knew you needed to be careful. There was a reason you’d ended it in the first place; you didn’t need to end up in the papers now.

“I don’t think so,” he dropped his voice, but he seemed to think better of kissing you again. Instead, he grabbed your hand and tugged you towards an open door, pushing you inside and locking it behind him.

Before you could think, he’d gathered you in his arms again and pinned you against the door, his hands wandering across your body. You didn’t fight it, giving in to the familiar touch and hot breath against your cheeks; you wondered how red you were, suddenly grateful for the lightless cupboard you’d stumbled into. You let your hands fall to his trousers, fumbling with his belt until he grabbed your wrist and jerked back.

“Wait.”

The look in his eyes was urgent, and you felt foolish, feeling heat flare across your body. “Sorry, I, uh, I thought, uh, actually I don’t know what I thought.”

“No, no, it’s not that I don’t want to,” his words came out in a rush, and you stifled a laugh. Even now, three years older but still a complete idiot, he’d always be a dork. “It’s just…you ended things because of this. You didn’t want to be public. Why now?”

You were tempted to say it was the alcohol messing with your head, that by morning this would all be over, neither of you would remember anything, and you’d go about your business like normal. Except he was staring at you like a man possessed, and you couldn’t deny the desperation you saw there. And what about you? You couldn’t just forget about the way he made you feel, the small sparks he set you alight with anytime his skin touched yours. And kissing him just then had felt like you were floating so high you wouldn’t come back down. Giving all that up, all over again, felt like way too much.

At least if you told him now, there was chance.

“I’m still in love with you,” you blurted, and you could swear his eyes lit up. And then, much quieter “I don’t think I ever stopped.”

He was quiet for a moment, until he brought his lips to yours and placed the lightest, sweetest kiss you’d ever felt against your skin. He gripped your chin, fingers gently holding you in place, and pulled back so your noses touched, and your fingers were interlocked.

“Well that’s good then,” he nodded, and you practically melted under his touch. “Because neither did I.”

Then his lips were back on yours and you were kissing once more, fire scorching your nerves and the feeling in your core sending forks of lightning through your back. You were completely and utterly lost in the feeling of him, caught in his headlights as the taste of vanilla and mint filled your body.

As he started tugging at your dress and his lips moved to your mouth, you knew you were done in, and if this moment meant you gave your heart away, then so be it. His smell was so intoxicating you were melting with every stroke, every kiss, and you wondered if this was what it felt like to be high.

Slowly, as you sank to the floor, you ran your hand through your hair and wondered how you’d let this all become so fucked up, when it had always been so simple. You knew how you looked right now, and you didn’t care; this was what you’d wanted, and there was no way you were letting this go.

“You’re a mess, y/l/n,” Tom whispered, fingers slipping over smooth fabric, and it was almost too good an opportunity to miss. With a sultry smile, you leant forward, choking back a moan as you placed your mouth near his ear.

“A hot mess, actually Holland,” you hummed.

Then you were lost, falling completely into him as you made the choice that would change everything.

And you just didn’t care.

Taglist

@zabdisamor @jinxfanfics

#tom holland #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland smut #tom holland au #tomholland!au #peter parker #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker fanfic #tom holland fanfic #tom holland one shot #oneshot #peter parker one shot #au #peter parker smut #fluff #angst #tom holland fluff #peter parker fluff

189 notes · View notes

newbornwhumperfly · 4 years

Text

if I had an orchard...

CW: intoxication, negative self-talk, references to non-con, references to punishment, (brief) reference to vomiting

so i’m back on my bullshit, and by bullshit I mean I wrote another spinoff fic of the GW series!!! *hides face* insp. by my own ask (lmao) https://haro-whumps.tumblr.com/post/614488313974407168/if-you-would-consider-a-very-very-drunk-galo once again, I hope @haro-whumps enjoys!!!

the title of this fic comes from “helplessness blues” by fleet foxes

Galo is very, very drunk.

Well, maybe not twice very but he’s not sober, that’s for damn sure. He knows better than to try and stand now, at any rate, cause the ground keeps tilting in a funny and not-at-all scary way. Like a gentle roller-coaster. Or a see-saw. He needs to keep his eyes on the not-ground right now – probably a good idea. Maybe he shouldn’t have sat on the porch swing when he went outside to drink but, well, hindsight is…better. He giggles a little bit but it isn’t very silly and sounds all snotty, given that he’s crying and all.

He should probably stop crying.

Should is a great word. Means there’s something you ought to have done. Haven’t done yet. Are supposed to be doing.

He’s fucking everything up and he hasn’t the first clue of how to stop.

Case in point – this wine seemed like a really good idea at the time, especially after the second top-full glass had been swallowed. He’d only meant to get a bit buzzed, honest. It wasn’t healthy or wise but he found himself leaning more and more on the distraction when something inevitably crumbled around him. It was only once he’d wandered far into the realm of tipsy that he dimly wondered if getting hammered was the mature thing to do.

Fuck it, he’d decided with his big magnificent brain, and swigged straight from the bottle.

Seemed like a good idea at the time, isn’t that how the saying goes?

You’d think after all the Sunday school lessons he’d know when he was laying down paving stones on a winding trajectory straight to hell. Trying to do the right thing doesn’t mean shit when you hurt people anyway. No matter what you do, it’s gonna hurt, one way or another. Isn’t that what he’d said to himself? Giving himself an out to do whatever the fuck he wanted anyway?

Why did he get those gifts? Stroking his own ego? He didn’t mean to…but there it is. He’d wantedto do something and he just did it and dug the pit so much deeper and if he falls down and breaks his crown, well, too fucking bad, Jack. Should’ve thought of that before you went and stuck your foot in it. It’s so much worse than merely breaking his crown though, his crown was fine. He’d be fine.

He’s left them all tumbling after him. That’s the sin, the unforgivable blunder which sits on his chest. A heavy, cold, unyielding stone of guilt cramming the joy out of his lungs, pressing until his words sit sour on his tongue and every smile feels scraped hollow. He’s making it worse with his absurd self-pity, feels the taut chill of tension stretch the air thinner with every meeting.

He’d heard what they were saying. He didn’t mean to – spying on people was shitty and wrong. He’d been in the kitchen in the middle of the night and didn’t think anyone would be downstairs, ducking into the pantry at the sound of voices. If he hadn’t been so tired, he’d have thought better of it. What else is new? He’d have thought better of a lot of things.

What he’d heard between Nyla and Sasha and Evan was…horrible. The stuff they said, speculated on as casually as tomorrow’s weather, dropped his heart, icy and spinning, into his stomach, settling there to thrum shallowly and churn the swelling nausea.

How he’d clearly meant to show them that things such as eating or wearing clothes or sleeping in a bed or having hair and not being raped were…privileges. That they all ought to be grateful for less than basic fucking humanity. To be…allowed…to merely exist without pain and humiliation was to be seen as a precious gift from their Master. That they all ought to be grateful.

Galo had only kept from vomiting at the knowledge they would hear him. It was the first thing he’d done when able to sneak back to his room, hurling into the toilet. Panicking on the tile until he was sick again. He hadn’t cried that night, weirdly enough. It was all so raw, bloody and fresh in his mouth, it was like he hadn’t swallowed it yet. He didn’t truly feel the horror until he woke up, fitful and sweating, from a nightmare into the cold dawn and knew he had failed.

He was having nightmares now. No more sex dreams for good old Galo – at least, not good ones. More like utterly fucking horrific. He knew better, technically, then to let it haunt him. Knew that the dark dream-shadow of himself was a twisted echo of his own pain. It didn’t make him any less able to forget the way he was trapped inside himself during those nightmares, a puppet dancing on monstrous strings as he writhed and thrashed against his own fists and feet and arms and fingers, crushing and twisting and hitting – no.

His heart couldn’t give a shit what his big-smart-boy-brain calmly explained about these terrors. Smart enough to know it wasn’t real, that he’d never, for love or money or fucking God, hurt these people. Not smart enough to know how to make them know that.

The worst part about this living nightmare was how it was effecting everyone. More and more, Galo felt trapped in his own body, unable to stop his misery from bleeding through and staining the atmosphere with red, oozing tension. He was trying so hard to keep his smile soft (not brittle), his hands loose (not shaking), his eyes kind (not wet). He has taken to keeping out of their path as much as humanly possible, a delicate dance of dodging and sidestepping which left him dizzy and often more uncertain than ever. He’s almost certain that it isn’t helping. If it was a barbell to hoist or a level to beat or a paper cup to scoop off the grass and toss into the garbage, he could do that. But this? This can’t just be…fixed.

He can’t avoid them forever and he shouldn’t.

He just…doesn’t know what to do.

He should. He should fix it. It hurts.

Galo shook his head, violently, glugging the dregs of his bottle into the glass and letting it roll of the swing, hit the floor, break. He’s gonna have to clean that up, he thinks, downing his final glass before setting it on the ground near swaying feet. How dare he? How dare he feel sad? He’s not the one who thinks he’s gonna be beaten or raped or brutalized in some sick way he probably can’t even invent but has been done to these people who he ownsand can do anythingto and nobody’s stopping him but himself. Yeah, he should feel really fucking sad for himself right now.

It doesn’t stop the deep sobs dragged from his lungs, hitching his shoulders, seizing his limbs in feeble twitches. It is pathetic and despicable and he can’t stop. He hasn’t cried like this in a long time, not from regret, not from pure, cold, hard, driven misery. It’s mixing with the wine and making him dizzy and ill and that all only fuels his sadness. Awfully, stupidly, he wants to be comforted. Feels like a big fucking kid and just wants someone to pat him on the shoulder and say he did his best.

But he’s an adult.

A goddamn useless adult and he’s alone and helpless and his best isn’t enough.

Useless.

He sobs into his hands.

Useless.

~ ~

Nyla doesn’t realize she isn’t alone for a moment.

When Lilah squealed, sudden and sharp, from the tub with the fretful worry that she’s left her gloves outside, Nyla glided from the basement to find them as the only one still fully dressed. She moved quicker than usual, since nobody was around to see her, abandoning a little grace in favor of haste as she searched the porches encircling the house. Only at the final stop at the back of the house did she spot the object of her quest.

Slipping through the back door, shivering in the wintry air, she had plucked the bright mitts off the swing when she heard a muffled noise.

Heart leaping into a frantic pace, Nyla spun about, clutching the soft knit to her chest like a shield. An animal? A guest? She blinked hurriedly against the halo of dim lamps and through the blur, eventually, made out the source of the sound.

Master Galo.

She goes alert in a second, less, hairs on end on her nape and forearms, as she clasps her hands demurely in front of her and feels her smile slide easily into place, pulled quick across her face as a curtain on a rod, neat and wide and polite.

Perfect.

“Good evening, Master. I apologize for disturbing you.”

She notices that Master seems…hunched, for lack of a better word, curled in on himself on the farthest swing. His large legs are cross and tucked up under him, wide torso curved over his knees. It is only once he raises his head at her voice, ringing light and soft across the night air, that she realizes his face was buried deep in his enormous hands. It is another moment before she sees that he is…he is…

Master Galo is crying.

Sobbing. Even startled out of it, he is quaking, big body trembling with great heaving gasps.

“N-Nyla? What, what’re you, what, what’re you doing here?”

He is slurring and Nyla glimpses the glint of glass, a shattered bottle and discarded cup scattered below the swing beneath Master’s feet. He has been drinking and Nyla cannot suppress the shiver coiling through her body. It is more than the air, frigid and unrelenting against her flesh, which makes her shudder. She has never seen him really drunk before, doesn’t know what he might be like. It frightens her.

“I was searching for an item I left outside and came to retrieve it, Master.”

“’m sorry, can’t hear you?”

Nyla breathed. Low and steady, once, and strode forward, drifting like one of the snowflakes until she floated to a halt directly in front of Master Galo. At close quarters, the yellow glow of lamplight outlines Master’s face. It is wet, eyes puffy, his mouth turned harshly downwards at the corners.

Her smile widens without her trying, a mirror of her Master, corners stretching taut to her ears until her lips hurt.

Why is Master crying?

“Is there anything you require, Master? Whatever you wish, I am honored and ready to be of service.”

Master Galo nods and his mouth trembles, fingers curling below his chin, as he sniffs and tries to speak. He has to try more than once, most likely due to the alcohol. The broken bottle is empty, only a few drops of wine dripping from the shards upon the planks. Like blood.

“Of course you are. You’re always, you’re so good. So, so sweet all the time. You know that Nyla? You know how good you are?”

“Thank you, sir. I am grateful, Master.”

A moment after those words leave her lips, Master Galo’s mouth crumples and his shoulders begin to quake once more as tears pour anew down his soaked cheeks. Nyla goes abruptly cold, down through her skin to her blood, flowing frantic and freezing through her limbs. Master is displeased.

Nyla is spinning, airless, icy water trickling down her chest, a frigid current swirling around her heart. Master is crying. She doesn’t…she doesn’t knowwhat she is supposed to do? He is displeased but he is not angry. He is crying and not yelling or smiling in a bad way or a good way and she doesn’t know what to do.

She knows what do to.

Folding swiftly to her knees, she leans forward, bangs brushing Master’s dangling shins.

“I apologize, Master. I reacted poorly.”

“Please don’t say that, Nyla. P-please…you don’t, didn’t do anything wrong. You never do wrong.”

His hands, wet and shaky, fall into her periphery and he touches her shoulders, tugging upwards with his fingertips. His hands are like blocks of ice, chilling through the thin fabric of her gifted gown. She lets him guide her up and over until she is seated beside him on the swing. As soon as she sits, his touch flies from her, like he is flinching away from touching something too hot.

There is nothing she can do but remain where she has been placed, perfectly poised, perfectly still, perfect. Master Galo presses his hands to his face again, hitching once more, lurching forward to gasp and shudder into his palms. Nyla does not move or speak, presses down on the urge to apologize or offer or anything but sit like a quivering stone on the furniture while her Master is crying and wait.

“Don’t know what to do, Nyla.”

She suppresses a flinch at his muffled voice, still, wide-eyed and still-smiling as Master Galo raises his face again and stares at her mournfully. She finds herself pinned in place by his swollen green eyes, spilling tears which roll and drip off the end of his chin. He is the very picture of anguish and Nyla’s heart is fast and aching and a little sick.

“I…know I’m not, I’m trying but I…you think I wanna hurt you and I know why. Everyone’s fucking shit and, and, and you were sohurt. And it hurts me, fuck, no that’s…I’m sorry. I can’t do shit and it hurts because I don’t wanna hurt you or anyone and it’s not, I can’t make it different and I should. And you’re so scared. You’re so scared all the time.”

Master Galo shuts his eyes, rattling breath drawn deep, and he brushes his fingertips against her clasped hands.

“You’re scared right now.”

Nyla can’t breathe. She isscared. Fear courses, dark cold water, through her veins, ears thundering and swelling her throat closed. The water is inside her, choking her, a river in her chest where her heart should be, a crashing rumble against her ribs.

Her smile falters with the pain in her jaw, radiating through the strain in her mouth. She runs her tongue, furtive and quick, over her chapped lips. She lets her palms unclasp and fall open, the pooled sweat cooling in the open air as she lets Master Galo’s fingertips fall into the raisined cup of her hands.

“Master, please, if you would…tell me what you wish, I would do anything you require.”

Master’s hand shifts further within the little oval her palms have made and something she cannot name twinges when his palm twitches and presses, like a wild animal trying to hide and run at the same time. It is the nameless pang which causes Nyla to fold her hands shut around her Master’s, cloistering it, protecting it.

It is ridiculous and horrifying and wrong, how her two hands barely enfold his one. The chill of the palm draws the clammy heat from her touch and she squeezes, once, barely. She doesn’t breathe.

Master Galo’s sobbing stops, the hitching slowing. Nyla repeats the gentle squeeze, daring, somehow, to brush both thumbs, light as cobwebs, over his knuckles. His hiccups slow to juddering inhales and then, finally, soften to wet and raspy breath. His eyes are still shut but they aren’t clenched and tears no longer flow. Though his mouth is still tremulous and downturned, the crumple begins to smooth.

“Thank you.”

Nyla’s blood warms, slows, from its frigid undertow at the words. Fear doesn’t abate but it loses its bite. She loosens her squeeze, ceasing the movements of her thumbs and merely cradling the palm now. He is smiling now and Nyla does not know why she feels like he has mirrored her now. It is a silly thought, fleeting, and she lets is melt against the swirl of wariness and concern and confusion. But his eyes are gentle when he opens them and, in that moment, she cannot find it in herself to be afraid.

“I was grateful to be of service, Master.”

#don't mind me i'm just Obsessed with this series!! :)))#gw #haro-whumps #writing #galo #nyla #angst #intoxication #crying #trauma #emotional whump #guilt #galo is straight-up not having a good time :(((

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cowandcalf · 4 years

Text

Writer’s Month 2020 - To Find A Way

Prompt No.14 - Metamorphosis Part III

Chapter 1 - 8

Chapter 9

Danny has not thought this through. He stormed out of the apartment with a single goal to clear the situation. He needs to know what Steve has told his little girl. He knows Steve wouldn't just promise such a big thing if he didn't mean to deliver his end of the bargain. Danny knows this like it's branded into his bones. Steve's a warm-hearted and sincere soul. Danny has watched him interact with Mary. God, this man has love to give and he gives.

However, Danny still hears Grace's pleading voice. The yearning behind the words to go and see dolphins at Steve's house tears into Danny's soul. What if this isn't something that's going to happen. What then? He wants nothing more than to make her wish come true. But it's out of his hands. He needs Steve to fulfill his baby girl's dream.

Also on AO3

Danny's concentration gets pulled back on the road when the car bumps hard over stones or a rotten branch. Shit. It is night, and stupidly dark, and he drives like a love-drunken lunatic through fucking dense jungle to get to Steve. He's a bit ashamed of his intentions. There is no sense in lying to himself. He wants to see Steve again. As if he hasn't had a good chunk of the man's time during lunch. But the more Danny spends time with this mysterious guy the thirstier he gets. Danny drives up to Steve's secret garden under the pretext to talk to him about Grace. That's a big reason to skid over the pathetic road at night, caking his Camaro with mud but there's more to it. He can't fool himself. He wants more. So much more it scares him. And he knows Steve only for a little more than over a week. The intensity of the emotions racing through his veins makes his hands shake.

The tires work hard to get through the soaked soil on the dirt road. The jungle looks spooky with the darkness only lit by the bright cons of light. The rain drops constantly on the roof. Danny curses. He doesn't even know if Steve's up there. What if he spends the night at the beach house? God knows where that is. Danny grabs his cell. Fuck, no reception. He is one fine, stupid detective is what he is.

The shape of Steve's huge truck appears in the light beam. Danny throttles the engine and rolls gently onto the wide-open place that spreads out in front of Steve's 'flowers hop'. That word's a joke for what it hides in the backyard. It's the gate to a secret garden with layers as deep as the universe.

Danny pushes the car door close. "Steve?" He shouts into the night. The windows of the house are sparsely lit. Danny has no idea in what condition he might find Steve. Last time, he sneaked up on him with a drawn weapon. "STEVE? Yo, are you home? It's me, Danny!" He looks around but the darkness is too dense. He can't see a damn thing over in the scrubs a few feet from where he's standing. He stares right into a pitch-black hole. The clouded, rainy night swallows all the remaining light. The first rumble of thunder adds a dangerous and audacious touch to the atmosphere. It's a wild beauty and makes Danny think of Steve. Untamed and mysterious.

And jungle nights aren't silent and peaceful. In fact, it's loud with all the rustling, swooshing noises all around, quite apart from the fact that a bunch of wild animals seems to have a meeting somewhere close. The air is filled with insects despite the rain. Gah, the whirring and chirping isn't particularly reassuring either. The things you do for love. Danny scrubs with one hand over his face.

"Steve, are you home? Don't throw grenades, okay?" He knocks on the door. "It's Danny! I keep shouting my name until I'm sure you've noticed my presence." He starts pounding on the door. "Steve?"

Okay, again with the heartbeat racing. Danny feels like a teenager but there is also the rising worry if Steve's on the floor frozen in memories unable to snap out of it.

A new wave of distinct thunder rolls through the thick clouds and swallows most of the sound.

Danny presses down the door handle and the heavy wooden door clicks open. "Whoa, at least, I don't have to shoot the lock open." He murmurs to himself. "Steve! I'm coming in! It's me, Danny, the guy from lunchtime. Grace's father. STEVE?" He reaches the state where he keeps calling Steve's name ongoing.

The apartment is empty, meaning, Steve's not there but he must be around because there are hints, he's close. The back door is wide open. The couch is a pull-out bed. The sheets are rumpled, and several cushions lie on the floor. Danny turns his back on the portrayed privacy right in front of his eyes. The image of a sleeping Steve, a naked sleeping Steve, all mused hair and hoarse voice, is now burned on the inside of his eyelids. He suppresses a moan of want that threatens to escape over his lips. Sweet hell.

The small lamp on the floor next to the bed is lit. Soft music fills the air from a radio Danny can't see. He counts three coffee mugs staying around. And dirt. There's so much dirt on the floor. Like an inside dirt road leading out to the garden. The big old wooden table is scattered with empty crates. Some are filled with seedlings, some are empty. It's an organized chaos but still. "Steve? Hey, where are you? I'm coming out, stepping through the door to your garden in three seconds, okay?" Danny gets anxious. No word from Steve. Not a tiny speck of his clothes or his tattoos under golden skin. "Steve, I'm getting worried! If you do not show yourself in three seconds, I'll pull my gun and come searching for you!" Danny snaps the holster safety off and is about the reach for his gun when Steve bursts into the room.

"Danny! Jesus Christ! I hear you shouting for five minutes already. Didn't you hear me answering? I even screamed your name!" Steve's eyes are comically wide, and he talks so fast Danny wants to laugh. But he can't. What happened to Steve? How can someone look like this?

The thunder moves closer and the dull, heavy rumble vibrates in Danny's chest. "Why do you wear a headlight?" He shouts over to where Steve stands holding on to a create. Danny shields his eyes with a hand. "I can't see shit, Steve, take the light out of my face." Steve is caked from head to toe, caked with mud and wet. Danny stares. "What happened to you? This time you cannot make me believe you haven't been crawling through the jungle, or through your garden." He blurts. "Who looks like that? You covered in mud like you had fun rolling around in it. Don't tell me you miss the freaking insane training you had in BUD/S. I read about that Hellweek stuff. How do they call the mud wrestling exercises? Mudflats? Did you need a bonding moment with dirt?"

Steve hauls the create onto the large worktop next to the back door. "What are you talking about? Mudflats? What – I, no. Nothing like that." He switches off the headlight. "It's nice to see you, too, Danny." Steve smiles over to him. "And sorry to disappoint you again. No crawling through dark jungle patches, just taking care of my seedlings."

Danny nods and escapes into banter. Banter means shallow and safe water. Because this wild, dauntless man who looks like he took a mud-bath makes Danny want to fuck him six ways from Sunday. "Yeah, nice to see you too, Steve. I didn't hear you shouting my name." He clips the holster safety close and leans against the nearest furniture. "What's with the mud, huh? Are all people who do garden work that dirty?" Danny waves his hand and takes Steve's appearance in. His stomach swoops and smoldering lust crawls south and starts to fill his cock.

Steve chuckles. "Why do you even bother how I look like? I'm passionate, is all. I love to feel the soil in my hands. I have to get my seedlings into the ground." Steve can't stop smiling.

"You have to get your flowers into the ground – at night with a headlight – when a big ass thunderstorm rolls in. What happened to gardening by day?" Danny makes wide eyes at Steve and carefully lets the tension turn into a mad swarm of butterflies behind his belly button.

"Hmm?"

"You heard me the first time."

Steve mimics Danny's posture and crosses the arms over his massive chest. Danny pushes every decent thought in the back of his mind. He gets harder with every second he watches Steve's dirt-covered skin. The guy wears a tank top and the same old, threadbare jeans. His feet are black from standing in the mud.

"I had stuff to do. Places to be. Haven't planned to be back that late. That's the boring explanation for the night work. No extraordinary SEAL explanation except that I like to use the rain to water the seedlings once they're in the ground. Because once out in the open the young plants must be covered with water and mud profusely to protect the gentle baby-roots, so they can grow. Rain is easier, saves time."

Danny is mildly impressed. "And you've learned all that from your mother?"

"Yes, that and much more. I grow vegetables too. And I cook."

"Do you want me to throw confetti?"

Steve's laugh is infectious. "You don't look so happy about the thunder, Danny."

Danny tries not to twitch but the roaring thunder creeps closer. "I don't like the lightning that comes with the thunder and mostly there's driving rain in the middle of the storm. I don't like that either."

Steve pushes his butt off the table and reaches for the last crate. He studies Danny over his shoulder, his dirt-covered muscular shoulder where ink peeks through. How can unwashed skin be so damn sexy? "You won't be struck by lightning if that's what worries you. Too many trees, Danny. But the fact that you are here and the fact that there is a thunderstorm gathering tells me you need something from me. So, uhm did you miss me, Danny? Is that the reason you drop by that late? Or what can I do for you?"

Danny performs a helpless motion with one hand. Grace! Dolphins! Wow. Did he forget about why he came here in the first place? No. he did not, did he? Steve's like a freaking black hole. He sucks Danny's entire attention right up on the spot. "Well, I came for a special reason but that can wait. The talk can wait. And what if I missed you?"

It takes a split second for Steve to shut Danny out. It's like a blind gets pulled down behind his eyes. Danny watches the not-visible emotions race over Steve's face. He might be a master in hiding feelings but some seep through. Danny can't see them but he senses them with every fiber of his body. It's like his body hair has turned into an insane hyper-sensitive seismograph.

"You wanna get dirty?" Steve lifts the create and walks closer.

"What are you even asking?" Danny can't balance fast enough. The hard, hot image of Steve's large, rough hand wrapped around his cock knocks the wind right out of him.

"Are you afraid of the dark, Danny? Ready for some funky gardening? Guerilla gardening might be the right word for that. Hmm? Up for that?" Steve's voice is black velvet on Danny's skin.

There's so much hidden meaning behind the questions Steve's asking. Danny is overwhelmed. The sudden heat that blazes behind his chest and between his legs makes it hard to focus. Why can nothing happen in a moderate pace with this guy? Danny pretends to be dense as concrete. If the dull fire in Steve's eyes is a harbinger of what lies beneath Danny will burn with a wild cry on his lips. Holy shit.

Steve challenges Danny. And Goddamnit, challenge's fucking accepted. Danny steps forward and holds Steve's heavy gaze. "You think I'm a damn pussy."

"I might," dark voiced words setting Danny on fire.

"You think I'm a freaking putz because I don't like thunderstorms." Danny tugs the shirt up and rushes through the buttons to pop them open.

Steve leans in with the create pressed to his abs. "What the fuck are you doing, D?"

"That's my best shirt. I don't need to roll around in the dirt with my best shirt on." He tosses the crumpled piece of fabric over to Steve's bed. He doesn't miss. Claim announced.

"Are you fucking with me here, Detective Williams?" Steve growls with his head turned to where Danny's shirt has landed on his bed.

"Does it look like I'm that kind of guy?"

Steve breathes heavily with parted lips. "Nope."

Danny's hard on pulses in his briefs. "Good." He unclips his service weapon and his badge and puts both on the chair next to him. "Got a second headlight, big guy?" His nipples pucker instantly with the way Steve's eyes touch his skin. He toes his shoes off and bends down to pull his socks off, too. He wiggles his toes. He stands the sensual pain with what Steve's eyes carve into his chest.

"Right behind you," Steve's breath fans over his skin. He's so close. "Your pants will get wet and dirty."

Danny unbuckles his belt and pulls it through the straps with a sharp move. The belt buckle clatters when he lets it drop on the floor. "I'm not putting your baby plants in the ground stark naked."

Steve's crooked smile is lewd. "Let's head out then."

Steve gets rid of his tank top outside. The heavy rain pelts down on their bare backs. Danny's pants are soaked in seconds. The wet fabric clings to his thighs. The wet, rain-soaked soil is downright luscious. It's soft and kneeling in it, digging the toes into it fills Danny with a light joy. The rain is cold, but his skin is hot and fiery. It's the craziest thing he has ever done. "When have you become so wild?" He shouts and laughs.

"I don't know what that even means." Steve answers with a lightness to his voice that makes Danny want to lean over to taste the rain on his shoulder.

Steve takes Danny's hands in his and shows him how to drill a small hole with a digit. "Do it like that," he doesn't let go, "you make the holes and I put the seedlings in." Steve's full voice drowns out the thunder easily.

Danny watches their mud-covered hands how they work side by side lit by the small beam of light attached to their foreheads. Danny loses the feeling for time. A thing that seems to happen when he's in Steve's garden. They become a part of nature with the wind tearing at their wet hair and the constant flickering of lightning followed by a sound as if heaven cracks open. The storm is right above them. Steve's body position is relaxed, his movements are floating and beautiful, skilled, and calming. "Okay, that's it."

"Already?"

"Yeah, already." Steve is suddenly in his personal space. He switches off the lamp first before he pulls Danny's headlight off his head.

The darkness isn't so dark. The flickering light of the sky reveals the hunger on Steve's face. Everything fades away. Nothing matters but Steve, kneeling in the dirt, with the rain streaming down his ripped, muscular chest. Danny's eyes dart over to watch how Steve shuffles closer. His knees bump into Danny's. Danny catches Steve's ardent look and the slow move of his arm. Danny groans and leans into the rough grip when Steve wraps his dirt-covered hand around his neck.

Danny cups Steve's face and waits with a racing heart. Steve presses his lips to Danny's for a searing kiss. It's wet and slick, loaded with desire and want. Steve tastes of rain and hope. He pushes his tongue hard into Danny's mouth. Danny groans like he has waited a lifetime for this to happen. He holds Steve's head with both hands, fingers spread wide, and falls backward. He pulls Steve on top of him. Danny opens his lips to get as much of Steve's eager tongue into his mouth as possible. He drinks rain from Steve's lips. The guttural moans Steve pours into his mouth go straight to his straining cock.

Steve's weight presses him down. The wet soil is a strange sensation on his bare skin. The little stones sting, and leaves, and tiny twigs scratch. Danny wants more. The wet fabric of his pants hinders him to spread his legs, but Steve's big hands grab his knees and press them apart. The tear of material only makes Danny want to bite Steve. It makes him wild.

"Wrap your legs around me," Steve says between kisses.

Danny can't hear with the ongoing wind and the rain still pouring down on them. He smears mud over Steve's chest and bucks up into Steve's crotch. Danny's head falls back when his hard on rubs against Steve's bulge. "Oh, fuck."

Steve shuts him up with wild, biting kisses. He licks and sucks at Danny's lips and simultaneously pushes Danny deeper into the dirt. Steve rocks his hips and grinds down on Danny's hard cock. He shows him what he wants. Danny clings to him, hooks his legs up his hip, and crosses his ankles behind his back. He grunts into Steve's open mouth when he gets lifted from the ground into Steve's lap. This crazy guy hauls him up to walk with him over to the lanai. Danny bites along Steve's jawline and tightens the grip of his legs around Steve's waist. He grabs at Steve's pecs, runs his hands over broad shoulders and fans all his fingers through dark, wet hair.

Danny doesn't feel the jet of the shower. It's the same temperature as the rain. Steve washes the dirt from his hair with gentle moves. The water washes away the mud on their skin. Danny peels his pants off and steps out of them. He watches Steve do the same. He wraps his fingers around Steve's hard member and sucks one of Steve's nipples between his lips. He gasps into another round of blinding hot kisses. Without another word Steve yanks him back up. Arms as strong as steel are wrapped around Danny's waist. Steve seals his lips with his and carries him inside.

Steve throws Danny onto the pull-out bed and crawls over to box him in. He towers over him on all four. Steve's cock is a heavy weight between his legs. His gaze is like a whole new universe. And Danny drowns.

"Make me come, babe," Danny whispers.

Steve's bruising kiss is most welcome.

The back door is still wide open.

TBC

#writersmonth2020 #h50 8.14 #mcdanno #fic rec #mcdanno fic rec #ongoing story #prompt fill #this includes smut #mild smut #thank you for reading guys

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