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the-witches-you-couldnt-burn · 3 years

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Living with what you’ve done

Uhhhhh

UHHHHHHH WHAT

Ok so I started writing the 100 special but then I got to 120!?! Wtf when did this happen?

Though I would like to thank each follower personally I have social anxiety and would rather not randomly message strangers following me. Here is my public thank you!

Idk what I did while writing this but it seems I managed to copy-paste the beginning four seperate times. This brought the word count up to 5.9k but it is now edited and brought down to 2.3k

Inspired by my friend @deltaxxk who loves angst and told me I have to write a follower special

Other prompts used: One, Two

Also! There are movie references within this fic, if you get them all you get a virtual lollipop 🍭

Ao3

Disclaimer: THIS FIC IS MAJORLY ANGSTY PLEASE DO NOT READ THIS IF ANY OF THE WARNINGS WILL TRIGGER YOU

Warings: blood, fire, death (+graphic descriptions of dying), injuries, grief, human trafficking and mentions of psychopathy

———————

“Robin we’re out of time! We must leave, we’re out of time!” Her yo-yo strained with tension as she swung into a goon, sending their body flying away from her team.

They had gotten a lead on a meta trafficking ring that involved some of the Gotham elite’s children disappearing. The lead brought them to the dock, GothDrill’s warehouse sat just off to the right. Its fluorescent lights signifying signs of life, Marinette knew most weren’t there willingly.

“Make more time!” He snapped back. Ladybug fumble slightly before regaining her footing, she wasn’t expecting the coldness in his tone.

She jumped back into the fray and watched from the corner of her eye Damian take on four goons by himself. She stifled a sigh before punching the man in front of her square on his jaw, ‘must he always prove himself when he has already?’ Damian edged himself closer to the garage doorway of the shed before disappearing into the building.

Focus her attention back on the battle around her, she saw Red Hood downed under a steel beam. She rushed over, and with her enhanced miraculous strength to lift the offending metal. He groaned with pain, the beam had pinned his legs, forcing him to lay stomach down. Wrapping his arm around her shoulder, supporting the majority of his weight to get him to his feet. Pain throbbed in his left leg and they stumbled onto the dock to hide behind down GothDrill crates.

Ripping the seams of his pant leg, she revealed a dark purple bruise that was rapidly spreading. She also discovered the beam had broken his femur and shattered his kneecap, how he wasn’t screaming in pain was beyond her. Pink light danced between her fingers before drifting down to his wound. Jason bit his hand to prevent any cries from leaving his mouth. He didn’t want another confrontation in his state.

The sound reached her before the light did. Jason panted as he looked up to see what distracted her from his healing. Reflections of orange and yellows dancing across her cerulean eyes. “Damian.” She whispered frozen stock still.

Something within her very core snapped and cardinal urges overtook her common sense. Shooting up like a bullet she sprinted towards the blazing inferno, her ears numb to the world around her.

Inside was worse than the burning exterior. She could see where the explosion originated from, big barrels of flammable chemicals blazed white with heat. The smoke and burning chemical gases penetrated her airways, coughs racked her chest.

She could see flames running up the walls and the lit barrels but the rest was black. The smoke was a blanket of darkness that wrapped around her.

And then she heard it. The screaming.

Multiple voices, so raw with pain, masculine and feminine, old and young. Running towards it she hoped to spot Damian but luck wasn’t on her side. Instead she found the trafficked civilians, their bodies red with burns with their hair and clothes set ablaze.

She ran full speed at the wall nearby, shattering the melted bolts. The fire blazed brighter at the new source of oxygen. She directed the victims out, the dove towards the water. The goons had fled during the initial explosion leaving the Batfam free to help.

She looked down at the bodies of those who didn’t survive. Some were burned beyond recognition, she kept looking, scouring for Damian.

She heard Red Robin calling her name, she looked up to see the scaffolding holding the roof breaking apart and falling to where she stood. She felt her body tackled out of the way and another thunderous crash hit the floor.

She was dragged outside and placed into the care of a newly arrived ambulance. Her eyes, red from the smoke and ash, looked out the back door of the vehicle. Firefighters and police had arrived on scene along with news reporters and the public. Families of the trafficked were reunited with their lost love ones and others mourned their deceased. Red Robin stood there, watching her.

“You can’t just follow me into fire.” She croaked to him, her oxygen mask muffling her.

The whites of his black cowl narrowed and his fists clenched. “Then don't run into fire,” he growled at her before walking off.

Her body moved without thinking, removing her oxygen mask against the protests of the paramedics. Ladybug reassured them she’ll be alright and that they should help the others who were more injured than she. She walked back towards the building but the black-clad figure of Batman stopped her stride.

“You’re not using your cure.” He stated. Her eyes widened, the cure could save his missing son, save the trafficked from their injuries and deaths. Who was he to deny the will of a god’s favoured?

Using the cure in Gotham was always straining and the Batfam knew that. On multiple smaller occasions, she was prevented from using it due to the amount of damage and crime being reverse causing serious health concerns they observed in Marinette. But she never thought it would also be denied on an occasion like this.

“I have to! Robin cou—“

“No, you could die.” He cut her off, her foggy mind becoming more enraged.

“And he could live!”

Without a reply he injected her neck with a sedative, her body collapsed from the drugs and exhaustion. The world going dark around her.

+++++++++++++

Three days after

Her blaring phone distracted her from her dissociative state. She was staring lifelessly at her TV, she could say what happened in the show even if her life depended on it. She scrambled to her phone, Dick’s name lit up the screen.

She accepted the call, answer with a hoarse “hello?”

“Marinette? Are you able to make it over we have some things to tell you.”

Her breath caught in her throat. Pressing her phone to her ear with her shoulder she ran around her apartment, grabbing her keys, shoes and jacket. Rushing out the door she rapidly fired questions at him, “What is it? Did you find him? Is he there?” All of which were answered with silence.

“It’s best that we discuss this when you get to the manor.” And with that, he hung up. The click seemed to echo in her car, even though she knew it didn’t. Driving towards the outskirts of Gotham where Wayne manor resided, she felt a spark of hope rekindle in her chest. Although Dick didn’t give her much to go on she still hoped they found him and everything could go back to how it was.

Fate wasn’t merciful to the naive it seems.

Her world shattered around her as she saw the crisped cape on the table. The smell of burnt blood permeated the room. Her eyes stayed locked onto the cloth as she spoke, “But this is only his cape, not his body. He still could be alive somewhere! He is injured and hurt and we have to find him!”

No one spoke. Their eyes flicked to one another.

Jason limped in her direction, his crutch clicking against the stone flooring. He placed a heavy hand on her shoulder, his eyes brimming with unshed emotions. “The cape was found with the body, everything else was unsalvageable except the cape.”

A silent “we’ve found him, just not how we wanted,” resounded throughout her being.

She glared at Bruce, “He could be alive if you didn’t stop me! I could have saved him!” She lashed out, tears pouring down her cheeks.

“And we would have been having this exact conversation with Damian about why we didn’t stop you. The best outcome for this situation was you living.”

“No the best outcome was both of us being given a chance at survival” Marinette screamed at him, his face was emotionless. How could he be so uncaring to the fact of his youngest son dying?

Running out of the Batcave and manor she gasped at the cold night air. A sob escaped her mouth. Her head banged against her steering wheel, tears dripping onto her pyjama pants. There was no way she’d be able to sleep tonight.

++++++++++++

Twelve days after

Fire danced in her peripheral. A medley of bright oranges and golden yellows. She remembered the times when the two of them would watch the sunset in silence, sipping on hot chocolate and green tea. This blazing inferno was different. Its colours more violent and foreboding.

The screams. They were different from the ones she heard that night. They were his screams.

She saw her body encased within his burnt arms. Damian was little more than a burnt corpse, his eyes blazed green and his bone was replaced with metal pipes. The cure resurrected him but he was not wholly there anymore.

She awoke screaming. Not in control enough to remember she had neighbours; mentally pleading that they’d understand. They knew of his disappearance but not of his death. She was still heavily in denial.

She isolated herself away from everyone, afraid she would hurt anyone else that got close. She couldn’t stop wanting to hurt Bruce for making her unable to use her cure or the goons for setting the place alight and killing her fiancé. She wanted to go scorched earth.

She snuggled into his pillowcase, his faint scent of honey was still present. She willed herself to fall back asleep, his scent surrounding her. His pillow, his shirt, his ring; but she was missing him.

++++++++

Two hundred and eighty-seven days after

Red trickled down her finger. It took her a moment to move the fabric away from the dripping blood source but managed to before it stained. It had been years since she had pricked her finger with a needle, but her subconscious must have needed to feel something; even if it was pain.

She looked around at her juvenile pink room. She had moved back into her parents six months after Damian’s death. Three months into her stay and she still had most of her belongings in boxes. The only decorations in the room were scattered commissions and a wooden blanket.

Looking down at the puddle of blood that was growing on her white desk she wonders if Damian bled before the fire cauterised his wounds. She had researched that burning to death was one of the most painful ways to die, it takes hours, each nerve ending burning. The burn victim usually passes out after a few minutes but she could imagine Damian desperately trying to put himself out, only to find more fire encompassing him.

His cape was bloody so she hopes he bled rather than burned. Or maybe he was crushed by the falling roof and killed instantly. She hoped he didn’t suffer for long.

Similar intrusive thoughts plagued her mind constantly but she kept her focus on her art to push through the days. Gazing down at the wound she found Tikki had held her and Wayzz had wiped the puddle with tissues.

Today she’ll live for them. Tomorrow she might live to try her father’s new recipe of cinnamon macarons. Last Tuesday she lived to hear Luka’s new song. Next month she might live just to pat the stray kitten that lives in the alley behind the Chinese restaurant two streets over.

++++++++++

Five hundred and twenty days after

She froze at the sight before her. Thinking it was another hallucination or she was having another nightmare. “You thought,” The glass in her hand cracked under her grip. Her brain couldn’t process what was happening. She hasn’t disassociated this much since the day he ‘died’.” That by faking your death, you could find out who you could rely on?”

“TT, yes. Now that I know everything can go back to the way it was.” She swigged her glass again, wishing it were whiskey instead of water. When they had met, Jon and his family had warned her that he was severely emotional constipated from his upbringing but this was in the psychopathic area of emotionless.

“No.”

“What?” His shock almost seems real. His eyes had widened and his body language was unsteady.

“No, we aren’t done talking about this! How ignorant do you have to be to think this won’t affect our relationship? Won’t affect me?”

“It wasn’t real. I’m here.” He stepped forward, arms rising to hug her. He never was one for physical contact. She pulled back, grabbing a steak knife and placing it between them. He told her he had set the place aflame. He found the lead for the trafficking ring. He planned it all. And now he was back, almost a year and a half later.

“That doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt! I’m going to have nightmares for the rest of my life! How selfish, how, how stupid do you have to be to not consider what it does to someone who cared about you?!”

“Cared?”

“Do I need to spell it out? We’re done. I don’t want to see you ever again,” She seethed. “You think everything can go back to how it was before? Well, it can’t. I spent months of my life mourning over a guy who wasn’t even dead. Who didn’t even care about me enough not to toy with my emotions. My life isn’t a game Damian!”

“I only did this because I thought—”

“I don’t care. Get out. Out of my house. Out of my life. Just get out.”

“I didn’t intend to hurt you, I just wanted to know.” Hot, rage-filled tears ran down her cheeks. She jabbed the knife at him, stopping inches before his chest. She had backed him down the stair and to the front door. Neither of her parents were home and he was more unpredictable than ever.

“I hope you can live with what you’ve done, le miel”

#maribat #mlb x dc #dc x mlb #marinette x damian #damian x marinette #damian wayne x marinette dupain cheng #daminette #angst #major angst #psychopath! Damian Wayne #grieving! Marinette Dupain-Cheng #faked death

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novelconcepts · 4 years

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fic: (above) a boring little pub

“See where that takes us,” Dani mutters. “Sure. Yeah. Smooth.”

She’d said it like it wasn’t nerve-racking in the least, like she does this sort of thing every day. Get up at the asscrack of dawn, trying to remember how to make a pot of coffee she personally feels out of her mind even considering putting in her own mug. Coffee makes her crazy, spikes her already-wild anxiety straight through the roof; she hasn’t tried to brew the stuff since she was fifteen and making a last-ditch effort to get on Mom’s good side.

And, still, it was the best idea she had for Operation Fix Things With Jamie. Four days laying awake thinking, four days with her brain half on the kids, half on making Jamie smile the next time she turned up at Bly, and this was the best she could do. A cup of coffee that, to her untrained eye, looked like muddy water more than anything else.

And she had handed it to Jamie. Just pasted on a smile and thought, Maybe the stars have aligned, and I woke up good at this today. Whether good at the coffee or the talking to Jamie, she wasn’t quite sure--but soon enough, it appeared the answer was “neither”. Terrific. Jamie, still stung from the other night. Jamie, clearly still not ready to leap off a cliff just because Dani reached out a hand.

Who could blame her? Jamie’s maybe the most patient person Dani has ever met, so long as you’re not shredding her gardens behind her back, but she is still a person. A person who has shown Dani an extremely unexpected willingness to listen, but not so much the desire to be jerked around. Dani gets it. There’s nothing she wants less in the world, than to make Jamie feel like a chew toy to be picked up and discarded again on a whim.

Hence, the world’s most insulting attempt at coffee.

And the invitation.

Dani does not have what a thinking man might call “a strong history” with dating. Part and parcel of being with the same person since you were ten, she supposes, and even if Edmund wasn't...right, he was still simple in his own way. The bravest she ever had to be with Eddie was in daring him to kiss her, a desperate, futile bid toward understanding all the girls at school who sighed and groaned over boys. Dani didn’t get it then, didn’t get it when Eddie closed his eyes and puckered his lips and gave her the most exaggerated dry kiss a human mouth can produce. Didn't get it, either, as he improved over the years, though she was tactically aware of him doing so. On a strictly data-driven level, she watched him get better at kissing, at smiling without nerves, at leading her by the hand wherever he felt they should go. And never, not once, did she feel it.

But one night in a greenhouse, wine in her blood and guilt on her lips, and she gets it now. She gets all of it. Jamie’s hands in her hair, Jamie’s mouth opening beneath her own--a symphony only they could hear.

And then she’d gone and ruined it.

So, now she’s here. Standing awkwardly in a small room in a huge manor, poking through the approximately ten outfits she’s been carting across Europe for half a year. She’d been brave with Jamie in ways she’d never considered with Eddie--brave to take her hand, brave to follow her into the dark, brave to kiss her, brave to ask her out on a...on a..

“Date,” she mutters, holding up a pink blouse and remembering Jamie saying wryly, There we are. She shuts her eyes. “Just a date. Normal person thing to do. Nothing to worry about.”

Jamie’s meant to be back here in--she flips her wrist, winces--less than an hour now. Jamie’s meant to be here to pick her up, like they’re teenagers heading off for a Friday night on the town, and Dani must genuinely be losing her mind. She didn't come here for this. She works with Jamie, works here watching the kids, and if she leaves...if she leaves, who knows what will...

A light rap at the door, so soft, she almost misses it. Hannah, gently smiling.

“Everything all right up here? Haven’t seen you in quite some time...”

“The kids,” Dani interjects. “Of course. I’m so sorry, I’ll just--”

Hannah raises her palms in a placating gestures, slipping into the room with a nearly unearthly grace. Why, Dani wonders helplessly, can’t I be like Hannah? So elegant and serene and sure of every step?

“I did not,” Hannah says, taking her by the shoulders and giving her a sisterly little shake, “come up here to scold you. The children are perfectly fine; Owen is running them through the finer elements of...” Her brow creases, some mix of affection and distaste. “Baking chemistry.”

“Oh.” Dani sinks onto the bed, head in her hands. “Of course. So you’re...”

“Here to make certain you aren’t, perhaps, talking yourself out of a nice evening out on the town?” Hannah supplies. She’s too kind to make fun, at least where this level of anxiety is concerned, and Dani is grateful.

“Not talking myself out, exactly,” she says. “Just trying to decide what to wear. I mean, what does a person wear to a pub in Bly with...with...”

“A perfectly charming young woman whose primary uniform involves denim and potting soil?” Hannah’s voice is just a little too innocent. Dani grins.

“I just don’t want to embarrass myself.”

“I don’t think,” Hannah says carefully, “there’s much chance of embarrassing yourself so badly, she leaves you alone in that pub. Or fails to return to Bly, perhaps, tomorrow?”

Color floods Dani’s cheeks. Her choice of sweater is suddenly the most interesting thing that has ever happened in this room.

“The children will be just fine with us here,” Hannah continues, blessedly ignoring the way Dani’s shoulders go rigid with mortification. “Owen’s already planning to stay, and you know how Flora goes on about sleepovers...”

She’s smiling, but Dani thinks there’s a bit of distance behind her eyes that wasn’t there last week. A beautiful, kind woman, Hannah; it’s strange to see her even the least bit detached from the goings-on of the house.

“You’re sure,” she presses. “I could still tell Jamie--”

“You could both use the night off, I think.” Hannah pats her shoulder lightly. Dani bites her lip.

“Well, I can definitely make sure I’m back before--”

“Lunch tomorrow?” Hannah interjects. “Yes, I quite agree, that would be perfect timing. Rumor has it Owen’s planning a feast fit for kings and very small children.”

Dani is out of arguments, and she suspects Hannah knows it. Her shoulders slump. “Okay. Okay, good. Glad that’s all...handled. Now...”

“This one, I think.” Hannah pats the light purple, her hand possessed of such surety, Dani is briefly envious. “Brings out your eyes nicely.”

She makes her escape with another smile and a very small wave, and Dani gives herself a minute. Just one minute, sitting on the edge of the bed with her face in her hands, to really process the situation. A date. An actual real date with an actual real person she actually likes. Not just likes, but feels...slightly insane around. Insane in the best way. Stomach in knots, fingertips sweaty for no good reason, ears going hot at the sight of her insane.

Jamie kissed her back. Jamie kissed her like there was nothing she’d like more in the world. Jamie kissed her, and then let her go the minute she didn’t seem ready for it, and even with the worst coffee in England as a peace offering, accepted the idea of a drink with her.

Which means...

“The sweater doesn’t matter,” Dani mumbles, feeling very much as though nothing has ever mattered more.

***

Jamie has never quite done this before, either; she thinks of telling Dani so, thinks of taking a quiet moment before leaving Bly Manor to get ready for a date and come back, sweet Lord, she must be out of her mind, to say, “Hey, no worries, Poppins, this is brand-new territory for the both of us.”

But Dani is busy with the kids, and also sort of looks like she’s going to combust should Jamie stand too near her, so she skulks out to the truck alone instead. The date--it is an actual fucking date, I cannot believe she did this to us, what am I going to do on an actual fucking date with this woman?--is slated for seven in the evening. Jamie’s done working at four-thirty.

She spends about an hour of that in-between time showering, picking out a clean t-shirt--nothing too snappy, don’t want to scare Poppins off again--and jeans and a jacket that ensures she’ll look presentably-cool, and mussing her hair somewhat badly. The rest, she spends pacing.

You know I live above that pub, right? Told you that already. And Jesus, how Dani had smiled, like she’d been thinking of nothing else for four fucking days. Four days Jamie had spent planning ways to distance herself, to stop feeling all of this flappy butterfly nonsense at the mere sight of the woman, and the first thing--first goddamn thing--Dani did upon her return was ask her on a date.

To which she had...said yes. She’d said yes, and now off she goes to pick up her actual, real-live human woman date.

It’s one thing, she thinks as she strides up the drive to the door, to take a woman to bed. It’s a very natural, easy thing, in fact, to take a woman to bed. Strip off your clothes, strip off your inhibitions, get used to the notion of never seeing her again once the sun is up. But this? Dani? Jamie’s never been here before. Never wanted something so badly before.

“Don’t,” she mumbles, pushing the door open, “fuck this up.”

She expects to have to go on a bit of a hunt to track Dani down--maybe to the kitchen, or even (heaven help her) up to her room, but no: Dani is right there. Dani is standing in the foyer in a black skirt and loose-knit sweater, looking for all the world like Jamie just caught her running a trench into the floorboards.

“Hi,” she says, all deer eyes and suddenly grinning mouth. Her hair is up, so very blonde and perfect, Jamie’s mouth goes a little useless at the sight of it.

“Hey. Uh. Are we meant to be speaking with the chaperones, or...”

Dani shakes her head, looking just a little punch-drunk. “Hannah made it sound like we’d be in trouble if we went back there. Owen’s doing something with chemistry?”

“All the angels couldn’t help those kids and their empty bellies now,” Jamie says, “if Owen is fixated on another goddamn chemistry lesson.”

Dani laughs, and suddenly, it’s like a sheen of ice cracks open and all the warmth she’s come to associate with Dani Clayton comes rushing into the room. Jamie reaches out a hand, slides palm along palm until Dani is fitted neatly against her lifeline.

“Shall we?”

She doesn’t say, I’ve never done this. Doesn’t tell Dani any of that. It doesn’t seem important, all of a sudden, not with the way Dani squeezes back and follows eagerly into the passenger seat of her truck.

Jamie, looking at her out of the corner of her eye as she prepares to back out, is struck with the wild idea that maybe they don’t have to leave at all to do this. She could just reach across the seat, lay a hand lightly over Dani’s knee, tell her she’s never met anyone like her. Never met anyone who makes her want to tell sad stories and bad jokes and goodnights that are only acceptable because there will be a good morning to follow.

Date, she reminds herself firmly, though there’s a perfectly nice kitchen, a perfectly nice bedroom, a perfectly nice hidden spot out on the grounds that would do the job just as well. Maybe next time. There are flowers she’s certain Dani can’t go her whole life without seeing.

But tonight: it’s a pub in the tiny village of Bly, where Jamie has lived for years without ever really caring to get to know its secrets. Now, watching Dani look around like she’s just stepped into Oz, she sort of regrets that.

“Usually not too busy on a Thursday night,” she says, guiding Dani with a light hand at the small of her back past what she thinks of as the Attention Grabbing section--the tables up near the bar proper, where the denizens of Bly most like to congregate after work--and toward her own preferred spot. It’s in the back, near a near-secret exit that leads straight up to her flat, and Cal is charitable enough to keep most folks away from it unless the place is full-up. Not a bad guy, Cal; he’s about four hundred years old and insists on calling her Janey, but he’s still got the back for long nights serving bad drinks, and he keeps the rent cheaper than dirt.

“You live here?” Dani sounds like she’s never been more delighted at a prospect. Jamie can’t help but laugh, slinging her jacket over the back of her chair and settling in.

“Thought about asking for a job when I moved in, but luckily Lord and Lady Wingrave got to me first. Not sure it’d suit me, spending every night with the town layabouts.”

She winks at Cal as he shambles past to let him know this is a joke. He snorts.

“Like I’d hire you anyway. Too damn short. Couldn't reach the good stuff.”

“Wasn’t aware you carried the good stuff,” she fires back. Dani, watching this exchange with delight, laughs. Cal raises an eyebrow.

“Your friend’s pretty. Poor sense of character, to be spending her night with a felon, but there’s no accounting for taste.”

The smile on Dani’s lips dies instantly. Jamie swallows a curse.

“Yes, thank you, Grandfather Drunkard, I hadn’t quite gotten to that part of the tale yet. Round to make up for it, if you please.”

He has the good grace to look slightly ashamed, patting her on the shoulder as he winds back to the bar in search of clean glasses. Jamie leans back with a sigh.

“Well, it was bound to come up eventually, I suppose. Frankly, probably for the best he spilled those beans before I could lose my nerve and put off telling you.”

Dani’s brow is creased, less like someone horrified by a glimpse into Jamie’s storied past, more like a white knight ready to draw a sword in her defense. Jamie finds herself reaching across the table, glancing over her shoulder, and touching the back of her hand with two cautious fingers.

“Easy, Poppins, Cal’s a good sort. Our sort, even, if there is such a thing.” It’s a bold stroke, a shot in the dark, but given that Jamie’s already had this woman’s tongue in her mouth, she supposes it isn’t so dangerous to assume. Dani raises her eyebrows high enough to make her laugh.

“He’s--I mean he doesn’t--”

“He’s kind, and he knows the value of a closed mouth,” Jamie confirms. “Says things are better than they used to be around here, but there’s no point courting trouble. Anyway, he won’t say a damn thing when we--if we--”

Cal takes pity on her, delivering a pair of beers and a platter of cold chips, “on the house, as penance for fuckin’ up your evening.” Jamie raises her glass in a salute to his retreating back.

“Did he?” Dani asks. Jamie, glass halfway to her lips, pauses.

“Did he what?”

“Fuck up the evening.” Jamie’s not sure she’s ever heard Dani say the word fuck before, and suddenly feels as though it’s the best single syllable ever to cross her lips.

“Nah. Not unless you’ve, ah, got a problem with felons sharing your table?”

Lifting her own glass, Dani shakes her head. “Not as a rule. I’d like to hear about it, though. If it’s something you’re all right sharing.”

And so Jamie shares. All of it. It isn’t the plan, exactly, but when she gets started, she finds it increasingly difficult to locate a logical place to stop. To explain the prison time, she first has to explain how a young woman finds herself in such a situation; to explain that, she first has to paint a picture of a particular kind of home life. Before she knows what’s happening, she’s leaning across the table and saying names she hasn’t spoken in years. Telling about the coal mine. The other men. The baby. The burn.

Dani listens to it all, enraptured, never interrupting with so much as a question. She makes small noises, nods encouragement whenever Jamie falters, takes small sips of her drink when Jamie pauses for breath.

She doesn’t ask what Jamie did. This, above all else, strikes Jamie between the eyes. She doesn’t ask if Jamie lied, or cheated, or stole, or bloodied anyone along the way (yes, yes to one and all, and if she did ask, Jamie would tell her; they're old scars, the life of someone she feels she barely knows now, and if she’s ashamed, it’s the shame of a distant dream). She only listens, nods, takes it in.

“I figure,” Jamie says when she’s run out of history to unfold between them, “you showed me yours, yeah? It’s only fair.”

Dani raises her glass. “To not being defined by the sins of the past.”

Jamie chuckles, obediently following suit. “To people being the most goddamn exhausting concept on the planet, and trying anyway.”

They drink. They drink, and Jamie thinks, Maybe that’s it. Maybe I’ve exhausted the conversation topics for one relationship already. Maybe she’ll finish this glass and we’ll head back to the house, and that’ll be that.

“I’ve never done this before,” Dani tells her. There’s something relaxed about her, something Jamie finds new and deeply interesting. Relaxed is the last word she’d generally used to describe Dani Clayton.

Jamie gestures for Cal, refills following suit in short order. “Been to a pub?”

“Been on a date with someone I...” Dani hesitates. For a split second, Jamie’s sure she’s about to look at someone Jamie can’t sense over her shoulder. Instead, she shakes her head, smiles ruefully. “Someone I felt things for.”

“Things, huh?” She leans across the table, props her chin on one hand, makes a show of tilting her head. “What sorts of things?”

“I think you know.” Dani is blushing. This is maybe the best night of Jamie’s whole life.

“Think you should tell me anyway.”

Dani swats at her, and they’re both laughing with an ease Jamie can’t wrap her head around. It’s one thing to flirt; Jamie’s good at flirting. Comes easy, comes naturally. She’s good at watching for the little buttons in people, the little signs of what makes them laugh, what makes them squirm. Promised herself a long time ago never to use this power for anything less than leaving a room warmer than she found it.

But this isn’t flirting. Not the way Jamie’s done it before. This is something entirely new, entirely specific to Dani. It’s in the way Dani watches her, eyes too blue, jaw held taut like she’s trying to keep something dangerous from spilling out. It’s in the way Dani lets her fingers linger when she reaches for a chip, allows Jamie to brush against her in a fashion that looks utterly innocent from the outside and feels anything but.

Jamie swallows hard, liking the weight of Dani’s gaze more than she’s prepared to admit. Liking the way Dani very slowly, very carefully, moves a hand under the table to press against her knee.

“Bold, Poppins,” she breathes. Dani smiles, so clearly proud of herself and so clearly terrified that it’s all Jamie can do not to lean all the way across and kiss her.

Best not. Cal’s a good man, their sort, but there are others in the pub now. People who wouldn't take kindly to a sight like that. And this night is going far too well for Jamie to waste where it’s going on a bar brawl.

***

Jamie’s flat is nothing like Dani expected. Admittedly, she isn’t sure what to expect when Jamie drains the last of her glass and gives a knowing glance to the exit. A very small part of her thinks this is all going entirely too well--her hand has been under the table, pressed with a confidence she hadn’t known she possessed to Jamie’s knee, for almost fifteen minutes. Even as her thumb traces small circles into the denim, even as Jamie’s eyes go a little darker, her lips parting in a way Dani finds entirely too interesting, she thinks, This isn’t me, is it? She can’t be feeling it, too. No one has ever understood this.

Even so, here’s Jamie, standing a little too quickly. Her chair scrapes back, her jacket swung over her arm, and she’s reaching out. Dani accepts the hand, lets Jamie pull her to her feet. A good idea. A bad idea. The kind of idea that will get them out of the public eye in short order, either way, and Dani can’t think of anything wiser in this moment.

There’s a set of stairs just outside the door, leading up to a second door. Thick brown wood, with double locks Jamie works without really looking. She’s staring at Dani even as her hands move, staring from inches away, and Dani suddenly thinks how good it is, that they came out tonight. How good it is to be away from the house, the kids, anyone else in the world.

“After you,” Jamie says, pushing the door open with a flat hand and gesturing for Dani to enter. Her voice is a little raw, a little huskier than usual. Dani moves past her, arm brushing arm, and just about jumps out of her skin at the contact.

The space is small, sparsely furnished, with a curtain hung to break up the room. In one far corner, a tiny bathroom. In the closest corner, a tiny kitchen, barely broken from the living space by a change in flooring.

Jamie, wearing an expression Dani has not yet learned to decipher, says, “This would be it. The castle, as it were.”

Does she sound embarrassed? Dani can't quite tell. She wants to say there’s nothing to be embarrassed about, this place is small and quiet and somehow perfectly Jamie in its easy nature. There are books, though not many, on a small shelf. There are plants, considerably more, lined up like soldiers guarding Jamie from loneliness.

“It’s a place to lay my head, anyway,” Jamie says, and that is definitely a touch of embarrassment in her voice. Dani shakes her head, moves to join her at the front door, takes her hand.

“It’s yours,” she says, unable to clarify quite why that is so special. “Thank you. For bringing me here.”

It sounds better in her head than it does ringing between them in a space so silent, Dani imagines she can hear the echo of her own voice. Jamie is just looking at her, the way she’d looked the night Owen’s mother passed, like if Dani were to give the word, she’d make a move that would light them both aflame.

She’d been too afraid that night. Was carrying far too much. Even the simple act of touching Jamie at all, of running her thumb across Jamie’s hand, had felt like heroism.

Now, things are different.

She’s got Jamie by the sleeves, hands gripping Jamie’s t-shirt just above the skin of her biceps, and this is what going over feels like. This is what it feels like, Dani thinks, to just let go.

***

Kissing Dani is different here. Back in the greenhouse, Dani had been largely somebody else, Jamie thinks; still Dani, but a version carrying too much on her back. A desperate, hopeful, sorrow-laden Dani who had grabbed at her jacket like it was a life preserver.

This Dani, sighing and squeezing her arms, feels like freedom.

Jamie finds herself spinning them both, pressing Dani against the locked door, liking the convulsive way Dani’s hands fist around her shirt sleeves. Liking the way Dani slides one arm around her neck and leans back just a little, just enough to gaze into Jamie’s eyes, and this is almost too much all on its own. No one has ever looked at Jamie while she was trying to kiss them. No one, not even once, has looked at her with such profound affection.

And want. So much want, Dani’s eyes are stormy with it. Jamie’s grinning, but there’s a fist around her heart squeezing so hard, she worries it might burst.

“All right?” she breathes. Dani could say no. Dani could say no at any time, and Jamie would understand it. Would lean back, comb her fingers through her own hair, offer the bed while she sets up on the couch until the alcohol’s out of both of their systems and the sunrise gives them another chance at it.

Dani, rather than answering, makes a low sound at the back of her throat and finds Jamie’s mouth with an eager, open kiss that sends Jamie’s pulse through the roof.

She hasn’t done this before, she’s told Jamie, but she’s coming to it naturally enough. Her lips are soft, parting for Jamie’s tongue, her hips pushing against Jamie’s body in slow, easy motions. When Jamie rakes her nails down her scalp, fingers pulling the scrunchie from her hair, she responds with such a low groan, Jamie has to bury her face in Dani’s neck for a moment to breathe.

“Sorry,” Dani mumbles. Jamie, shaking her head, laughs against her skin.

“In no universe, Poppins, are you to be sorry right now. About anything.”

She raises her head, looking for signs that Dani is sorry in a more important way, a way that will say stop, back up, let this go for now. Dani takes her face between trembling hands. Kisses her slowly, sweetly, tongue tracing Jamie’s lower lip like the only thing in the world is to memorize her in tiny, hopeful doses.

Jamie sighs, one hand buried in blonde hair, the other finding purchase on the sleeve of a too soft, too tearable sweater. She feels too large for her body all of a sudden, too much adrenaline coursing through her system, and every time Dani turns her head just a little, every time she brushes her nose against Jamie’s and makes that tiny, soul-searing little sound under Jamie’s kiss, she thinks she gets a bit closer to plunging off the edge into something she won’t be able to forget about in the morning.

“You sure?” she asks against Dani’s lips, the words lost when Dani moves an arm around her neck and digs her fingers in hard. She can feel Dani nodding, breathless, and it’s enough. More than enough. Jamie finds she’s walking them backwards, navigating carefully around her small table, her small couch, the shelf upon which she keeps a few precious plants.

With every step, Dani is kissing her.

With every step, Dani is tracing shapes into the back of her neck.

With every step, Dani is pushing in close, like if Jamie breaks for even a second, some beautiful, perfect spell will break with her.

They’re past the curtain now, in the little space where Jamie sleeps and wakes and hasn’t taken anyone since moving in. Dani, forehead pressed against hers, lips swollen, opens her eyes.

“This is--”

“Not much,” Jamie says. On the one hand, she’s glad they came out tonight, glad she’s getting to hear all the little sounds Dani makes as she’s kissed without worrying about eavesdroppers. On the other, there’s nothing inspiring about her flat, nothing to say Jamie can take care of someone. It’s just walls. Just walls and a couple of plants, and for some reason, Dani is looking around like they’ve walked through a mirror into a land of magic.

“Anyway,” Jamie says. “We don’t have to--if you don’t want to--”

***

“Don’t you?” Dani’s heart is in her throat, pounding in her wrists almost painfully hard. Jamie, one arm around her waist, leaning back with flushed cheeks and her bottom lip between her teeth, raises her eyebrows.

“Want to? God, yes.”

Relief, flooding Dani’s body almost hard enough to knock her over. She grips at Jamie with both hands, the slide of dark t-shirt soft under her fingers, and kisses her again. She feels so good kissing Jamie, so good she forgets how nervous she is about the whole thing. Jamie, her hand strong at the small of her back, her fingers brushing just under the hem of her sweater, leans back again.

“Just don’t want to pressure you into anything. S’all right if you’re not up for--”

"I’ll tell you,” Dani promises. If Jamie keeps doing that with her hand, if Jamie keeps tracing the base of her spine with small, reckless movements, she thinks she’ll go crazy. “If it’s too much. I’ll tell you.”

She pushes gently against Jamie’s chest, feeling bold and brave and absolutely petrified of her own actions, and Jamie lets herself fold backwards until she’s seated on the edge of a thin, clean bedspread. Dani follows her down, knees on either side of Jamie’s thighs, sitting carefully in her lap.

“Now what?” Jamie teases, even as she’s sliding both hands up Dani’s sides, firm enough not to tickle as she brackets Dani’s ribs and lets the next ragged breath push against her palms. Dani closes her eyes for a beat, swaying, untethered until Jamie tilts her head and kisses her again. All at once, it’s like being caught at the end of a string. All at once, it’s like being handed serenity.

She realizes she’s moving her hips, rolling them forward against Jamie’s lap, liking the way Jamie’s hands tighten on her body and begin gently pushing her back and forth. There isn’t enough friction to really accomplish anything this way, but it hardly matters; it’s still so much, so much she feels like she’ll come apart anyway. Something this new, a feeling this big, reaching across the expanse of her, consuming her--she thinks she’ll lose something here tonight. Gain something. Tie the two together and be something different come morning.

She used to worry about that, with him. Used to worry that if she ever gave in, ever tried that one last thing to feel how she was meant to with him, she’d be different the next day. She’d be someone else.

This is something else entirely--so much so, she almost can’t breathe around the realization. That she will be different tomorrow, and that she will not be less Dani because of it, but more, somehow. Something more Dani than she’s allowed herself to be in her whole life, because it was chosen here, tonight, with Jamie’s hands on her body and Jamie’s mouth under her own.

***

With Dani in her lap, skirt riding up around her thighs, hips moving restlessly, Jamie thinks for a second they’ve hit a wall. A very good wall to hit, she thinks hurriedly. If this is as far as they go tonight, it’s still worlds past anything she really expected from Dani.

So long as she doesn’t regret it, doesn’t run from me, I could stay here forever.

Dani, who has been kissing her for what feels like forever, breaks contact and just looks at her. Her hand, soft and cautious and more certain than Jamie expects, presses against Jamie’s breastbone. Pushes again. Jamie shifts backwards, inching up the mattress, pulling Dani with her until she’s flat on her back with Dani looking down.

“Up to you,” she says. She likes the simple pressure of Dani’s body atop her own, of soft curve fitting all the spaces where Jamie doesn’t usually think of herself as lacking anything at all. Now, though, knowing what it feels like, how the whole of Dani is pressed flush to her, she wonders if she’ll ever feel complete in this bed again.

“You still--”

“Want?” Jamie’s lips curve. “If you’re asking, there’s something I’m not doing right.”

“I’m sorry,” Dani says, then seems to catch herself. She sighs, smiles, laughs a little in that dizzy, self-conscious way that breaks Jamie’s heart. “This is...as far as I know. This is...”

Jamie nods, understanding. “You trust me?”

***

Dani is nodding, too, liking the way her body is moving almost of its own accord against Jamie’s. She hadn’t even realized she was doing it, hadn’t even realized she was still rubbing lightly against Jamie even as nerves pound through her system.

“Tell me,” Jamie says in a low, urgent tone. “If anything changes.”

She rolls, then, a quick flash of movement that makes Dani shriek-giggle. From this new vantage point, back pressed into Jamie’s mattress, head on Jamie’s pillow, she feels suddenly so much more intimate than while straddling Jamie’s lap. Doesn’t make sense, she thinks with a thrill of such powerful lust, all she can do is grab again at Jamie’s shirt and hold on. But this is hers, and I’m here, and she’s...she’s...

“Tell me,” Jamie says again, a quiet command that drags soft nails up Dani’s back. She shivers, nodding, and Jamie takes the lead at last.

***

She hadn’t thought, somehow, about this part. Not in so many firmly phrased words. She’d thought about the shape of it, of Dani in her flat, of Dani in her bed, of Dani kissing her, touching her, but somehow, this part slid away every time it tried to rise in her mind.

The part of the show where clothes go away. The part of the show Jamie has always liked the most, and the least, at the same time.

Dani is kissing her when she slides both hands beneath the sweater, easing it up, giving Dani ample time to pull away. Dani, instead, sits up just enough to allow the sweater to rise over breasts, shoulders, head. Jamie drops it off the bed, leans back on her knees, smiles.

“Is there...” Dani isn’t covering herself, exactly, but there’s a sort of nakedness to her expression that has nothing to do with clothes disappearing. “I mean, am I--”

She leaves it unspoken, a bit embarrassed: right? okay? enough?

“Perfect,” Jamie tells her. “Absolutely gorgeous.”

She takes the hem of her own shirt in her hand, waits, pleased when Dani sits up and covers that hand with her own searching fingers. She doesn’t want to go anywhere Dani isn’t willing to take her, and she certainly doesn’t want to deprive her of the small moments that make a first time with someone else so electric. When Dani guides the shirt up over her head, it’s like Jamie’s never done this, either--no woman has ever just looked at her, eyes steady and searching, in a moment like this.

Women are usually the fast, nervous, lights-off-don’t-talk kind of souls in Jamie’s bed. Touch me, kiss me, don’t look, don’t ask questions, don’t act like you want to be here. But Dani is looking at her with lips parted, hands tracing the lines of Jamie’s neck, collarbones, the dip between her breasts. Her fingers are shaking so hard, Jamie covers them with her own, pulls them to her lips.

“One thing at a time,” she says quietly. “Anything’s too much, we pull back.”

Dani pulls at her, guiding Jamie’s hands back to work the clasp of her bra, to cover her skin with soft, careful strokes. She arches into Jamie’s hand and whimpers, and Jamie thinks there was no way, no way she could have predicted any of this. Not as it is. Not as Dani is letting it be.

***

She’d thought, back in the greenhouse, that Jamie’s kiss was enough to drown in. That Jamie’s lips traveling from her mouth to her throat to her ear was enough to drive her wild enough that she’d forget her own name.

It’s nothing compared to Jamie kissing her now, holding her with gentle hands as she explores every inch of skin she can reach. She is all tongue, all soft bite, all lips on shoulder, on pulse, on everything Dani has never been able to imagine letting someone else even look upon.

Here, Jamie’s jean-clad legs intertwined with her own bare ones, her skirt rucked high, Dani thinks maybe this is the best it could possibly be. To be in Jamie’s bed, with Jamie’s hand light on her breast and Jamie’s kiss burning hot as she travels lower, as she moves like they’ve got all the time in the world, is maybe the best the world could ever get.

Every so often, Jamie raises her eyes, and Dani feels something hot and tight clutch in her stomach. Jamie, asking if this is all right. Jamie, sucking a mark into the skin of her belly. Jamie, one hand moving lower so slowly, Dani sort of thinks she’s going to scream.

***

She’s trying to go slow, trying to take this as easily as she possibly can, but every inch of Jamie is on fire. Part of her is hyper-aware of the reality of the situation: that Dani is nervous, that Dani is special, that Dani is someone Jamie couldn't bear hurting even on accident. And, more: that Jamie’s scar is out on display, that Jamie’s home is out on display, that Jamie is more visible and vulnerable with shirt off and jeans on and mouth pressed to the smooth arc of Dani’s stomach than she’s been in years.

When Dani takes her by the wrist, she’s sure they’ve gone far enough--that the heat between her own legs will have to wait, that Dani is going to roll off the bed and scramble back into her sweater and away from--

Her hand, wrapped around Jamie’s, slides beneath her skirt.

Her fingers, wrapped around Jamie’s, guide her to press against damp underwear.

Her back arches. Jamie groans.

“Okay,” she breathes, looking up at Dani’s too-blue eyes. “Okay, getting the picture.”

***

She didn’t know. Didn’t have the first idea what this would feel like. Didn’t have even the remotest frame of reference, and if she were anywhere else, if she were with anyone else, maybe she’d still be too keyed-up to find out.

But Jamie is sliding back up the bed, hand rubbing soft, testing circles between Dani’s legs, and yes--she thinks she’s starting to understand at last.

She kisses Jamie hard, without care of how she looks or being even the least bit smooth, her own hand fumbling toward the zipper of Jamie’s jeans. No time like the present, she thinks with a truly unexpected delight, pleased when Jamie spreads her legs and shifts her hips to help her ease between cloth and skin.

“Right for it,” Jamie pants in surprise, and Dani is too invested to feel embarrassed. Jamie is soft under her hand, wet, hips jerking to match her clumsy movements. She closes her eyes, concentrates on trying to mirror what Jamie’s doing with her own considerably more nimble fingers. Tries to match her in slow, gentle pressure--then a little faster, as Jamie sucks breath through her teeth--and faster yet, when Jamie presses up in a way she doesn’t fully expect.

She doesn’t even realize she’s losing control until she’s already halfway gone, her hand tripping and fumbling as Jamie uses two fingers and a series of quick, rhythmic motions to set a pace Dani can’t help but follow with her hips. She realizes she’s rolling onto her back, arching, making noises she’s never heard from her own lips, and Jamie rolls to follow, kissing those noises into muffled joy.

Jamie rides out the spasms with her, keeping her hand exactly where it is, slowing to a gentle rest of fingertips against ruined underwear. Dani’s vaguely aware her own hand is still down Jamie’s pants, no longer moving. She exhales.

“I--”

“S’all good,” Jamie says, her smile edged with something Dani thinks looks rather smug. “First time. Takes practice.”

***

It doesn’t surprise her, Dani falling asleep soon after. There were some mumbling sounds about reciprocation, about fairness, about wanting to feel Jamie twitch and groan under her fingers--but Jamie, jeans unzipped, feeling rather good about herself, only pulled her in close. Kissed her slowly. Let her fade into a gentle doze against Jamie’s shoulder.

Good, Jamie thinks, though her skin is buzzing and there is an ache she hasn’t felt in a long time low in her belly. Rest, Poppins. There’s always tomorrow.

If pressed, she couldn’t say why she feels such pride, such easy pleasure, watching the way Dani sinks into sleep in her arms. Maybe because Dani hasn’t looked like someone with the benefit of a good night’s sleep since Jamie met her. Maybe simply because Dani feels perfectly safe, perfectly notched against Jamie in this small bed.

Either way, it feels right, Dani’s warm breath spilling across her bare skin. It feels right, even in this dumpy little flat above the only pub in Bly, though Dani is surely too good for a place like this.

Maybe not for someone like me, though, Jamie thinks blearily, too pleased and too tired to pile upon that idea the weight of a lifetime not being good enough. Past doesn’t matter, not with Dani. It’s different, with Dani.

She drifts. Tomorrow, they’ll wake to sunlight streaming through thin curtains, and maybe Dani will be a little embarrassed about everything they’ve done--maybe she’ll want to talk about it, or want to pretend it never happened, and Jamie will figure out how to handle the pain of that then.

She falls asleep thinking this is possible--but somehow knowing it isn’t likely. Isn't Dani. It’s too early to know a thing like that, but all the same, Jamie is pretty certain there will be no mortified scramble for clothes, no pushing her aside as Dani runs for the door, no awkward small talk on the ride back to the house.

She does not anticipate, upon waking, Dani kissing her cheek. Kissing the corner of her lips. Kissing her neck and murmuring, “Morning...” with a question on the end of the word Jamie can’t help but laugh at before she’s even fully awake.

“First thing, huh?”

Dani smiles at her, the smile of a woman who selected this very date venue not out of any polite curiosity about a small village pub, but because this particular bed existed above it. “Takes practice, you said.”

Jamie inhales sharply as a hand cups very lightly against the front of jeans that feel entirely irrelevant. “I did. Yeah. I definitely did.”

#the haunting of bly manor #the haunting of bly manor spoilers #fanfiction #dani x jamie #jame x dani #all right all right something happy for once #for all the many anons who've been asking for the pub date #knew I'd get around to it eventually

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matthewtkachuk · 4 years

Text

feel something pt 5 - jj maybank

On the outside, you’re a kook princess with a seemingly perfect life and a perfect family. The expectations are suffocating you, to the point where the only thing you feel is numb. You’re chasing different coping mechanisms in order to feel something. Until a chance encounter with a certain blond pogue you know you’re supposed to hate gives rise to a different kind of feeling.

Warnings: angst, toxic behaviour, poor coping mechanisms, drug usage, mentions of sex, mentions of suicidal ideations (brief), Rafe being a grade a asshole, shitty parents, abuse

Pairings: JJ x reader (eventually), Rafe x reader (slight)

Words: 3.9k

A/N: I have finally delivered more than three lines of JJ content, yall are welcome. Also a little baby bit of angst, but that’s the name of my fic game. I just love Chick sm, protect my small bean 2k20.

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(gif NOT mine - if its urs pls let me know so i can credit!!! found on the google)

You don’t know how Chick knows, but she does.

That night, she crawls into bed with you, desperately seeking your comfort as her worldview crumbles around her. You can relate, you were about her age the first time you realized that most kid’s parents don’t scream at them like they’re the scum of the earth. The major difference being you were the oldest and you didn’t have anyone to comfort you. With that thought in mind, you make a promise to yourself that you will never let Chick feel a quarter of the shit you went through.

You let her curl into you, arms clutching you tightly, head tucked into your shoulder. One hand of yours smooths her hair, the other holding her just as closely. “Sister day tomorrow?” you ask her quietly. Her only response is a slight nodding of her head against your neck, so you ask, “what do you want to do? The whole day is your choice.”

“Surfing and gumbo.” She mumbles and you can’t help but smile. If your baby sister is one thing, it’s predictable.

“Sure thing bub. Bright and early tomorrow,” you warn her, left hand fumbling to grab your phone from under your pillow before setting an alarm for six am.

She’s out like a light, no response to you. You close your eyes tightly, heart breaking for your little sister. You have trouble sleeping that night, every shifting movement and slight sigh that escaped Chick had you on high alert. Add on to that the guilt of the prior night, the warmth you felt when you thought of having Sarah back and the confusion of what was going on between you and JJ… you didn’t sleep for longer than half an hour at a time.

Six am came early that next morning, predictably right when you thought you might finally be falling asleep. Despite your exhaustion, you were looking forward to spending some quality time with your baby sister. You changed quickly in the dark, letting Chick sleep in an extra ten minutes as you flicked through your bathing suits looking for a bikini top that was a little more secure to withstand some choice waves if you caught any.

“Rise and shine, Chick!” You cheerfully shouted, flicking on the light. She groaned and raised the comforter over head, but you laughed and tore it right off the bed. “C’mon you’re the one who wanted to go surfing and you know the morning is the best.”

She grumbled a bit, but quickly darted to her bedroom to change. You met her in the hallway, smiling to yourself when you spotted her wearing the pink and blue rashguard you had gotten her for her birthday. “Alright, let’s go!” you cheered and raced her down the steps, quickly grabbing your keys from the little bowl that sat on the console table in the entranceway.

“And where are the two of you going?” Your mother sat on the front porch swing, sipping on a large cup of what you assumed to be coffee, raising a single eyebrow at your bikini and jean short combo.

“Sister day,” Chick replied before you could, “Surfing and gumbo.”

Your mothers harsh gaze softened upon gazing at her youngest daughter, smiling before waving the both of you off, telling you to have fun. You grinned at Chick and hopped into your jeep, handing her your phone to queue up a spotify playlist. The two of you goofed off and giggled the whole way to the beach, almost as if the events of the past week hadn’t happened at all.

Upon arriving at the beach, you hopped out of the driver seat and quickly took down your boards from the roof rack, handing Chick hers before setting off onto the beach. You had chosen to drive into pogue territory both for the convenience of hitting up the Wreck after and to avoid a certain kook who had made a certain confession. Plus, it was nice to be judged based on your surfing ability (or lack thereof) rather than how expensive your surfboard was.

Entering the water always felt like coming home. From the first toe dip until you were waist-deep in the ocean, it was like your entire body came alive. There was no feeling like it, when you were a kid your dad had joked that you were a mermaid. You used to spend all day in the water, coming out all pruny and honestly slightly dehydrated, but so, so happy. You and Chick paddled side by side into deeper water, and you sat up on your board to let Chick take the first crack at it. You can’t help but giggle when she wipes out approximately five seconds after popping up. She sputters and throws you an offended glance as she resurfaces.

“Let’s see you do better then,” she yelled at you with as much sass as she could muster so early in the morning.

You grinned at her, eyes watching the rolling water waiting for an appropriate wave. Finally spotting one, you started paddling to try and catch the wave before it breaks. Hopping up on your board by pushing your body up and tucking your feet under you, you stood on your board knees bent and arms relaxed, with your torso leaned forward to help balance. You couldn’t help showing off for Chick; angling your board across the wave, you leant into the turn before shifting your body weight to your front foot, letting your board slide down the face of the wave in a tail slide. You heard Chick whoop, cheering you on, causing your grin to widen.

Returning to her, you both floated on your board side by side for a few minutes, watching the waves crest and break. “Alright little Chick, your turn again, unless you want to ride the white water, I won’t judge.” She gave you a look and you just grinned at her again.

She started paddling towards a smaller wave than the one you rode, and you couldn’t help but cheer when she managed to stand on her board and ride the wave straight in. You hooted and hollered with no care in the world, celebrating your baby sister not eating shit. She was laughing on the shore line as you paddled back towards the shore to meet her.

“Not bad tail spin, y/l/n” you looked up to see JJ Maybank staring at you.

“Oh! Uhm, thank you,” you mumbled, suddenly self-conscious as his gaze traced your body.

“That was a pretty bad wipeout earlier, pretty brave of you to ride that wave after that Little y/l/n” he complimented Chick. At least, you think it was a compliment, it was a little back-handed after all.

Chick being Chick just grinned and said thanks.

“Are you goofy foot naturally, or do you just do it because y/n does?” he asked her seriously.

She looked at him in confusion, “Goofy foot?”

“He means which foot you put forward. I lead with my left,” you explained. A look that was suspiciously close to shock briefly flashed on his face, before he recovered and grinned.

“I don’t know, I guess I just copied y/n,” she admitted, face reddening a little.

“Don’t be embarrassed, Little y/l/n, but why don’t you try putting your right foot forward instead and see if that’s more of a natural stance for you.” He advised her. She looked to you, and you just smiled and shrugged at her.

“Alright, watch this you guys!” She shouted and headed back into the water.

You sat down on your towel, watching Chick take JJ’s corrections seriously as she chased a few waves. “Thank you,” you said a little reluctantly to the blond sitting next to you, his eyes trained on your sister.

He broke his gaze to turn his head to you, “’Course, gotta unteach her your bad habits.” You gasped and shoved him playfully. “Just kidding, your technique is basically perfect.”

It was your turn to turn a little red. You weren’t used to compliments without any ulterior motives. “Thanks, but it’s not that good.”

“What are you talking about? You’re amazing out there.” He complimented you again, causing your cheeks to get redder.

“Oh, look at Chick she’s going for that wave,” You pointed out at your sister, hoping to deflect some attention to her.

“She’s a quick learner,” he commented. You smiled, more than a little proud of your sister.

“She gets that from me,” you bragged, and he laughed, throwing his head back. Your mind briefly wondered what it would be like to run your fingers through his wavy hair before you snapped out of it. “You know, I think this is the longest you’ve gone without calling me princess.”

“I could call you princess if you want, princess,” he smirked at you, but you shook your head quickly.

“Y/n is just fine,” you told him as Chick came running at the two of you.

“Did you see that?” She yelled, “that was awesome!” She stuck her board in the sand before launching herself at you. You laughed, catching her on your lap, listening patiently as she babbled on about how amazing that felt. JJ found himself watching you, thinking this was the most expression he had seen you show, with the exception of your high freak out which he tried not to think about in all honesty. Chick seemed to remember JJ was there, turning to him and thanking him profusely before inviting him to the Wreck with the two of you, “We’re going to get gumbo next, you should come with!”

You sputtered, sure that JJ had better things to do than hang out with you and your little sister, “Oh, I’m sure JJ has other pl-“ you started to tell her but he quickly cut you off.

“Nah, I’ve got no where to be, count me in.” He told Chick, smirking at you causing you to roll your eyes slightly.

“Alright alright,” you sighed before pushing Chick off of you, “dry off a bit first I don’t want you dripping all over my seats.”

JJ had no problem sliding into your backseat, sitting in the middle and leaning forward so that his upper body rested against the center console. You found his closeness a little distracting but you would never admit that, so instead you snapped at him and told him to “put on his seatbelt or you would slam on the breaks so hard he would go through the windshield”. He had grinned like he knew the real reason you wanted him to sit back, which only served to irritate you.

You couldn’t help but think what your parents would say if they knew a pogue was sitting in the back seat of the car they bought you. The more you thought about it, you realized you didn’t really care what they thought. JJ had been kind to Chick and you were just returning the favor. That’s it.

“So what is Chick short for?” JJ asks through a mouthful of french fries, several minutes later sitting across from you and your sister at the Wreck.

“Chicken nugget,” you answer gleefully, stealing a fry. You laugh at JJ’s wide eyes, practically seeing the thought bubble over his head as he considers the stupidity of kook names.

Chick laughs, throwing a fry at you, before responding to JJ, “No it’s not. It’s not short for anything, and it’s not actually my name”

“I came up with it,” you tell him proudly, “Our parents wanted me to be a part of the name decision and let’s just say I was a really creative four year old.”

JJ laughs loudly at that, tipping his chair back on the back two legs. You’re about to tell him off, when Kiara appears out of nowhere to shove his chair back into a regular position. She looks a little confused at seeing JJ hanging out with you and your sister, but she doesn’t look shocked. “I told you not to do that, JJ. It scuffs the floors,” she huffs impatiently at him, before turning to the other side of the table where you sat by chick.

Before she could say anything, you realized this was probably your best opportunity to try and mend the fence you had smashed through with Sarah. “Hey Kie, do you think we could talk?” You asked her timidly. For a second you were afraid she was going to tell you to fuck off, but her eyes flickered towards Chick and she must have thought swearing in front of a thirteen year old wasn’t a good look.

“What about Chick?” Was all she asked, causing you to pull your bottom lip between your teeth as you looked at JJ. The corner of his mouth upturned a little as he shrugged and said he could handle your sister for a few minutes. She threw a French fry at him for that and shooed you and Kie off.

Kie didn’t bother taking off her apron, leading you out to the back alley before turning to you sharply, “You wanted to talk? So talk.”

“I just wanted to say I’m sorry. For how I’ve acted this week and… how I acted before. I’m so sorry that I just followed Sarah instead of trying to stick up for you. It’s just she’s been my best friend since birth and I was scared to lose her, which is really stupid because I ended up losing her anyway-“

“It was really shitty of you,” Kie admitted, looking you in the eye, “I thought we were friends and you dropped me like I was last year’s Gucci or something.”

“I know, and you don’t know how badly I’ve regretted not sticking up for you. You were just like such a good person and such a good friend and I really did you wrong,” you think she’s starting to break a little, her eyes have softened and she’s almost got a smile on her face. “Seriously, Kie, I’m so so sorry –“

Kie cut off your rambling by throwing her arms around you, surprising you completely. “I really missed you.” She pulled back to look at you in the eyes, “but if you ever do me like that again I won’t be so forgiving next time.” You laugh and hug her back tightly, promising her you won’t hurt her again.

“About that stuff you said about your parents…” she awkwardly trails off, but you just shrug a shoulder at her as if to say ‘what are you gonna do’. “Just, I’m sorry and I hope you know you can always come to me if it gets bad like that again.”

“I will,” you promise, before linking arms with her and leading her back to the table where surprisingly JJ hasn’t done anything too stupid in Chick’s presence. The four of you split the French fries on the table, laughing the afternoon away and it all feels… so normal. The empty feeling in your chest is replaced with a feeling of warmth spreading through your bones.

You’re sitting around a fire with the pogues as a boneyard party rages on around you. Despite their initial misgivings about the Kook Princess, and your initial underlying resentment towards them for being good enough for Sarah when you weren’t, they’re nice to you. Welcoming, even. You wouldn’t call it friendship, despite hashing it out with Sarah and Kie, you’re not naïve enough to think a few conversations make you one of them. But the lack of the term princess being spoken aloud is a start.

As you tip your head back and empty the last few drops of your red solo cup, you see Sarah’s eyes flicker to you. She thinks she’s being subtle, but you’ve never known any Cameron, even one with pogue instincts, to be subtle. Sarah is more bull in the china shop than discrete. You know she hasn’t really been drinking tonight, nursing the same cup for over half an hour at this point. You feel a little bad that she’s not enjoying all that a boneyard party has to offer, but there’s another feeling in your chest that you can only describe as “the warm and fuzzies”. Knowing that Sarah is going to do anything she can to show you that she still cares about you is touching.

“I’m gonna go grab a refill, does anyone want?” You offer the group.

“Do you want anyone to go with you?” Sarah asks, she figures she can’t offer to go with you or you might notice her still full cup. You watch her not so subtly look in JJ’s direction, but he’s got his eyes cast out towards the sea, watching the waves crash onto the shore.

“I’ll be fine, Sarah. The keg is just right there,” you point with your now empty cup. “I’ll be right back.”

Carefully navigating the Boneyard is a little difficult in your current state of inebriation, but you reach the keg just fine without any major issues. The major issue shows up just when you’ve finished filling your cup from the keg and stop to take a long sip.

“Really, y/n? A pogue? A fucking pogue?” Rafe Cameron spits at you and glares, “You chose a dirty pogue over me?”

Rolling your eyes, you reply, “What the fuck are you talking about? I didn’t choose anyone?”

“Oh really? Because I saw you y/n. I saw you with him.” He accuses.

“What are you talking about?” You repeat, your annoyance growing with every word that leaves his mouth.

“JJ fucking Maybank. I saw you having lunch with him and Chick.” He all but growls. Oh. That’s what he’s fucking mad about?

“Are you fucking kidding me?” You laugh humourlessly, “I bought him fucking French fries because Chick invited him to lunch after he taught her a few tricks on his surf board. Not that it matters, what I do or don’t do and who I do it with doesn’t fucking concern you!”

He pauses thoughtfully, obviously enjoying the thought that it wasn’t a date, but he can’t stop thinking about the way you were looking at JJ. The way he thought you would look at him. “I thought we had something.” He admits quietly.

“Had something?” You ask incredulously, “What the fuck Rafe, all we had was you giving me fucking cocaine and fucking me a couple of times.” You think you see a flash of guilt, but regular Rafe is back in a second.

“Right, when you let me fuck you the day after you let Topper have you, like the little slut you are.” He answers darkly. Your mouth opens in indignation. Rafe is the fucking worst. His moods are giving you whiplash, yesterday he’s telling you that he cares about you and today he’s calling you a slut? So, yeah fucking your way around Figure Eight – not your proudest moment, but you were fucking spiraling. And you know Rafe isn’t innocent, more hookups than he can probably remember. Fucking hypocrite.

You’re on him in a second, perfectly manicured nail pressed right against his chest as you yell back, “Fuck off Rafe, you have no right to say anything to me, you don’t own me!” You almost can’t control your anger, you’re practically vibrating with it.

“He can’t give you shit, you know that right?” He raises a lone eyebrow at you, taunting you with his smirk.

“I don’t want anything from you or anyone else, got it? Leave me the fuck alone.” You spin on your heel, but he grabs your wrist as you turn to go, and you audibly gasp and wince. He lets go of you immediately, before gently cradling your wrist in his large hand. His face turns red as he takes in the hand sized bruise forming around it, and you can practically feel the anger rolling off him in waves. Rafe’s moods are giving you whiplash – angry to gentle and almost caring and back to angry again.

“Did he do this?” He asks you slowly, dangerously. You resist the urge to snap your wrist back, knowing it will only bring you more pain. You look up at him, confused, so he clarifies, “Did that fucking pogue put his hands on you?” You’re stunned, JJ would never put his hands on you, in anger or otherwise. He’s just being nice to you because he can relate to your struggles with your shitty parents.

“What? No Rafe, calm down JJ didn’t touch me.” You reply, but it’s like he doesn’t hear you.

“I’ll fucking kill him, I swear to God. He put his fucking hands on you?” He lets go of your wrist in order to pull the snapback off his head and run his other hand through his hair.

“JJ. Didn’t. Touch me.” You repeat, slowly and clearly as if you can push the words into his thick, dumb skull. He opens his mouth to retaliate, but you keep going. “The only one who has ever put his hands on me in anger is you Rafe.” You wave your hand over your shoulders that he gripped so tightly they had bruised days ago. His face falls, and he reaches a hand out to you, but you shake your head. “Leave me and my friends alone.”

Maybe friends wasn’t the right word to use, but it rolled off the tongue a lot easier than ‘Sarah, her boyfriend, and her boyfriend’s friends including your old best friend and the guy he’s jealous of for no reason’. No reason because there’s absolutely nothing going on between you and JJ (although maybe you want it to) and even if there was, it doesn’t have anything to do with Rafe.

You’re holding your wrist to your chest subconsciously as you return to the pogues. Pope notices first, his high level of intelligence also lends itself toward being very observant. He elbows JJ hard, the blond turning his head to give his friend a look that practically screams ‘knock it off’. Pope does it again, before gesturing to you with his eyes.

“What happened?” Sarah asked before anyone else could.

“Nothing, I just had a little run in with your brother,” you murmur, shaking off the pain in your wrist as if to prove that you’re fine.

“What?” JJ asked, quickly standing up but you pushed him back down into a sitting position, wincing at the dull ache that resulted in your wrist.

“I’m fine,” you rolled your eyes, not really sure where this dynamic had come from, “he’s just… persistent.” JJ grumbles something about kicking Rafe’s ass, but you’re pretty sure that’s the default setting for JJ’s thoughts on Rafe.

“He’s a dick,” Pope stated matter of factly. You tapped your red solo cup to his in a cheers motion.

“You won’t hear me disagreeing.”

The rest of the night, you sit there with the pogues mind mulling over a million thoughts at once. Occasionally they try to bring you into the conversation, but you just briefly answer before settling back into your thoughts. You can’t stop thinking about the words your father called you or the feel of his hand striking your face. You also can’t stop thinking about Rafe and his moods and his possessiveness. After his confession, things make a little more sense but you still feel like you’ve got whiplash. Lastly, you think about JJ and how quickly he hopped up off the log to go defend your honour or protect you or whatever. Looking out at the dark horizon, you’re just really, really confused.

You don’t realize that JJ is thinking about you too, watching the way the flame of the fire danced across your face, contemplating the feelings he feels growing towards you.

#jj obx #jj x you #jj x reader #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank #jj maybank x you #jj maybank x y/n #jj x y/n #jj maybank imagine #jj maybank fanfiction #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron imagine #jj maybank angst #jj maybank fluff #diverdcwn writes #feel something

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exosmutfactory · 4 years

Text

Apart (Part 2 to Fallen)

Part 1

word count: 3158 (how tf!?!?)

Baekhyun feels uneasy the second he’s back inside the house; the air seems to be ten times colder without the warmth of your smile and the soft laughter of your daughter filling the air.

His fingers mindlessly trace over the patches of fabric you lovingly stitched into his coat after all the times he carelessly snagged holes in it from yanking it off of the hanger. He knows it’s selfish. Not properly sending you on your way to mask his own hurt at seeing you and your daughter venturing off on your adventures without him. Your world-stopping smile, pregnancy glow, and the two sets of heart softening doe eyes looking up at him too much for his tired form to bear. Too much for him to deal with his guilt without falling apart in front of you.

He hates it — hates how hard it is to be around you lately. Always feeling as if he is stepping on eggshells in fear of stressing you out. Your soft smiles and sweeter words whispered to the precious symbol of your love growing inside of you brings tears to his eyes that he has to hide every time you gaze up at him from across the living room when he steps through the door. You mean the world to him and he’d do anything for you. No matter how many long hours he spends cooped up alone at the office, or sleepless nights from attending to your daughter when she cries for him in the middle of the night. He wouldn’t change a single part of your lives — except for last night.

His heart aches at the thought; fists clenched and bile rising in his throat. Remembering the deceitful men urging him to take more drinks, and the woman he practically had to shove off his lap.

♡♡

Baekhyun’s heart beat is pounding furiously in his ears, the only thing stopping him from going into a blind rage is the thought of you waiting up for him at home. With your pretty doe eyes and worry-melting smiles. Just your presence alone can calm him down.

He steps over the threshold without a word, hanging up his cream colored coat as he’s struck with the reminder that he is two hours late again. The underlying implications of that puts him in an even sour mood. He’s so stressed out lately that just the thought of anything more than a cup of coffee makes him feel sick to his stomach, and even more ill at the fact that you’re probably thinking he doesn’t enjoy your meals anymore. Meals that you usually store away for later, yet tonight you are—

“How was work?” Your voice is soft, always understanding in wake of his more often than not pleasant moods. His heart flutters as he quietly moves over to the coffee maker, mindful to carefully brush off his shoes before stepping onto the newly mopped floor. You turn away from him and he frowns, guilt budding in his chest as you distract yourself with the dishes. He knows how hard it is for you to have to take care of things around the house while having a bun in the oven.

“The merger bailed.” He mumbles, taking a few minutes to remember what you asked him.

“No.” You gasp, spinning to him, eyes wide and lips parted in shock. “Why? You’ve been working on this collab for months-”

“They wanted us to travel with them.” Anger once again fills his veins while recalling how disrespectfully those bastards spoke of you; a bitter smile forming on his lips. “Apparently a 7 months preganant wife doesn’t make the cut.” Fuckers. The lot of them.

“Y-You can go, I mean.” Your stuttering breaks him from his revengeful thoughts. Looking so small in his eyes with your hand over your adorable stomach and a plate of food balanced in your other hand. “I-I could let the baby spend the week at-”

What? “Where will they go?” Baekhyun panics. Why would you want your daughter to be away? Did he do something wrong? Are you—

The crashing of the plate to the floor startles him; hours of your hard work scattered like his barely contained emotions. “Where will they go?” He repeats softer, roughly carding his fingers through his ruffled hair. Did he startle you? He didn’t mean to. He’s just so—

Baekhyun raises a brow, swearing that he heard you say something in that cute way you like to utter things under your breath. His eyes widening at your state, hands outstretched to help you back up only to stop, a memory occurring to him. You screamed at him every time he attempted to help you pick up fallen food during the earlier months of your pregnancy. Proclaiming that you were ‘capable of doing it’ yourself while sternly pointing him towards the cupboard that you keep the cleaning supplies.

“I-I got work in the morning,” Baekhyun mumbles. The last thing he wants is to fight you. He doesn’t want to risk what regretful words he’d spew if he stays any longer; quickly going over to open the supply cupboard for you and setting the first-aid kit on the countertop just in case you accidentally prick yourself. He tentatively retrieves his coat from the rack, meekly uttering, “I’ll be at Chanyeol’s. Don’t wait up, okay?” While pulling the door closed behind him.

♡

Yeah, he’s still upset. Very upset. He’s been working on that stupid merger for 4 months. Hours upon hours spent worried over how he’s going to pay off student loans, provide for your growing family, and help your little stars through college. The weight of all the responsibilities weighing so heavily on his shoulders that he has resorted to shutting down and shoving his own feelings aside. He’s got a beautiful daughter, a beloved wife and another little one on the way. All of them are depending on him and he cannot under any circumstances afford to disappoint them. For what is the sun without it’s pretty planets circling around, leaning on it for stability and warmth? Nothing. But a big ball of pent up energy marching on its own journey to collapsing upon itself.

Suddenly, the sky is covered with dark clouds; the bottom dropping out from under the fluffy accumulations of rain. It’s pouring out; the heavy droplets pelting down on the roof remind him of all the times he went out his way to go pick you up in the middle of storms such as this one. Because it’s not safe for you to be driving out in the rain — driving out in the rain.

Baekhyun’s eyes widen, ripping a new hole in his coat as he rushes to put it back on, throwing the front door open with half the mind to lock it behind him because you always chastise him over leaving the house vulnerable — but right now you’re fucking vulnerable!

“Fuck fuck fuck,” He mutters, yanking the door to his black Audi open just as the squealing of car tires in the distance reaches his ears.

Baekhyun freezes, grip tight on the doorframe and hair matted to his forehead. Because just up the road is a car accident with what he swears is your car and it doesn’t look pretty.

“Oh my god.” A neighbor gasps, her leashed puppy cradled in her frozen grasp.

Baekhyun doesn’t stop to think; he fucking runs.

An ambulance is already weaving through the crowd as idiomatic bystanders block their way to the flipped over white Honda surrounded by broken glass on the sidewalk. The shrill screams of a frightened child — his child! — has him pushing his way through the crowd. Scrambling to the driver’s side of the car.

He wrenches the dented back car door open, tentatively brushing glass away from her tear streaked cheeks. Thanking every higher being that she only has small scratches on her little face. He scoops her out of the ruined carseat and cradles her to his chest, trying to soothe her as paramedics rush over to pull you from the car. Fuck. You —

Baekhyun’s head snaps up, wordlessly hurrying over to them on quick feet while they pull your unconscious form from under layers of broken metal and glass. A glance alone shows that you weren’t so lucky to leave the accident with only a few scratches on your face. No, there’s large pieces of glass distorting your delicate skin and a waterfall of red washing away in the rain.

Baekhyun barely hears a word that the person next to him is saying, only catching the phrases “child” and “hospital” before snapping out of his trace. “W-Wait!” He walks as fast as he can with your shaking daughter in his arms, “I’m the husband, I—” He chokes, eyes stinging with the realization of what is unfolding in front of him. Your limp body being lifted into the back of the ambulance. “I’m her husband.”

The paramedics usher him inside, offering a seat and asking to check up on the trembling toddler in his arms.

“How far along is she?” One of them asks, pulling a stethoscope from around her neck.

“7 m-months.” His voice comes out hoarse, a lump forming in his throat as he watches her slide it over your stomach. The lack of reaction from the little life inside of you makes more tears pool in the corners of his eyes. “I-Is the baby okay?”

She only gives him a solemn look, uttering some type of medical code to one of the other paramedics jotting down notes on a clipboard. “We’re almost at the hospital. Can I take a look at her?”

Baekhyun blinks through his blurry vision, reluctantly handing the small girl in his arms over to her. He shivers, just now feeling the coldness of his soaked clothes; swiping his drenched hair out of his eyes while graciously taking the thick blanket offered to him.

You couldn’t arrive at the hospital fast enough for him. He doesn’t know how much longer his heart can take seeing you like this — like a shattered irreplaceable vase missing the pieces to put it back together. Lifeless. Never to be the same again.

He barely registers the commotion as the paramedics roll you out of the ambulance and through the lobby, only stopping when a nurse holds him back from following you down the hall. “I’m sorry, Sir. You can’t go back there.”

“I—”

She swiftly shakes her head, standing her ground as he feels as if his whole world — his whole life is being flipped upside down. Less than an hour ago, your glowing figure was smiling up at him. Less than an hour ago, he thought that nothing else could get worse than the stress he faces every day. Yet here he is now, helplessly watching you and your daughter get taken further into the hospital — farther away from him. The man who vowed to be with you; in sickness and in health. In times of hardships and your greatest accomplishments. The same man who swore that no matter what came your way, you would face everything together—

Together…

Baekhyun plops himself down in an uncomfortable plastic chair; his head hanging low. How could he have forgotten such a thing? All the promises of sticking by your side through everything and anything. Of trust, leaning on each other — communication! When’s the last time he told you about his tiring days at work just to end up smiling by the end of the night while held in your loving arms? Or heard you complain about your feet hurting only for you to giggle soon afterward when he accidentally tickles you with his diligent massage? Or dared to reach across the body-shaped pillow that has taken up space in your bed to pull you to his chest. Did he really let himself get carried away by his own self doubts and fears?

Baekhyun’s breath hitches, his heart stopping in its tracks. Did he seriously hide himself away thinking the pain of being unable to reach him wouldn’t hurt you? Wouldn’t make you… You want to leave him?

He doesn’t know how long he sits there. Surrounded by the endless amounts of people being rolled in the never-ending stream of patients in the hosiptal. It seems as if everyone has gotten into bad accidents today, but no amount of blood and body disfigurement can erase the horrific image of your helpless child — of your lifeless form being carried out of that battered car.

“Mr. Byun?”

Baekhyun’s head shoots up to the light blue and white dressed man in front of him. “T-That’s me,” He croaks, throat hurting from holding back tears while hurrying to stand up.

“I’m Dr. Kim,” The man holds out his hand, introducing himself — uselessly, Baekhyun thinks.

“H-How are they?” He manages between shaky breaths, five seconds away from crumbling into a heap on the porcelain white floor.

“Your daughter and son are okay.” The doctor states calmly, flipping through papers on his clipboard.

Baekhyun breathes a small sigh of relief, heart calming down a little. “And my wife?” His tone hopeful; eyes pleading. The uncertain expression on the doctor’s face enough to knock the wind out of him, “Follow me.”

He trails after the man; right on his heels, gulping down the panic steadily rising in his chest as they turn the corner at the end of the long hallway. The doctor opens the door, wordlessly stepping aside to let him enter the crowded room. At least three nurses are stationed in the room. One fussing over a small bundle in their arms and another with his daughter outstretching her arms towards the bed on the right side of the room. The sight of you nearly sends him falling to his knees.

“Your son is 5 pounds,” The brunette softly says over the loud cries of your daughter. “He has to spend a few days in the NICU until we—”

“Give her here.” He demands, arms held out to take his daughter away from the blonde nurse struggling to hold her squirming form. She’s quick to hand the child over, watching enviously as the little girl settles in her father’s arms, loud wails simmering down into quiet whimpers.

Baekhyun slowly makes his way over to the bed, carefully lowering her down between the spaces free from all the tubes attached to your pale form. She wraps her arms around your bandaged arm, doe eyes still brimming with tears. He hates the panicked confusion swirling in her shiny orbs. Hates how lifeless you look against the standardized hospital sheets and the gauze wrapped around your head.

“She lost a lot of blood.” The doctor tentatively notes, dismissing the nurses from the room. The brunette sets the baby down in the bassinet next to the bed before departing as well. “And hit her head pretty hard on the dashboard… The baby had to be taken by C-section,” He adds, noticing Baekhyun’s eyes drifting over to the little one squirming in the bassinet. “We want to keep an eye on his vitals for a few days.”

“And my daughter?” Baekhyun mumbles, he can’t bear to raise his voice. Can’t bear the slow beeps of your heart rate echoing around the quiet room.

“Nothing but a few scratches.” He sees the doctor raise his hand from his peripheral as if to place it on his shoulder before reconsidering it, lowering it back down with a clear of his throat. “I’ll give you some time alone.”

Baekhyun barely acknowledges his words, shaky hands reaching out to cradle your ice cold one in his own. Unmerciful tears swarming his eyes. He doesn’t hold them back this time.

“I’m sorry.” He barely registers the pain of his knees hitting the tiled floor, head bowed as he folds in on himself, weeping so hard his shoulders quake from the built up emotions rolling through him by waves. Much more choppy than the ones that lapped at your bare feet dipped into the ocean all those years ago. At the edge of the world. Where nothing else mattered but your bright smile and your heart racing against his own.

“I-I’m sorr—” He chokes, hot tears flowing down his cold cheeks. Why did he pull away from you? Why did he have to go and hurt the sole person he would lay his own life down for? What if you never wake up? How will he explain to his daughter that her mother won’t be around anymore? That your son won’t know you at all anymore? You who were strong enough to stick by his side, filled to the brim with endless bounds of unconditional love despite how he treated you instead of the actions promised within your shared vows until you couldn’t — he made it so hard that you couldn’t anymore.

“I don’t deserve you.” He sniffles, voice cracking through his trembling lips. Hands clutching tightly onto your own. “I don’t deserve you at all, but please.” He can barely talk around the waterfall of tears pelting down his face, the sting of them worse than any downpour imaginable. “Please don’t leave me alone like this, baby. D-don’t.” He reaches up to cradle your cheek in his palm; the sound of his heart breaking nearly audible in wake of the healthy glow now gone from your face. “Open your eyes,” He breathes, fingers caressing your cheek. “Open your pretty eyes, baby. Tell me your love again,” He pleads, tears wetting the sheets and the fabric of your hospital gown. “Come back to me again.”

He drops his head again when you give no signs of hearing him; his hand slipping down helplessly back to your own grasping aimlessly at his — your hand!

Baekhyun nearly gets whiplash, eyes shooting up to meet your tired ones. The relief of seeing you looking back at him has him jumping to his feet, almost tangling himself up in the tubes attached to your body if not for your quiet warning reminding him. He settles for continuing to hold onto your hand, squeezing it softly as it slowly warms up the longer it is held within his, “You came back.” He whispers, astonishment clear in his hoarse voice.

“You came after me.” You utter right back, lifting your arm to let your daughter snuggle closer into your unbandaged side.

“Of course I did,” Baekhyun’s eyes flutter all over your person, heart leaping in so much joy he wonders if you can feel it racing between your intertwined hands. “I’d die for you.” He declares, words resonating through both your chests like the meaningful ones exchanged five long years ago.

“And I’d live for you.” You proclaim right back; smile bright and eyes lighting up at the small cries of your symbol of undying love.

#Baekhyun angst #I mispelled hospital THREE TIMES glad I read over it #bbh-net #let me go take a longggg break woo #Fallen

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burnyouwithacigarettelighter · 3 years

Text

all my fears they have become

“Where do you expect a military base to be?”

“DC? Like the Pentagon?”

The Anderson family make their way to the Military secured base in Nashville, but are denied entry.

(cross-posted on ao3!)

here is this series’s masterlist!

𖥔

When Ron was several years old, he pushed another boy on the playground to the floor.

They had been arguing about the slide, shoulders and hands jutting and grabbing at each other in an attempt to slow the other down.

Ron looked at the boy, smaller than him, and perhaps even younger, and shoved the boy off the bars that lead to the structure and the slide.

He had fallen onto the wooden chips with a harmless thud, but his eyes still widened and watered, limbs that had been pettily swinging now crumpling into himself.

Ron remembers watching that boy drop into himself emptily, mother running over to him and fussing over the boy worriedly. He looked so weak.

(And Ron remembers just as clearly not feeling a drop of sympathy for him.)

His mother had taken him aside, patting the spot beside her in the bench as a gesture to sit down.

“Why’d you do that, Ron?” She said simply, eyes gazing over the small park. Her hands sat in her lap, even though Ron felt like she should have been holding his own.

“Because I wanted to go on the slide first.” He replied, looking at her. There were patches of dusty foundation appearing in blotches on her skin, and the young boy absently wondered where the purple went.

After a moment of silence, she finally turned to him, brows furrowed with something he couldn’t quite make out at the time. “You can’t do that. You can’t push or hurt people just to get what you want.”

Ron blinked, “But why? It works.” Ron really couldn’t comprehend why his mother didn’t want him to do so, especially when it was something she never had a problem with when he did it.

“It’s not —“ Her eyes thinned, “you hurt him, Ron. You shouldn’t hurt other people.”

And Ron watched his mothers expression poke at him, face contorted into something that made him want to look at his shoes. It made him feel small. It made him feel weak.

“Okay, Mom.”

Ron didn’t want to make Sam feel that way. In fact, Ron wanted his brother to feel the exact opposite of that.

But he couldn’t leave it alone — how could you, when you can see clearly where those thoughts are going?

“What the hell do you mean we can’t allow you entry?!” Ron’s father shouted, finger digging sharply into the man’s chest.

The soldier in front of him, dressed in neat camouflage print uniform and flat military cap, looked at Ron’s father with a straight-face, while also addressing the large crowd forming behind the Anderson family, “The base has already reached maximum capacity, and in allowing you entry, we will be effectively sabotaging our efforts, as well as the lives of other citizens.”

“What about our lives? We’re fucking citizens, are we not?!” Someone behind them rasps out angrily.

Ron’s father looked to hold the same sentiment, hands bunched into fists at his sides. The family of four had pulled the car out of the side of the road after Ron’s father had done something underneath the hood of the car, before resuming their route down an extra (and significantly less crowded) road that not many used.

“We have children!” A mother in the crowd says desperately. The highway overhead makes a crashing noise, attention flitting to the sound momentarily. It’s filled with cars that honk angrily, and many split off down the nearest exit route.

(They had the right idea, Ron thinks later on, going down the city main road that leads straight out of Nashville.)

The soldier’s straight face split for a slight moment, one that held pity and a light apology, before slipping back into poker, “We have direct orders to escort remaining citizens to another camp outside of the city.”

The crowd’s rumbling quieted, all looking at each other with a sort of hopeful relief. A few people had actually seen the dead walking — not quite clearly, in Ron’s case, but mob paranoia was a wonderful thing that spread like absolute hellfire.

His father teetered on the edge, while his mother tried desperately to pull her husband back to peaceful sobriety. She looked not nearly as worried as Ron’s father, but perhaps she was just better at pretending.

“Ron? Where — are we going?” Sam stuttered out, hand nervously clutching Ron’s own like a lifeline, wideyedly surveying the grey building, as well as the others — which was starkly blacked out in comparison to the military building that held a small, though noticeable, brightened window.

“We’re, uh,” Ron racked his mind for a simple response. His brother was a stubborn person, and an easily frightened one, too. One wrong answer would send him off the deep end of rapid-fire questions, whilst the other would mute him into wincing obedience. “We’re going, er, somewhere.”

Ron bit his tongue. Wrong answer.

“Where’s somewhere?”

“I don’t know, maybe Tellico.” Ron responded with a shrug, deciding to try and humor (distract, perhaps) his younger brother. Their mother and father ushered the two of them along, worried they might break off.

Sam wrinkles his nose, “No way. Tellico is boring.”

“Where do you expect a military base to be?”

“DC? Like the Pentagon?”

Ron blew air from his lips halfheartedly, slowly boarding up the steps of the cramped bus with his brother and his parents in tow, “Sure.”

The military bus wasn’t discreet, holding camouflage splatters on every inch of the steel armoured frame, with an equally green and serious soldier driving in the front seat.

“D’you think Aunt Stacy is in a military base?” His brother said without much thought, eyes piercing into the side of Ron’s face.

“What?” Ron said, looking back at his brother with a tense expression.

Aunt Stacy was their mothers sister — sick with the illness, not so much as able to communicate with them, and couldn’t see their mother nor them in the urgency to cease all actions with the sick in a shaky attempt to stop the spread.

Sam repeated his question simply, fingers tapping lightly on the side of his seat.

“Why—“ Ron blinked incredulously, eyes doing a once over on his brother, “What do you mean?”

His brother gave a shrug, “She’s sick. She has the sick.”

Ron nodded slowly, “So?” Their aunt was safely (well, that was what the government had said on the news, with doctors and nurses who looked aged far beyond their years, worn and frail, nodding seedily) being taken care of in Nashville’s hospitals, after the Knoxville hospital hadn’t any room left.

“Do they still even bring the sick? Don’t they turn?”

They… did. Turn, that was.

But Ron was sure it could be handled, right? The officials said so, echoing it with a laugh.

The world was past illnesses like the flu that would’ve killed many centuries ago, so they could do this, right?

Right?

“I’m sure they can handle a flu, Sam.” Ron said, brows creased.

(He knows he’s trying to convince himself. He knows. But it keeps the fear on hold, for now.)

“Shouldn’t they just leave them?”

Boys Sam’s age didn’t have a filter, and were sometimes ignorant, but Ron was sure they could still be empathetic, whether or not what he said was the truth.

“I,” Ron’s lips couldn’t quite form the words he’d wanted, “Don’t think about that, Sam.”

His brother opened his mouth to respond, “Don’t.” Ron interrupted, sharper than he intended.

“Okay, Ron.”

𖥔

Ron couldn’t fall asleep.

His brother was out like a light against Ron’s forearm, breathing light and seamlessly in the seat, as well as many others, who’s breathing mirrored Sam’s in each row.

Ron’s father sat still as a statue, eyes closed tightly, and Ron thought his mother had been fast asleep on her husband’s shoulder, but her own open eyes reflected against street lamp lights in the furthering plains like the crystal marbles he used to collect.

It was completely calm in the bus, littered with families, and was slowly followed by another military bus holding more citizens, and perhaps more soldiers.

Despite the safety that was guaranteed, there was an uneasiness sitting in the pit of his stomach, twisting and turning without fail as to make him nauseous, settling in like it’d never go away.

His brother’s words echoed carelessly in the depths of his mind, while a whispering appeared, planting seeds of doubt where there shouldn’t be.

Aunt Stacy… she’ll be okay, right? They have a cure, don’t they? It’s just a flu… you know, you’re starting to sound like your father.

Ron felt his mouth go dry.

You saw the hospitals, Ron. How could they possibly fix all of it? The government’s keeping information mum — and you’re on a bus to a military camp outside of Nashville… is this how they fix it?

Is this how, Ron?

No. No, Ron thinks, shaking himself.

Sam is right, isn’t he? They just need to leave the sick… seal them away… that’s what you think now, too, right? Just leave Aunt Stacy… and the rest… just leave them.

That’s how they’d fix it, right? That’s how they should fix it, right, Ron?

Ron feels something pull the sleeve of his sweater, making his head turn.

“Are we there yet, Ron?”

The older boy swallows the dry feeling in his mouth, trying to respond, “We’re,” the bus fell to a stop.

The soldier driving in the front slapped the roof of the bus with a step, “We’re here.” Though his attention seemed to be targeted to his fellow soldiers, rather than them.

“Yeah. Sure.” Ron said, giving a weak grin to his younger brother, whose eyes peered outside of the windows carefully.

The Anderson family stepped out of the bus, watching the remaining passengers and soldiers file out of the vehicle. The sky had turned dark, now, and stars speckled it’s black backsplash like paint on canvas, littering its surroundings luminously.

One of the men clad in military print surveyed the back of the bus carefully, a rifle in hand that swung in his grip without much care. He pulled a few soldiers back with him, whispering things Ron couldn’t make out.

The clearing they’d parked in was just that, sitting near an undergrowth of trees, whilst it’s left side was remarkably dry bare, not much in sight. Sam shivered lightly, looking up at the sky like Ron had done so earlier, and the older boy shrugged off his coat and placed it on his brother, more than a little worried he’d catch something.

Sam had always been fragile, even as a baby, and the family would spend countless nights awake, watching him carefully — as well as many nights rushing to the hospital. He was premature, so Ron would learn to accept it as something that just happened.

His mother always liked to point out the differences between the boys, late at night when her eyes drooped with fatigue, and Ron tried to get her to sleep.

“Sam’s delicate. You know that — but, you, Ron,” She’d chuckle, “you’ve always been the opposite. Never needed much care, much attention.”

Ron would nod absently, looking for blankets hidden in the couch cushions, because if his mother didn’t want to sleep in bed beside her husband, well, so be it.

“You’re brother got it from your dad, definitely. A lot like me, you are, Ron.” She’d trail off.

(Ron didn’t know if that was a good or bad thing — and if it was even true at all. His mother was wrong about a lot of things, and later in the blond’s life, she’d echo anger towards him, “You’re exactly like your father. Exactly.” and Ron wouldn’t know what was real.

But Ron did know what he’d gotten from the man — his paranoia. Though the world Ron would grow up in called for exactly that, Ron knows that even if it hadn’t gone to shit, things around the corner of his home would ingrain paranoia into his bones.)

Before Ron could think, the soldiers appeared once more, and ushered the group back into the bus with little indignation for their questions.

The soldier who had driven sat back into his seat, pushing down on the accelerator pedal as soon as they had all boarded, looking behind him and into the side mirror every so often.

No one asks any more questions, simply content with what they’ve been given, and the guarantee of safety just in their reach, but Ron’s mind drifts elsewhere.

He’d heard the soldiers talk about the ‘rendezvous point’ that they’d stop at to account for the citizens and men — and had just as equally heard when the driver of their bus said, “And if one of us doesn’t arrive, we know what that means. We go, and we don’t look for the other.” as the rest of the soldiers nodded solemnly.

Ron closes his eyes, wishing for sleep, and tries to convince himself that the bus is just lagging along, and will soon catch up with them.

(He waves away the thoughts that it could’ve been us, could’ve been us and the worser thoughts, like thank god it isn’t.)

#twd #ron anderson #austin abrams #the walking dead #walking dead #hurt #angst #sam anderson #jessie anderson #pete anderson

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kinglazrus · 4 years

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The Haunting of Danny Fenton

Phic phight 2020

Submitted by @ave-aria: Valerie Gray is Danny Fenton's Bodyguard AU (*can be Modern AU, Medieval AU, Corporate AU, Full Ghost AU, whatever)

Summary: Valerie knows Danny Fenton, everybody does. Youngest of the family, son and heir, future owner of Fenton Works. Notable for all those reasons and infamous for none of them. Where Maddie and Jack are the local quirks, Danny is the tragedy. And, for the next week, he's the Red Huntress' newest client.

Chapter One: Local Tragedies

Word count: 1988 | [ffn] [ao3] | [next]

Valerie doesn't know what to expect of the Fentons. She knows about them, everyone does, but she's never met them. At least not face to face. The Fentons aren't just citizens of Amity Park, they're a feature of it, like the statue of the city's founder on Main Street, or the novelty billboard that welcomes people into town. Amity Park wouldn’t be the same without them.

They send her a town car. At this point in her career—which admittedly isn't that far—it's standard practice, at least when dealing with richer clients. The aggressively middle class can't afford the car. The lower class can't afford her, which is why she does those jobs for free. No point robbing good people of their money when the Amity elite already pay her extravagantly.

The Fentons aren't exactly the extravagant type, but they're nothing to scoff at, either. On the outside, the car looks fairly normal. Sleek, black, freshly polished and so clean she could probably eat off the hood. It pulls up to her office building, stopping right outside the front doors, snug to the curb.

Valerie doesn't wait for the driver to get out before opening the back door herself. She thinks it's such a ridiculous practice. Are rich people so needy they can't open a door for themselves? With a shake of her head, she picks up her suitcase and slides into the car. She freezes.

Inside, it's nothing like any town car she's been in before. It has the standard four seats, two against the back, two against the front, turned to face each other, but otherwise, it lacks all expected luxuries. Instead of plush leather, the seats are basic vinyl with neoprene covers on top. The carpet is stripped away, replaced with metal panels. Computer screens bearing the Fenton Works logo cover the windows on the left side of the car. The small drink stations Valerie has grown used to over the past couple years are gone. In their place stands a compact computer console on one side of the car and a fully stocked weapons' rack on the other.

Valerie stares at it all, mouth gaping shamelessly, wondering what all of this says about the Fentons themselves. Are they showy? Practical? The number of guns—she counts six—seems unnecessary. But, thinking of her own arsenal compacted into thick bracers on her wrists and cuffs on her ankles, she knows there's no such thing as too many guns when it comes to ghost hunting.

The partition separating the driver from the passengers goes down. The driver turns to face her, and Valerie's mouth falls open even wider. There's no mistaking that red beanie, those bulky half-moon glasses, the impossibly turquoise eyes.

"Tucker Foley?" Valerie exclaims.

"The one and only!" Tucker grins. Turning all the way around, he leans over the partition, elbows braced on the seats facing Valerie. "Haven't seen you since graduation. Feels like yesterday."

"It was two years ago."

Tucker sighs wistfully. "Yesterday."

"You work for the Fentons now? As their driver?" Valerie asks. She always thought Tucker would go big into technology development, coding, something like that. Or become a wanted cybercriminal.

"Me? A driver? And waste all these good looks? Please." Tucker scoffs and waves a hand dismissively. "I run the computer division at Fenton Works. When I heard Mr. and Mrs. F were hiring you, I just had to come get you myself."

"You're twenty," Valerie says.

"Hey, cool, you still know how to count. That's a great skill."

"You're twenty, and you're running a whole division at Fenton Works?"

"You're twenty and you have your own security company," he points out.

"One person company.

"One person division." Tucker grins. "It's really just me and my computer. Cyber security against ghosts isn't a big field yet."

Valerie eyes Tucker, unsure how to respond. Whatever she expected, Tucker wasn't it. Now, she feels off-balance, like she's missing something important, and she hates that feeling. It shouldn't matter that much. Amity Park isn't a huge city; the chances of her running into a former classmate are rather high. But Tucker was prepared for Valerie, and she wasn't prepared for him. Childishly, she feels like she's at a disadvantage. Which is ridiculous because she's here to fight ghosts, not Tucker. But his sudden appearance has disarmed her so completely that, if a ghost were to attack right then, she would be too stunned to react.

"You should see the look on your face," Tucker says.

Valerie purses her lips and scowls, wiping away whatever amusing expression has Tucker giggling under his breath. "You should drive."

Tucker's laugh balloons into gleeful cackles as he turns back around. "Whatever you want, Ms. Grey!"

Valerie, fuming, slams her thumb on the partition button, rolling it back up. To her annoyance, she can still hear Tucker's infuriating laugh through the glass.

—

When Valerie says the Fentons are a feature of Amity Park, she really means their laboratory, Fenton Works. Don't get her wrong, Maddie and Jack Fenton are a sight all on their own. On any given day, they can be seen tearing down the street in their bulky weaponized RV, guns blazing, wearing their brightly coloured jumpsuits. Seeing them for the first time is quite the experience. You can easily spot nearby tourists by checking people's reactions to the Fentons.

But Fenton Works. Fenton Works is a monolith dedicated to every crackpot idea the Fentons have ever had. When Valerie was in high school, Fenton Works was a single townhouse standing proudly at the corner of Lady and Red, bearing an obnoxiously neon sign. Above it loomed a massive saucer-shaped structure covered in more satellites than the local news station. Back then, Valerie thought the townhouse was a leering giant. Nowadays, it's dwarfed by the massive warehouse that takes up the rest of the block.

"Damn," Valerie whispers, peering out the righthand window as they turns onto Lady Avenue.

Tucker lowers the partition. "Pretty cool, right?"

Valerie eyes the mural of ghosts decorating the side of the building. "It's something."

Rather than stopping in front of the townhouse, Tucker turns onto Red Crescent and loops around to the back of the facility. Along the avenue, the warehouse is built almost right up to the sidewalk. On this side, however, there's a wide parking lot and, oddly enough, a lush garden surrounding a pond.

"I'm not the only one who thinks that looks weird, right?" She points to the pond.

Tucker cranes his neck, following her finger, and chuckles. "Jazz asked her parents to put that in so that employees have somewhere 'calming' to go. There's a greenhouse up on the roof, too,"

Pressing her cheek to the window, Valerie tries to spot the aforementioned greenhouse, but they're too close to the building now for her to see it.

Tucker pulls into a reserved parking spot just across from the homely picket fence that surrounds the townhouse's backyard. Valerie officially has no idea what to think about the Fentons.

"Come on," Tucker says, throwing open his door. "Everyone's waiting for you."

Valerie grabs her suitcase and climbs out of the car, nudging the door shut behind her. "Everyone?" She looks over the car at Tucker.

He twirls the keychain around his finger. "You'll see."

Valerie expects him to head for the townhouse but, to her surprise, he pivots right and starts walking to the warehouse doors.

"Come on," he calls over his shoulder.

Valerie jogs after him, easily hoisting her suitcase in one hand, and ponders on what the inside the facility looks like. Crates of weapons stacked one on top of the other. An arsenal of ghost hunting vehicles, everything from their patented RV design to their one of a kind all-terrain bus. All-terrain meaning it flies in the human realm and the Ghost Zone. The ground can't stop you if you never touch it. She pictures an honest to god warehouse and prepares herself for exactly that sight when they reach the front doors.

The moment they go inside, however, Valerie promptly decides to never assume anything about the Fentons and how they operate ever again.

"Something wrong?" Tucker asks when he sees Valerie stuck in the doorway.

"No," she says honestly. "It's fine." She steps into the foyer, complete with a receptionist's desk, comfortable armchairs for waiting, and a few potted plants. Looking behind her, she sees floor to ceiling windows looking out onto the pond. Valerie could have sworn the walls were solid from the outside.

"Hey, Octavia." Tucker waves to the receptionist. Pulling a lanyard out of his pocket, he shows her an employee ID card. "I've got the nine o'clock."

"It's four in the afternoon," Octavia, a modest middle-aged woman, says without looking up from her computer.

"Time is relative. Val." Valerie stops gawking at the room and looks to Tucker. "You can leave your suitcase here, unless you need anything from it. Octavia can take it to the guest room."

"I can, but I won't," Octavia says. "They're in the Boom Room."

"Love you too, babe." Tucker clicks his tongue, shooting Octavia double finger-guns, and ducks through a doorway at the back of the room.

Valerie stands awkwardly in the middle of the foyer.

Octavia finally raises her head, giving Valerie a critical look. After a moment, she sighs and holds out her hand. "I'll take your bag. Trust me, Tucker'll be halfway across the building if you don't follow him now. That kid never looks back."

"Thank you." Valerie rushes over, passing her bag across the desk, and follows Tucker. On the other side of the door is a long plain hallway. She looks right, then left, but there's no sign of Tucker. She debates her chances of choosing a random direction and finding him by pure luck. Before she can decide, a long ding rings out. The noise draws her attention to a set of elevators down the hall on her left.

The doors open. Tucker pokes his head out. "Hurry up, slowpoke.

Valerie wonders if punching Tucker in the face will affect her paycheque. Just once. Just a small jab. She won't even break his nose. In the end, she decides not to risk it, settling on a fierce glare as she reaches the elevator.

"This is a big place, you don't want to get lost," Tucker says.

"Then don't leave me behind."

"Not my fault you're slow." Tucker hits the button for the third floor—third out of five.

What on Earth the Fentons need all this space for, Valerie has no idea. She tries to picture it, then remembers how her expectations keep getting smashed to pieces and thinks better of it. There will be lots of time to find out.

"Why Fenton Works?" Valerie asks, filling the silence.

Tucker rocks back on his heels and hums. "Ghost stuff is kind of cool. I get to pioneer a whole new area of cyber security that no one even realizes we need, and I'm not even done college yet. Working here helps me pay for my online classes, too, so I don't even have to leave Amity."

"Why? Sounds like you'd still have a job waiting for you when you graduate." She can't imagine Tucker spilling his cyber secrets to someone else before he can cultivate the field himself. Surely, then, the Fentons would need him on board, no matter how long he puts off working for them.

"Yeah," Tucker nods, "I would. But I'm staying for Danny."

The elevator chimes when they reach the third floor, the doors sliding open. Tucker glides through them without looking back, but Valerie hesitates once again. Danny—Daniel Fenton. She knows Daniel Fenton. Youngest of the lot, son and heir, future CEO of Fenton Works. Notable for all those reasons and infamous for none of them. Where Maddie and Jack are the local quirks, Danny is the tragedy.

#thdf #phic phight #phic phight 2020 #danny phantom #phanfic #phic #danny phantom fanfiction #valerie gray #bodyguard au #tumblroneshots #except it's not a oneshot

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rawritzrobin · 4 years

Text

Angel Amongst Bats Chapter 8

Title: Angel Amongst Bats

Pairing: Jason Todd x Stella Covington (My OC)

Warnings: Cursing, past major character death, a little bit angsty, fluff.

Summary: Stella slowly gets used to living in this universe. Maybe things here aren't that bad.

A/N: Wanna be on my tag list? DM me and let me know (:

Prologue Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7

Chapter 8: Passing Time

Stella spends the next few days wandering around the manor, looking for ways to entertain herself.

The morning after she “ran away” Alfred handed her a cellphone (with everyones number already inside), a credit card (for emergencies), and a laptop (to help her pass the time).

Stella would spend most of her time with Tim. He worked from home mostly, occasionally going in for meetings or press conferences. They had gotten really close. She was never really close to Tim back in her world. She had Dick or Barbara to talk to when things came up. But the Tim here was, different.

He actually confessed that he would rather be working behind the senes than on the field. He didn’t miss being Robin. He loved being behind the Bat computer. He was able to solve crimes behind the screen. He no longer needed to be on the field. No longer needed to talk to victims, or criminals. He just had his data and everything he needed to solve crimes was right in front of him. He loved it.

Stella would spend her nights sitting next to him at the Bat computer. Watching the family on patrol at night. She loved seeing Barbara on patrol again. The sound of her laughter as she moved from roof top to roof top never got old. And knowing Tim was actually okay with being in command at home base made her feel less guilty about what Jason did to him.

It was a Thursday at 11am in the morning. Everyone was either at work, or at school. Stella was in the kitchen nursing a cup of tea and eating a cookie, while Alfred was busy cleaning up. She was on her phone, reading articles about this universes Gotham.

“Miss Stella. Would you like to join me on my trip into town today?” Alfred asks, once he is done cleaning.

Stella beams. “Of course Alfred! I would love to go.”

Alfred smiles at her, “I believe you shall be needing some new clothes. I’m afraid we just don’t have that many women’s clothing lying around.” Stella looked down at her wardrobe. She was currently just wearing an oversized T, and a pair of black tights. She had been wearing some of the boys smaller clothes and some clothes Barbara brought over. It wasn’t like she had anywhere to go, she she just wore the same few things every day.

“Meet me in the front in about 5 minutes. I’ll pull up the car.” Alfred says before he walks off towards his bedroom.

Stella makes her way towards the front door, puts on her shoes, and by the time she was done, Alfred was already there.

——————

Gotham city was always hit or miss. You could be driving down a street filled with beautiful high end fashion stores full of life, and the next street down would be covered in litter surrounded by abandoned warehouses.

Stella and Alfred were in the nicer part of Gotham. He needed to pick up a few things for Bruce as it turns out he was hosting another one of his fancy Gala’s in a few weeks. They were currently in the men’s section of a large department store waiting for a clerk to bring out the suit Alfred had put on hold.

Stella hated Gala’s, just as much as she hated the annual Gotham Ball. Her dad would always make her go. She would be often surrounded by a bunch of rich dudes trying to get into her pants. She would much rather be home alone curled up on her sofa with a good book.

It wasn’t until she met Jason, that she actually started enjoying those social affairs. They would always show up late and leave early. As long as they showed up and took some pictures for the press, Bruce and her dad never cared. Stella and Jason would sneak away and spend the rest of the night in their fancy attire up on the roof of Wayne corp, dancing to the sounds music on Jason’s phone. Then they would hit up the 24 hour diner down the street and share a milkshake.

Stella looked down sadly. She really missed her own world. She had already been in this new world for a week now. Bruce was nowhere near finding her a way home. She didn’t even know if she would ever go back. She quickly wiped away a tear that had started to form. Alfred noticed this little gesture.

“Miss Stella, if you want to head next door to the women’s department and pick out a few things please do. I’m afraid I have to pick out a few more things before I am done. You have the credit card now so please do not hesitate to pick out things you like.” Alfred said.

Stella smiled at him and nodded. “Okay Alfred. I’ll keep my phone volume on so call me when you’re done and I’ll come find you.” She walked up to him and gave him a hug and a kiss on the cheek before making her way towards the women’s department stores. In her haste to hide her red eyes, she missed Alfred wiping a tear from his eyes.

——————— Stella stepped out of the mens section and made her way towards the women’s department. Shopping would definitely help her keep her mind off things. She beelined towards her favorite store, smiling a real smile for the first time in days.

What she didn’t notice were a pair of eyes watching her from a distance. Jason did a double take when he saw her. “I thought I just….” He mutters, but shakes his head as he watches her disappear behind a rack of coats. “It couldn’t be.” He pulls out his cellphone. The lock screen was a picture of him and Stella, back when they were in Gotham prep. It was the day she said yes to being his girlfriend. He dials a number and brings the phone to his face.

“Tonight. At the lounge.” He says as he walks off into the opposite direction.

—————

Back home, Stella drops at least 8 shopping bags onto the ground and throws herself into the couch adjacent to where Tim is currently sitting. He has a cup of coffee in hand and smiles at her.

“Have fun?” He says.

“I haven’t been shopping in so long. Jason always hated shopping with me. Says I take too long.” She complains. She starts to take out the items she purchased and began showing them to Tim.

From the back of the room, Dick watches Stella take out shirt after shirt, followed by a few coats and some boots. She seemed like she was adjusting a bit more. His heart ached every time he saw her frown. He really missed the days where Stella, Jason, and him would go out for Sunday brunch. It took a lot of convincing at first, but eventually they made it a tradition. First Sunday of every month.

Dick helps Stella carry her new clothes into her/Jason’s old room. Alfred set up a new room for her, but she refused. She was so used to being in Jason’s room already. It was the only thing that felt, familiar, in this world.

She put away her clothes and made her way downstairs for dinner. In the hallway she trailed behind Dick and Barbara who were currently hand in hand, sharing a kiss. Stella smiled at them. They were her inspiration couple. Through all the ups and downs of their lives, Dick and Barbara seemed to be one of those things that always felt right.

Barbara pulled away from Dick and slowed down to let Stella catch up. Barbara stopped and put her arms around Stella and pulled her in for a hug.

“Heard you scored big at the mall today. Going to finally return my spare clothes?” She joked.

Stella laughed and nodded. “I got enough to last me a while. I got something for you too! I knew you had to have it. We can go get it after dinner.”

“You were always the fashionista.” Barbara and Stella giggled. Stella smiled. It was nice to see her best friend out of her wheelchair. She seemed a bit different than her Barbara. A little less on edge. But she knew why. Joker was dead in this world. This Barbara never gets shot by that monster. The fear she carried around did not exist. Maybe he was better off dead than alive in Arkham.

The rest of the family trailed in behind them. Alfred somehow managed to cook a delicious meal for the entire family in mer hours. Stella looked around the table. Everyone seemed happy, and at peace. It wasn’t weird, because that’s how they were back home too. It was just different, but the nice kind of different. She grabbed a roll from the basket and took a bite. Alfred’s cooking tasted amazing in any dimension.

#Jason Todd #Jason Todd x OC #Stella Covington #Red Hood #DCU #Alternate Universe #Fanfiction #iwritethings #barbara gordon #Gotham #Dick Grayson #Tim Drake #alfred pennyworth

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ratedbangtann · 4 years

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✧˚₊‧𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐓𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐯𝐞 𝐃𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐂𝐡𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐦𝐚𝐬 - 𝐃𝐚𝐲 𝐓𝐞𝐧 ✧˚₊‧ 𝘽𝙖𝙗𝙮, 𝙄𝙩'𝙨 𝘾𝙤𝙡𝙙 𝙊𝙪𝙩𝙨𝙞𝙙𝙚... || 𝙆𝙞𝙢 𝙎𝙚𝙤𝙠𝙟𝙞𝙣 𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚐𝚎𝚝 𝚐𝚘𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍𝚗'𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚎 𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚎𝚍 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚖 𝚑𝚒𝚝... Pairing: Seokjin x reader Word count: 6.6K Warnings: Smut. Cunnilingus, worshipping, riding, grinding, multiple orgasms.

Song: Baby, It's Cold Outside by Tom Jones and Cerys Matthews ✧˚₊‧

"Wow," Seokjin breathed as he opened the door to his apartment to you. You were stood in a stunning off the shoulder, red velvet dress, hugging your figure with a slit up the side of your right leg. Of course, it was far too cold to wear just that outside in the December chill, but a white faux fur coat had kept you snug on your way over.

Your red strappy heels had not, but you still wore them, perfect for the classy outfit you had adorned for your fifth date with Jin.

Yes, fifth date. It had been a couple of weeks since the first; dinner at a fancy restaurant. A couple of dinners here and there, and an evening at your apartment too; but you felt the need to dress up each time, for a man such as Seokjin.

He did too, always in slacks and a nice shirt or a suit of some kind; you looked like a power couple when you were out together, like you owned half of Seoul. But you only had a humble little job in a department store.

Tonight, he'd dressed much the same; black dress trousers with a maroon shirt tucked neatly into his trousers, a nice leather belt holding them up. He'd rolled the sleeves up to his elbows, top two buttons undone; if this was Jin on an off day, you were the luckiest damn woman on the planet.

He'd pushed his hair back tonight, forehead exposed, and he was wearing rounded glasses, needing them to be able to read the recipes and measurements for the meal he was preparing for both of you.

"Do you always dress like this, then?" he chuckled, surprised that you'd put in the same amount of effort for a night in with him than you would if you'd gone to another fancy restaurant.

"Only for you," you flirted, smirking a little.

"Well, you look breath-taking. Very festive," he complimented, leaning towards you to plant a welcoming kiss to your cheek and stepping to one side to allow you to step inside. "Can I take your coat?"

"Sure." You shuffled it off your shoulders, but Jin took the courtesy of slipping it down your arms and hanging it on the coat rack by the front door of his apartment. "Jin, your apartment is stunning..." you said in awe, gazing around at the high ceilings and large open plan kitchen and living room. It was incredibly modern, decorated with white panelled walls and dark brown leather furnishings, cream pillows and glass tables.

He'd put up a Christmas tree in the corner, draped in gold and white.

"Thank you," he chuckled, wondering back into the kitchen to continue with his preparations and to offer you a drink. You followed, heels clicking on the hardwood floor. "I'm lucky, I suppose."

"Don't put yourself down like that, you worked hard for all this. Enjoy it, flaunt it. Why not?" you shrugged with a smile. He laughed to himself.

"Something to drink, my dear?" he asked on his way to the wine rack.

"Ooh, yeah please. Glass of red if you have some," you leaned against one of the cabinets, watching him pull out what looked like a very expensive bottle of merlot and a glass from one of his cupboards.

He passed it to you, and pretentiously you sniffed it, swirling it around to get the aroma of the berries in it. He almost snorted at you, watching the display. You tasted it briefly, smacking your lips together to enjoy it.

"Beautiful," you grinned, taking a larger mouthful.

"Glad it's to madam's taste," he laughed, turning back to the stove where a pot of food was on the go.

You watched him working, listening to the radio that he'd put on before you got there. It was intriguing to watch him work, so engrossed in what he was doing. He looked like he was in his element, like he actually enjoyed cooking. You were grateful; you cooked so often it felt like a chore most days.

"Smells good," you complimented, taking another sip of your wine.

"It'll be ready soon. I've slaved and slaved, so you better enjoy it," he winked at you, stirring the contents of the bubbling pot on the stove. You giggled at him. He was so cute, always making you laugh, always the perfect gentlemen.

He had been since you met him. He'd become a regular customer in the department store you worked in, only popping back to see you. He'd made conversation a few times, and of course, recognising him you had always been shy but over time, it got easier. He liked that you treated him like a normal person, talked to him like he was human.

Eventually, he'd asked you out to dinner. He'd been too nervous to ask you face to face, simply slipping you a note on his way out of the store one day. You had to wait until the next time you saw him, but of course you had accepted.

You listened to the radio as he continued his prep the meal, taking the freshly baked bread out of the oven and chopping up some fresh veg to add to what he'd put together. You were amazed at the effort he went through.

The song on the radio ended, and the host of the show announced there was some breaking news.

"Snowstorm to hit Seoul tonight. Forecasters say it's the worst in a decade, capable of shutting the city down overnight. Advice is to stay indoors unless absolutely necessary."

"Crap," you muttered. Hopefully it wouldn't hit before you had a chance to head home.

"What?" Jin turned to face you, ignoring the radio completely.

"Radio, just said there's a snowstorm moving in. Just hope it doesn't hit yet, it's supposed to shut the city down," you explained, a little worried.

"Oh, doesn't sound good..." he mumbled, biting his lip in thought. "Well if it comes to it, you're welcome to stop over the night..."

Your heart thudded in your ears; was he suggesting...? Well, you suppose it was your fifth date. You'd kissed plenty, but only really goodbye kisses at your doorstep or a sneaky kiss in the cab ride home. But despite the obvious sexual attraction you felt towards him, you'd been fighting it.

You weren't too sure about dating etiquette... Was it after three dates you were supposed to sleep together? Five? Ten? When was the right time? It had been so long for you and you were terrified. What if you were so out of practise that you were a terrible lay; would that put Jin off?

No, you were over thinking this. He was simply offering you a roof over your head if the worst came to worst. He was a gentleman, so surely, he wasn't suggesting...? No. No, surely not. He was just being kind, if the storm hit before you could get away.

"Thank you. I might just have to run a little earlier tonight," you smiled sweetly. He nodded, turning back to the stove. He was a little disappointed, he must admit. He liked you, wanted things to move forward but of course if you weren't ready for anything like that, that was okay. He was just offering you a warm bed with a roof over your head; he was happy to sleep on his couch.

Jin finished the meal, dishing up and ushering you over to his breakfast bar where he'd set up some candles, a full dinner service laid out like a fancy restaurant. You took one of the stalls, watching as he served the dish to you with freshly baked bread and a fresh glass of wine.

"Thank you, this looks beautiful Jin," you smiled, digging in as he sat opposite you. The first mouthful was heaven, so many flavours and aromas to flood your senses. "Damn, gorgeous and you can cook... Can I keep you?" you laughed.

"If you'd like..." he raised an eyebrow, winking at you from across the table.

You took a few more mouthfuls, trying to be elegant about it but it was so damn good, you couldn't help stuffing your face. You noticed him watching you, a blush creeping onto your cheeks.

"What?" you asked, shy and self-conscious.

"You're just... You're really beautiful. Really," he smiled softly, admiring your features and the way you tried to hide your face with your hand to stop him seeing the ridiculous giddy smile plastered on it.

Dessert was just as delicious; he'd made macaroons, of all things. Delicate little macaroons in strawberry and blueberry, with a little bit of ice cream on the side.

"You went through so much trouble, you really didn't have to... Instant noodles are good enough for me," you chuckled, wiping your mouth of any lipstick that may have smudged and the few escaped crumbs.

"I'll remember for next time," he smirked. He reached across the table for you, swiping his thumb under your bottom lip gently. "Stray crumb," he mumbled, sending a little shiver down your spine.

Just his touch was driving you wild for him; you wanted nothing more than to just pull him in for a kiss, but courtesy and self-consciousness stopped you.

With dinner over, he showed you around his apartment a little more, eventually settling on the view from the large wall of windows at the far end. You could see most of Seoul from this height, with a few flakes of snow just starting to fall. You pushed it to the back of your mind. You should be okay for another hour or so, right?

You both sat down on his large couch, the dark leather creaking a little under the pressure. You crossed your legs, leaning toward him a little with your glass of wine in hand. The slit in your dress exposed your thigh to him a little, and it took a lot of self-control on Jin's part not to reach out to touch the smooth skin he could see. He bet you felt so soft...

You chatted for a while, radio still on in the background playing song after song, bits of chatter here and there. You kept an eye on the weather outside, noticing the snow getting a little heavier.

You'd been at Jin's for a couple of hours when you decided you should probably head home, snow starting to settle on the ground.

"Jin this has been so lovely, but I should head home before the snow gets too bad. It'll be impossible to get a cab otherwise," you sighed. You really didn't want to leave, but you could resume your conversation on another date.

"Oh, sure... I mean, are you sure? It's getting late and the snow is pretty bad," he turned to look out the window for emphasis; it was coming down thick and fast, obscuring the usual view of the city.

"Well, I don't want to be a bother," you protested.

"No bother at all, I'll take the couch if it makes you more comfortable. It's just... it's so cold out, y'know?" he was fumbling a little, nervous but he really, really didn't want this night to end just yet. He enjoyed your company too much.

"No, I couldn't possibly... But we can arrange another night like this; I could cook for you next time?" You stood up, Jin standing with you. You put your empty glass down on the glass coffee table, Jin already making his way begrudgingly to the front door to grab your coat for you.

He held it out, letting you thread your arms into the sleeves and turn to face him to say goodbye.

Butterflies flooded your stomach; you knew he'd kiss you again. You were trying to psych yourself up for it like you did every time. His kisses turned you to jelly, feeling like your knees would give out under you. You seemed to be rationed to just goodbye kisses but my god, you savoured them each time.

Jin shuffled his feet nervously, trying desperately to think of something to say to convince you to stay. He hated the idea of you going out into such bitter cold, pelted by snow. But he simply wanted you to stay with him, to get closer to you, hold you, kiss you... He was okay with taking things slowly, of course, but just to spend the night chatting to you more would be enough for him.

"If you can't get a cab, let me know. I'll just buzz you back in," he smiled awkwardly.

"Will do, thanks Jin. I'll see you soon?" you hoped.

"Of course. Whenever is good for you," he took a small step towards you, towering above you. He ran his hand through your hair, pushing it back as he admired your face; so stunning. "May I?" he asked. You knew what he was asking for. He asked you every time.

"You don't have to ask, Jin," you chuckled. He smiled then, leaning down to press his thick lips to yours. His hand cupped your face, gently bringing you to him as close as he could get you. Despite the gentility of his lips, he moulded them to yours effortlessly, with little movement but enough to give you that jelly-legged feeling.

He didn't move away when you thought he would, didn't pull back at all in fact. Instead, he let himself get lost in your lips, tilting his head and pressing against you with a little more hunger, a little more need.

Never had Jin used his tongue on you, but tonight he couldn't help himself, letting it wander across your bottom lip until you succumbed. You let him in, the kiss deepening so wonderfully that you simply couldn't muster the will power to break apart from him.

When he pulled back eventually it left you breathless, chasing his lips before you snapped yourself out of the little trance he'd put you in. You hummed lowly in satisfaction, eyes fluttering open to see him still looking down at you, his hand still cupping your cheek.

"Are you sure you want to go?" he asked, eyes searching your face for any hesitation. "Baby, it's cold outside..." he whispered.

He'd never called you that before, never used that particular pet name and you had to admit, you loved it. But did you want to leave? Absolutely not. The weather was battering the city and frankly, was it safe? As if you cared. Right now, you wouldn't want to leave if it were crystal clear out there.

"No..." you admitted, looking up at him again with innocence sparkling in your eyes.

Jin didn't hesitate, pulling you to him to crash his lips against yours again. He wasted no time, assaulting your lip with his tongue and resuming the deep need to explore every corner of your mouth with it. You whimpered against him, hands gripping onto his shirt desperately to pull you chest to chest with him.

His hands slid to your shoulders just underneath your coat, his large, warm hands slipping down the smooth skin to pull your coat off you again. You let go of his shirt to let it drop to the floor, pooling at your feet. His hands wound around your waist, pushing your hips against his as he continued his onslaught to your lips.

Your arms found their way around his neck, reaching up to hold him to you. You had lost yourself completely, capitulating to his every whim.

"Couch?" he mumbled against your lips, feeling like a teenager who wanted nothing more than to make out with you all god damn night.

You mulled it over quickly in your head; you wanted more. Why were you holding back? Your own insecurities? No. Jin was a gentleman, he'd take care of you. You had nothing to be worried for, no reason to be nervous. He thought you were gorgeous, he told you multiple times every time he saw you, daily through text.

"Bed," you mumbled back, your lips never disconnecting.

Jin was taken back; he hadn't expected you to want him that way, not yet at least... He was sure you were waiting until you were comfortable. Were you comfortable now? Was he? He was terrified too, knowing a woman like you deserved the very best, the most attention he could give you, the most earth-shatteringly wonderful night and it had been a while for him too, so busy with schedules and frankly, being head over heels for you for months.

He hadn't even looked at another woman.

Nevertheless, he took your hands from around his neck, pulling one of them as he finally disconnected your lips in order to lead you into his bedroom. You stumbled behind him, your heels clicking against the floor with every step.

As soon as you were in, his hands were on you again, wrapping around your waist as he pushed himself into you, lips reconnecting with yours. You wrapped your hands around his neck again, this time pressing your palms to the skin, your fingertips digging into him slightly.

As the two of you made out, tongues battling against each other with fierce passion, you made the bold move of sliding your hands down his neck, down the front of his chest and started to fiddle with the first button he'd done up on his shirt. You twisted until it popped open, moving down to the next, and the next, until all that was left was the one tucked into his pants.

His pale skin was now exposed to you, just enough to leave you wanting nothing more than to run your damn tongue from sternum to navel but you held off, taking things a little slower than your sex-starved brain would have wanted. Instead, you ran your hands down the patch that was exposed, feeling the warmth, the smoothness of his muscles under the surface.

He pushed you back by your waist for a moment, just a tiny bit to look down at you, and sweetly ask, "do you want this? Really?"

"Want you," you whispered to him, gripping onto the loose sides of his shirt and pulling him back to you. That was all the confirmation Seokjin needed. His handles fumbled with the shirt, untucking it in a hurry and pulling it apart, not giving a second thought to the button that pinged off.

You pushed it off him immediately, exposing his chest completely to you. You couldn't believe the definition in his muscles; he never flaunted it, never showed it off but he looked like he had been carved out of marble, rippling muscles in his abdomen.

He pushed you by your hips, twisting you to turn you with your back to the bed. He guided you to sit down, only disconnecting his lips to kneel down in front of you. His hands slipped down the sides of your hips, down your thighs and to the tip of your toes, worshipping ever inch. He unbuckled the little strap on your shoe, sliding it off you delicately.

He pressed his lips to the base of your ankle, trailing them up your calf with feather light kisses. Watching him, your heart raced. He really was paying attention to detail, adoring every part of you.

His hands slipped to the other leg, unbuckling the shoe and letting it fall to the ground, repeating the same kisses up your leg.

You reached behind you, just about reaching the top of your zipper to pull it down. The off-the-shoulder sleeves loosened and as you pulled them down, Seokjin's head snapped up to watch intently. He stopped you, replacing your hands with his own; he wanted to be the one to expose you, to have the honour of revealing you to him.

He dragged the velvet down, watching as the top of the dress started to roll down your chest. You hadn't worn a bra with this dress, not needing to with the way the dress held you up, but it made Seokjin's heart race when he realised. Eventually the material revealed your breasts to him with a little bounce, nipples stood to attention.

Like a man possessed he launched forward, attaching his lips to your nipple and suckling. He was completely hypnotised by you. Your head rolled back, overcome with the incredible feeling. You were already so sensitive, so ready for him that every little swish of his tongue, every soft suckle had a bolt of lightning rushing through your body.

"Jin..." you whined, one hand threading into his hair and tugging at the roots. With a pop, he stopped what he was doing, resuming the removal of your dress. He rolled it down to your hips, where your curves started to protrude. You had to lift your butt off the mattress to help him shimmy it down over your hips, and then with one quick motion he pulled it down your legs, letting it fall to the floor with your shoes.

His eyes glazed over with lust as he looked back at what he'd revealed; red lace panties, the same red as the dress.

"You're a fucking goddess," he gasped. Curses sounded so lewd on his tongue, so dirty but it suited him right now; he was entranced completely. He wanted to touch you, to feel you but above all, he wanted – no, needed, - to taste you. He pulled the lace down, shimmying it down your body too to leave you completely exposed.

You squeezed your legs shut, suddenly overcome with fear and anxiety of what he'd think of you. You felt so vulnerable.

"Please, don't hide yourself from me..." he breathed, reaching up to stroke his thumb against your cheek. "You're so beautiful. C-can I..." his free hand settled on your thigh and he bit his lip, nervous to ask for permission but he didn't want to just dive in. He didn't want to frighten you off. "Can I taste?" he asked tentatively.

You bit down on your bottom lip, nodding slowly. You watched as he spread your legs, slowly revealing your core to him. You could feel your pulse in your ears, throbbing with nerves but the second he saw you he was in awe, drooling over you as if you were the sweetest fruit in the middle of a desert. He licked his lips, took off his glasses to throw onto the bed and leaned in.

Your breath caught in your throat as he pressed his plump lips against your mound, the warmth of his breath fanning out over your skin. Goosebumps raised across your body, Jin's tongue weaving through your folds to lap up the arousal that had pooled between them.

You gasped audibly, slapping your hand over your mouth to prevent yourself from moaning aloud. Jin wouldn't have minded; he would have loved to hear you.

Jin hummed between your legs, vibrations rippling through you as he found your clit, paying special attention to it with his tongue.

You couldn't stop the moan that slipped from between your fingers, your hand falling down to the mattress again as he pushed his tongue into you more. He wrapped his hands around your thighs, hooking them over his shoulders to reach a better angle, completely enveloping you with his mouth and suckling at you.

"J-Jin..." you groaned. His fingers tightened against your flesh at the sound of his name.

He pushed his tongue further into you, past the tight rim of your entrance to get as deep as he possibly could inside you. He loved the way you tasted; so sweet. You immediately clenched around the intrusion, your whole body reacting to the feeling.

"Sh-shit," you breathed, fists clenching in the sheets beneath you. He hummed against you again, sending shockwaves through you. You had never felt so aroused in your life, never felt so cared for; you were getting close, impossibly close.

Jin never stopped, burying his face between your thighs and alternating between assaulting your clit and pushing his tongue inside you.

You clutched onto his hair again, pulling uncontrollably as your body started to spasm, orgasm building and building until one last hard suck on your clit had your body seizing, your muscles convulsing and roaring moans erupting from deep in your diaphragm.

Jin didn't care that you were pulling on his hair, or that you were writhing underneath him; he held your hips in place with his strength, still working on you as you pushed through your orgasm. But you got oversensitive, instinctively pushing his head away from you until he finally fell back against the floor, catching himself on his hands. He was out of breath, chin drenched with your juices and hair ruffled from the way you had tugged at it.

He stared at you, still with pure hunger in his eyes as you caught your breath, laying back against the bed with aftershocks crippling you. He wasn't done with you, heavy-lidded eyes trained on your every movement.

"J-Jin?" you called to him, unable to look up. At the sound of you calling to him he sat up, crawling over to you and hovering above you. He pushed your hair out of your face, gently trailing his finger down your cheek and watching as you composed yourself.

"Okay?" he asked, a little concerned that you couldn't string together a sentence. You just nodded frantically, looking up at him. He looked so stunning despite the mess you had made of his hair. Now he'd taken his glasses off you could see his eyes so much clearer, beautiful pools of chocolate brown that were darker than their usual tone.

"If it's possible, you look even more beautiful right now," he smirked, leaning down to place a soft kiss to your lips. You could still taste the remnants of yourself on his lips, but if anything, it only turned you on more so.

For a little while he continued to kiss you, lips softly moving with yours as you regained a modicum of strength. He traced patterns with his fingertips to your arms, hovering above you with an offensive amount of clothing still covering him. The longer you spent moulding your lips together, the more impatient you became. You wanted nothing more than to give yourself to him completely, and he to you.

You reached between your bodies, fiddling with the buckle of his belt and slipping it out of the loops of his trousers. You popped open the button and dragged the zipper down, reaching your hand into the material to palm Jin's erection through his underwear. Even through the cotton, you could feel his girth, his length, the veins throbbing at the surface; Jin was incredibly well endowed and the thought of him stretching you filled you with nerves.

It had been so long, and you weren't sure you'd be able to take him all at once. But honestly, the idea of being so full all because of Jin was more appealing than the threat of discomfort.

As your hand palmed his length, Jin had to squeeze his eyes shut and clench his jaw to stop from grunting like an animal. He'd been painfully hard since he had undressed you, unbelievably turned on by you and when he had been between your thighs he had been throbbing in his pants. This very small amount of contact right now was amplified heaven.

He struggled to keep his lips moving softly with yours, that same hunger bubbling away under the surface. He pressed his forehead to yours, separating your kiss in order to focus on simply not blowing his load just from the minor friction he was getting from your hand.

"Do you want me, y/n?" he asked you, his way of begging you to take this further, to finally feel you.

"Of course I do, Jin. I just..." you stopped yourself, a blush creeping back onto your cheeks as your insecurities started to rise.

"What is it?" he asked, concerned for your wellbeing. He didn't want to push you into anything, simply satisfied that you had been taken care of at least once this evening. But truth be told, you absolutely wanted him, and without telling him why you were hesitant you knew you would get nowhere.

"It's been a while and... you're um..." how could you word this delicately? "You're quite... large." He chuckled a little at that, flattered. "I'm just a little out of practise. It's been almost nine months for me," you confessed.

"Y/n, it's been over a year for me. I'm terrified," he laughed. You looked at him confused.

"A year...? But you're..."

"Busy. Very busy. And I... I haven't wanted anyone else since I met you," he averted his gaze, finally spilling the truth. He couldn't look you in the eyes, worried he'd said too much.

"If you want me, you can have me. You've got me. Just... be gentle," you smiled, guiding his chin to make him look at you again.

"I'll take good care of you, I promise..." he breathed, lips hovering close to yours once again. "You only have to tell me if you want me to stop. But I promise, if you relax then your body will react the way it needs to."

And strangely, his words immediately calmed you. You hung off every word, knowing he was right.

"Then take what you want, Jin," you encouraged, before crashing your lips to his again with the same need as you had at the front door. Your hand slipped back into his trousers, palming him again. He groaned against your mouth, the low frequencies making themselves known in the pit of your stomach.

Jin couldn't wait much longer, pushing his pants down with the waistband of his underwear to his knees, lifting them one by one to push them further down until finally he managed to shove them off after kicking his shoes off also. Your hand wrapped around his length, slowly stroking a few times and earning a few choice curses from Jin's mouth.

He sounded so good when he cursed; somehow dirtier than the average man.

He felt velvety smooth in your palm, the heaviness satisfying and the protruding vein promising a divine sensation. Without realising you were doing it you raised your legs to spread them a little, slotting Jin's hips between them. Your hips raised off the bed, desperately searching for contact. You felt his length against your hip, letting out a whine against Jin's lips.

"Jin, please..." you begged, needing him. He knew he had to go steady, if for no other reason than to ease you into your insecurities. So, before he even attempted to push his length inside you, he started with just once finger, easily slipping inside.

You gasped at the contact, walls clenching around him to feel him but it just wasn't enough; you needed a least two. And two you got, curling inside you together and scissoring you open. It felt blissful, a drawn out moan slipping from your throat.

"N-need more, Jin. Please," you implored, once again raising your hips to feel his fingers pushing deeper inside you.

"If you're ready, sweetie..." He pulled his fingers out of you, sliding them into his mouth to lick them clean before he wrapped that same hand around your thigh and lifted it enough to get himself to a good angle.

His length brushed against your heat invoking a fresh wave of arousal to flood your body. Lining himself up with your entrance he began to push into you slowly, step by step until just the first two inches were planted firmly inside you.

"Shit," he muttered, squeezing his eyes shut again as he tried to control the urge to slide himself in all the way to the hilt.

"M-more..." you begged, Jin obliging unable to deny you. He still didn't quiet bury himself inside completely, and you were getting impatient, the stretch feeling far too fucking good to continue this ridiculous pace. "Please!" you whined, wrapping your hand around the back of his neck for encouragement. It seemed to work, Jin pushing the last of himself into you and his hips sitting flush against yours.

"Holy fuck, you feel so good..." he grunted, burying his face in your neck to plant open mouthed kisses to the spot where it joined your shoulder. He started to roll his hips into you, his cock pressing against every part of you that needed attention. He felt incredible, stretching and filling you up perfectly.

With every roll of his hips he grazed against your most sensitive spot earning a moan or gasp from you each time. You couldn't keep your hips still, grinding up into him to meet his timings. He kept it slow and incredibly sensual, the temperature in the room rising rapidly and leaving a sheen of sweat covering the both of you.

But you wanted more control, wanted to be the one to not only bring yourself to your climax on his cock, but him too. So using you your strength, you pushed on his broad shoulders at an angle that had him rolling off you onto his side. His brows knitted together in confusion, but he soon realised your intentions when you swung your leg over his hips and sat on top of him.

Immediately you guided him back to your entrance, sinking down on him until once again, he was completely buried in you. You splayed your hands on his chest and used the leverage to roll your hips on him, in control of your own pleasure.

Jin watched in awe as you took control, a new confidence exuding from you as you threw your head back. You looked so beautiful like this; lost in the feeling, your body coated in the shiny sheen of sweat. He loved the way your breasts bounced with every movement, how your thighs tensed and jiggled as you worked the muscles to move.

"J-Jin..." you groaned, "Fucking hell."

"So perfect, you know that?" he praised, gripping onto your hips for added effect as you rode him. He sat up a little, shuffling just enough to press your chest to his. He wanted to be close to you, to wrap his arms around you as you moved and kiss your lips, your neck, your chest as you worked so hard to get the both of you off.

With the oversensitivity of your first orgasm and the new sensation of being full of Jin, you were quickly finding yourself reaching another undoing frightfully quickly. Jin could feel his too, too turned on to be able to fight it off much longer. He wanted you to cum first, to feel the way you would clench on him.

In order to get you to your high quicker, he lowered a hand between the two of you, using two fingers to rub stimulating circles to the extremely sensitive bundle of nerves. Just from his touch, he felt your walls clenching around his cock.

"That's it, sweetie. Does it feel good, hmm?" he asked, watching your face contorting into expressions that flickered between bliss and exhaustion.

"S-so good, feels so good," you spluttered, the pace of your hips rolling becoming faster and faster the closer you got to orgasm. Jin pressed his lips to your chest again, sloppily leaving kisses to the skin and dipping between your breasts whilst somehow keeping his fingers circling in a steady rhythm.

You groaned and whimpered, Jin cursing under his breath and grunting like an animal as the pair of you hurtled towards an end.

"Jesus, I'm... I'm cumming, Jin, I-" you cried, wrapping your arms tighter around his shoulders and leaning over, your head lolling forward as the rush of endorphins flooded your brain. Jin held you with both hands, abandoning your clit as you thrust your hips for the last few times, unable to keep going any longer.

"Shit, y/n..." he hissed, feeling your walls tightening on his cock impossibly and pushing him further and further to cum himself. But you couldn't move your hips any longer, and Jin was still trying his hardest to keep you going.

Sensing your exhaustion, he leaned back a little, letting you lay on top of him as he held his weight up with one hand and used it to steady himself as he began pistoning his hips into you with you bent over just enough to give the room to push into you over and over.

All you could do was whimper, feeling totally spent and still pulsing between your legs as Jim chased after his own high. You wanted to make him feel good, wanted to do something for him but you simply couldn't, instead clinging to him with your arms draped around his neck. With each oversensitive thrust, you dug your nails into his shoulder blades, leaving red scratch marks in his skin.

It only spurred him on, his hips fucking up into you faster and harder as the tension in his groin came to a head. With another few deep, hard thrusts, his rhythm faltered and he spilled his load inside you with an absolutely feral growl.

He collapsed backwards with you still attached to him, the both of you laying out of breath and sensitive. He was slowly starting to soften inside you but frankly neither you nor he had the energy to do anything about it. So instead, you just lay together, your hearts racing and sweat dripping from your bodies.

"Holy shit..." he breathed, running his hands over his face. "I know it's been... a while, but..." he paused to take deep breaths, "it was never like that... Fuck."

"N-never," you stuttered, turning your head towards him and pressing your lips softly to his cheek. "Incredible." You both chuckled through the deep breathing, moving ever so slightly to get yourself comfortably slotted in place with one another where you lay.

"I knew you were perfect," he smirked, looking own at your reddened face. "I just knew it." You just grinned at him; even now, he was so full of compliments.

"Thank you," you said in such a small voice that Jin thought he'd missed it.

"For...?"

"Taking care of me. Not pushing me. Making sure this was what I really wanted. You're nothing but a gentleman," you beamed. He really had been, save for the curse words you'd heard escape his mouth and the lewd acts he performed on you when hypnotised by you.

"It's how I was brought up; always a gentleman. Except when I'm not..." he flirted, hidden promises of future encounters much like tonight slotted into his remark. You giggled, a shyness overwhelming you. You most definitely wanted to find out just how much of a gentleman Seokjin wasn't...

You lay quiet for a moment, both of you just enjoying being together. You felt so close to him now, taking that next step in the relationship you were working towards together. But there was one last thing you hadn't yet done...

"Is it arrogant of me to assume I'm staying with you tonight, then?" you asked with a smirk. Clearly, you weren't going anywhere, and a night snuggled up with post-sex Jin was exactly that one last thing you wanted to do for now.

"Well you could try and get home, there might be some cabs running..." he suggested just to tease. "But baby, it's cold outside..." ✧˚₊‧𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐓𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐯𝐞 𝐃𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐂𝐡𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐦𝐚𝐬‧₊˚✧ - 𝘍𝘶𝘭𝘭 𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦

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justlostinautumn · 5 years

Text

Playing House 8

Clint Barton x OC (Alexandra Knight)

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

Fury calls in help on a long hall mission that requires Clint to play house with someone he doesn’t know and has never met. Alexandra likes to work alone and isn’t one to play well with others. Nick and Alex have a past together and now Nick is asking his old friend to help out with the monitoring and infiltration of some HYDRA agents. But, not everything is as simple as it seems. Nick isn’t the only old friend Alex has on the team.

I woke up to the feeling of Clint holding me close, even after everything he saw yesterday he still wanted me. I picked up my phone and saw that it was almost 3am, I knew there was no way I was going to be able to go back to sleep so I managed to disentangle myself from Clint and crept out the room. I notice I was back in one of his shirts and panties, I tiptoe back into the room and snatch my bra a slip it on under the shirt and I sneak down the hall.

“FRIDAY?” I look up.

“Yes, miss.” The AI responds.

“Is anyone up?” I sigh trying to figure out where everyone is.

“Mr Barnes is in the gym do you want me to tell him you are looking for someone?” The Ai asked.

“No!” I whisper shout. “Can I access the roof?”

“Yes, miss.” She confirms.

“Thank you.” I smile.

“You are very welcome.” I can hear the smile in the AI’s voice, I will have to congratulate Stark on his brilliant AI.

Once I got to the roof I sat there and looked out to the city watching it lighten as the sun began to rise. By 6am I realised yesterday could have been worse, they could have pinned me down and thrown me in a cell in the raft or worse. I decided I wanted food so I headed down to the kitchen and rummaged through the cabinets pulling out ingredients for pancakes, fruit salad and waffles. Making the batters for both the Waffles and Pancakes, I decide it’s been a while since I have baked and found the stuff for a chocolate cake, victoria sponge and coffee and walnut cake.

I loved baking because it kept my mind on track, kept my focus as I let the batter rise in the fridge and I put the last of the cake batter in the tin and into the oven I notice it is about 8am and I get to work quickly cutting up the fruit. All while doing this I was singing Dreams by The Cranberries, You Will Be Found from the play Dear Evan Hansen, Woke Up Late by Drax Project and many more, dancing around the kitchen.

“Do you think she knows we’ve been watching her for the last hour?” Sam asked.

“Yes.” Bucky and Nat said together.

“Pancakes or Waffles?” I ask looking over my shoulder and smirking at them.

“I thought Fury told you about being considerate of others?” Clint smirks at me.

“I put a bra on.” I smile at him batting my eyes and I can see him soften.

“I don’t think that’s what he meant Princess.” Nat cooed at me.

“Oh well! He’s not here.” I smile at Nat.

“Whos not here?” Nick asked as he walked in.

“Give me your shorts!” I point the spatula at Nat and she laughs.

“Kitten,” Clint calls and throws a pair of my gym shorts at me and I slip them on quickly.

“Nice to see you clothed,” Nick smirks at me.

“Are you doing unannounced drop-ins to make sure I am clothed at all times?” I turn around and put my focus on the pancakes and waffles which are stacking up.

“Maybe.” He laughs and I knew he was. He was worried I would distract them enough so I can slip out and disappear, yesterday must have thrown him. I put breakfast on the table with a pot of tea and coffee and I lean against the counter with an apple and coffee in each hand.

“I’m not going to disappear this time. Stop frowning you might actually start ageing.” I stare him down and he looks surprised.

“I wouldn’t blame you if you wanted to leave.” Nick looked at me like a wounded puppy.

“Are you giving me an out?” I tilt my head and frown. I notice that Nat and Bucky stiffen in their seats with looks of worry and sadness on their faces and Clint is now stood next to me with his arms wrapping around my waist.

“Yes.” Nick nodded and several hisses are heard in the room.

“I had time to think about it Nick, if I was going to disappear I would have left this morning at 3am when I was on your roof.” I pull out of Clint's arms and bent over to take out the cakes from the oven and let them cool on the rack, preparing the icing to go on each one.

“Is there anything you can’t do?” Tony asked.

“I don’t know, I normally do it to the point that I can do it without thinking... it was apart of my training. If I couldn’t do it they punished me and then I kept doing it until I did it without error. I still work that way minus the punishments for mistakes.” I smile at Tony as he looked shocked I was so open.

“Why be open now?” Steve was curious.

“Because you’ve seen me at my worse and you sat and ate the breakfast I made you.” I raised an eyebrow at them.

“Poisoning doesn’t seem like a you kinda thing to do,” Sam spoke up and Nat and Bucky gulped.

“You clearly don’t know me, but I didn’t poison the food there would be no guarantee I could keep the ones I care about alive.” I shrug.

“Then why not eat the pancakes?” Peter was nervous.

“Because I wanted some cake.” I look at him like it is obvious.

“You know you can have both.” Clint brushes some of the hair from my face.

“Overindulgence makes you spoilt if you are left wanting something you’ll work harder for it.” I smile at him.

“You're not going to have a slice of cake?” Clint frowned.

“Delayed gratification, it can drive you to do your best. Think of something you really want and hold back until you achieve your goal. It’ll make it so much more rewarding, love!” I smile my lips brushing his as I talk and I pull back and walk out of the kitchen leaving perfectly iced and decorated cakes.

I changed into some gym clothes and I walked through the kitchen they noticed the bag and Nick knew what I was about to do.

“What you doing?” Steve asked as he watched me walk to the lift.

“Training.” I simply said stepping into the lift, the lift went down to one of the training rooms and I knew I had Marcus to thank when I walked into the room with all my beloved equipment. There were mats for sparring and tumbling, a range of gymnastic equipment, usual gym equipment, punching bags and my favourite things aerial silks. I drop her bag and walk over to the material to get a feel of it and it’s soft and water-like, it is purple in colour and I smirk.

I hear the ding of the lift indicating they have made it to the training floor and their heavy footfalls sound down the hall as they run in my direction. My lycra shorts and sports bra allowed me maximum movement. I walk to the mats and started to stretch ignoring the prying eyes, after loosening up my muscles I opt to work on my dancing form. Walking to my bag I pull out a pair of well-loved point shoes and strap them up my calfs flexing my foot once on I test out the feeling by going onto my toes and I sigh, it’s almost like relieving in a strange way. Going to my phone I put on Can You Hold Me and let the music take me away.

I forgot about the world and I just let my body move on its own, I didn’t have to think about where I needed to move next. I had done this so many times I didn’t have to do anything. I felt a hand grab me and I opened my eyes to see Bucky and he spun me continuously around him. I spun away and I nodded at him and ran at him and he grabbed my waist and lifted me above his head and spun us around bringing me back to the floor where I finished the dance opposite him slightly bent down in a bow. I looked up from my lashes as the song began again. He smirked at me and I shake my head walking over to the silks, I peel off my slippers and wrap my foot at the bottom and climb up and start my dance with the silks. Gasps are heard from below as I spin down and am left hanging upside down arching around the room in a slow circle. I pull myself up and unwrap myself from the rest of the silks and slid down until I land on the floor softly.

“That’s new,” Bucky smirks.

“Well, Barnes I didn’t have someone to jive with.” I laugh as I pull on my trainers.

“You can jive?” Tony looked shocked.

“Oh yeah he can, but maybe next time.” I laugh patting his chest and I look over to Clint.

“But, we wanna see Barnes dance.” Sam pouted and I laughed.

“I’d love to see if he can still move, but I need to see how Clint moves,” I smirk at him.

“He has two left feet.” Nat giggled and Clint gives her a dirty look and I laugh.

“We can work on that, but I’m thinking more combative.” I walk over to my bag and pull out two blades and unsheath them and spin them in my hands.

“Are those...” Bucky started.

“Had them since I was eighteen, parents gave them to me.” I inspect the blade, it was the first Vibranium weapon I was given. It was a gift from Wakanda to my parents a peace offering they were more than happy to take.

“How? They are Vibranium.” Tony looked at them in amazement.

“Wakanda wanted nothing to do with Project Zero and what it would bring so they made a deal with my parents. It’s how I know T’Challa and Shuri so well, I helped train them when they were younger and still to this day.” I smile at the fond memories I have with them.

Jailhouse rock starts to play and I laugh and look over to a smirking Natasha. I shake my head and continue playing with my swords.

“I may be passible with swords but I am not going up against you with those,” Clint spoke up I put them down and walked over to him patting him and then over to Nat taking my phone and put HandClap on.

“Don’t worry you have your own.” I pulled a bag out of a cabinet and threw it to him. He pulled out the swords and spun them in his hands.

“I could get used to this,” Clint smirks.

“Hang around with me more often you’ll get all the good toys.” I laugh as I bring my sword down quickly and he was just fast enough to block me.

“That was rude.” Clint pouted.

“Sorry, did you want me to announce I was going to attack you because I hope you know the enemy won’t” I smirk at him leaning in and putting more weight on the blade he brings the other one forward in a stabbing motion and I deflect it. I pull back as I feel him lean more weight on the blade and I sidestep pulling my blade away and allow him to stumble forward.

“Does anyone ever win against you?” Clint asked.

“I don’t remember the last time I lost a fight,” I smirk at him raising both eyebrows.

“I think you need to be knocked down a peg or two Kitty.” Bucky laughed from behind me.

“If you join Barnes, I will still whop both your asses. I may even let Tasha join in.” I laugh and I can sense Bucky’s hesitation.

“Two on two after you test Barton’s abilities with a blade,” Nick shouts and I can help but laugh.

“Bring it, Barton! I may even let you be on my team to beat both Barnes and Romanoff!” I smile at him and he laughs. He brings it that is for sure his movements more precise and fierce, he definitely knows his way around the swords. Against anyone else, I am sure he would win but I manage to disarm him and have in a hold that would ensure his guts would be on the floor and his throat would be slit.

“I’m impressed, Barton.” Marcus clapped.

“I don’t think she’s had a work out like that in a long time.” Nick laughed as I sheathed the two blades and gulped down some water. They were right this was the first time in a long time someone really pushed me to be better... well besides Barnes.

“So... I passed.” Clint looked at me hopefully.

“Yeah, you did amazingly. To be honest, better than I thought you would have Darling.” I smile at him as I walk over to him with some water and pass it to him.

“What else do you wanna see Kitten?” Clint smiled at me and I couldn’t help but smirk and bite my lip as I racked my eyes over him and hum.

“I’m warning you now.” Nick’s tone was serious and I looked over at him with Puppy dog eyes.

“I want to see everything you can give me.” I look up at Clint through my lashes and he grabs my hips dropping the bottle and pulling me close and growling in my ear.

“Behave Kitten.” He nipped at my earlobe.

“But this is more fun,” I whine as he pulls away.

“Nick and Marcus look ready to lock you in a room until the mission.” Clint laughs and I look at Nick and Marcus stern faces. I then look over to the Team who looked uncomfortable other than Bucky and Nat who was smirking and a plan formed in my head.

“Okay.” I shrug walking away from Clint and over to the team. I walk over to Nat and Bucky and take each of their hands.

“What are you doing?” Clint growled.

“Going to have some fun,” I smirked at him.

“You’re mine,” Clint states firmly and I can’t help the giggle that escapes my lips.

“Nick said I couldn’t kiss, nothing about anything else.” I knew I was grinning, I heard the gasps of the other Avengers and felt the hands of Bucky and Nat on my body.

“Hands off,” Clint growled and pointed at the two with one of his blades and I couldn’t help but smirk. I felt the firm grip of Bucky’s metal arm shift me behind him and I knew what was happening and the smirk dropped.

“Stop!” I growled loudly, Bucky froze and everyone looked at him even Clint stopped.

“Threat,” Bucky growled.

“No. We are okay, I promise. Clint, is a friend remember, he’s Bird Brain or is that Sam?” I tilt my head looking at him and see him relax.

“That’s Sam.” Bucky grits out taking a deep breath.

“Soldat, you need to stand down... please.” I rest my head against his chest and feel him hug me.

“I don’t know what happened. It’s just the whole thing triggered something.” Bucky squeezed me and I let out a shaky laugh realising what he was talking about.

“A memory. It triggered a memory, I didn’t think that would happen. I am sorry.” I pulled back and looked at Buck and everyone else dropping my head and walking out the room and get into the lift.

“Where to?” FRIDAY asked.

“The roof, please don’t tell them where I am,” I speak softly feeling guilt wrap itself around me.

“Yes, Miss.” FRIDAY answers.

“FRIDAY please call me Alex.” I look at the ceiling.

“Okay, Alex.” I smile and nod.

Once we get to the roof I walk to the edge and sit down and look out to the busy city. The memory of Bucky protecting me flashes to my mind, I knew he would ask questions... questions like why did he protect me? Who was it from? When? I didn’t want to think about it let alone have an audience when telling him.

“I didn’t think that would happen.” I sigh as Clint comes and sits next to me, I knew they would figure it out where I ran to.

“We know.” He looks out on the New York skyline with me.

“I’m not going to talk about it, if that’s why you are here you may as well leave.” My voice is cold.

“Will you tell Bucky?” Clint looks at me I can feel his eyes on me, as well as the rest of the Team. I knew Nick, Marcus and Maria was here too.

“I don’t even think I could tell my own reflection.” I finally look at him and he sees the brokenness in me.

“It can’t be that bad.” Clint goes to touch me and I flinch back losing balance and fall backwards away from the ledge and I stand up quickly.

“I may have said my parents were worse than HYDRA, but I meant in what they made me do. What HYDRA did to me was worse than anything my parents would ever dream of doing to me.” I growl at him.

“What did they do?” Clint growled I could see his rage at the thought of them doing something to me.

“You can’t make me talk about it,” I shout at him and turn my back to him and I was faced with Bucky and I couldn’t stop the tears as the memories flash in my mind.

“Kitty...” He spoke softly.

“Please don’t make me.” I sniffed and shook my head. I turned when I heard Clint heading my way and he wrapped his arms around me and I let go and sobs wracked my body.

#playing house #the avengers #the avengers x reader #the avengers imagine #the avengers x oc #avengers imagine #avengers #avengers x reader #clint barton #clint barton imagine #clint barton x ofc #clint barton x reader #hawkeye #hawkeye imagine #hawkeye x reader #hawkeye x oc #marvel imagine #marvel

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wearejustvisiting · 5 years

Text

I wrote something!!!!!!!!!!

It has 2,990 words!

It’s an actual story!

With original characters!!!!!

I don’t know if it’s good, this is the first draft, but I’m excited and I want to share it with you!

It’s called ‘Gina and the Rain Fish’, it’s about this character named Gina who I’ve been developing for years.

Gina Brennan blinked lazily, staring out of the glass sliding door that separated her from the rain pouring down from the bewilderingly gray skies. Rain on the shore of lake superior was different than rain anywhere else in the country, Gina figured. Not only did the sky go gray, but the entirely lake was a sickening black-green, and the beach itself reflected the gray of the sky. The only things that weren't turned gray were the trees too low to get wet, or the houses too bright to be anything else.

Gina absolutely hated the rain. It meant she couldn't sneak into the lighthouse, she couldn't go to the roof, she couldn't even climb trees. And what is life in the woods if you can't even climb a tree or two? Rather boring, if you asked Gina. It being the weekend meant the 14-year-old had nothing better to do with herself, so why bother doing anything but waiting for the rain to stop?

“Ugh...it just goes on forever...” lamented Gina, to no one in particular.

“It's been thirty minutes,” answered Gina's father from the second floor, sat at his computer, “It'l be plenty dry tomorrow, birdie.”

“I wonder if an oak sturgeon is out there...” Gina said, looking up to the staircase as she heard her father coming down.

Gina's father came down, speaking in a rush as his big glasses reflecting the gray sky from the windows, “Gina, you are not going out in this weather to look for sturgeon.”

Gina rolled her eyes, her own glasses falling onto her eyes as she crossed her legs, “Dad, I wouldn't have to go any further than the beach! You'd see me the whole time, just...just a quick walk, that's all!”

“No.” Gina's father said, his arms at his hips, “This rain is only going to get worse, and the wind is going to pick up.” He said, walking down to the coat rack by the door.

“Why do YOU get to go out, then?” Asked Gina, crossing her arms and pushing her back into the couch.

“Not that I get to,” her father replied, pulling a large orange jacket off of the coat rack, “Have to. Paul said the waves are gonna get bad, and I'm the one with the keys to the boat door. So I've gotta go unlock it. Then I'm gonna take my shift early.”

“Wait, what?” Gina beamed, getting up, “I could go with you! We could go together, you know I've always wanted to look in there, and maybe you could teach me how the doors work, and-”

“Regina, NO.” Her father quickly put an end to Gina's new found enthusiasm, “Maybe some other time, but not today.”

“Why not?” Asked Gina, indignant, her eyes squinting at her father, “you do it all the time, you always go out in the rain and the wind and-”

“REGINA,” Her father bellowed out, his eyes wide and his face stern, his angry expression not hidden well by his short graying beard, “It's done.” He said.

Very few things could tip the temper of Gina's father, but one of those things was his daughter's safety. Gina knew that he didn't mean anything hurtful by it. That he was just looking out for her, and that his yelling about this meant that she would be in serious danger…but it was rare for her father to yell. The sound of it was still jarring to her.

Gina just nodded gently, looking down, “...okay, dad...”

Gina's father walked closer to her and hugged her. “I'm sorry, Birdie. It's just...” Her father bent down to look at her face, “The storm's going to get bad. The wind is gonna be a mess...” He said.

“yeah, yeah, I...I get it, dad.” Gina said, sighing, “just...I can take care of dinner tonight.”

“I just don't want to-”

“To lose me like you lost mom, I GET it.” Gina said, slowly backing away from her father, “We've been through this a million times.”

Gina's father looked to her, a sad expression, once again visible through his beard. He went to the door silently, opening it, the sound of rain splatting to the ground apparent.

“I'll be back around midnight.” He said, before leaving the house and shutting the door behind him. He was gone. At least, for now.

As she heard her father drive off, Gina stormed upstairs to her room. She avoided looking at the pictures on the wall, the ones of her mother...she'd seen plenty of pictures of her mother two years ago when she went missing, and even more pictures when she was found on Mackinac island. Gina's father had a bad habit of holding onto memories.

Gina flopped down on her bed, facing the plum purple ceiling. The dark walls and dark skies provided little light, but Gina didn't need it. Every drop of rain tapping her window was a reminder. She hated this kind of weather. The cold was fine, and rain was lovely, but rain this hard and cold this bitter weren't good for walking. And the wind was picking up...not the most assuring noises. Gina assumed, at this point, it wouldn't be long until…

The power went out.

“UGH! THIS SUCKS!” Gina threw her pillow at the wall as she bent over digging for a flashlight. She figured she might as well get some reading done while she was here…

Edmund Bjornson's Guide to Amadic Creatures...Gina must have read this whole thing 100 times. It was a gift from her grandfather. But she read it anyways. All the newer books were downstairs, and she didn't really want to bother. She turned to the page on Oak Sturgeon, hoping to glean some information she'd forgotten.

“The Northern Lake Oak Sturgeon is a large megafauna inhabiting the northern lakes of the North America and Western Europe. While they look similar to Great White Sturgeon, it is important to note that healthy Oak Sturgeon are a brighter hue of white than most Great White Sturgeon. The Oak Sturgeon is most likely brighter in coloration due to its lack of natural predators; even humans have trouble hunting them, as they are considered extremely dangerous. Oak Sturgeon prefer cooler weather, and are often seen by the surface when it rains heavily, though there is no known reason for this behavior. Because of this behavior, the Oak Sturgeon is commonly known to many as a Rain Fish or Rain Whale.”

Gina happened to glance out of her window, out at the lake. The rain was pouring harder and harder, and the sky was darker. It was as if someone had said something about the storm, and it was responding with anger. Gina, somehow, looked past that...and saw it.

The large pale mass in the water, near the surface...it was massive, at least the size of a school bus. Gina forgot what her father said, as well as managing to forget the weather….she quickly threw on her hiking boots, a pair of black cargo pants, wool gloves, a thick black sweater, and threw a large orange coat over that. She grabbed a plain green ballcap and put it on her head, stuffing her thick, wavy, sepia hair into her jacket.

As Gina got downstairs, she ignored the power flickering back to life, as she grabbed a pocketknife and her camera, putting a bit of a protective case her father had made her around it. Just a plastic shield, for the rain. Gina promised herself she would only stay on the hill above the beach. No closer. She promised...she ran to the door and opened it, shutting it behind her.

The wind was the first thing that hit her. Smashing into her like a wall, the wind was loud and coarse. Then, the cold, like little splinters hitting her face, soon turned to a large mass finding its way into every space of her clothing that it could to get to her body. Last, the biting rain, bad enough that she was glad her hat had a rim, and bad enough that she had to throw the thick hood of the jacket over said hat.

It was when she tried to walk that Gina knew this wasn't her best moment. The wind was whipping hard, and it was hard to move forward, but if that Sturgeon did what she thought it would this close to the shore, she knew she had to be there to document it. No one believed her when she said it, but she knew…

She knew those things could jump. And she was gonna get a picture.

Gina got to the beach, the massive waves bearing down on the beach as she got closer. She huffed, finding it hard to breathe through the amount of rain falling down. She was constantly using her gloves to wipe her glasses as she got to the wet, packed sand. She looked out on the lake, now big and black and terrifying in its size and speed. It moved like an angry, wretched beast. As if it wanted to consume Gina in her entirety. Gina saw not the white breakers, but gnashing teeth ready to swallow her whole if she got to close. She was dumb enough to go on the beach in this weather, but not stupid enough to get that close…

Until she caught sight of the white mass in the water, moving faster...she knew it it was going to happen, it was going to be soon. She grabbed her camera, getting prepared. She could have just done this from inside. She could have just waited for a day where the wind wasn't so strong that the sand was blasting her in the face. But she was out here now, and she was closer to the water than she should have been.

Gina had broken her promise to herself big time. Now her toes were getting licked by the surf as she followed what she swore was a fin. She snapped a photo, just a picture of the fin and back of one would be worth keeping. She followed it. “Come on,” she whispered to herself, “Jump for me...jump...” She said.

She huffed, coughing and sputtering after having breathed in some water from the lake as it splashed near her. The water was rising. She didn't care. “Come on...jump...jump!” She got the camera ready as she saw the fin disappear into the water…

“Jump for me….please?”

As if on cue...The Oak Sturgeon rocketed out of the water, straight up, and fell back into the water. Gina got a few pictures, including one of it spearing into the air out of the water. She couldn't contain her excitement, jumping and dancing, jumping almost as high as the Sturgeon did. She laughed, waving her arms, her eyes closed in joy…

Then, she looked at the water...and there were those gnashing teeth.

Ready to chomp down and devour her…

“Gina?” Her mother beckoned from downstairs. “There's a surprise for you down here!”

An eleven-year-old Gina Brennan walked down the stairs. Her birthday had just passed, and she was still clutching her favorite present to her as she walked down. Edmund Bjornson's Guide to Amaldic Creatures had been gifted to her by her grandfather that year. But her mother promised that she'd be getting a gift from her this year as well.

“What is it?” Asked Gina, still a bit miffed that her mother's promise had yet to be fulfilled.

“Look!” Gina's mother held up a cardboard box, shaking it a bit. “It's your present. Came in the mail today.”

Gina beamed, taking the box. She hugged her mother tightly, “Thanks mom!”

“Wait until you open it first! You might not like it, it was Dad's idea.” Her mother whispered, jokingly.

“I heard that!” Gina's father interjected, to the delight of all present...”Go on, Birdie, open it up!” He said. “And...happy birthday.”

Gina ignored her father's hand ruffling her hair as she opened the box, gasping as she saw what was inside. “Oh my gosh!”

Gina lifted the box out of its package...a beautiful camera…

Gina's father spoke, “I know you like taking pictures, and I just figured you'd like to have your own. And to stop stealing mine.”

Gina put the box onto the couch next to her and turned around, hugging both her mother and father. “This is the best present ever!” She said, laughing as her parents hugged her tightly.

Her mother smiled, getting to eye level with Gina. “Now Gina, you promise to be careful with this? Make sure that it doesn't get damaged too badly?”

“Promise, mom.” Gina eeked out, beaming. She could barely talk when she was excited, trying her hardest not to whoop and holler so close to her mother's ear.

Gina's father clapped his hands together, “I bet you I could make something that'll waterproof that camera, but don't get it wet right now, alright?”

“I know, dad!” Gina mocked, hugging him fully and tightly. She then turned to the box, lifting it and rubbing the top of it.

“I promise to take good care of you...and to use you to capture unknown animal behavior so we can become FAMOUS!” She said. “...and I promise not to fully submerge you, even IF dad makes me that waterproof caseamathing, because that would just be rude.”

Gina opened her eyes...bleary...she couldn't see. Her glasses were gone. She rubbed her eyes, breathing heavily as she tried to regain her composure. All she felt was a biting, bitter cold. She dug her hands into the sand, blinking. She could see right in front of her, and the vague bleary outline of her house. She dug her left, then her right, then her left, then her right…

Her camera. It was missing. She couldn't find it, even looking back. She saw a black splotch floating in the water...and she stood up, letting a wave toss it to her. Gina grabbed her camera, falling on her back as she was once again knocked over by the wave.

She used her legs to push herself back away from the water, still too cold to bring herself to her feet. The rain was slamming into her, as if it were a million tiny daggers piercing every pore it hit. She slowly got to her feet, clutching the camera as a mother clutches a child, before walking in the direction of her home's outline.

Gina could barely feel. Hypothermia must have been setting in. She closed the door to her home and threw the clothes she was wearing off onto the brick floor of the foyer before taking a painfully hot shower to revive her dying nerves. It was painful. It was awful. She was sobbing. As every bit of scraped, scratched skin was hit with near scalding water, she felt every single cell of her body cry out in pain as it was brought from extreme cold to extreme heat.

But Gina Brennan lived. He sobs subsided, her weeping waned, her pain stopped. And for a brief moment, there in the shower, with the water off, there was nothing. No water. No rain. No sand. No cuts. No Sturgeon.

Just an aching silence. The kind Gina usually hated, but right now, loved more than anything. She stepped out, dried herself off, and dressed herself in black pajamas, sitting in her room with her camera and a spare set of glasses.

With her lights on, the decoration of the room was more apparent. Posters of bands and pictures of her and the places she'd been, anatomies of Amadic creatures on long posters in the room, and a flag on the ceiling, bearing the emblem for the organization which she wished to be part of some day; The Northern Department of Amadic Creatures…

Gina was focused on none of it. She was focused only on her camera...it would charge, and it would turn on. But how did the memory fare? Was she able to actually pull pictures from it? Was she able to see the proof of what she knew was true?

Gina's face rose into a large beaming grin as she saw the pictures on the screen of her computer...she couldn't help but do a little happy dance in her chair, despite the fact that she was definitely in pain. She laughed a moment, then sighed, looking at the pictures…

She paused. She knew they were there, and she knew she could see them...they were real. They were there. And yet...she looked at her hands, scraped from sand and water, once near frozen, brought to near burning. She sighed as she looked at them. Were those pictures worth it? Was being right really worth the pain she'd put herself through? Forty-five seconds of joy for nearly an hour and a half of misery and pain?

She slowly rose out of her chair, looking out of the window. It was Nine at night. Gina hadn't eaten, but she figured at this point dad wouldn't be too disappointed if she just ordered a pizza and left it at that.

Gina hid her clothes, wincing when she touched them with her raw hands. Walking to the ground floor of the house, she stowed her clothes away near the laundry, where she'd deal with it later. She slowly made her way back to the living room, stretching and cracking her joints before gripping the phone and sitting at the couch.

Before Gina ordered, she looked out of the glass sliding door...the wind died down, and the rain had become a drizzling pitter-patter on the glass once more. She looked, for a long while, out to the lake. It seemed it had calmed down.

The lake had won this fight, and it was satisfied.

And as Gina thought of what to order, she looked to the lake, and realized that despite losing, she was satisfied as well.

#Mari rambles #Original Character #OC #MARI CAN WRITE

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whosxafraid · 6 years

Note

Married Life: Luka/Beth

Meme: Married Life Meme Status: OPEN

leaves their dirty clothes on the floor

He’ll pick them up in a minute, he tells himself. Says they’re better off where they are because the floor isn’t as hard to get mud off of as the furniture. Because if anyone (besides the man also stripped down to his skivvies, next to him) knows the size of the fuss she’ll make about dirt in the weaving—it’s him.

So he’ll pick them up in a minute. The only problem is a minute became two became ten became an hour, became two. One bag of ice for his jaw, another for the nether bits. Because the asshole next to him fights dirty, though Luka had left himself wide open.

But that’s not the point. The point is….

Keys turning in a lock and there’s a second where his mind punches him twice for not having picked up the dirty clothes yet. But it’s all too late now, isn’t it? And all he can do is manage to tilt his head. Look back, squinting one eye shut so there isn’t three of her warbling on the very awkward horizon afforded him given the angle.

“He star’ed i’!”

A glare that Riley had, had the same idea. To blame him, verses taking it. The reality is it’s both their faults but damn him if he’s going to take that sitting down. Well he is but—that’s not the point.

“Oi’ dinna ye sh–tool. Ye be d’one d’at be drawn bloo’ firs’!”

forgets to run the dish washer

They prepare you for war. They prepare you for chaos. They prepare you for a lot of things that would make the average man curl up and cry. But what they don’t prepare you for? What they don’t prepare you for is the surprise. What they don’t prepare you for are the tears and the hugs that could last a week if you let them. What they don’t prepare you for is coming home.

Coming home to a cat that can’t ever decide if it hates you or loves you. Coming home to cinnamon and half a dozen other floral scents you’re too damn tired to name. Coming home to water running, that’s only drowned out by the crash of a plate in the sink and running feet. That’s forgotten in the wake of a hundred pounds wet vaulting at you without doubt you’ll catch her. Coming home to her because home isn’t home without her there.

And the first thing you fucking say isn’t I love you. Isn’t I missed you. It’s your brother’s on the next flight. Because relief is a hell of a gift, and for a woman that’s loaning out more than most to the United States Armed Forces–she deserves it.

And maybe your arms tighten a little more around her in the silence. And maybe you bury your face in her hair that hangs over her shoulder like some silk scarf. And you could fall asleep on your feet right then and there. To the scent of coconuts and cinnamon and what’s so easy to trick your mind into thinking is rain pouring out on a tin roof.

pumps gas for the car

“Praghsanna peitril. Chomh hard is atá sé fuar. Tá mé sa gh—-”

Thunk.

Snow. Wet freezing slush. Cutting down his back like so many tiny rivers, that have a thousand little needles in place of droplets. That makes his spine want to jump right out of him and go slithering into the gas tank because it’s warmer in there. But nothing of the sort happens does it? No he holds it all in. Shoves the shudder in his shoulders down into his feet. Continues watching the price tag of living rising higher and higher and higher until finally…

Thud.

The pump cuts off. The trigger released. A little shake to knock off the access, and don’t get him started on where that makes his brain go. How the differences between a gas pump and a dick weren’t all that many. And back on its perch it goes. Screwing in the gas seal, swinging the latch shut. Refusing the receipt because nine out of ten times they don’t print anyway and–he’s already stepping around the car.

Already paced himself. Made it look like he hadn’t a care in the world. Even with the sunshine smile on his face. Because she thinks she’s crafty does she? Going to be a wee shite just because she can. Well she’s not getting away with it this time. Because she’s her and he’s him, and every now and then he needs a tick mark or two put on his side of the score board.

So it’s all fluid, she sees it coming, has too if she knows him at all. But stands there unmoving like a deer in the head lights. And up she goes. Plucked from the ground like a princess at the end of any proper fairy tale. Carried a handful of steps (for him anyway) away from car and…deposited into the small snow bank. And the laughter follows after her.

Because her face. The sheer playfulness of it all. The happier times it reminds him of. Reminds him he can still feel that. And that it feels even better because it’s her. And maybe he doubles over a little, feet not quite so sure of themselves, stumbling marginally. At least until he hits a patch of unseen ice, and as the saying goes the bigger they are the harder they fall. But he hardly feels it at all. Flat on his back in the gas station parking lot, laughing clouds of breath into the air.

drives when they’re going somewhere

He knows what it looks like. Knows what they’re all thinking. And if he were perhaps a better man he might just admonish the lot of them. But he’s not is he? So he plays along, plays it up. All the while, keeping the wee woman that’s become the pulsing super nova center of his universe, wrapped safe and tight in his arms. Never mind the weird gate it’s causing him to undertake. Never mind it’s just as awkward for her. Because let them think what they like, just as long as it’s got nothing to do with thinking they’ve got a chance of taking her away.

And there’s slips and slides and laughter that still hasn’t died. Red noses and tinged ears. Flushed cheeks and skin that’s complaining about the cold air finding a way to make contact due to dishevaled clothes. And by the time he’s gotten her back in the car. Run round the car and started it up. They’re both trying to sniffle away the aftermath. Both reaching for the heater at once to jack it up to ridiculous; as he pulls them back out onto the highway.

It isn’t very long though before they realize they forgot the coffee. And Beth’s already fighting with her phone’s gps to find the next closest coffee spot to get their fix. Three attempts and getting him to try it later, she’s simply typing it in. Because google wasn’t built to understand accents. At least not ones as thick as both of theirs.

Wha'ya say Creek’s wahine stay f’ hana?

“Manager fer some richie’s horse ranch. Gives her run a d’place when he no be d’ere which is about forty ou’ o’d’fifty-ta weeks ye get in o’year.”

Horse ranch?

“Aye, love. Ashy already be pickin’ ou’ d’bes’ trails ta take ye on.”

He doesn’t need to look away from the road to know she’s beaming brighter than the sun.

rearranges the furniture

He has no idea when it started, or even that it had until he’s half done, hauling the headboard up five flights of stairs because it wouldn’t fit in the fucking elevator. And by then as the saying goes don’t stop now. So he doesn’t. His pride and his face are at stake at this point. And he’ll be damned if he loses either to that hawked nosed little—

Lulu, where stay box'a hooks f’ pot rack?

“One o’d boxes lef’ o’d’stove, love.”

At least he thinks so. He’d packed all this away in storage two years ago, so to be honest as little of it as there was, he can’t be quoted on where anything really is. As far as what box was packed with what anyway. But that’s neither here nor there as he moves to once again head back down the steps. A phone call that sounds a lot like Banks’ Texas, booming out of the speaker of House’s tortured phone.

Another hour if not longer, and eventually—they meet in the middle. The last item sitting stoically in the back of the truck. And he can almost feel it glaring at him. Daring him to even so much as make her twitch in her sleep and–oh no wait that’s Batman glaring at him. A silent truce in minimal gestures and stances. They’ll carry it in together.

The only problem? They both go for the same end. And there’s fifteen minutes of arguing over the best way to carry it with her on it. How best to keep it level. And why it made much more mathematical and logistical sense for Riley to go in backwards. Because you always put the bigger dude at the bottom. In case the top one slips. So you’ve got some kind of chance at both of you and the couch not turning the stairs into a slip n’ slide.

And by the time common sense weighs out there’s a hiss spoken into the air as he leans down to pick up his designated end.

“Ja’sus, how she be livin’ wi’d ye an’ no gone mad, be o’miracle.”

falls asleep with the TV on

Go big or go home. He likes to do both. Always tries to make it a little special. Flowers from the shop in the airport. Or a plush from a port he can’t ever tell her where was. Simply shows up on her door mat, when she thinks he’s still months out. Always puts her first before even his pillow. Why? Because she’s important. She’s beautiful. And he’s spent every second missing her since he left.

But it…..always goes exactly the same way. They don’t go out. They stay in. Order take out through Uber. And spend the entire night swimming through the best noodles and burgers NYC has to offer, while binge watching everything he missed. Though he never makes it too long after dinner does he? Never quite finishes that last season because a full stomach, six months of jet-lag, and that little piece of heaven snuggled up next to him is the perfect recipe.

The perfect recipe for making eye lids droop and his head heavy. Until eventually he doesn’t wake up when his skull meets the back of the couch. Doesn’t snap back to awareness, trying to shake off the exhaustion for another few seconds. Eventually that arm around her slackens and doesn’t move again. Eventually the remote tilts of his hand, and that one foot relaxes near parallel agianst the coffee table.

Tomorrow he’ll wake up with half a dozen kinks in his neck but it’ll be worth it. Tomorrow he’ll make it up to her with a late breakfast, and dinner that isn’t soaked in grease. Tomorrow….tomorrow is a lot of things. One of which right now is far away. So for now he enjoys the little things that have become large ones.

Things like sleeping on his girlfriends couch.Things like having her tucked up against him.Things like being at home, where he can switch off and just be him.

gets to use the bathroom first

She thinks she’s quiet. Sneaky as a mouse. And maybe she is, but he’s just wired to wake up with even slight changes. Even if he’s drifting off and back again after she’s moved beyond his awareness.

He could get up. Help with the coffee. But he doesn’t. Could throw on clothes and go scrounge up breakfast so neither of them have to cook. But he doesn’t. Selfishly he rolls over. Shifts her pillow closer and plants his face in it. Pulls the covers up over his head, and breathes it all in.

Thinks about taking finally taking her on a proper vacation. They both need it, and she deserves it. And that…that leads to other things. Things that are small and square and hidden for safe keeping in a loose slat he’d found in the flooring under the bed. Which makes the cogs start turning because it’s a big deal. And it’s got to be just right.

And somewhere beneath multi-colored cotton there’s a sleepy smile pressed into her pillow, before he’s gone again. Lost to the quiet blankness of non-existent dreams. And honestly? He doesn’t stir a muscle when she slips out of the bedroom and down the hall.

But it’s okay. Because later? The bathroom will still smell like her. At least until that bottle of man is cracked open.

decides the temperature for the ac/heater

Seventy-five. Loses her shoes.

Eighty. Gets him a sweater landing on his head.

Eighty-three. Socks get eaten by the couch.

Eighty-six. A shirt becomes a wadded up pillow.

Ninety. There goes the skirt in a puddle on the floor.

Ninety-five…that curved back end is getting followed to the bed room. Because leather sticks and cotton breathes.

sets up holiday decorations

Things you miss.

Fighting with fake cobwebs, to make them just right. Spending an egregious amount of green on candy that will mostly go uneaten by the tricksters and treaters that come to call.

Staring at the turkey in the oven. Still trying to work out why this is a Thanksgiving food and not a Christmas one. Because where you’re from Thanksgiving hadn’t been a thing. Appreciating the stuffing though because okay yes, they did manage to upgrade that.

Rockefeller center squeezed into one little loft apartment. He can almost feel the warmth of it all in the photo. Smell the Christmas biscuits, hear the records playing in the background. Taste the snow that still lingers on the edges of you for hours after coming inside.

The horrendously stereotypical scene makes him laugh. But there’s something not at all mocking about it. Because it’s his two favorite people in the world caught inside one small five by eleven. The radiance that Beth always is, and the little boy that really wasn’t so little anymore.

Each one is stuck to the underside of House’s bed. Each one cherished and looked after. And when it’s time to go home. Where the pictures become people, they’ll be tucked away in that box he keeps under his nightstand. Where every other moment he’s missed lies ready to remind him–why he does what he does. Why he leaves. Why he pays the price of not being in their lives more.

Because soldiers don’t fight because they hate what’s in front of them, they fight because they love what’s behind him. And all the missed moments too.

leaves the lights on

Night lights. They never were a thing in his house. Save the light over the sink that was always on. Because his mother had said the fair folk wouldn’t come. That if you left the lights on, they would think you awake. So the O’Rian children had grown up with no fear of the dark. No sense of it being evil. Because darkness meant the fair folk would come. And how could that be a bad thing?

But he’s too old to believe in that sort of thing anymore. Growing up, knowledge, being a SEAL; they’d all bled the fantastical out him. Or at least he’d thought so until he’d met her. When she’d either knowingly or unknowingly rekindled that little light in him. Reminding him the magic was still there, he’d just chose to stop seeing it.

So he goes to Home Depot. But they’re just not–so the bench outside the store it is. Asking the almighty google for help. And when that doesn’t work? He makes a long distance phone call. Even if it’s past reasonable calling hours there. Because the receiver isn’t going to care. And like clock work she picks up on the second and a half ring.

Twenty minutes later, he back inside the store. Buying battery powered light clusters, and spray adhesive. Then it’s off to the dollar store for jars and glitter and a can of spray paint. Back to his place. Digging up yesterdays newspaper and three hours later…

A jar of lit glitter is standing vigil in every room. And Luka? He’s still picking silver and gold out of his hair and beard and out from under his nails for weeks afterward.

uses the bathroom with the door open

Privacy. He’d never had it growing up, so there was little to no adjustment required when he hit basic. Let alone everything else that followed after it. So he really…the first time it’d happened, had been after. And she’d already seen it all anyway. No harm no foul. Especially considering her vocation. She knew how it all worked to begin with.

But there’s the little reasons too. The way she likes to pretend it’s not happening. The way the conversation between them doesn’t have to ebb or pause because body functions are a thing. And honestly it’s not like it takes ages to piss. Ten seconds give or take a little, shake, flush, wash, done. It’s just easier with not having to worry with the door.

“Ye bro’der an’ ta wee lad, be comin’ fer dinner, aye? We just be bringin’ i’ up d’en. S’jus’ o’weeken’, love. D’ink he’ll live.”

fixes the plumbing (or calls the plumber)

It’s four am. He should have been asleep seven hours ago. First bells in an hour. But he’s gone longer without sleep. He’ll be fine. By four thirty he’s hung up with the plumber. They’ll be there in three hours. He sends her a text to let her know, before he shifts gears entirely. Puts the SEAL back on and cuts into his reserves.

But even the seven mile run down the beach doesn’t push the worry away. Doesn’t stop the cogs from turning about what can be done to change things. To put her in a better position. A better place where things aren’t going to break down on her every third week of the month. And if something does break, all she has to do is make a phone call. They’ll fix it. No hassle.

But it’s not as simple as moving a few bits of furniture. Trading one key for another one. No it’s way more complicated. Because she has a thinks himself a knight for a brother, and one of God Almighty’s literal mouth pieces for a best friend. So the simple question of asking your girlfriend to move in with you, becomes very much not simple. And round and round and round it goes in his head.

Until somewhere between mess and his head hitting the pillow a word of advice comes from the most—unexpected of places.

Jus’ ask ‘er ta marry ya already, dumbass. Peej’ll have a stroke sure but at least ya won’t have the lord’s m’shepard, up ya ass for ya livin’ together.

And maybe he lays there staring a bit dumbfounded at Creek for a long minute. Because it’s honestly the last piece of advice Luka would have ever thought Mister-I-Don’t-Believe-In-Marriage would suggest. Still it’s a thought. A real viable one. And that box under the floorboards beneath his bed back home, is getting pretty full. Maybe he’s got just enough to pull it off. Luck with him of course that she says yes.

#brooklynislandgirl #[four scores seven years and 100 miles later]#[here it is]#beagáinín || beth riley #He Doesnt Know How Heaven Could Be Better Than Her || Beth and Luka #traveling soldier || military au [ closed ]#return to sender || answered asks #[long post]

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detachableteacher · 3 years

Text

It's both summer and birthday, nice.

"What's a good summer outfit?" I ask during lunch at Ryu's place.

"Can't be that hard, can it?" Yu asks back. "What are you thinking of wearing?"

"Something simple, something breezey, maybe-"

"No shirt at all?"

"Are you serious with that?" I glare at Yu for giving that suggestion.

"Yusei is right, though." Ryu answers as he joins us with iced tea. "Why should you feel embarrassed about being shirtless in public?"

"Because I'm shirtless? in public?" My face is still in its miffed state.

"Why not?"

"I don't think I have the looks for that."

"Nonsense," Yu responds. "You definitely look like someone who's hiding something good under that tank top of yours, and if you're confident enough to wear a tank top outside of work..."

"I'm not getting you."

"You're just a few steps away from going shirtless in public, even if it's for a beach."

"Really now? It's like I'm showing more of myself than I want to."

"You'll be fine. How about this, lift up that tank-"

"What?!"

"There's no one else here, Jun, just your two fellow teachers — Akashi says he'll come, though — and I'm a childhood pal, there's nothing to worry about."

"Fine, if you also join me in this, this birthday party at the beach was your big idea after all."

"Plural, all the other teachers planned for this." Ryu adds, with Yu turning to him. "What? It's not a surprise party."

Yu turns back at me. "Show us what you have first."

"Here goes nothing." I nervously hold onto the bottom hem of my tank top, and slowly but surely lift it up to the point where my stomach is in full view. Given the lack of change in their reaction, I may not be lacking in this department.

"The ladies would go crazy for that, man!" Ryu grins. "You definitely don't need to worry about what shirt to wear."

"Or if you forgot to get a spare on your way to the beach." The two chuckle at what Yu says. "You know what? I just thought of something. Put your head on the table.

I shrug and take my head off, placing it on the table to face where my body will be standing. "Should I go all out?"

"It's like you know what's up. Go for it."

I go back to the spot, and with trepidation on my face take off my tank top, the lack of anything on my neck making things slightly easier. "I look like a mannequin."

"They'll be looking at your body long enough not to realize it doesn't have a head on." Ryu snickers. "You pretty much have the perfect body, Jun, all it needs now is a head."

"Yeah, if you can go around town carrying your head like it's a basketball, going to a beach without a shirt is a piece of cake."

I walk to my head and put it back on. "There, does it look any better?"

"It's definitely complete." Ryu answers. "I do notice how your face doesn't seem to match your body. Shouldn't be too much of a problem."

"Okay, I've done my part, now you two."

The two are more than willing, with Yu showing off first. Safe to say that neither of them are any more or less notable than I am.

"We'd look great together as a group like this." Yu comments. "If you're with us, you don't have to worry about grabbing too much attention."

"Hey guys, what's-" Akashi barges in to us three about to get dressed again. "Jun's birthday party isn't until Saturday, right?"

"Just in time!" Yu exclaims. "Come on, take it off."

"What now?!"

We couldn't help but laugh.

-----

Fully clothed again, we snack on some fries while we wait for Ryu to come back.

"So we're heading to this beach?" I ask.

"It's the closest one with lodging we can stay in." Yu answers, circling the spot on a printed map. "It's the only one; they developed the beach itself."

"Who's coming, by the way?"

"There's you, me, him, Ryu, uh, did Sayori confirm?"

"She did. So did Midori." Akashi answers.

"I think that's everyone, the others said no."

"Who's going to bring the food?" I ask while I get some food for me.

"Ryu will, as usual. If that won't cut it we'll buy at this KFC here."

"Faaaaan-cy. By the way, my car's not big enough for all of us, not counting strapping you on the roof.

"I'll deal with that myself." Ryu comes back with more grub. "The vehicle I bought is about to arrive tomorrow

"What kind of vehicle?"

"A van, should be enough to fit every person and cargo inside."

"Cargo. We're not going to bring a lot, right? Just the food, and whatever games you'd bring."

"Everything will fit, and you'll even have some leg room in the van."

"When it comes to Jun leg room is pretty wide, so ya gotta be precise." Akashi says. "What are you going to wear to the beach, Jun?"

"What you came into should probably answer that, or not." I rub the side of my neck. "I guess I'll be wearing beach shorts, just beach shorts."

"Yeah, the beach is the perfect place to show that physique without getting arrested. You'd do yourself a disservice by hiding that in your usual tank top."

"Forget about the shirt," Yu joins back in. "Do you even have shorts?"

"They're all indoor, I'll probably buy a new pair tomorrow, anything can work."

-----

The next day after work, I head straight to the nearest clothes store in the middle of town.

"Good evening!" A salesperson greets me.

"Do you have any blue beach shorts?" I ask.

"They're over here, sir." She points at a rack of shorts. I thank her and head to the rack to start scanning. I find a few candidates and bring them to the fitting room.

The fitting room's mirror is a full-length mirror tacked onto the wall. I stare at my reflection for a while readying myself to try on some shorts. After some pondering, the only way to assess which shorts will fit me best is to wear them without a shirt. I take my shirt off, and as it sometimes happens, my head gets snagged off my neck, and I flail around a bit until I grab my head, pull my arms off, and then take my head out of my shirt.

Only then do I remember that I forgot to lock the door, because by the time my shirt's off and my head in my hands, the door opens and a lady screams at the sight of me, almost causing me to let go of my head.

"I'm so sorry!" I hold my head up to my neck, then immediately reattach it. "It's my fault, I forgot to lock the door."

The woman, who's about my age, looks at me from top to bottom, and with her being shorter than I am it's rather noticable that she has no idea where to look at. "Wow, is that really your body? I think I saw you holding your he-"

"This is also my head, miss." I point at my head. "I won't have any other head I can steal, right?"

"Yes?" She gives me a confused look, then averts her gaze before returning to me. "Could you, do, that... thing again?"

"This?" I take my head off again, holding it just beside my chest. "Or do you want me to do it like this?" I hold it beside my neck.

"You really look like two different people that way." She comments, and silence follows. "Um, I'll just wait for you to be done." She sidesteps out of sight.

I finally lock the door, staring at my bare torso reflected by the mirror, then my own face. I guess they have a point about that. I have three shorts, all blue, all reaching above the knee, differing only in design. The assessing doesn't and shouldn't take long, and decide on getting the one with a gradient from sky blue to light blue; it doesn't end on white at the very least.

With my final decision in hand, I leave the fitting room, and the woman from a while ago bows at me in apology. "I'm sorry about what happened, sir."

"It's fine, I wasn't paying attention myself."

"I must say, I wouldn't have known what you have under that sweater."

"Uh, thanks?"

She giggles a bit before giving a final bow and duck to the fitting room.

I shrug it off and finalize my purchase.

-----

"Hey, Jun," Yu drops by my place. "Do you still have that omelette pan?"

"Yeah, it's collecting dust in my kitchen, I'll just grab it."

"Got anything for the party?"

"Shorts. Just the shorts."

"Now we're talking. Lemme see them."

I show him the shorts, fresh off the bag.

"Of course they're blue." He chuckles. "When it comes to you it's always green and blue."

"Says the guy with the same shirt for work." I hand him the pan. "Do you even have anything for the party yourself?"

"Already have."

"Glad to know I'm not alone in this."

"You're already good enough on your own, I promise. Well, I gotta go back and make dinner, see you tomorrow."

-----

After Saturday classes, the invited folks immediately go to Ryu's place to get things ready, and I find out what Ryu's new ride is: a Delica.

"So that's what drive to the beach?" I struggle to carry the gifts I get from those who aren't joining us

"That's the one." Ryu proudly answers. "More than enough for us."

"Family road trip much?"

"If it works, it works." He shrugs. "And it will also be used for business purposes. Today is for leisure, though, so let's get moving, guys."

Taking my birthday boy spot at the passenger seat, we are on our way to the beach. About half an hour later, we arrive at the beach resort, a nice slice of coast filled with people and a good number of establishments.

"After we find our spots, let's get our gear ready." Ryu heads the hunt for a spot and finds us a nice covered table just by the entrance of a bazaar-looking marketplace.

Fully settled in, Yu jumps in with the opening remarks: "Let's see what Jun's gonna be wearing, you can't just go on like that in here, you know."

"That's what we're waiting for, right?" Sayori asks in wide-eyed anticipation.

"Fine, if that's what you want, I'll change. Don't get too excited." I leave off to the nearest changing room, get changed and come back in my new shorts, showing my shirtless body in its full glory. "Here it is."

"Nice shorts!" Akashi exclaims.

"Looking good!" Ryu adds.

"Hey, let's not forget the most surprising thing of it all," Midori interjects. "You've been hiding that under a sweater for so long?"

"What do you mean?" I awkwardly rub the back of my neck.

"You, excuse me, you have a great body!"

"Don't even bother with having your head on, the girls will be too busy staring to notice."

"Stop it, will you?" I approach the gang's table after the impromptu exhibition. "Do you guys really think I'm that hot?"

"Yes." A unanimous decision.

"Really? I just don't think I have the right type."

"You do, just take our word for it." Sayori says, not exactly reassuringly.

"Enough of this chit-chat," Akashi cries out, "Let's get wet!"

We rush to the changing rooms, and after I wait by the doors, everyone's ready. Then we head to the shore, though along the way I feel my head getting yanked by someone.

"Midori?!"

"I'll show you what I mean." I can already see that she's diverting from the group to a row of beach chairs.

"Okay, how are you going to explain carrying a head around?" I ask as she lays me down on a chair. She covers me with a towel.

Meanwhile, my stands along with the rest of the gang, and in less than a minute I notice a couple of girls taking a good look at my torso, one of them's even holding a phone. Then a quick shift up to my neck surprises them. I fully face them and give them a slight wave.

"You're getting some attention now, huh?" Yu elbows me a bit. I awkwardly rub the back of my neck. "They're about to talk about the headless hottie they saw, I'm sure about that."

"Did you bring the volleyball?" Ryu asks Yu.

"Here." With the volleyball in hand, we walk to a volleyball court.

The first game is between us boys as Sayori goes away to find Midori. A quick drawing of lots (Ryu always has those ready) pits me and Ryu against Yu and Akashi. It's not exactly professional stuff, but quite a number of people are watching, thanks to the spectacle of a headless beach bod playing volleyball with his pals.

Not a pause in the game goes by without someone wanting to take a picture either of me or with me. I can't tell them anything and I don't want to reject their requests so the photoshoots keep coming, solicited or not.

With a game finished, the two girls finally return, with Midori carrying my head. With that the attention just stays on me, probably astonished at seeing me reattach my head. I expected that being back in one piece would stop the looks, I guessed wrong. At least no one is approaching me for photoshoots.

With the girls in line, we have Yu and Ryu match up against them first as a bit of boys versus girls before a 3-on-3 where Sayori joins the two against the rest. The people still staying are definitely only watching for the game.

After all that gaming we watch the sun set for a bit before rushing back to our table for some dinner. On the way to the beach we bought a bucket from a KFC.

"Did this come with any drinks?" I ask in the middle of laying down the items.

"This." Ryu pulls out a large bottle of soda. "It's probably not enough for us, there must be a convenience store here for us to get a second bottle."

"We can look for it if you want." I say.

"I'll join ya." Akashi volunteers.

After a short walk, we lay our eyes on a convenience store, and enter it without any issues whatsoever; the AC isn't set to frigid.

I buy another of the bottle of soda and a bag of chips while Akashi has already bought some gashapon tokens. I pay out at the counter, trying to act like I'm used to buying at a convenience store without a shirt on.

Once we leave, I ask Akashi, "Of all the places to do that,"

"They only sell these things in select branches, especially this," He pulls out a CD.

"That's some dedication."

After all that we return, the others already having their meals, so we quickly join in, and after all the food, each one of them gives their birthday gift to me. All in all the day went well, and I don't feel as bad about others seeing my body.

We all change back to clothes more appropriate in a city and head back home. I open all my gifts after crashing into my apartment and call it a day.

-----

The next school day after classes, a student approaches me as I walk by the field, phone in hand, "Sensei, is this you?"

Indeed it's a picture of me at the beach, "Yeah, that's me."

Other students crowd around her and without fail all go "Ooooooh!"

"I didn't know sensei has such great-"

"Don't say it out loud!"

-END

#//parts and pieces #bio

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mahalidael · 7 years

Text

Sparkboys #2: A Roof Redneck Offers Me Brownies

Content warning: Profanity, drug mentions, screaming rednecks.

The polls are in and the polls want Murphy! Buckle up, buttercups, because Murphy ain’t done falling into this vortex of terror.

My tablet is on the road to recovery, so if the guys from Best Buy pull through, you might be seeing chapter art for each of these.

(Chapter 1)

“They’re staring at us.”

“Yeah, because you broke into a goddamn bathroom stall,” Jacob replied through a mouthful of shrimp. “Anybody reasonable’ld be starin’ at you.”

Picture this: you’ve got a scrawny looking kid with a bad dye job, a ratty hoodie, and the beginnings of a nosebleed. You’ve got a linebacker who’s been beat to hell and dunked in water. Put them in the same restaurant booth. That’s what was going on.

We figured we were both hungry, and that nobody would bother us if we sat together. Jacob looked socially pathetic, but he was still a whole lot of dude, and I was sure I would be eternally branded the Crazy Toilet Guy™, but at least no one would fuck with me.

The ideal football player looks like an all-American boy. Jacob looked like somebody who mugged all-American boys in a dark alley. Maybe the black eye was part of it (lord knows how that happened), maybe the piercings was part of it (earrings, nose stud, the whole works), but mostly he was just moody-looking. If Allison thought I was scowling, she should have gotten a load of this guy.

“Nah, they were already staring when I first came in…” I was looking out the window, pretending not to notice the gawkers. The outlet looked creepy, though I imagine it looked better in daylight. I thought of the people who were whispering Allison’s name. “Does it have anything to do with Dr. Allison?”

Jacob jumped a little, as if stabbed. “Why’d you think that?”

“Well, you seemed surprised when you read my texts. Come to think of it—thank you,” I said to the waitress, who put two drinks down. She, too, gave me a bit of a stink-eye. “—everyone seems to know who she is.”

Jacob took some sugar packets from the little tray on the table and started dumping them in his drink. I eyed the reddish-brown drinks cautiously—I had been getting my food while the waitress was at the booth, letting Jacob order drinks for both of us. He looked at me, lit up with curiosity. “What’s she to you?”

“Eh, she’s my mother,” I said evenly.

“You call your mother by her last name?”

“Fostered.”

“Oh. Like… real recently?”

“Yeah, how’d you guess?” I took a tiny sip of the drink. It already tasted like sugar. I couldn’t understand why Jacob was putting more in it.

“Sweet tea.”

“What?”

“The drinks. You were starin’ at ‘em like they were gonna bite you,” he chuckled, low. Masculine. I made a note to work on my laugh. “But Dr. Allison has a strange reputation in this town. We know maybe one thing about her, and it’s that she’s a doctor.”

“Robot scientist. Roboticist?”

“Really?”

“It’s what the social worker said.”

“Man, I knew she had to be doin’ somethin’ with all that sheet metal. My dad works at Lowe’s,” Jacob added. “Her neighbors swear up and down that she’s an organ trafficker.”

I picked at my dumplings uncomfortably—and there’s something strangely comforting about how, no matter where they are or what the sign says, Chinese restaurants will always serve dumplings. “Why?”

“Uh, foreign people showing up at her doorstep with briefcases. Strange noises from her house at night. General weirdness. But mostly because she don’t talk to anyone.”

“What, that’s an issue?”

“Ev’ryone knows ev’ryone in Cottonport. Nobody knows Allison—‘cept you, I suppose.” He got very quiet. “How is it?”

“The sweet tea, or Allison?”

“Both.”

“The tea’s sweet. Allison’s… I don’t know. I haven’t been there long enough to really have an opinion,” I admitted.

The waitress came back with the check and two fortune cookies. I was glad that I was at a buffet, otherwise she might’ve spat in my food. I looked over the restaurant again. The other teenagers had gotten bored of us, and instead, their eyes were on two women in suits speaking to the cashier. Local lesbians, I guessed.

I offered to pick up the check. At the same time, Jacob offered to pick up the check. “Dude, seriously, let me handle it, you’re already putting up with the town witch—”

“You were in a toilet when I met you, you don’t get to feel sorry for me—!”

“Lemme be nice to you!”

“Never!”

This was the first in what would prove to be a friendship full of arguments.

We ended up splitting it halfway. I still think I should have covered the whole check, especially since I got an extra box for Allison. Maybe if I gave her enough food she’d let me keep my kidneys.

“Are you awake?”

“Yeah, I’m awake.”

“You’ll have to tell me where to turn.”

Sitting in Jacob’s car was way more calming than I thought a ride with a stranger would be. It helps that his car looks like a mom car. You know those cars that you always see a million of at a carpool? That exact car.

I racked—wracked? Raked? I can never get those words straight—my brain, trying to remember where my house was. “Uh, turn left here.”

I’m not a fan of the suburbs at the best of times, but when I see a quiet neighborhood at night, my fight or flight instinct goes off. It was pitch dark, except maybe one or two streetlights. It was dark in Jacob’s car, too, but a nice dark. Allison’s takeout box burned in my lap. I hoped she liked fried rice.

Jacob kept driving down the winding roads as I tried to direct him. The poor guy, he was doing his best, but I wasn’t paying attention on my way in the first time. We were both thinking that we were lost but we were also both too busy wallowing in social anxiety to voice that.

We had been driving for about ten minutes when I looked at something on the side of the road and said “what’s that.”

At that point I knew we were Lost As Fuck, because this street had some odd houses. I knew what a McMansion looked like, but these weren’t really big enough to be mansions, they were just… Mc. But as much of a hot mess as these houses were, I was focusing on the moving light on top of the house.

“What’s what—wait,” Jacob said, slowing down. “What is that?”

It looked like somebody was waving a flashlight on the roof, though it was too dark for me to make out anything else. “Fuck if I know. You’ve got the good eyes.”

Jacob stopped the car and stared at the roof for a good moment. The syrupy light calmed down, apparently done with spinning around. “Is that—oh my god, it’s Rebecca!”

I squinted at the roof, still seeing nothing. “Who’s Rebecca?”

“The only person who’d climb onto a roof in the middle of the night, that’s who.” He covered his mouth, his eyebrows coming together. “Damn, what’s she even doing here?” He asked himself. “I thought her dad moved to Tacoma.”

Then the flashlight was aimed at the car. Jacob ducked like it was a gun. “Get down!”

I automatically bent over as far as the box would allow, and only afterwards did I realize I had no clue what this was about. “What? What’s going on?”

The beam was pointed through the car window. From the distance, I heard a girl shouting: “Jacob? Is that you?”

Jacob shushed me. “You can’t let her know I’m here!”

“I know you’re in there, silly, you left your headlights on!” Rebecca drawled. She also had an accent, but it was softer, I think? She sounded like that Gone With the Wind chick, which I think she’d find ironic.

Jacob groaned, sat up, and rolled down his window. “Don’t mind me, Rebecca, I’m just passin’ through!”

“Who’s that?”

“None of your business!” I peeked out the window, and immediately got a face full of light. “Hey! Don’t let her see you!”

“Oooooooooh! You got a boy in there!”

“No I don’t!”

I covered my eyes and squinted at the roof, but the nighttime was the wrong time this time. “Hey, roll down your window, stranger!” she shouted.

I looked to Jacob, but he had his head in his hands. I rolled the window down. Rebecca nodded her flashlight in approval. “Yeah, that’s what I thought, you don’t look familiar. Are you new in town?”

“Uh, yeah,” I called out.

“You want a brownie?”

“I… what?”

“I got some brownies, do you want a couple? Consider them a housewarming gift!”

“Do not,” Jacob hissed.

I was super confused now. “Hey, what’s up with this girl?” I asked Jacob.

“She’s just creepy. Don’t talk to her,” he whispered.

“I figured, she’s yelling at us from her roof. But how does she know who you are?”

“I was the top linebacker, a lot people know who I am.”

It didn’t explain the overly-familiar friendly rudeness, or how she knew what his truck looked like, or how he recognized her from so many yards away—but Jacob was close-lipped, and pumping him for answers would be stupid.

There was only one question that I could get a real straight answer on. “But does she have, like… drugs?”

“What? No!” Jacob sputtered. “...W—why? D’you want any?”

Hm, Rebecca was weird and possibly troubled. Sounded like my kind of company. So I grabbed some stuff and got out of the car. “What’re you doin’?!” Jacob demanded, getting out of the driver’s seat.

“Going to meet the crazy roof girl. Hold my box.”

“See, Jacob? Some people know how to have a good time,” Rebecca chortled.

“You mind your own goddamn business, Rebecca!” Jacob yelled at the roof.

“There’s a ladder by the wall here,” she continued, pointing her flashlight at a spot on the grass. “You don’t have to stay, you can just grab you a brownie.”

I started towards the spot, only to be stopped in my tracks. I turned and saw Jacob holding the hood of my sweatshirt. “What are you doing?!”

“What are you doin’? This ain’t your house! We’re trespassing,” he snapped. “You know what could happen? We could get arrested!”

“Bad things can happen every day, you ding-dong. I could get herpes every time I walk outside! That doesn’t stop me from living my life!”

“That ain’t how herpes works.”

“You don’t know what I do in my free time!” I spotted the shape of a ladder leaning against the building. Great!

I think a lot about that ladder. I guess Rebecca put it there, but she could have gone out the window to get on the roof. Without it, I probably wouldn’t have taken her offer. How different would my life turn out if I had?

Anyway:

I started climbing up the ladder, and Jacob was basically scurrying behind me. “If you don’t come down from there, you’re gonna be walkin’ home!”

“Cool.”

I couldn’t see his face, but I imagined it was turning red. “Fine! Stay here, see if I care!”

“Uh huh.”

“I’m drivin’ off, and you’re either gettin’ arrested or draggin’ yourself into one of Rebecca’s dumb shenanigans! I’m tired of enablin’ ev’ry mildly quirky boy that says hello to me!”

“Then drive off.”

“I am, asshole! Good evenin’!”

I heard him storming off behind me. He wouldn’t be gone for long, I had his car keys.

Vote for more Sparkboys by giving this post a like or reblog!

#word #sparkboys #4books #my writing

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multipleuniversesinwriting-blog · 7 years

Photo

Title: Carousel 12

Warnings: ghosts, fighting, really a filler in a way.

Word Count: 2663

Summary: You decide to go out on a salt and burn on your own, only to come across another hunter on the hunt. Deciding that you’d rather work with them then having to call up Sam and Dean, you two finish the case together. By the time you get back Dean’s furious, but you’re not having any of his bullshit.

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

While the tears ran down your face you packed your hunting bag, throwing weapons into it messily as well as a small first aid kit. You paused, panting lightly as you stared at your bag while you raced through your thoughts- making sure you had everything needed for almost any hunt, before zipping it up and moving around your room to grab clothing articles.

No one came by your room as your furiously packed, and no one saw you as you left your room, storming down to the garage. You quickly glanced at all the cars, and without a moment's hesitation walked over to the key rack, grabbing the keys to the 1960 Cadillac and opening the trunk, throwing your bag inside of it and quietly closing the lid. You didn’t want the boys to know you were leaving till it was too late to stop you or follow you. You hopped over the door and into the red seats, the sleek black around you reflecting the lights as you opened the garage door and slammed the keys into the ignition- starting it up without fear.

It roared to life and you could practically hear the boys racing down the halls to the garage. You smoothly pulled out of the parking spot before spinning the wheel and racing out of the garage and the drive way- glancing at the rear view mirror to see the boys out of breath right as you turned the corner.

You focused your eyes on the road, going about twenty over the speed limit- tears drying up in the harsh wind. The sun was about an hour away from setting- and you enjoyed the peaceful glow it casted on the land as you drove down the highway- bunker disappearing from your mirrors as well as the fear of the boys catching up to you. The engine continued a soft roar/loud purr as you rested one arm on the door, your head resting in your palm as your other hand cradled the steering wheel.

You finally began to slow down as you decided to pull over- pulling your phone out of your pocket as you sat on the side of the road. You began searching through news local to your spot- seeing as the sun was finally disappearing behind the horizon which meant you were about an hour or more away from the bunker- and came across what sounded like a good ol’ salt and burn. You turned your gps on, and rested your phone in a cup holder as you pulled back onto the road- following its directions to a town that was roughly another hour out.

By the time you arrived to the town it was dark, and the moon was a quarter of the way up the sky. You pulled into a motel parking lot, shutting off the car and sliding out, phone going into your pocket as you moved to the back- grabbing the roof and pulling it over and locking it down before rolling up the windows. You grabbed your bags from the trunk and locked the car, heading to the lobby as you dropped the keys in your pocket- patting your wallet in your back pocket. At least you hadn’t forgotten that.

The woman behind the desk looked exhausted but was kind and even gave you one of the ‘suits’ for half price since you told her that you were traveling and had yet to earn more money. You entered the room- and let out a soft sigh as you closed the door with your foot, dropping your stuff on the table in front of the window facing the parking lot. You closed the curtains on the window, getting ready to remove your shirt when there was a knock on your door.

You paused, quietly opening your bag to grab your pistol (it was one Dean had given you, almost like a whole Yin and Yang thing) and turned the safety off, peeking through the peephole to see who stood outside. A man dressed in a FBI suit stood there, and your brows furrowed as you unlocked the door and cracked it open, gun hidden beside the doorframe.

“Yes?” You asked, raising an eyebrow. You really didn’t have time for this man.

“Ma’am, I’m with the FBI, I’m Agent Blackwood-” You chuckled, revealing your handgun as you held it by your side, out of sight of passerbyers but in sight for him.

“You aren’t an Agent sweetheart, I know a fake badge when I see one. What do you want?” You asked, finger resting on the trigger. He paused, assessing you and trying to look in past you to see your environment behind you. He must’ve gotten a glimpse of your green duffel because he relaxed slightly, stashing the badge away.

“Seems this case has brought more than one hunter into town, huh? How about we work it together, we’ll get it done faster- then we can be on our merry way.” He said, and you paused, looking him over. His hair was greased back away from his face, and you could tell the locks were long, probably falling right below his ear, and he had honey warm eyes. A five o’clock that was starting to become thicker resting along his sharp cut jawline- and running back over your thoughts you swore you heard a russian based accent.

You stepped to the side, hiding the gun behind you as you opened the door to let him in. He entered, surveying everything, and you closed the door, locking it tight as you set your gun on the table, standing beside it to look at him.

“(Y/n) Winchester- who are you?” You asked, holding a hand out for him to shake.

“Gleb Rockwell. I’ve heard about you and your brothers… why aren’t they here?” You shrugged, leaning your hip against the table.

“I wanted to get away for a bit. Some me time ya know?” You said- and he chuckled- looking around before plopping down on the edge of the bed- looking exhausted. Every hunter sported that look.

“So no spa? Just a salt and burn?” He asked and you hummed in response, grabbing your gun before moving to your duffel.

“Not really a spa kind of girl… what do you have on the case so far?” I asked- and he sighed- wringing his hands together. He must be new at hunting if he seemed this tired from a simple case. Poor guy was probably feeling stretched out.

“Amelia- Amelia Westfall died in 1896, suicide. Child of abuse and sexual assault- she died at the young ripe age of eighteen. Her father was a rich man- owned almost the whole town before his daughter's death. Her mother was the owner and creator of the The Meretricum. The House of Whores- or The Whores. Amelia was the prized prostitute- guess how many abortions she had.” He said and I frowned deeply- shaking my head as I began pulling out my guns- making sure I had everything.

“Too fucking many. She was probably a disease hotspot as well. Where’s she buried?” I asked and he took a small sigh through his nose.

“She was buried in the graveyard at the edge of town- but when I dug her up her bones weren’t there.” He said and I looked over to him- pausing in loading my shotgun with salt barrels.

“Her bones weren’t there?” I asked- and he nodded- looking over to me. I looked down at my gun and finished loading it- the gun clicking as I snapped it up. “Alright. Let’s assume they were moved for safety- she must’ve had someone sympathetic to her cause- someone who knew she would stick around and help her. Out of everyone you’ve questioned so far- who seemed most sympathetic to her plight?” I asked and he pulled out his little notebook.

“Three people- a woman named Gertrude Spring, a man named Matthew Farse, and a young girl named Ruth Marblestein.” He said and I grabbed my change of clothes- my agent clothes- and headed towards the bathroom.

“I’m gonna get changed then we’ll go to the girl.” I said, and he made no response as I entered- closing the door and locking it behind me. I quickly changed and exited the bathroom- dress slacks and red blouse flattering my form.

“It’s late- she might be asleep.” He said as I slipped my gun into the waistband behind my back- the black shining as I bent over and grabbed my badge- slinging that around my neck and turning to face him.

“Let’s go Agent Blackwood- we could have this done tonight.” I said, pulling on my black tennis shoes. He stood and we headed out- my fingers grabbing the key off the table as I pulled on my coat. We left the room and the building, sliding into my corvette. “What’s her address?” I asked- and he gave it to me. I pulled out of the parking lot and he quietly lead the way- the streets empty and quiet.

We pulled up outside the suburban house- and I turned the car off. The lights were on and I looked to Gleb, raising an eyebrow. He nodded and we stepped out- car doors slamming before we walked up the gravel walkway. I knocked politely on the door and half a minute later it opened- an older woman answering.

“Hi- Miss Marblestein- I’m Agent Rook. I arrived here a little later than my partner-” I gestured to him. “- and now I’m playing catch up. I was wondering if I could talk to you and your daughter?” I asked softly- and she weakly smiled- bringing a tissue up to her red nose.

“Of course Agent Rook. Come on in, please.” She said softly, stepping off to the side. “Do be careful though- I’ve got a cold.” She said, chuckling softly. I chuckled and entered- looking around. The soft pitter patter of feet came from a hallway and a young girl- around the age of thirteen- came from the hallway and looked breathless- smiling.

“Agents! She said you’d be coming!” She said excitedly and I glanced to Gleb before crouching down to her height. I wasn’t as tall as the brothers- 6’4 or 6’2- but I was tall for a woman. 5’11.

“Who Ruthie?” I asked softly, and she giggled.

“Amelia! The pretty girl!” She said, running forward and grabbing my wrist before beginning to lead me back to where she had come from. I stood and followed her- back bowed over as I kept pace with her small legs. We entered her bedroom and Amelia was sitting on the windowsill- looking decomposed and pissed.

“So you finally came huh agents?” She snarled and spat- her words almost unintelligible.

“Ruth- sweetie- where are her bones?” I asked softly- looking down to Ruth. She giggled and I noticed the gleam of white bone around her neck. There weren’t bones- those had already been burned. There had only been a bone. That was all Amelia needed.

“GET AWAY FROM HER!” Amelia screeched right as Gleb came in behind me.

“Gleb!” I shouted as she shot towards me- hands out as if to claw my face off. I dived- wrapping around Ruth and crashing into the bed- holding the girl tightly to my chest. Quickly I ducked my hand to her neck, grabbing the bone and breaking the string with my teeth as the sound of a shotgun went off. I clambered off of Ruth- turning to see the mother standing in the doorway- nearly in hysterics.

“Do you have a fireplace?” I asked- and the panic in my voice must’ve kicked her into action- because she nodded and began leading me to the living room. I followed and was grateful that she had a fire going- moving quickly to it. I was a foot away before getting blasted to the side- flying through the air and crashing into the wall. Stunned- I lost most of my bodily functions- but somehow managed to keep a grip on the bone. My vision blinked white and my phone buzzed in my pocket. Whoever was calling was doing so at a really bad time!

The shotgun went off again and I scrambled to my feet- practically diving to the fire and tossing the bone in- Gleb holding salt out to me. I frantically shook some of it in and I heard a scream before silence. Thank god I had been right about the child.

A little while later we were leaving- the mother softly crying as she held tightly to her daughter- who seemed a little sad that her friend had left- but okay otherwise. Aside from the pain in my back and a few scratches on my face- I was fine. Gleb was untouched. We climbed back into the car and I drove us back to the motel- exhaustion tugging at my bones. Maybe I should sleep here tonight- seeing as I paid for the room- and drive back tomorrow.

We arrived and slipped out- heading back to my motel room. In there I began packing. I shouldn’t stay the night. I needed to head back- it was the least I owed the boys. Gleb watched me quietly and I glanced over at him- sighing softly.

“If you want stay here- I already paid for the room- it might as well be used. I’m going back…” I said- going into the bathroom and changing my clothes. Once back into my comfy clothes I threw my dress clothes into my duffel- zipping it up as I tucked my pistol into my waistband.

“Thank you.” He said- and I nodded, throwing my duffel over my shoulder and beginning to head out.

“Goodbye Gleb. Good luck with your future.” I said before leaving the room- the key resting on the table by the door. I made it back to my car without trouble and slipped in- starting it up and pulling away from the motel- loading up my GPS to get back home- or at least to an area where I could get myself back home.

The ride home was quiet and by the time i got back to the bunker I felt like I was dead on my feet- and sore. Really sore. I pulled into the garage and slipped out of the car- closing the door and dragging my duffel back to my room with me. I made it to my room without coming across the boys- and unloaded all my things- grabbing my pj’s in preparation of a shower when there was someone clearing their throat in my doorway. I turned and watched as Dean walked in, to be followed by Sam, and then followed by Cas.

“Think you forgot an angel.” I muttered- grabbing my towel before looking over at them.

“Where did you go?” Dean asked- arms crossed as he stared at me. Damn boy thinking he was my father or something. I forced my thoughts to settle down. This is why I had come back- to let them know I was alive and where I had been.

“Salt and burn two hours out of here… came across another hunter on the case and I helped him close it.” I said, and Sam walked forward- gently grabbing my chin and turning my head to look at the scrapes on my cheek.

“Those look rough.” He said and I chuckled- gently pulling away and beginning to head to my shower.

“The bruises on my back are worse.” I said, grabbing the top of my shirt and pulling it off over my head- only a slight pause in my feet before I tossed it to the ground- revealing the giant bruises on my back as I opened my bathroom door.

“Holy shit.” Dean whispered- and I shook my head slightly- turning the bathroom light on and beginning to close the door.

“Goodnight boys.” I said- closing the door.

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