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rainbows-fanfics · 3 years

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Our Nightmare (Chapter 12)

Summary: Sally moves in with the man of her screams. But there is still so much she has to learn of Halloween Town, and what it’s like living with The Pumpkin King.

A sequel to Two Dearest Friends, where the Christmas incident never happens. But there are still many ends that haven’t been met, and much for these two dreamers to learn as they start to spend their deaths together.

Pairings: Jack Skellington/Sally, Dr Finklestein/Jewel

–

Note: This is a SEQUEL to my other story, TWO DEAREST FRIENDS. To read the original story, go here.

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“Sally?”

The name slips off his tongue as desperation lingers in his tone. His fiery pupils frantically search his proximity for the blue ragdoll, only to find no sight of her. This is when he drops his focus on scaring entirely. The flames and straw on his body vanish within thin air as he returns to his skeletal form. He rushes to the path where he last saw her, turning his skull quickly to search the area in despair. He’s using all of his senses at this point - intently listening for any sign of her.

He is interrupted by the sudden sound of a whimper. Almost as if someone is crying. Cautiously, he approaches the direction it came from all while concealing himself from nearby humans. This is when he finds a figure hunched behind a tree, cradling themselves in a fetal position while hiding their face. It doesn’t take him long to recognize this as his dearest friend, from her auburn hair to her blue, stitched skin. She doesn’t notice him when he finds her. The stitched smile on his lips falls as she continues to cry.

“...Sally?”

She makes a startled noise and jumps from her position. He pauses for a second, thinking she is relieved to find him - but that’s far from it! At the sight of the skeleton, she starts scooting away from him on the grass. This gesture pains him more than anything else. He takes a step closer, only to find her getting further. He eventually stops attempting to advance and places a worrying hand on his hip, leaning down to meet at her eye level. His face is sympathetic.

“What happened!? Are you alright? I thought I heard you scream, and I-”

“P-Pl-ease take me ba-ack….”

Her voice cracks as the sobs leave her mouth. This is when he feels an unbearable cold sensation in his ribs. It almost pains him as he slowly stands up and offers her his hand. She is hesitant to take it, and only does so to help her to her feet. She withdrawals her hand right away and Jack suddenly feels like his phantom heart is split into two. He says nothing as he starts leading them to the graveyard they came from - worryingly eying his dearest friend as he does so. He wishes he knew what to say at this moment.

“I…” He opens his mouth to say something but falls short. She doesn’t seem to be listening as it is, rubbing her arms constantly, looking everywhere else but him.

It isn’t long before they return to the Mayor’s currently unattended hearse. The ragdoll turns to him and mutters out her next words. “I-I think I need some time alone....”

He doesn’t want to leave her, but it doesn’t look like he has much of a choice. “....If you say so…”

She turns sharply towards the hearse and lets herself into the passenger seat, concealing her face after rolling the window up. Jack watches her speechlessly, slowly coming to the door to press his skull against it and listen. He can hear the same small cries from before. He feels his bones throb in pain the longer it ensues. He thinks of opening it up and inviting himself in - wishing to speak with her, asking what is wrong…but he doesn’t want to invade her privacy, as much as it hurts him otherwise. He sighs in reluctance before removing himself from the door.

He places a stressful hand on his head, beginning to pace in the graveyard. ‘She can’t take long…..I hope she doesn’t...I need to find out what’s going on…’

“Hey, Jack! How’s the scarin’ going?”

The Pumpkin King freezes into place after hearing a voice. He turns on his heel and finds other monsters approaching him with grins and howls. This is when he does something he’s become rather talented at - he puts up his usual front; the same one he used before, during stressful times like these.

“Just horrible, my fine gentleman!” He replies through a forced smile. “You should have seen how many humans I've frightened tonight..! How is it going for you all?”

“We’re having so much fun! Everyone’s on edge. It’s awful!” The Wolfman replies eagerly, smelling the fresh dirt in the air.

“Say, wasn’t Sally with you?” A ghoul inquires as he steps forward, looking around for the ragdoll. “Did she go somewhere?”

“Ah, yes -- she’s in the hearse, you see. She got tired from all the walking, so we headed in early. She needs to tighten her stitches, and all that.” He lies.

“Oh. Well, I hope she had a terrible time!” Harlequin comments. “Everyone always has a blast when they get to see the Pumpkin King scare!”

His lips twitch at that statement, realizing it was the opposite for her. They excuse themselves and leave the graveyard, disappearing back on the streets for another round of terror. The skeleton drops his act once they’re out of sight and bites his lip. His mind starts to fill with overwhelming thoughts - ones that bring anxiety to his bones, and an even worse feeling in his spine…he continues pacing in circles around the graves, much too disheartened at that moment.

He thinks about their evening. He’s noticed the look on her face every now and then - one of uncertainty and even anxiety after scaring his victims. He feels terrible for not recognizing the look then. He should have known something was amiss when she seemed hesitant watching him scare. Could she have been... petrified ? From only watching him perform? He may have gotten carried away during his fun - wanting to show her his full potential; what he truly can do, as the ‘ Master of Fright ’.

Now….he regrets ever doing it.

This is the first time Jack Skellington has ever felt indifferent after terrifying humans on Halloween. He usually feels spirited and alive, in a sense - wishing to sing and dance the rest of the night away, to celebrate a successful night with his fellow monsters and creatures. He has never known a feeling of regret when it comes to what he does so well. And such a thing only occurred because he scared the woman closest to him - someone he wants to keep protected, and far from harm’s way.

Is she afraid of him?

His gaze comes back to the hearse, whose walls she is hiding in at that moment. Away from him . His skeletal hands come and rest on his chest, shutting his eye sockets tightly as he slumps against a grave. He wants to return to Halloween Town. To retreat to the Skellington Manor, where he can properly speak with Sally and comfort her. To apologize for his actions and show her that he isn’t a threat. How could he ever be, to the woman he’s fallen in love with..?

He must have been sitting there for hours until he notices his residents arriving back. He puts on previous demeanor again to converse with them - leaving the impression that nothing is wrong. It feels unpleasant having to do this. It takes up so much of his energy, pretending to be happy around others...he isn’t proud to be doing this again. The skeleton sighs in relief when the Mayor finally makes his appearance, smiling proudly at the crowd before him.

“Terrible night, folks! Are we all ready to head back, now?”

He’s met with pleased nods and cheers. This is when he assembles everyone back in the hearse, guiding them inside while the Pumpkin King uncertainly approaches the passenger door. He taps on the window and patiently waits until it’s rolled down. Sally peers outside at him - wincing at his image, which emotionally takes another chunk out of his phantom heart.

“We’re going to return, now.” He whispers to her. “I hope we can talk once we’re back?”

Her eyes look away from him and to the floor.

They’re interrupted when the Mayor comes in from his side, grinning at the two and starting the vehicle back up. The tall man removes himself and hangs tightly onto its side, a frown settling on his skull. He keeps his head away from the others during their ride back, wishing not to be met with any smiles at that moment. He feels like a heavy burden is back on his shoulders, and he can’t shrug it off no matter how hard he tries…

-----

“Wheeee!” “What an AWFUL Halloween!” “How fun…!” “Can’t wait to do this again, Jack!”

The creatures hop off of the car and scurry away to their homes and streets, waving to the politician and skeleton as they go. The Mayor looks proud as he holds onto the side of his hat. The skeleton is wearing a forced smile on his face as he bids farewell, clutching his other hand tightly behind his frame. His friend assumes nothing is amiss when he turns to him and grins. He comes to open the door for Sally and assists her out.

Jack quickly arrives and offers her his arm. She takes it to help her down, but he notices her eyes are still elsewhere. He can feel her shaking when her body weight shifts onto him - her lip wobbling the longer they share contact. He excuses them from the Mayor, wishing him pleasant nightmares, before retreating to the Skellington Manor for the night. The moment they’re through the doors, he lets out an exhausted sigh.

He takes off his coat and hangs it on the rack. He turns around expectantly to find his ragdoll by his side - but he doesn’t get that sight. Instead, he finds her picking up Ophelia from her bed and retreating to her room. He becomes flustered as he attempts to chase after her, and catches her only a second before she’s about to close the door to her room. He stops her by holding it with his hand. She appears shocked at this gesture.

“Sally, please talk to me….it’s tearing me apart not to hear from you…”

She squeezes her eyes and the tears suddenly begin falling again. He goes to let himself in - wanting to open the door and sit on her bed, holding her tightly in his arms. But she fights back. This gesture surprises him so much that he lets go, and she takes this opportunity to close it. His jaw drops open as he stands there. He wastes no time trying for the doorknob again. It adds to his unfortunate luck that night that finds it locked. He knocks on the door a few times and places his hand on it firmly. He feels anguished and desperate as he attempts to get in, not wanting to be separated from her again. Not in any circumstance.

“My dearest, please ...I did not mean to…” He mutters into the wood, shutting his own sockets and feeling a stinging sensation in them. “You know I would never scare you…”

He hears her weeping from the other end of the door. Her voice weakly calls from the other side. “I’m sorry, Jack…go-good ni-night...”

He struggles with the doorknob another time until he hears her whimper again. Trying to impose himself like this must be scaring her even worse…! He unwillingly tears himself away from the door and retreats to his den, where he sits on the cushions in a troubled manner. He hides his face in his hands until he starts to feel a slight moistness. When he pulls back, he finds a few tears of his have fallen onto his fingers.

He wipes them away, shaking his skull in disbelief several times. He can’t believe it. He shouldn’t be crying...he hasn’t cried in years ! Not after he met Sally. He’s had no reason to be upset….not until now. He made a mistake without even realizing it, and now he’s paying the price.

He slumps back onto the couch and stares blankly at the unused hearth. His gaze comes to the walls - where he notices the photographs and pictures he has hanging in their frames. This is when a painful memory strikes him. That old photograph Sally once found….when she implored him about his scarecrow form - asking what it was, and wishing to know what it looked like….how he assured her then, that he would not impose any harm or fear to her. How he must have fallen back on his word since ….

He clenches his fists in his lap. He’s always been weary of this part of him...the true demon inside of himself - one granted with the ability of fire and true nightmares...he almost becomes a different person entirely on these nights, when he lets free the monster he turns into. In the past, he’s lost control and shook humans to their core - showing no mercy or hesitation in his screams. It thrives on the experience, the gratification of their fears….but even it couldn’t stop him from hearing Sally’s scream. He didn’t notice how far he went with his actions until they were looking right back at him in the face.

Would he have gone too far..?

He holds his skull in his hands again. No . He wouldn’t have scared Sally. He wouldn’t have laid a finger on her in any way but care….but then he remembers the look on her face. The scared part of her eyes when she looked at his pumpkin in its sockets. She’s always been afraid of it, hasn’t she? He unleashed its power right in front of her - he couldn’t blame her, running away like that...

“I shouldn’t have let it slip,” He mutters to himself. “I shouldn’t have used it at all… ”

There are many other ways he can scare. Just his skeletal being is terrifying enough to scare humans all night…! He got too cocky, too eager to impress….he swears at himself many times in his head, disbelieving how careless he’s been, and how he will make this up to her once she’s willing to see him again…

He thinks of the pain; the numbness in his bones and the tears that have fallen...he can’t imagine hurting her. He’d use every ounce of his willpower from stopping such a thing from happening. Her safety is his priority, first and foremost. He has to show her properly...to become the protective man he’s shown for years now. He’ll have to do that whenever she decides to open up…

He glances at the closed door in the hallway and sighs. He stands and drags himself up the stairs to his bedroom, where he meets with the sleeping form of Zero. He doesn’t address the dog as he prepares for the night. He’s sure he won’t even get a moment’s worth of sleep, and will instead lay there for hours, worrying about the woman of his death…

----

“JACK! What do you mean you’re not coming in? Today is the MOST important day of the year, besides * the * day!”

“I’m aware, Mayor...I need to take a personal day. Just this once, this year. I promise you.”

“But...BUT! How are we going to keep up, if you’re GONE? I’d have to spend my whole day covering your work, and-”

“-And I’m asking that as a favor, from my friend. I assure you, just this one time…”

“... Hurm… ”

The other voice sounds hesitant before the line is abruptly dropped. The skeleton winces as he pulls down the receiver and returns it to its proper place. His attention is on the floor, staring at the socks on his feet in silence. He has to take a personal day today. He can’t just leave Sally here by herself, in her catatonic state...it would hurt him even worse to hear she’s suffered without him here - or properly comfort her once the time is right. And he is willing to wait for that as long as it takes.

He glances at the door and finds it still closed from that night. He comes to it quietly and carefully tilts his skull on the surface. The room sounds completely silent. He fidgets with his shirt’s collar as he goes to the den once more, fetching a cup of his morning tea and sitting in his usual chair by the window. He glances outside and watches the skeletal birds go by, and his citizens walking through the plaza below. He feels peculiar not being out there by this time of day, but he pushes that concern aside as he firmly sits his pelvis down. He must wait for Sally. As long as it will take…!

Zero hovers down the stairs and gives his master a greeting with the wag of his tail. He retreats to the rug in the room and circles on it, shoving his head in his sheet. The dog eventually falls asleep shortly afterwards. Jack watches him do this curiously. As if on cue, his eyelids start to feel heavy. He shakes his skull in an attempt to keep himself awake. He got little sleep last night, what with all the fretting he’d done for hours. And waiting like this makes him feel rather…. fatigued…

His figure loosens in the chair as he slumps back, resting his skull on its soft cushion. His eyes eventually close and his head hangs to the side. He enjoys the peaceful silence of the Manor, instead of the bustling noises of the town hall. Everything will be alright….he was sure of it…

. . .

“Jack..?”

“Huh!”

The King jolts himself awake when a voice startles him from his sleep. He’s surprised to see the figure of Sally standing before him, uncertainly eying his figure. He sits straight up in his seat and goes to stand - but she motions him back down with a hand on his shoulder. He slowly returns to his prior position and looks at her in concern. Zero floats in the air beside her head, weakly nuzzling the side of his muzzle on her shoulder. She smiles at the creature and lightly kisses his head - a fortunate sign to him, as well.

“Sally..?” He mumbles as he wipes his socket. “You’re awake…and here…”

“Yes. I have a lot to apologize to you for…”

She stands there with little emotion, before completely scrunching up her face. Without warning, she reaches for him and leaps into his lap - holding him close and dangling her legs over the armrest. He doesn’t pause for a moment as he holds her by the waist and shoulders, to let her nestle her face into the crook of his neck. This moment is quiet, aside from the sounds of her soft cries. He pats her back repeatedly and brushes the strands of her yarn hair from her face.

He sighs in relief. “You have no idea how good it feels to hold you again.”

Her eyes shift downwards. “I missed you…I really wanted to be around you last night, but I-I just couldn’t…”

“Were you scared?” He asks quietly. It’s the most apparent question he wants out of the way. There is a pause before she nods slightly.

“I was.” She confesses in a whisper. “Seeing you frighten all of those people...it was exciting at first, but...I’ve just had this terrible feeling in my stomach that entire night. Like I was getting an image of something unpleasant happening. I think it had something to do with that scarecrow.”

“....”

“I used to read Finklestein’s books about premonitions. I never had one so strongly until that night. Just knowing what it can do...I felt scared. I shouldn’t have been, but-”

“I told you I become a different person when I use it.” He interrupts in defeat. “You said you possibly couldn’t be afraid…”

“Jack, do you think something... bad would have happened..?”

He falls silent at this question. After a few minutes, he hangs his skull low and averts his gaze. “I...didn’t realize it at first. Or at all, really. But I was starting to get in my own world - I didn’t realize how much I’d been scaring, or how intense it became. I used that scarecrow without thinking twice about it, and - I was very close to harming that man…”

“Would you have lost yourself?”

“I may just have, if you hadn’t stopped me in time.” He holds her tighter. Closer . “Thank you, Sally. I….I wouldn’t have hurt you. I’m sure of it.”

“I saw you pounce on him. There was a different look about you that... frightened me. It wasn’t the same way you scared those others. I didn’t recognize you. So, I screamed and I ran, because that’s what I felt was safest to do…”

Hearing this crushes him to his core. He’s holding onto her so tightly he can feel the pressure he’s applying on her seams. He loosens his grip to run a hand through her hair. This is when he begins to rock them both. Not only to calm her down, but himself as well…

“Sally, I am incredibly sorry you had to see me like that. I would never mean to do that. Sometimes I can’t control what I’m doing when I’m like that, and….it was rather irresponsible of me to put you in that position...”

She inhales his scent and relaxes her frame. How badly she missed this last night...she’d have asked for his company if she just felt safe in time. It was distressing to lock herself in that room, away from her love as she listened to him pound on that door...she cried in her hands for a long time. For separating herself from him like this...she didn’t want to do it at all ..! But hearing how close he was to losing his composure, maybe it was for the best that she acted in time…Not that he would ever hurt her….she refused to believe it…

“At least I got to see the master of fright in action,” She comments, more to herself. “I wanted to watch you, Jack. Despite knowing what could’ve happened.”

“That was a poor example. I should have never acted that way. Our rules -- we can’t hurt anyone, we’re not mean. And yet…”

“There’s no need to fret.” She holds his skull in her hands, looking at him in the sockets. “We’re both safe. You didn’t harm that man. And I feel more comfortable right now…”

He sighs once more, his breath warming her scalp. “Oh, Sally...I will never frighten you again. I won’t use that scarecrow for the rest of my death..! I swear by it!”

She remains quiet, resting her head on his shoulder with her eyes closed. He takes this time to rub her arms and brush his fingertips over her face. Her breathing starts to slow after awhile and she slumps in his grip. He rests her properly in his lap and wraps his arms around her waist, leaning back in the chair to get comfortable. She must have not gotten much sleep either - as she’d fallen to fatigue quite easily.

Jack relaxes as he rests with his love back in his arms again. He feels rather tired, too.

----

The barks of Zero and mews of Ophelia wake the Skellington Manor residents from their slumber. The pets are playfully chasing each other around, wishing to obtain the ball of yarn they’re fighting over. Sally rubs her eyes as she removes herself from Jack’s lap. He stands to crack his back as well as the rest of his bones. The animals move their struggle into the other room while the ragdoll and skeleton head to the kitchen. They’re both parched and hungry after these events and decide to settle in for some brunch together, while it is still somewhat early in the day.

Jack prepares their food and sits at the table, relaxing when he feels her small hand on his own. They eat their portion of eggs and drink from their glasses in comfortable silence. There’s plenty still on their minds, but they’re not fretting over it anymore. He’d rather move on from the unfortunate night and work on making things better.

Something comes to his mind. He stands from his seat and pushes it in, giving her a grin. “There is still something we’ve neglected to do…!”

“Oh?” She asks.

“We need to find a proper spot for your trophy, my dear..!”

With the same childish excitement, he rushes out of the room to grab her award from the safe spot he’s been keeping it in. He brushes off the slight dust collected on its rim before presenting it to Sally, who takes it uncertainly from his hands. Truth be told, where to put her trophy was the last thing on her mind lately….

“Where do you think it should go?” She asks him. He looks puzzled at this suggestion and tilts his head.

“That would depend where you want it…!”

“Hmm.”

She stares at her reflection in the cup and smiles when she reads her name on the placard. She still feels proud of an achievement like this. Just knowing it was from her friends and customers in town gave her butterflies in her stomach. She takes this moment to think before it dawns on her.

“It belongs where I earned it.” She tells him. “I’ll present it somewhere in my sewing shop..where everyone can see it.”

“Splendid idea! Let me grab my suit before we head out…”

He dismisses himself from the room to get properly dressed. She holds her trophy proudly in her hands as she waits for him by the door. She would think holding this from such a terrifying night would give her unsettling memories...but it doesn’t. She feels proud and almost happy, remembering why she earned it. And she’s sure everyone else will, too, seeing their gift to her presented right in her sewing shop…

----

Jack Skellington has a lot on his mind.

Spending an entire day away from Halloween Planning would usually give him the liberty to work on his projects or read some books on his shelves...but instead, he spends his time with her . He assists Sally to her sewing shop and helps her pick a place to present her trophy. Then he spends his time looking at her creations and listening to her future plans and projects, all while supporting her and offering his assistance. She even takes her responsible duties as his tailor and finally fixes the ends of his pants - previously torn by the times he’s had to catch her from that window…

When all is said and done, they retreat back to the Skellington Manor, where they spend even more time together. Sally insists on looking through their library and helping him organize a bit - picking out books she’d like to read and swapping for the ones she’d already finished. Then she helps him clean up his study, which takes a substantial amount of time in the afternoon. This part is demanding for the two of them, and by the time they’re done, they’re exhausted right as dusk is about to fall on them.

During the day, he can’t help but dwell over the other night. How she must have felt with what he put her through - and what’s come from that situation. Had he lost even an ounce of her trust after what he did..? She appears calm and comfortable in his presence again, but he still doubts himself. He wants to prove he can obtain her feelings in a more proper way - to make up for his irresponsibly putting her in potential danger. Someplace he can assure she’s safe, and the two of them can work on trusting each other…

...

…

After dinner, he thinks he knows the answer.

It’s one that makes his mind go jumbled and gives his body the jitters. It isn’t a new thought that’s never come across to him; he’s mused about it before, but repeatedly denied such action considering his gentlemanly side. But now he wants nothing more than getting closer to Sally. And doing this will most certainly do that, in a way that puts him in a position of closeness and trust. And that’s what he wants to share with her, after scaring her so far away from him.

She lounges in their den to let their supper digest. He opens a window to let in the cool, nightly air before joining her side. Zero and Ophelia observe the outside with curious eyes, resting on the window sill together. Jack presses his arm on the back of the couch as Sally closes in the space, resting her head on his chest and listening to the crickets and bats from outside. It’s a peaceful night compared to yesterday’s.

He waits several moments before mentioning anything. He takes this time wondering how exactly to bring this up. Slowly but confidently, he calls for her name. “Sal…?”

“Yes, Jack?”

“I haven’t been the best with your trust lately, considering what I’ve done.” He sighs sadly. “I want to make it up to you in any possible way I can.”

“Oh, but we’ve spent all day together..! You didn’t even work a minute today. Your attention is all I could ask for…”

“Yes, but...I’ve been thinking about it for an awfully long time, and - do you know the reason I gave you your own room?”

“So I could have my own space to work on the things I want.” She repeats sweetly. He nods along to her words.

“Exactly. But now you’ve got your own sewing shop in town...all of your dresses are there, your machines - of course there’s a couple here for you to work on, but now you’ve got all that empty space in your closet…”

She lifts her head to listen to him intently. She never thought twice about the space now - she just assumed she’ll use it for future things. Regardless - she’s curious on where this is going.

“Since there’s no need for such a big space anymore...why don’t you…” His words grow quiet. He grows frustrated at his own fumbling and has to force it out. “...Why don’t you share one with me?”

Her silence throws him back. He grows anxious with the look on her face. “..Share a room with you?” She repeats.

“Not just the room...it would mean the bed, too.” He tugs at his collar, finding himself hot. “I have such a big mattress I sleep on every night. There would be plenty of room for you.” She looks surprised at this suggestion. He elaborates. “--I think it’s a great opportunity to get your trust again. I can be there for you every night, and we can share the space together…”

“...But you would see me in my pajamas?” She blushes. He finds her coquetry adorable.

“I think that’s something we can get past together. You’ll see me in my own. That could even be tonight..! .”

She’s growing as red as a cherry at the suggestion of sleeping with Jack...seeing him in such clothes no one else does, reserved only in the hours of the night...the idea is appealing to her. She can’t deny how lonely it feels some nights. Even though Ophelia recently joins her slumber, she’s always felt like she’s been missing something…or some one . She is enamored by the idea of waking up next to Jack, sharing their ‘ good mornings ’ and even ending the day together. It sounds romantic the more she thinks about it.

‘This is the next step for couples, isn’t it?’ She blushes deeper at the thought.

“Y-Yes, Jack...we can do that…even tonight ?”

“I don’t see why not. There isn’t much to move from your room...we don’t even have to do that right now! We can worry about all that tomorrow, and sleep together now...”

Even he is growing timid with his words, struggling to get them out. It’s always a difficult feat, being a gentleman and wanting such... amorous things. He will still be chivalrous, of course - she can still have the privacy of changing on her own and dressing herself...but he wants to share closeness with her longer - throughout the entire night, in the arms of one other as they fall asleep…the thought makes him giddy, and treasure her presence even more.

“Okay, Jack...I trust you...I know this is good for us.” She tells him shyly. He leans in and leaves a kiss on her forehead, sending delightful tingles on her skin.

“-If you aren’t ready, Sally, just let me know...but I think, after all this time apart--”

“Of course I’m ready. I-I know about couples sleeping together...” She pokes her fingers together nervously. “I’ve always wanted to-to do that, with you...”

His eyes widen in delight. “Have you, now?”

She appears flustered and he chuckles, kissing her again before getting up and discarding their cups. She begins to panic wondering what it will be like to share a bed with Jack, and how his pajamas will look…and if hers will even compare…! Will she look ridiculous? Unattractive ? Sometimes her hair becomes a mess during the night, and she wakes up rather sluggish...that won’t deter him from his feelings for her, right?

She shakes her head realizing she’s overthinking it and takes a breath to calm herself down. He returns to the room after a minute, sitting next to her and wrapping his arm around her shoulders. She notices he brought a book with him, clenched tightly in his other hand. She reads the title and notices it’s a romance. She hums in curiosity, her previous thoughts forgotten from this distraction.

“Why don’t we read a story together..?” He suggests, opening to the starting page with his free hand. She sits up from her seat in delight - enjoying this suggestion spectacularly.

The man of her screams reads this story to her, about a young woman facing her fears and running away with a man she loves. His voice reads the text so soothingly, showing great emphasis and drama when needed. She melts at the sound the entire time, closing her eyes and picturing the story in her mind. She can’t ask for anything better but to be read to by her skeleton man, relaxing against his frame as the story goes on…

----

“Take your time; I’ll be in the room whenever you’re ready!”

His long hand cradles the side of her face as he leans in and leaves a kiss on her soft lips. She closes her eyes tightly and frowns when he pulls away. He gives her one last encouraging grin before disappearing into the room - closing the door slowly after him. She looks at the pajamas in her hands and chews on her lip. Now is the time. It’s finally happening…all she has to do is put on her clothes, and then follow him into the room…where she will be sleeping with him…

She feels herself shaking. She tries to stop herself. What does she have to be nervous about? He’s doing this to make it up to her - to make sure she feels safe and protected around him. She knows she will be; every time she’s in his embrace, she feels like she’s in a better world. He will always keep her close and loved - and she believes it. It’s not even the memory of the scarecrow that bothers her, but rather, the expectations she’s set in her mind....

Will she take up too much space? Wake too early? Or too late? She’ll have to try not to sleep with too many blankets. She doesn’t want to hog anything..! This is his space he's inviting her into, after all…! It sends her mind into a frenzy as she shuffles her feet, begrudgingly heading to the bathroom and dressing herself in there. She gets this done in a hurry, taking off her dress and easily slipping into her clothes.

She observes herself in the mirror above the sink. She’s moved on from the patchwork dress she used to wear in Finklestein’s Tower - wearing her new creations and dresses instead. But this is the only outfit that reminds her of it. It’s her old nightclothes she used to wear in that tower, sewn from the most comfortable scraps she could find. The different color of browns and beige look almost off-putting on her colorful figure. She starts to play with her hair nervously, not particularly impressed by the image reflecting back to her.

‘...I hope he doesn’t think less of me’.

----

The tall figure uncomfortably shuffles himself in the bed, eyes locked on the currently closed door. He doesn't want to miss Sally's appearance, whenever she decides to come in. He's more than patient waiting for her, understanding this is a drastic change from their usual routine, and that both of them will have to adjust to it. Even he feels somewhat nervous as he sits there, unsure of what to expect, finally sleeping with a woman by his side. The thought alone makes his shirt feel tight.

He's in his own pajamas, a light beige button-up with long sleeves, and equally long pants. He normally wears a night cap to bed, but decides against it for this night in particular. He drums his phalanges on his knee as he tries to pass the time with his thoughts. He glances over and notices his dog fast asleep in his small bed, with Ophelia close by his side. They look comfortable and unbothered together, after such short time of knowing each other.

'If the two of them can do it, then surely, Sally and I can, too...'

He's interrupted by the sound of the doorknob twisting. He sits up attentively as the sight of his beloved slowly comes into view. She modestly steps into the room and closes it behind her, moving her hair behind her shoulders. He's almost awestruck at the sight. To see her in such clothing, her eyes blinking temptingly at his own. She clasps her hands together before shyly advancing forward. This is when he realizes his mouth is agape.

He shuts it and smiles apologetically. "My dear...you look lovely..."

She turns her head to the side, flushed at his words. "You think so..?"

"Absolutely! Why, I - I have never seen you like this...it is..." He struggles to think of a word. "It feels like a privilege..!"

Her eyes travel down to his own body and she hides her smile with her hand. She notices the empty spot on the mattress and assumes that's where she's wanted. She slowly makes her way around the bed and into the covers, all while avoiding Jack's face. When she's properly inside, there's only a few inches between her and the skeleton. This causes her phantom heart to thud rapidly, and a whole bunch of other thoughts come flooding into her mind.

"We'll start moving your things in here tomorrow. I'll clear some space in the morning," He continues casually.

She nods along with him - unsure of what to say or do. She's never shared a bed with anybody, nor does she know what's supposed to happen after this. Whatever it is, it makes her feel small and rather hot, bunching her legs together and watching him out of the corner of her eye. He leans forward to leave a kiss on her cheek, which calms her slightly.

"Are you comfortable?" He asks. She nods right away.

"Yes..! Your mattress is so soft, and the pillow is too. This blanket is warm and comfortable..."

"I'm glad you like it." He sounds relieved. "You can have as much space as you'd like...I don't take much room, as you can tell..."

She feels embarrassed for forgetting about his thin stature. So there is no way she can possibly hog the bed...That makes her feel better, at least. She tucks her hair out of the way as she looks around his bedroom. She notices how dark it is, only illuminated by a set of candles on his nightstand and moonlight from the only open window in the room. She can make out the silhouettes of a few dressers and closets, but nothing else at that moment.

"...Sorry if I seem... shy ." She finally confesses, tugging at her fingers. "I just feel a little insecure about my clothes..."

"If you feel that way, why haven't you made yourself some new ones?" He questions curiously. She looks down at her chest and sighs.

"I didn't think I would be sleeping with you...or anyone at all. I've been wearing these ever since I've been created. I never thought anyone would see me in them. But now that you have - I feel embarrassed..."

"-No reason to be, my love." He takes her hand and kisses it tenderly. "It doesn't matter what you wear - you're always going to be gorgeous in my eyes. Or lack thereof." He chuckles at that last sentence, and she smiles. "--Why, you look beautiful even wearing this..!"

She feels better and relaxes her posture. He motions for her to get comfortable and she does so, laying on her side of the bed and pulling the blanket over her figure. She watches as he blows out the candles, effectively darkening the room beyond the small portion of light coming from the window. He shuffles on the bed - finding the most comfortable position. She feels almost intimidated to move around, but she does so slightly, facing his direction.

It isn't long before she feels his arms come around her figure, holding her close to himself. She finds herself facing his chest and relaxes at the contact. It feels almost natural...being this close to him. It's the most relaxed she's ever felt. Sally eventually closes her eyes and steadies her breathing - falling fast asleep in the contact of her lover. Jack finds himself easily succumbing to his slumber as well - relishing this closeness with her, wanting to keep her safe.

#long post #long #the nightmare before christmas #jack and sally #jack x sally #fanfiction #our nightmare #tnbc #nightmare before christmas #tim burton #fanfic

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notyetneedcoffee · 4 years

Text

No Secrets, Part 2

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader, Bucky Barnes x Reader (???)

Warnings: None in this section

You sat in the car staring at the house. Your beautiful new prison.

“Miss Y/L/N, you have an incoming call from Miss Maximoff.” The car’s AI announce.

“Hi Wanda, so who called you?”

“Steve. He sent me the file and thought I might be able to help.” She was on the other side of the planet at the moment. It had to be the dark hours of the morning where she was. Still, she sounded alert and concerned. “How are you holding up?”

“At the moment?” You sighed, gripping the steering wheel hard. “I’m frustrated.”

“That’s it?” Wanda laughed. “I’d be pissed.”

“Yeah, that too.” You admitted.

“Try not to be too angry, though. They just feel like every weird, inane, and inappropriate thing that pops into their head is some how on blazing display now. They conveniently forget that I can pick up on all that, too. I’m just better at not responding.”

You tried to put yourself in Tony’s shoes. As much as you hated it, you understood his reaction. You may not agree with his solution, but you understood. Picturing the crazy stuff that probably popped into the team’s minds, and having to deal with it all at once might be a bit much to deal with, it kind of made you smile. “I suppose being around everyone would get kind of maddening.”

Wanda laughed. “It’s why I don’t do parties. I know you’re still likely to see some of them before this wears off. Please keep one very important thing in mind. People are not what they think. What matters is the way they choose to act.”

“Okay.” You considered her words.

“Much of what people think are caused by outside influences, or old tapes in their head. Still, they choose to do different. Just like someone may be racked with fear, but behave more bravely than anyone else. There are some people who’s thoughts are plagued with darkness, but they choose to be kind.”

Sitting quietly in your car, in front of the big modern house next to the lake, you knew things could be so much worse. The reality that Tony really was trying to be as good to you as he could right now sunk in. “You’re wiser than your years, my friend.”

“Don’t give me too much credit.” She laughed. “There is one other thing, Padawan. Don’t fight it. It’s like saying ‘hey don’t think about a blue monkey in a pink tu-tu’. You brain immediately conjures the monkey.”

“Okay.” You laughed despite yourself.

“I don’t know how available I’ll be, but call me if you need to. Whenever, night or day.” Wanda encouraged.

“I will. Listen, thanks.”

“Don’t sound so down. You’re probably going to get tons of sleep, be able to catch up on all the great shows, work out all you want, and not have to listen to Sam and Bucky fight over who gets to pick the music in the gym. Time will fly by.”

“I’m sure you’re right.”

“I’ll talk to you later.”

“Thanks, Wanda.” You cut off the call as you popped the trunk to grabbed your bags.

The house looked like a team from Architectural Digest picked the décor. It had all the conveniences of Tony’s smart homes. The refrigerator looked to be stocked by one of the compound’s chefs. A neat row of your favorite bottled juice was lined up beside your favorite soda and a stack of your favorite yogurts. On the giant bed you found a set of expensive silk pajamas and a plush robe under a copy of Anna Karenina. In the en-suite bathroom you found a tub big enough for four, and beside it a basket full of spa goodies.

The cell phone in your pocket buzzed. Steve’s name scrolled across the screen.

“Hey.”

“You made it okay.”

“Yeah. Tony must be feeling guilty. The house it loaded up with all kinds of gifts.”

“I hope they’re nice.”

“I suppose.” You sighed. “I’d rather be home.”

“I know.” His voice was quiet.

“Wanda called.” You sat down on the edge of the tub, running your hand over the fluffy towel.

“Good.” Steve took a deep breath. “I think we have, ah, some stuff to talk about but… God, I can’t do this over the phone. I’m sorry. I just… It feels wrong to do this over the phone.”

One of the generational leaps Steve never managed to make was his attitude towards the phone. It was a utilitarian tool. If you had something important to say, he felt you should do it face to face. You smiled, “I know. It’s okay, Steve.”

“Really?”

“We can talk later.” You gave a humorless laugh. “It’s not like I’m going anywhere.”

“I’m sorry, Honey. I really am.” Again his voice dropped low, quiet.

The little endearment warmed your cheeks. He so rarely used it. “No reason to be sorry, Steve.”

“Well, you get settled in and I’ll talk to you soon.”

“Okay. Steve,” You sighed. “Thank you for checking on me. You be safe.”

“Will do.”

Strains of what you thought might be Verdi tickled the back of your mind. You stopped chopping the cucumber and put the knife down. The clock showed 12:35. It was still a half an hour until Bruce was supposed to be at the house.

‘Got to stay focused. This is so going to suck. What if she starts asking me questions? You’re going stumble around like a dumbass. Some genius you are. No. No. It’s going to be fine. It’s a short visit. I’ll be fine.’

Yep. Definitely Bruce.

You munched on your salad as you split your attention between the British Bake Off on the television and Banner’s constant internal rambling. It swung from running down a check list for his visit to trying to remember the Band Aid’s commercial jingle.

When the knock came at the door you looked at the clock. Only two minutes had passed. Bruce must have been at the street, or just coming down the long drive, when you heard him. Interesting.

“Hi Bruce.” You opened the door, popping a piece of cucumber in your mouth. “Hungry?”

“Ah, no.” He came in. “Thanks. I don’t want to be rude, but I’d like to just get to it. If you don’t mind, that is?”

“Why not?” You dropped into the chair at the table. “You’re just the first person I’ve seen in a week.”

‘Shit. Shit. Way to be a jerk.’

“It’s okay, Bruce.” You smiled. “I don’t mind, really. What do I do?”

“Ah, bring your chair out here. Then, ah, just let me run the scans.”

You pulled your chair out where he could walk around you. “Do I need to stay still?”

“No, I mean don’t dance around or anything.” He began pulling out equipment. He was internally humming the Verdi piece.

“How’s the team?” You knew it would be kinder to just be quiet, but you were dying for some interaction.

“Okay. Staying busy.” Came out of his mouth, but a barrage of things hit you. ‘Cap won’t stop moping. Tony needs to cut back on the caffeine. I’m gonna go green on Bucky soon.’

“I heard you just got back. Some mission with Nat and Clint.”

‘What a dress.’

“Ah, damn it. This sucks.” Bruce looked away from the device in his hands and deep in your eyes. “I’m really sorry, but I’m just afraid to talk about anything okay.”

You frown, nodding. “I’m sorry. I’ll stay quiet.”

‘Dammit. Dammit. Dammit.’

“You know what? Fuck it.” He sighed. “Things are tense. They’re kind of awful. Tony and I stick to the lab. Cap is walking around on auto-pilot. Bucky is fucking impossible. Sam is trying to play peacemaker but failing spectacularly. Clint came up with the mission just because Natasha and Bucky nearly killed each other sparring.”

‘I hate it. Hate it.’

“I’m sorry.” You twisted you hands together. “I don’t want everyone miserable over what happened to me.”

‘No. No. No. Fuck. Don’t cry. I’m going rip Tony’s arms off if she cries.’

“Not your fault.” Bruce sighed.

“Bruce.” You lifted you jaw. “I know it’s not my fault, but at least if I were there Tony wouldn’t feel guilty, I could tell Steve snap out of it, and I could smack Buck up side the head. You tell them to knock that crap off.”

He chuckled. “I’ll tell them you said so.”

Bruce asked you some medical questions and took a blood sample after finishing the scan. He calmed down quite a bit, but still left as soon as he could. Later that evening he called you to say that the reading were consistent with your time in the lab. The anomaly would go away, it would just take time.

You made yourself a hot chocolate and curled up on one of the deck chairs to listen to sounds of the evening forest when you got off the phone. It would be a long while alone. The sun wouldn’t set for a while yet, and you were reading a new book. Reading outside lessened the feeling of being trapped.

‘Don’t care. Got to do this.’

You head came up at the same time you heard the motorcycle pull down the drive. By the time Steve parked his bike, you stood at the edge of the deck just a few feet away. He looked up, seeing you clutch a throw blanket around your shoulders, wearing jeans and an old tee. Steve looked you over from bare feet to big eyes.

‘Beautiful.’

“I missed you.” He said, voice low.

“Missed you, too.”

Steve stepped closer. “I’ve been thinking, a lot. There’s something I don’t think I can, I don’t want, to wait to tell you.”

“Okay.” You swallowed, fighting to hold still. So much, so strong, hit you at once.

He took a deep breath, his large hand touched your hair, cupped your face. “I’m not sure when my feelings changed, but for a long time now all I can think about is how much I want you, want you to be with me.”

‘Those lips. So pretty.’

You felt a smile curl at the corner of your mouth. His mouth covered yours, lips gentle and soft. When your hands slid along his waist. His tongue swept lightly along your lip and was met by your own. He moan, pulling you close, kiss deepening.

‘God, yes, honey.’

BLEEEP! CRASH!

You both jerked away from each other in shock.

‘No! Not now!’

It took a second for the realization to hit you that you heard a car crash. Somewhere close by.

‘No. No. No. Dammit. Not now.’

Steve looked at you, “I should see what happened.”

“Yeah,” You breathed.

‘No. We should go inside, forget we heard anything. Want to feel you again.’

“It’s okay.” He covered your hand with his own when you touched his chest. “I’ll be here when you get back.” You gave him a warm smile.

‘No. I don’t want to go anywhere. Not missing out again.’

“Okay.” Steve nodded, stepping away from you. “I’ll be back soon.”

TAGS

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#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers fic #steve rogers fan fiction #steve rogers fanfic

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boreothegoldfinch · 3 years

Text

chapter 12 paragraph v

But instead, when I threw open the door—I could scarcely believe it— there stood Boris. Rumpled, red-eyed, battered-looking. Snow in his hair, snow on the shoulders of his coat. I was too startled to be relieved. “What,” I said, as he embraced me, and then to the determined-looking clerk in the hallway, striding rapidly toward us: “No, it’s okay.” “You see? Why should I wait? Why should I wait?” he said angrily, flinging out an arm at the clerk, who had stopped dead to stare. “Didn’t I say? I told you I knew where his room was! How would I know, if not my friend?” Then, to me: “I don’t know why this big production. Ridiculous! I was standing there forever and no one at desk. No one! Sahara Desert!” (glaring at clerk). “Waiting, waiting. Rang the bell! Then, the second I start up—‘wait wait sir—’ ” whiny baby voice—“ ‘come back’—here he comes chasing me —” “Thank you,” I said to the clerk, or his back rather, since after several moments of looking between us in surprise and annoyance he had quietly turned to walk away. “Thanks a lot. I mean it,” I called down the hall after him; it was good to know they stopped people charging upstairs on their own. “Of course sir.” Not bothering to look around. “Merry Christmas.” “Are you going to let me in?” said Boris, when finally the elevator doors closed and we were alone. “Or shall we stand here tenderly and gaze?” He smelled rank, as if he hadn’t showered in days, and he looked both faintly contemptuous and very pleased with himself. “I—” my heart was pounding, I felt sick again—“for a minute, sure.” “A minute?” Disdainful look up and down. “You have some place to go?” “As a matter of fact, yes.” “Potter—” half-humorously, putting down his bag, feeling my forehead with his knuckles—“you look bad. You are fevered. You look like you just dug the Panama Canal.” “I feel great,” I said curtly. “You don’t look great. You are white as a fish. Why are you all dressed up? Why did you not answer my calls? What’s this?” he said—looking past me, espying the room service table. “Go ahead. Help yourself.” “Well if you don’t mind, I will. What a week. Been driving all fucking night. Shitty way to spend Christmas Eve—” shouldering his coat off, letting it fall on the floor—“well, truth told, I’ve spent many worse. At least no traffic on the motorway. We stopped at some awful place on the road, only place open, petrol station, frankfurters with mustard, usually I like them, but oh my God, my stomach—” He’d gotten a glass from the bar, was pouring himself some champagne. “And you, here.” Flicking a hand. “Living it up, I see. Lap of luxury.” He’d kicked off his shoes, wiggling wet sock feet. “Christ, my toes are frozen. Very slushy on the streets—snow is all turning to water.” Pulling up a chair. “Sit with me. Eat something. Very good timing.” He’d lifted the cover of the chafing dish, was sniffing the plate of truffled eggs. “Delicious! Still hot! What, what is this?” he said, as I reached in my coat pocket and handed him Gyuri’s watch and ring. “Oh, yes! I forgot. Never mind about that. You can give them back yourself.” “No, you can do it for me.” “Well, we should phone him. This is feast enough for five people. Why don’t we call down—” he lifted up the champagne, looked at the level as if studying a table of troubling financials—“why don’t we call for another of these, full bottle, or maybe two, and send down for more coffee or some tea maybe? I—” pushing his chair in closer—“I am starving! I’ll ask him—” lifting up a piece of smoked salmon, dangling it to his mouth to gobble it before reaching in his pocket for his cell phone—“ask him to dump the car somewhere and walk over, shall I?” “Fine.” Something in me had gone dead at the sight of him, almost like with my dad when I was a kid, long hours alone at home, the involuntary wave of relief at his key in the lock and then the immediate heart-sink at the actual sight of him.

“What?” Licking his fingers noisily. “You don’t want Gyuri to come? Who’s been driving me all night? Who went without sleep? Give him some breakfast at least.” He’d already started in on the eggs. “A lot has happened.” “A lot has happened to me too.” “Where are you going?” “Order what you want.” Fishing the key card out of my pocket, handing it to him. “I’ll leave the total open. Charge it to the room.” “Potter—” throwing down the napkin, starting after me then stopping mid-step and—much to my surprise—laughing. “Go then. To your new friend or activity so important!” “A lot has happened to me.” “Well—” smugly—“I don’t know what happened to you, but I can say that what happened to me is at least five thousand times more. This has been some week. This has been one for the books. While you have been luxuriating in hotel, I—” stepping forward, hand on my sleeve—“hang on.” The phone had rung; he turned half away, spoke rapidly in Ukrainian before breaking off and hanging up very suddenly at the sight of me heading out the door. “Potter.” Grabbing me by the shoulders, looking hard into my pupils, then turning me and steering me around, kicking the door shut behind him with one foot. “What the fuck? You are like Night of the Zombie. What was that movie we liked? The black and white? Not Living Dead, but the poetry one —?” “I Walked with a Zombie. Val Lewton.” “That’s right. That’s the one. Sit down. Weed is very very strong here, even if you are used to it, I should have warned you—” “I haven’t smoked any weed.” “—because I tell you, when I came here first, age twenty maybe, at the time smoking trees every day, I thought I could handle anything and—oh my God. My own fault—I was an ass with the guy at the coffeeshop. ‘Give me strongest you have.’ Well he did! Three hits and I couldn’t walk! I couldn’t stand! It was like I forgot to move my feet! Tunnel vision, no control of muscles. Total disconnection from reality!” He had steered me to the bed; he was sitting beside me with his arm around my shoulders. “And, I mean, you know me but—never! Fast pounding heart, like running and running and whole time sitting still—no comprehension of my locale—terrible darkness! All alone and crying a little, you know, speaking to God in my mind, ‘what did I do,’ ‘why do I deserve this.’ Don’t remember leaving the place! Like a horrible dream. And this is weed, mind you! Weed! Came to on the street, all jelly legs, clutching onto a bike rack near Dam Square. I thought traffic was driving up on the sidewalk and going to wreck into me. Finally found my way to my girl’s flat in the Jordaan and layed around for a long time in a bath with no water in it. So—” He was looking suspiciously at my coffee-splattered shirt front. “I didn’t smoke any weed.” “I know, you said! Was just telling you a story. Thought it was a little interesting to you maybe. Well—no shame,” he said. “Whatever.” The ensuing silence was endless. “I forgot to say—I forgot to say”—he was pouring me a glass of mineral water—“after this time I told you? Wandering on the Dam? I felt wrong for three days after. My girl said, ‘Let’s go out, Boris, you can’t lie here any more and waste the whole weekend.” Vomited in the van Gogh museum. Nice and classy.” The cold water, hitting my sore throat, threw me into goosebumps and into a visceral bodily memory from boyhood: painful desert sunlight, painful afternoon hangover, teeth chattering in the air-conditioned chill. Boris and I so sick we kept retching, and laughing about retching, which made us retch even harder. Gagging on stale crackers from a box in my room. “Well—” Boris stealing a glance at me sideways—“something going around maybe. If was not Christmas Day, I would run down and get something to help your stomach. Here here—” dumping some food on a plate, shoving it at me. He picked up the champagne bottle from the ice bucket, looked at the level again, then poured the remainder of the split into my half-empty orange juice glass (half empty, because he had drunk it himself). “Here,” he said, raising his champagne glass to me.

“Merry Christmas to you! Long life to us both! Christ is born, let us glorify Him! Now—” gulping it down—he’d turned the rolls on the tablecloth, was heaping out food to himself in the ceramic bread dish—“I am sorry, I know you want to hear about everything, but I am hungry and must eat first.” Pâté. Caviar. Christmas bread. Despite everything, I was hungry too, and I decided to be grateful for the moment and for the food in front of me and began to eat and for a while neither of us said anything. “Better?” he said presently, throwing me a glance. “You are exhausted.” Helping himself to more salmon. “There is a bad flu going round. Shirley has it too.” I said nothing. I had only just begun to adjust myself to the fact that he was in the room with me. “I thought you were out with some girl. Well—here is where Gyuri and I have been,” he said, when I didn’t answer. “We have been in Frankfurt. Well —this you know. Some crazy time it’s been! But—” downing his champagne, walking to the minibar and squatting down to look inside— “Do you have my passport?” “Yes I have your passport. Wow, there is some nice wine in here! And all these nice baby Absoluts.” “Where is it?” “Ah—” Loping back to the table with a bottle of red wine under his arm, and three minibar bottles of vodka which he stuck in the ice bucket. “Here you go.” Fishing it from his pocket, tossing it carelessly onto the table. “Now”—sitting down—“shall we drink a toast together?” I sat on the edge of the bed without moving, my half-eaten plate of food still in my lap. My passport.

In the long silence that followed, Boris reached across the table and flicked the edge of my champagne glass with middle finger, sharp crystalline ting like a spoon on an after dinner goblet. “May I have your attention, please?” he inquired ironically. “What?” “Toast?” Tipping his glass to me. I rubbed my hand over my forehead. “And you are what, here?” “Eh?” “Toasting what, exactly?” “Christmas Day? Graciousness of God? Will that do?” The silence between us, while not exactly hostile, took on as it grew a distinctly glaring and unmanageable tone. Finally Boris fell back in his chair and nodded at my glass and said: “Hate to keep asking, but when you are through with staring at me, do you think we can—?” “I’m going to have to figure all this out at some point.” “What?” “I guess I’ll have to sort this all out in my mind some time. It’s going to be a job. Like, this thing over there… that over here. Two different piles. Three different piles maybe.” “Potter, Potter, Potter—” affectionate, half-scornful, leaning forward —“you are a blockhead. You have no sense of gratitude or beauty.” “ ‘No sense of gratitude.’ I’ll drink to that, I guess.” “What? Don’t you remember our happy Christmas that one time? Happy days gone by? Never to return? Your dad—” grand flinging gesture—“at the restaurant table? Our feast and joy? Our happy celebration? Don’t you honor that memory in your heart?” “For God’s sake.” “Potter—” arrested breath—“you are something. You are worse than a woman. ‘Hurry, hurry.’ ‘Get up, go.’ Didn’t you read my texts?” “What?” Boris—reaching for his glass—stopped cold. Quickly he glanced at the floor and I was, suddenly, very aware of the bag by his chair. In amusement, Boris stuck his thumbnail between his front teeth. “Go ahead.” The words hovered over the wrecked breakfast. Distorted reflections in the domed cover of the silver dish. I picked up the bag and stood; and his smile faded when I started to the door. “Wait!” he said. “Wait what?” “You’re not going to open it?” “Look—” I knew myself too well, didn’t trust myself to wait; I wasn’t letting the same thing happen twice— “What are you doing? Where are you going?” “I’m taking this downstairs. So they can lock it in the safe.” I didn’t even know if there was a safe, only that I didn’t want the painting near me—it was safer with strangers, in a cloakroom, anywhere. I was also going to phone the police the moment Boris left, but not until; there was no reason dragging Boris into it. “You didn’t even open it! You don’t even know what it is!” “Duly noted.” “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” “Maybe I don’t need to know what it is.” “Oh no? Maybe you do. It’s not what you think,” he added, a bit smugly. “No?” “No.” “How do you know what I think?” “Of course I know what you think it is! And—you are wrong. Sorry. But —” raising his hands—“is something much, much better than.” “Better than?” “Yes.” “How can it be better than?” “It just is. Lots lots better. You will just have to believe me on this. Open and see,” he said, with a curt nod. “What is this?” I said after about thirty stunned seconds. Lifting out one brick of hundreds—dollars—then another. “That is not all of it.” Rubbing the back of his head with the flat of his hand. “Fraction of.” I looked at it, then at him. “Fraction of what?” “Well—” smirking—“thought more dramatic if in cash, no?” Muffled comedy voices floating from next door, articulated cadences of a television laugh track. “Nicer surprise for you! That is not all of it, mind you. U.S. currency, I thought, more convenient for you to return with. What you came over with— a bit more. In fact they have not paid yet—no money has yet come through. But—soon, I hope.” “They? Who hasn’t paid? Paid what?” “This money is mine. Own personal. From the house safe. Stopped in Antwerp to get it. Nicer this way—nicer for you to open, no? Christmas morning? Ho Ho Ho? But you have a lot more coming.” I turned the stack of money over and looked at it: forward and back. Banded, straight from Citibank.

“ ‘Thank you Boris.’ ‘Oh, no problem,’ ” he answered, ironically, in his own voice. “Glad to do it.’ ” Money in stacks. Outside the event. Crisp in the hand. There was some kind of obvious content or emotion to the whole thing I wasn’t getting. “As I say—fraction of. Two million euro. In dollars much much more. So —merry Christmas! My gift to you! I can open you an account in Switzerland for the rest of it and give you a bank book and that way—what?” he said, recoiling almost, when I put the stack of bills in the bag, snapped it shut, and shoved it back at him. “No! It’s yours!” “I don’t want it.” “I don’t think you understand! Let me explain, please.” “I said I don’t want it.” “Potter—” folding his arms and looking at me coldly, the same look he’d given me in the Polack bar—“a different man would walk out laughing now and never come back.” “Then why don’t you?” “I—” looking around the room, as if at a loss for a reason why—“I will tell you why not! For old times’sake. Even though you treat me like a criminal. And because I want to make things up to you—” “Make what up?” “Sorry?” “What, exactly? Will you explain it to me? Where the hell did this money come from? How does this fix a fucking thing?” “Well, actually, you should not be so quick to jump to—” “I don’t care about the money!” I was half-screaming. “I care about the painting! Where’s the painting?” “If you would just wait a second and not fly off the—” “What’s this money for? Where’s it from? From what source, exactly? Bill Gates? Santa Claus? The Tooth Fairy?” “Please. You are like your dad with the drama.” “Where is it? What’d you do with it? It’s gone, isn’t it? Traded? Sold?” “No, of course I—hey—” scraping his chair back hastily—“Jesus, Potter, calm down. Of course I didn’t sell it. Why would I do any such?” “I don’t know! How should I know? What was all this for? What was the point of any of this? Why did I even come here with you? Why’d you have to drag me into it? You thought you’d bring me over here to help you kill people? Is that it?” “I’ve never killed anybody in my life,” said Boris haughtily. “Oh, God. Did you just say that? Am I supposed to laugh? Did I really just hear you say you never—” “That was self defense. You know it. I do not go around hurting people for the fun of it but I will protect myself if I have to. And you,” he said, talking imperiously over me, “with Martin, apart from the fact I would not be here now and most likely you neither—” “Will you do me a favor? If you won’t shut up? Will you maybe go over there and stand for a minute? Because I really don’t want to see you or look at you now.” “—with Martin the police, if they knew, they would give you a medal and so would many others, innocent, not now living, thanks to him. Martin was —” “Or, actually, you could leave. That’s probably better.” “Martin was a devil. Not all human. Not all his fault. He was born that way. No feelings, you know? I have known Martin to do much worse things to people than shooting them. Not to us,” he said, hastily, waving his hand, as if this were the point of all misunderstanding. “Us, he would have shot out of courtesy, and none of his other badness and evil. But—was Martin a good man? A proper human being? No. He was not. Frits was no flower, either. So —this remorse and pain of yours—you must view it in a different light. You must view it as heroism in service of higher good. You cannot always take such a dark perspective of life all the time, you know, it is very bad for you.”

“Can I ask you just one thing?” “Anything.” “Where’s the painting?” “Look—” Boris sighed, and looked away. “This was the best I could do. I know how much you wanted it. I did not think you would be quite so upset not to have it.” “Can you just tell me where it is?” “Potter—” hand on heart—“I’m sorry you are so angry. I was not expecting this. But you said you weren’t going to keep it anyway. You were going to give it back. Isn’t that what you said?” he added when I kept on staring at him. “How the hell is this the right thing?” “Well, I’ll tell you! If you would shut up and let me talk! Instead of ranting back and forth and frothing at mouth and spoiling our Christmas!” “What are you talking about?” “Idiot.” Rapping his temple with his knuckles. “Where do you think this money came from?” “How the fuck should I know?” “This is the reward money!” “Reward?” “Yes! For safe return of!” It took a moment. I was standing. I had to sit down. “Are you angry?” said Boris carefully. Voices in the hallway. Dull winter light glinting off the brass lampshade. “I thought you would be pleased. No?” But I had not recovered sufficiently to speak. All I could do was stare, in dumbfoundment.

At my expression, Boris shook the hair out of his face and laughed. “You gave me the idea yourself. I don’t think you knew how great it was! Genius! I wish had thought of it myself. ‘Call the art cops, call the art cops.’ Well— crazy! So I thought at the time. You’re a bit nuts on this subject to be perfectly honest. Only then—” he shrugged—“unfortunate events took course, as you only too well know, and after we parted on the bridge I spoke to Cherry, what to do, what to do, wringing our hands a bit, and we did a little nosing around, and—” lifting his glass to me—“well in fact, a genius idea! Why should I doubt you? Ever? You are the brains of all this from the start! While I am in Alaska—walking five miles to petrol station to steal a Nestlé bar—well, look at you. Mastermind! Why should I ever doubt you? Because —I look into it, and—” throwing up his arms—“you were right. Who would have thought? Over million dollars for your picture out there in reward money! Not even picture! Information leading to recovery of picture! No questions asked! Cash, free and clear—!” Outside, snow was flying against the window. Next door, someone was coughing hard, or laughing hard, I couldn’t tell which. “Back and forth, back and forth, all these years. A game for suckers. Inconvenient, dangerous. And—question I am asking myself now—why did I even bother? with all this legal money straight-up for the claiming? Because —you were right—straight business thing for them. No questions asked whatever. All they cared about was getting the picture back.” Boris lit a cigarette and dropped the match with a hiss in his water glass. “I did not see it myself, I wish I had—did not think a good idea to stick around if you get me. German SWAT team! Vests, guns. Drop everything! Lie down! Great commotion and crowd in the street! Ah, I would have loved to see the look on Sascha’s face!” “You phoned the cops?”

“Well not me personally! My boy Dima—Dima is furious at the Germans because of the shooting in his garage. Completely unnecessary, and a big headache for him. See—” restlessly, he crossed his legs, blew out a big cloud of smoke—“I had an idea where they had the picture. There’s an apartment in Frankfurt. Used to belong to an old girlfriend of Sascha’s. People keep stuff there. But no way in hell could I get in, even with half a dozen guys. Keys, alarms, cameras, passcode. Only problem—” yawning, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand—“well, two problems. First one is that police need probable cause to search the apartment. You can not just call with name of thief, anonymous citizen being helpful if you know what I mean. And second problem—I could not remember the exact address of the place. Very very secretive—I have only been there once—late at night, and not in best of condition. Knew roughly the neighborhood… used to be squats, now is very nice… had Gyuri drive me up the streets and down, up the streets and down. Took for fucking ever. Finally—? I had it pinned to a row of houses but was not one hundred percent sure which. So I got out and walked it. Scared as I was, to be on that street—afraid to be seen—I got out of the car and walked it. With my own two feet. Eyes closed halfway. Hypnotized myself a bit, you know, trying to remember number of steps? Trying to feel it in my body? Anyway—I am getting ahead of myself. Dima—?” he was picking assiduously through the breads on the tablecloth—“Dima’s cousin’s sister in law, ex-sister in law actually, married a Dutchman, and they have a son named Anton—twenty-one maybe, twenty-two, squeaky clean, surname van den Brink—Anton is Dutch citizen and has grown up speaking Dutch so this is helpful for us too if you get me. Anton—” nibbling on a roll: making a face, spitting a rye seed between his teeth—“Anton works in a bar where many rich people go, off P. C. Hooftstraat, fancy Amsterdam—Gucci Street, Cartier street. Good kid. Speaks English, Dutch, only two words maybe of Russian. Anyway Dima had Anton phone the police and report that he had seen two Germans, one of which answers to precise description of Sascha—granny glasses, ‘Little House on the Prairie’shirt, tribal tattoo on his hand which Anton is able to draw exactly, from photograph we supplied—anyway, Anton telephoned the art police and told them he had seen these Germans drunk as gods in his bar, arguing, and they are so angry and upset they had left behind —what? A folder! Well of course it is a doctored folder. We were going to do a phone, a doctored phone, but none of us were nerd enough to be sure we did it totally untraceable. So—I printed out some photos… photo I showed you, plus some others that I happened to have on my phone… finch along with relatively recent issue of newspaper to date it, you know. Two years old newspaper but—no matter. Anton just happened to find this folder, see, under a chair, with some other documents from the Miami thing, you know, to connect to prior sighting. Frankfurt address conveniently inserted, as well as Sascha’s name. All this is Myriam’s idea, she deserves the credit, you should buy Myriam big drink when you get back home. FedExed some things from America—very very convincing. It has Sascha’s name, it has—” “Sascha’s in jail?” “Indeed he is.” Boris cackled. “We get the ransom, museum gets the painting, cops get to close the case, insurance company gets its money back, public is edified, everyone wins.” “Ransom?” “Well, reward, ransom, whatever you want to call it.” “Who paid this money out?” “I don’t know.” Boris made an irritated gesture. “Museum, government, private citizen. Does it matter?” “It matters to me.” “Well it shouldn’t. You should shut up and be grateful. Because,” he said, lifting his chin, speaking over me, “you know what, Theo? Know what? Guess! Guess how lucky we were! Not only do they have your bird in there, but—who would have guessed it? Many other stolen pictures!”

“What?” “Two dozens, or more! Missing for many years, some of them! And—not all of them are as lovely or beautiful as yours, in fact most of them are not. This is my own personal opinion. But there are big rewards out on four or five of them all the same—bigger than for yours. And even some of the not-sofamous ones—dead duck, boring picture of fat-faced man you don’t know— even these have smaller rewards—fifty thousand, hundred thousand here and there. Who would think? ‘Information leading to recovery of.’ It adds up. And I hope,” he said, with some austerity, “that maybe you can forgive me for that?” “What?” “Because—they are saying, ‘one of great art recoveries of history.’ And this is the part I hoped would please you—maybe not, who knows, but I hoped. Museum masterworks, returned to public ownership! Stewardship of cultural treasure! Great joy! All the angels are singing! But it would never have happened, if not for you.” I sat in silent amazement. “Of course,” Boris added, nodding at the bag open on the bed, “this is not all of it. Nice Christmas present in it for Myriam and Cherry and Gyuri. And I gave Anton and Dima a thirty per cent cut right off the top. Fifteen per cent each. Anton did all the work really, so in my opinion he should have got twenty and Dima ten. But this is a lot of money for Anton so he is happy.” “Other paintings they recovered. Not just mine.” “Yes, did you not just hear me say—?” “What other paintings?” “Oh, some very celebrated and famous ones! Missing for years!” “Such as—?” Boris made an irritated sound. “Oh, I do not know the names, you know not to ask me that. Few modern things—very important and expensive, everyone very excited although I will be frank, I do not understand why the big deal on some of them. Why does it cost so much, a thing like from kindergarten class? ‘Ugly Blob.’ ‘Black Stick with Tangles.’ But then too— multiple works of historic greatness. One was a Rembrandt.” “Not a seascape?” “No—people in a dark room. Little bit boring. Nice van Gogh, though, of a sea shore. And then… oh, I don’t know… usual thing, Mary, Jesus, many angels. Some sculptures even. And Asian artworks too. They looked to me worth nothing but I guess they were a lot.” Boris stabbed out his cigarette vigorously. “Which reminds me. He got away.” “Who?” “Sascha’s China boy.” He had gone to the minibar, returned with corkscrew and two glasses. “He was not at apartment when the cops came, lucky for him. And—if he is smart, which he is—he will not be coming back.” Holding up crossed fingers. “He will find some other rich man to live off of. That is what he does. Good work if you can get it. Anyway—” biting his lip as he pulled out the cork, pop!—“I wish I had thought of it myself, years ago! One big easy check! Legal Tender! Instead of this Follow the Bouncing Ball, so many years. Back and forth—” wagging the corkscrew, tick, tock—“back and forth. Nervewracking! All this time, all this headache, and all this easy, government money right under my nose! I will tell you—” crossing over, pouring me out a noisy glug of red—“in some ways, Horst is probably just as glad it fell out like this as you. He likes to make a dollar same as anyone but he also has guilt, same ideas of public good, cultural patrimony, blah blah blah.”

“I don’t understand how Horst fits into this.” “No, nor do I, and we will never know,” said Boris firmly. “It’s all very careful and polite. And, yes yes—” impatiently, taking a quick sneaky gulp of his wine—“and yes, I am angry at Horst, a bit, maybe I don’t trust him so much as formerly, maybe in fact I don’t trust him so much at all. But—Horst is saying he wouldn’t have sent Martin if he knew it was us. And maybe he’s telling the truth. ‘Never, Boris—I would never.’ Who can know? To be quite honest—just between us—I think he may be saying it only to save face. Because once it fell to pieces with Martin and Frits, what else could he do? Except gracefully back away? Claim no knowledge? I do not know this for a fact, mind you,” he said. “This is just my theory. Horst has his own story.” “Which is—?” “Horst is saying—” Boris sighed—“Horst says he didn’t know that Sascha took the picture, not until we snatched it ourselves and Sascha phoned from clear blue sky asking Horst’s help to get it back. Pure coincidence that Martin was in town—here from LA for the holidays. For druggies, Amsterdam is fairly popular Christmas spot. And yes, that part—” he rubbed his eye —“well, I am pretty sure Horst is telling the truth. That call from Sascha was a surprise. Throwing himself on Horst’s mercy. No time to talk. Had to act quick. How was Horst to know it was us? Sascha wasn’t even in Amsterdam —he was hearing it all at second hand, from Chinky, whose German is not that great—Horst was hearing it at third. It all lines up if you look at it the right way. That said—” he shrugged. “What?” “Well—Horst definitely didn’t know the painting was in Amsterdam, nor that Sascha was trying to get a loan on it, not until Sascha panicked and called him when we took it. Of that? I am confident. But: did Horst and Sascha collude to make painting vanish in the first place, to Frankfurt, with bad Miami deal? Possibly. Horst liked that picture very very much. Very much. Did I tell you—he knew what it was, first time he saw it? Like, off the top of his head? Name of painter and everything?” “It’s one of the most famous paintings in the world.” “Well—” Boris shrugged—“like I said, he is educated. He grew up around beauty. That said, Horst does not know that it was me cooked up the folder. He might not be so happy. And yet—” he laughed aloud—“would it ever occur to Horst? I wonder. All the time, all this reward sitting there? Free and legal! Shining in plain sight, like the sun! I know I never thought of it—not until now. Worldwide happiness and joy! Lost masterworks recovered! Anton the big hero—posing for photos, talking on Sky News! Standing ovation at the press conference last night! Everyone loves him—like that man who landed the plane in the river a few years back and saved everyone, remember him? But, in my mind, is not Anton the people are clapping for—really is you.” There were so many things to say to Boris, I could say none of them. And yet I could only feel the most abstract gratitude. Maybe, I thought—reaching in the bag, taking out a stack of money and looking it over—maybe good luck was like bad luck in that it took a while to sink in. You didn’t feel anything at first. The feeling came later on. “Pretty nice, no?” said Boris, clearly relieved I’d come round. “You are happy?” “Boris, you need to take half this.” “Believe me, I took care of myself. I have enough now that I can not do anything I don’t feel like for a while. Who knows—maybe go into bar business even, in Stockholm. Or—maybe not. Little bit boring. But you— that’s all yours! And more to come. Remember that time your dad gave us the five hundred each? Flying like feathers! Very noble and grand! Well—to me then? Hungry half the time? Sad and lonely? Nothing to my name? That was a fortune! More money than I had ever seen! And you—” his nose had grown pink; I thought he was about to sneeze—“always decent and good, shared with me everything you had, and—what did I do?”

“Oh, Boris, come on,” I said uneasily. “I stole from you—that’s what I did.” Alcoholic glitter in his eyes. “Took your dearest possession. And how could I treat you so badly, when I wished you only well?” “Stop it. No—really, stop,” I said, when I saw he was crying. “What can I say? You asked me why I took it? and what can I reply? Only that—it’s never the way it seems—all good, all bad. So much easier if it was. Even your dad… feeding me, talking with me, spending time, sheltering me in his roof, giving me clothes off his back… you hated your dad so much but in some ways he was good man.” “I wouldn’t say good.” “Well, I would.” “Well, you would be the only one. You would be wrong.”

“Look. I am more tolerance than you,” said Boris, invigorated by the prospect of a disagreement and sniffing up his tears in a gulp. “Xandra—your dad—always you wanted to make them so evil and bad. And yes… your dad was destructive… irresponsible… a child. His spirit was huge. It pained him terribly! But he hurt himself worse than he ever hurt anyone else. And yes—” he said theatrically, over my objection—“yes, he stole from you, or tried to, I know it, but do you know what? I stole from you too and got away with it. Which is worse? Because I’m telling you—” prodding the bag with his toe —“the world is much stranger than we know or can say. And I know how you think, or how you like to think, but maybe this is one instance where you can’t boil down to pure ‘good’ or pure ‘bad’ like you always want to do—? Like, your two different piles? Bad over here, good over here? Maybe not quite so simple. Because—all the way driving here, driving all night, Christmas lights on the motorway and I’m not ashamed to tell you, I got choked up—because I was thinking, couldn’t help it, about the Bible story—? you know, where the steward steals the widow’s mite, but then the steward flees to far country and invests the mite wisely and brings back thousandfold cash to widow he stole from? And with joy she forgave him, and they killed the fatted calf, and made merry?” “I think that’s maybe not all the same story.” “Well—Bible school, Poland, it was a long time ago. Still. Because, what I am trying to say—what I was thinking in the car from Antwerp last night— good doesn’t always follow from good deeds, nor bad deeds result from bad, does it? Even the wise and good cannot see the end of all actions. Scary idea! Remember Prince Myshkin in The Idiot?” “I’m not really up for an intellectual talk right now.” “I know, I know, but hear me out. You read The Idiot, right? Right. Well, ‘Idiot’ was very disturbing book to me. In fact it was so disturbing I have never really read very many fictions after, apart from Dragon Tattoo kind of thing. Because”—I was trying to interject—“well, maybe you can tell me about that later, what you thought, but let me tell you why I found it disturbing. Because all Myshkin ever did was good… unselfish… he treated all persons with understanding and compassion and what resulted from this goodness? Murder! Disaster! I used to worry about this a lot. Lie awake at night and worry! Because—why? How could this be? I read that book like three times, thinking I wasn’t understanding right. Myshkin was kind, loved everyone, he was tender, always forgave, he never did a wrong thing—but he trusted all the wrong people, made all bad decisions, hurt everyone around him. Very dark message to this book. ‘Why be good.’ But—this is what took hold on me last night, riding here in the car. What if—is more complicated than that? What if maybe opposite is true as well? Because, if bad can sometimes come from good actions—? where does it ever say, anywhere, that only bad can come from bad actions? Maybe sometimes—the wrong way is the right way? You can take the wrong path and it still comes out where you want to be? Or, spin it another way, sometimes you can do everything wrong and it still turns out to be right?” “I’m not sure I see your point.” “Well—I have to say I personally have never drawn such a sharp line between ‘good’ and ‘bad’ as you. For me: that line is often false. The two are never disconnected. One can’t exist without the other. As long as I am acting out of love, I feel I am doing best I know how. But you—wrapped up in judgment, always regretting the past, cursing yourself, blaming yourself, asking ‘what if,’ ‘what if.’ ‘Life is cruel.’ ‘I wish I had died instead of.’ Well —think about this. What if all your actions and choices, good or bad, make no difference to God? What if the pattern is pre-set? No, no—hang on—this is a question worth struggling with. What if our badness and mistakes are the very thing that set our fate and bring us round to good? What if, for some of us, we can’t get there any other way?”

“Get where?” “Understand, by saying ‘God,’ I am merely using ‘God’ as reference to long-term pattern we can’t decipher. Huge, slow-moving weather system rolling in on us from afar, blowing us randomly like—” eloquently, he batted at the air as if at a blown leaf. “But—maybe not so random and impersonal as all that, if you get me.” “Sorry but I’m not really appreciating your point here.” “You don’t need a point. The point is maybe that the point is too big to see or work round to on our own. Because—” up went the batwing eyebrow —“well, if you didn’t take picture from museum, and Sascha didn’t steal it back, and I didn’t think of claiming reward—well, wouldn’t all those dozens of other paintings remain missing too? Forever maybe? Wrapped in brown paper? Still shut in that apartment? No one to look at them? Lonely and lost to the world? Maybe the one had to be lost for the others to be found?” “I think this goes more to the idea of ‘relentless irony’ than ‘divine providence.’ ” “Yes—but why give it a name? Can’t they both be the same thing?” We looked at each other. And it occurred to me that despite his faults, which were numerous and spectacular, the reason I’d liked Boris and felt happy around him from almost the moment I’d met him was that he was never afraid. You didn’t meet many people who moved freely through the world with such a vigorous contempt for it and at the same time such oddball and unthwartable faith in what, in childhood, he had liked to call “the Planet of Earth.” “So—” Boris downed the rest of his wine, and poured himself some more —“what are your so-big plans?” “As regards what?” “A moment ago, you were tearing off. Why not stay here a while?” “Here?” “No—I didn’t mean here here—not in Amsterdam—I will agree with you that it is a very good idea for us probably to get out of town, and as for myself I will not care to be coming back for a while. What I meant was, why not relax a bit and hang out before flying back? Come to Antwerp with me. See my place! Meet my friends! Get away from your girl problems for a bit.” “No, I’m going home.” “When?” “Today, if I can.” “So soon? No! Come to Antwerp! There is this fantastic service—not like red light—two girls, two thousand euro and you have to call two days in advance. Everything is two. Gyuri can drive us—I’ll sit up front, you can stretch out and sleep in the back. What do you say?”

“Actually, I think maybe you should drop me at the airport.” “Actually—I think I should better not. If I was selling the tickets? I would not even let you on a plane. You look like you have bird flu or SARS.” He was unlacing his waterlogged shoes, trying to jam his feet into them. “Ugh! Will you answer me this question? Why—” holding up the ruined shoe—“tell me why do I buy these so-fancy Italian leathers when I wreck them in one week? When—my old desert boots—you remember? Good for running away fast! Jumping out of windows! Lasted me years! I don’t care if they look crap with my suits. I will find me some more boots like that, and then I will wear them for rest of my life. Where,” he said, frowning at his watch, “where did Gyuri get to? He should not be having so much problems parking on Christmas Day?” “Did you call him?” Boris slapped his head. “No, I forgot. Shit! He probably ate breakfast already. Or else he is in the car, freezing to death.” Draining the rest of his wine, pocketing the mini-bottles of vodka. “Are you packed? Yes? Fantastic. We can go then.” He was, I noticed, wrapping up leftover bread and cheese in a cloth napkin. “Go down and pay up. Although—” he looked disapprovingly at the stained coat thrown over the bed—“you really need to get rid of that thing.” “How?” He nodded at the murky canal outside the window. “Really—?” “Why not? No law against throwing a coat in the canal, is there?” “I would have thought so, yes.” “Well—who knows. Not very widely enforced law, if you ask me. You should see some of the shit I saw floating in that thing during the garbage strike. Drunk Americans puking in, you name it. Although—” glancing out the window—“I am with you, rather not do it in broad daylight. We can take it back to Antwerp in the trunk of the car and throw it down the incinerator. You’ll like my flat a lot.” Fishing for his phone; dialing the number. “Artist’s loft, without the art! And we’ll walk out and buy you a new overcoat when the shops are open.”

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mysweetestcreature · 4 years

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Tomorrow Never Knows (President!Harry) Chapter 12: All I Want for Christmas

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Author’s note: Hiiiiii, so I honestly have no idea what happened to the post scheduled for earlier, but Tumblr has always been a little b*tch so I’m not surprised lmao. This version isn’t as well edited as the one that disappeared, so please excuse any slips (it’s late and I’m kind of drunk so teehee). ANYWAY! Happy Holidays, everyone! Thank you so much for everything you do for me. From the bottom of my heart, I love you all :’)

***

Masterlist

***

Saturday December 13, 2008

With the holiday season comes all things festive; from brilliant and twinkling lights wrapped around post lamps, to an army of nutcracker statuettes that line town square, and finally that wishful little mistletoe hung above a few select archways and unsuspecting doorframes. There’s a different attitude that floats in the air during this time of year, an unexplainable elation swirled in with a dash of mild intensity.

You’ll never see more people in one place than at the mall, when everyone is on a mission to find that perfect gift, maybe even the perfect outfit for the office Christmas party with the cheap wine, or something of a school dance that may or may not be the social event of the year (unless you’re a senior, then prom is most definitely the only thing to look forward to).

“Why can’t I see it?” Harry pouts, peeking into the gaps of the brown Bloomingdale’s paper bag.

She rolls her eyes; this is probably the eighth time in twenty minutes he’s asked her. For some reason he’d been under the impression that he’d get to see her try it on. Much to his dismay (but to her amusement), however, it had been a quick and easy pick up from the alterations department on the third floor. “Because I’m your girlfriend, and I said you can’t.”

Harry frowns slightly, eyebrows furrowing. “I don’t really see a correlation between those two statements, although. . .” He backs her against a wall, hands finding their place on the curves of her hips. A cheeky grin replaces his former expression, dimples making their indents on either side of his mouth. “I do like it when you call yourself my girlfriend.”

Humming, she tilts her head to the side and wraps her arms around his middle. He swallows when she grazes the tip of her nose to his, his mouth parting in anticipation. They’re close enough that he can easily smell her strawberry lip balm. “Yeah?” she speaks meekly. The radiant look in her eyes makes his heart beat thrice its usual rhythm. He nods in response, just about ready to lean down.

Of course, timing has never been their strongest point, and Harry’s phone rings annoyingly from the pocket of his North Face. He sighs, dropping his head down, eyes squeezing shut when he sees the name lit up on the screen. “Are you gonna answer that, or should I?” Y/n giggles, snatching his cell from between his fingers. He shakes his head and pleads her not to pick it up, but she flips the cover open and brings it right to her ear. “Hi, Anne!”

There’s a string of mumbles from under his breath. He had assumed that they’d be free from interruptions once they’d finally gotten together, but time and time again (an average of three times a week, he’s noticed) there’s always someone out to mess with him. The other day, Mason had squirmed his way between them while they were cuddled up under her favorite fluffy blanket, and Harry had only taken notice when he turned to peck her on the cheek only to end up with half his face covered in peanut butter frosting (his girlfriend––and he really can’t stress enough how happy the title makes him––thought it was absolutely hilarious).

“Yeah, we’re just about finished. . .” She playfully pushes his face to the side when he gives her another pout. “Okie dokie, we’ll be out in a sec. . .see you in a bit!” The call ends with the clap of the main screen against the keypad. She gives him a toothy grin and rises to the tips of her toes to press a gentle kiss to the side of his mouth. “Let’s go?”

***

She’s on her bed when Cici barges into her room, a tote full of clothes hanging off her shoulder that she then drops by the closet door. “Where’s your knight with shining curls?” her best friend snorts as she plops herself down on her bed. She’d texted earlier saying that she would be hiding at the Y/l/n residence to escape the arrogance of her visiting aunt’s family.

Y/n looks up from flipping through her latest issue of Teen Vogue. “I think he should be here quarter of.” He’d left over two hours ago to help his mom and sister decorate their Christmas tree.

“I see you got your dress,” Cici notices, reaching for the bag by her nightstand. She pulls the stapled edges apart with an approving look from Y/n, then pulls out the garment until the bag falls back to the floor. “Oh damn!” she whistles, kneeing the mattress as she holds it up. “Has Harry seen this yet?”

“I’ve literally done everything in my power to avoid that,” she mutters, falling back against her pile of pillows. The implications of not going to the dance with her boyfriend hadn’t registered with her until yesterday when Zoey had showed him the exact corsage that she wanted him to get her. Now she feels almost sick thinking about Zoey’s perfectly manicured and deadly nails racking around her boyfriend’s body while she forces him to dance. And maybe that’s why she doesn’t want Harry to see her dress just yet, she wants to surprise him the day of because the petty part of her wants to send Zoey a clear message.

Cici snorts loudly, laying down next to her, and both girls just stare up at the ceiling. “If you want my honest opinion, I think you should just go together. So, what if a few people get butt hurt? Do you really want to see that bitch try to make moves on him?”

“Obviously not, but. . .” she lets out a long sigh. “Jasper.” She keeps having to remind herself that she’s Jasper’s date, and it just wouldn’t be fair to him if she were to be an absent companion. “He keeps saying how excited he is for this, and I don’t know Ci. I don’t have the heart to tell him that I don’t want to go formal with him, let alone that the reason being that I want to go with my boyfriend of what? Two weeks now?” She’s given this whole lot of thought, really, she has! Sure, the easiest solution would be to call off her date with Jasper, but she doesn’t want him to think that he was only a stand in for Harry until they finally admitted their feelings. No one should be subjected to that kind of impairing thought.

“You’re being way being too nice––maybe the pope will canonize you one day. ‘Saint Y/n’ patron saint of the criminally kind.”

She pulls a pillow from behind and whacks the side of her friend’s head, who then whacks her back with just as much force. “Stop being so dramatic, this isn’t Gossip Girl.”

“And it’s a travesty,” Cici tuts, but her eyes start to twinkle as she loses herself in thought. “If it were, I’d be Mrs. Nathaniel Fitzwilliam Archibald by now. Don’t you think Chace Crawford and I would make the most beautiful babies?”

“They’ll have the best eyebrows, that’s for sure.”

“Right!?”

***

Friday December 19, 2008

The last day before the winter formal––and furthermore the last day until winter break–– and it’s all the students of Ashwood can talk about. At every turn, all that can be heard is who’s attending with who or what designer their dress is from. Almost all of their classes have resorted to study halls since apparently no one can stay focused for more than five minutes at a time, which really is stupid since midterms are scheduled only two weeks after they come back.

On the plus side, since they’re screening Home Alone 2 in Spanish, it at least distracts the rest of the class while she and Harry giggle to themselves in the back-left corner of the room. During the beginning of their relationship, they had at least tried to remain discreet so as to avoid all the theories of conspiracy from the school’s notorious gossips over at the Ashwood Almanac. As the final days of the year dwindle down, however, all precautions to keep everything on the down-low have disintegrated, and they’ve probably shared a few not-so-private (though none have ever been in front of a grand audience. . .about five people, max) smooches when they part ways after a long history lesson with Mr. Noone.

“As in right in the nuts?” he laughs through the question, his arm wrapped around the back of her chair as his fingers tread through loose locks. She’s telling him all about how Mason had thrown a snowball, which had actually ended up having a moderately sized rock lodged in there somehow, directly between Jeremy’s legs. And yeah, he does feel bucket loads of sympathy because he can’t even count how many times he’s had a football to the groin in his years of being an athlete, but he’s more so charmed by how animated she is when she talks about her family.

“I don’t know how he did it, but then Dad went completely cross-eyed when it hit him. Like this.” For a split second, she’s able to mimic his reaction and it has him trying to contain his amusement with her shoulder before Señora Gustavo can scold them for being too disruptive.

After a few moments settled within a comfortable silence, enough time for them to let Jeremy’s many woes fade from consciousness, their eyes meet again, and he just smiles at her. It’s one of those sappy lovesick smiles that would have surely made her knees buckle had she not already been sitting down.

“So, Mum’s Christmas Eve party, you’re all going, right?” he asks, his thumb grazing the side of her arm. For as long as he can remember, Anne’s been hosting this party every year without fail. He supposes it started when she and his dad were still together––maybe even before then––since he’s seen pictures from the early nineties before even Gemma was born. Even when they’d moved to the States, his mum has always been the sociable sort, so during that first year away from Holmes Chapel had been filled with the company of their neighbors and over a dozen of her colleagues. This time around, Harry’s excitement is beyond a scale’s capacity because his granddad is flying in to celebrate with them. After all their long phone calls, he’ll finally be able to introduce him to the girl he’s been gushing over for months.

Y/n nods eagerly. “And I already know what I’m making,” she says. There were a few options that she toyed with before falling asleep until ultimately deciding on one special dessert that she sure hopes will be a crowd pleaser come the 24th. It’s something that in theory she knows how to make, but it’ll require a few test runs and backups since she’s aiming for nothing less than perfection. “Your mom mentioned it during Thanksgiving, so I really hope she’ll like it!”

“Don’t want you going through too much trouble. Mum will like anything you make. Went on and on about those pumpkin spice cookies you brought around the house Sunday.”

“I know, but. . .” Her lips curl inward and trap themselves between her teeth. She looks down into her lap, fingers messing with a stray thread where her skit had been hemmed. “I just. . .I don’t know. Do you think she’s mad––okay, not mad, but you know. . .annoyed––at me for the whole Jasper-Zoey thing? You keep saying it isn’t, but it’s a hundred percent my fault that we’re not going together.”

“Baby, no. Don’t say that,” Harry frowns, and he doesn’t realize the new endearment to have tumbled off the tip of his tongue. “This whole dance thing doesn’t mean anything anyway, and it definitely doesn’t change this.” He gestures between the two of them, a lopsided smile spread from cheek to cheek.

Her eyes narrow as she crosses her arms. “You’re being all cheesy because you want me to kiss you again.”

A loud scoff erupts from the back of his throat, and Señora Gustavo glares up from her laptop to give him another warning. There’s a moment when his face impersonates annoyance (but his arm still remains around her frame), and he begrudgingly turns his attention to Kevin McCallister wreaking havoc on his two unmatched foes. She does the same, but from the corner of her eye she sees the way his mouth plays with his words. In her head, she counts backwards from five, holding in a smirk as the numbers dwindle down. Harry pouts to himself, before he turns back to her.

“Are my chances high, at least?”

***

Saturday December 20, 2008

“Sweetheart, you look so beautiful!” Liv gushes as she brushes Y/n’s hair back, standing behind her in front of the vanity’s mirror. Y/n looks at herself carefully, her lips pulled up but pressed firmly together. The day has finally arrived, and she doesn’t think she can feel any more anxious than she does right now. Half her hair is pulled back while the rest is curled into the soft waves that fall just beneath her shoulders. Her dress is hung to the side, the sequins almost blinding as they reflect in the bathroom light.

They’d spent the last two hours doing her hair and makeup, which Liv had insisted she do herself since aside from dentistry and orthodontics, is probably her second passion in life. There’s a story she always likes to tell, about how she’d worked for a beauty salon during college for some extra cash but had ended up staying all four years because she found the whole transformation process to be exciting for both herself and her clients.

“I remember my first high school dance,” her mom continues, and she takes the dress off the hanger and signals for Y/n to stand up. “Now, my dress wasn’t nearly as form-fitting as yours. I mean, what do you expect from the 80s?” She chuckles lightly, shaking her head as she remembers exactly what she wore in her freshman year. Y/n braces herself against the wall as she steps into the pooled dress. “Philip Russo had asked me, and boy oh boy, was he something.”

Y/n snorts as she holds the lace fabric to her chest. “Does Dad know you still think about your high school boyfriend?”

Liv rolls her eyes, zipping the back up with one firm pull. “Oh of course, I talk about him every night before bed. You know what, honey? If I hadn’t met you, I would probably be living in Austin with Philip Russo and our seven kids. It makes for great pillow talk.”

“Did someone call me?” Jeremy’s voice calls from the master bedroom. Followed by his much shorter shadow, he saunters into the bathroom.

Mason scampers past his dad and wraps his arms around his sister’s legs. “You look like a princess!” he giggles, picking at one of the beads.

“You really think so, Mase?” she smiles, cupping his cheeks in her hand so he can look up at her.

The little boy nods furiously. “Yeah! And that means Harry’s your prince, right? Because the prince and princess always kiss each other, right? You and Harry kissed yesterday! I saw it!” He even looks to Liv for support. “Right, Mommy?”

Y/n digs her nails into her palms. The three of them had agreed to keep Mason upstairs when Jasper picks her up just to avoid all awkwardness if her brother wonders where Harry might be. That’s not to say that her parents are completely on board with the idea of this bizarre arrangement. Jeremy had been quite vocally against it because he much rather send his daughter off with a boy he’s come to know and like, rather than. . .well, he’s never met this other boy, so that’s already a red flag in his book.

“Now what I want to know is why you were snooping on your sister and Harry, huh?” she counters, hands on her hips and toe tapping with parental flare.

“Because Daddy said I have to keep an eye on them when he’s not home.”

Jeremy’s jaw just drops. “You little traitor,” he grumbles, glaring down at his son. “I told you not to tell the girls about our little secret.”

“Secret secrets are no fun unless you share with everyone!”

“Enough out of you.” Jeremy lifts the boy up and places him over his shoulder. It’s now that he’s able to get a good look at his daughter, his not so little girl. Y/n notices a glisten in his eyes the longer he studies her.

“Dad,” she whines, “remember you said you wouldn’t be dramatic?”

“I know, I know, but. . .” He twirls her around, a couple times before taking in her full image once more. “First, it's just a school dance, then it’s your wedding day. Jesus Christ, I’m getting old.”

***

The theme of this year’s winter formal is Winter Wonderland, and despite its cliché nature, student council and the decorations committee had managed to transform the events hall into somewhat of a festive paradise. There’s fake snow falling gracefully in the backdrop at the photographer’s station, where some of the more smitten couples strike their cutest poses as their arms wrap around the other’s figures. Dressed to the nines in their best attire, a few students are already swaying to the DJ’s soundtrack, while others mingle in groups by the punch bowl.

Harry is somewhat part of the latter category, his one hand occupied with his untouched beverage, the other buried deep in his pocket as he stands stiffly at Zoey’s side. She’s bragging about the price tag on her dress, gushing over how her daddy bought it right from the designer himself. “And he totally gave me his number and said I could stop by the New York office any time.”

“Bunch of bollocks,” Harry snorts into his cup, the fruity red liquid just barely grazing his top lip.

Zoey turns around, a sickeningly sweet and glossy smile greeting him. “What was that?” she asks, far too perky in her mannerisms, in his opinion.

“Nothing.” He takes a long sip for no other reason than to keep himself distracted. It works for a few more minutes, with him only participating in their conversation when he’s directly addressed, or if Zoey wants another damn refill of water.

Now, he isn’t quite sure what had possessed him to ask Zoey, of all the girls he could have chosen, to the dance. It was right after Y/n had told him she’d be going with Jasper, and he’d gone outside to clear his head. Who was the first (okay, second, but Señora Gustavo does not count) person he’d run into? The decision had been made in a split second, and for fuck’s sake his biggest regret is not taking a few more to think about it.

“Harry!” He turns on his heel at the call of his name, the first genuine smile of the night cheering up his downcast features when he sees Cici and Maxxie arrive through the doors. Excusing himself, he all but runs to them, enveloping both in a hug that’s filled with every bit of relief.

“Oh, thank god,” he sighs. “She’s driving me up the walls.”

Cici looks over his shoulder, brow raised as she glares at the redhead. “Are those next season’s Christian Louboutin’s? Unbelievable!”

“Jealousy is not a good look on you,” Maxxie teases, poking her side. “I’m not jealous. Just annoyed that the nasty ones always get first serve. And it’s honestly super annoying that she looks kind of good.”

“She’s beautiful. . .” Harry says suddenly, and both Maxxie and Cici gasp at his confession. The latter smacks his chest, and steam practically flares from her nostrils because she’s always had that protective instinct. Maxxie is more sensible, however, and he follows the line of Harry’s gaze right the source. It’s then he takes it upon himself to turn their friend around.

“What are you–”

It’s a scene right out of a movie as Y/n steps through the door, gently shielding her eyes as one of the moving spotlights casts down on her. Her dress reflects a light just as strong, and it manages to catch the attention of a majority of those around. She searches for something, fingers fiddling at her front as she looks unsurely through the room. It’s when she sees the three of them that she smiles widely.

“Guys!” she waves to them, lifting the skirt of her dress as she jogs over. “Oh my gosh, Ci! You look amazing!” she squeals, hugging her friend.

“I know.” Cici has never been one to maintain modesty, but it’s one of the reasons why Y/n loves her. “But look at you! Oh my god, you look like Hilary Duff.”

“That seems to be the consensus apparently,” she blushes. She gives Maxxie a kiss on the cheek, giggling when he whispers something in her ear. It earns him a pinch to his side, and he playfully huffs as he directs himself and Cici to one of the empty tables.

It just leaves her and Harry.

He has to resist the urge to reach out.

“You look. . .wow,” he’s at a loss for words.

Her eyes fall to their feet. “Still trying to get that kiss, I see.” And maybe she wishes she didn’t have to pretend like she doesn’t want to. It happens so quickly that she would’ve missed it she wasn’t paying any attention. His lips press against hers in a kiss. . .or maybe more appropriately a peck. But as her eyes flutter open, she’s met with a cheeky smile to top off an expression that constantly reminds her how in love she is with the boy in front of her.

***

She thought that maybe it wouldn’t be so hard to see Zoey hang off her boyfriend like some pathetic sloth until right at this very moment. And she knows she shouldn’t let it all get to her because Harry had assured her over a dozen times over the phone that she’d be the only person he’ll be paying any attention to, but she really can’t help but feel mildly insecure. She hasn’t even had the chance to tell him how handsome he looks because Zoey had abruptly whisked him away as soon as Mariah Carey had started playing through the speakers. Take that, and the fact that Jasper had finally found his way to her after he’d talked to a few friends by the entrance.

The car ride here had been a bit awkward, if she’s being honest. Jeremy hadn’t been so successful in keeping Mason upstairs, and the little boy had even been the one to open the door because he had been anticipating a completely different face. “You’re not–” Luckily, Liv had been there to cover his mouth before he could say anything more. “Kids! Am I right?” And after a few quick snaps from her mom’s camera, they were off in his dad’s SUV, both sat in the back seat with the middle completely empty. There was some small talk, mostly questions of ‘are you excited’ or ‘hopefully the food is good’ and whatnot. She had tried her best, she really had, to keep things light and non bothersome, but she can sense that he knows something’s up.

“Hey,” she touches Jasper’s arm. “I’m just gonna go to the ladies’ room.”

***

When she walks out of the bathroom, she feels herself being whisked to the side. Before she can let out a yelp, she catches a whiff of his familiar scent, and it’s enough to soothe her panic.

“Are you crazy?” she giggles, looking down at the other end of the hall. “We’re supposed to be in there.”

Harry shrugs nonchalantly before leaning his forehead against hers. “Just a little.”

“Thank god we got that settled then.” She lets her hands fall into his hair, loving the way his soft brown curls feel in the slope between her fingers. For the first time tonight, she feels completely at ease as their bodies sway gently to the echo of a song. “Hi,” she whispers.

It’s then he gives her a proper embrace, holding her as close to him as he can, letting everything around them fade into the back of his mind.

“Hi.” He buries his nose into her hair. “I’m sorry this is how we have to share our first dance.”

He then pulls away just enough to look into her eyes, his heart swelling when she cups his face and presses a long kiss to his lips. The hold he has around her waist tightens as he deepens it further.

“It’s okay,” she answers when she breaks free in need of air. She giggles as she swipes his mouth of any traces of her lip gloss. “I’m actually surprised you were able to get away from your date.”

Rolling his eyes, Harry lets out a humorless snort that she happens to find greatly entertaining. “It wasn’t easy, let me tell you. I had to make up some excuse about how my stomach was feeling all out of sorts when I saw you walk out. Figured it was the perfect opportunity to get my girl alone. Plus. . .” He directs her gaze above, and she can’t help but laugh when she sees a mistletoe hung above them. Without missing a beat, his lips find their way back to hers.

***

Come talk to me about our babies!

#president!harry #harry styles imagine #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fluff #harry styles drabbles #harry styles

116 notes · View notes

raysofcrosby · 5 years

Text

WHEN YOU’RE READY PT. 3

𝘨𝘪𝘧 𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘵 (𝘹)

𝘳𝘦𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘥: yes and no

𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨(𝘴): umm i don’t think much, probs just some swearing :)

𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵: 5,664

𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘳𝘴 ��𝘰𝘵𝘦: oof this took a long time to finish up. sorry about that. but anywho, if you haven’t read parts 1 and two, read them here and here! tbh i was planning on making this a 4-part imagine, but i really like the way that this part ended–– so this is the end lmao. ummm ya, so anyway, sorry it took so long, i hope you enjoy and don’t forget to request! :) ok bye!

The first thing you noticed when you woke up the next morning was the ache in your head and body. Carter was lucky he was cute and that this was by far your weakest hangover, or else he'd have another thing coming. The second thing you noticed...was that you woke up in an empty bed. A lot of alcohol was consumed last night, but you were positive that you hadn't drunk enough for you to have imagined falling asleep next to Nolan. Or that you kissed him and he kissed you back before well...turning you down in the nicest way possible.

The third thing? You were lying in the middle of the bed...full-on spread eagle.

"Oh shit, he was right," You groaned, rolling over onto your back and staring a the ceiling and grabbing the pillow next to you. "Oh God, I kissed Nolan." You pressed the pillow against your face, hoping that the lack of air would wake you up from this nightmare. But when your lungs started to burn, you tossed the pillow aside and sat up.

You weren't dreaming at all. You had kissed Nolan, your best friend since practically the womb. You tossed the blankets off of you and got out of his bed, racking your brain for any details of last night as you made your way into the kitchen. Opening the fridge, you reached inside and grabbed a snack-size pack of watermelon and a bottle of water, closing the fridge and walking towards the counter. Waking up in his bed and with him gone felt, to you, like a miserably failed and backward one-night stand. In normal ways, you were supposed to be the one leaving him in the early morning hours and going on with your day. But no, you lived here... with him and now you're just hoping that things wouldn't be awkward between the two of you. Though, there was always the couch.

You chewed on a small piece of watermelon as your phone lit up to see a text from Ryanne. You finished off the piece of watermelon when your eyes caught notice of what your phone was lying on top of. It was a note from Nolan.

Y/N,

At morning skate, be back soon (prob 11:30/12.) Let's grab lunch and talk a bit before tonight.

– Nol

Your eyes drifted lower to see Travis, a little neater than Nolan's, handwriting at the bottom of the page

P.S.

Don't touch my watermelon, you already stole my last parfait (ya dick.)

– Teeks

You looked down at the watermelon in front of you, swearing in your mind up and down that you had bought two of them. Taking another piece of watermelon, you picked up your phone and opened Ryanne's text

From Ryanne:

If you're not too hungover, would you want to get some lunch and maybe come shopping with me? Need some girl time, C is driving me nuts and I need to relax before the game tonight.

Ugh yes, as per usual Ryanne is there to save the day.

To Ryanne:

I'm so down! I need to get out of the apartment before the two terrors come back. How soon can you get here?

From Ryanne:

I can be there in 10 and you better spill the deets.

To Ryanne:

Of course xx

You locked your phone to see that it was almost 11 and Ryanne's arrival would be cutting it close for you to be able to avoid Nolan and Travis and the conversations you'd probably be having with the both of them. Not taking what little time you had for granted, you rushed to Nolan's bathroom and started to rush through your routine. You grabbed your toothbrush and toothpaste and took them into the shower with you, knocking two steps out in one. Though you knew you'd probably be regretting not leaving the conditioner in your hair for longer than you had, you practically ran out of the bathroom and down the hall back into Nolan's room...your towel no doubt nearly falling off of you.

You ruffled through the three drawers Nolan had let you take over and grabbed a quick and easy outfit– some jeans, a long sleeve t-shirt and a crumpled up sweatshirt off of the bed. You took your brush off of the dresser and ran in through your hair, trying not to struggle too much with the tangled bits. When you put it down, your phone started to ring. Rushing over, you picked it up and exhaled, glad to see that it was Ryanne. Sliding your thumb across the screen, you answered it. "Hey, you here?"

"Just downstairs. I think I might have passed Travis and Nolan getting ready to pull out of the arena parking lot on my way here. Did you want to wait and invi–"

"NO!" You yelled, balancing the phone between your cheek and neck as you grabbed your purse off of the floor and rushed out of the bedroom. "Sorry, I just...I'll be right down."

You hung up the phone, making sure you had your copy of the apartment key before locking it behind you and walking down the hallway. Not wanting to waste any time, you opt for taking the stairs instead of the elevator and if running down those steps didn't knock the breath out of you, the harsh cold air hitting you in the face the moment you stepped outside...sure did. You looked in the parking lot for Ryanne's car and spotted it just as she honked her horn three times.

Jogging over, you opened the passenger side door and got in, closing it behind you. "Drive, please."

"Jesus what crime did you commit?" She joked, putting the car into drive as she pulled out of their apartment complex. "Oh look, it's Nolan and Travis."

You sunk into your seat slightly, still obviously in view and tapped her thigh. "Drive, drive, drive, I beg you."

She looked at you with raised eyebrows before smiling. "Something happened between you and Nolan last night, didn't it?"

"Ryanne..."

"OOh, Claude so owes me $10." She smiled, turning on her blinker and turning out of the complex. "And you better believe you're going to tell me every single detail."

–-

"Wait...that's it? You guys just kissed?" She asked, bringing the hot chocolate up to her frowned lips. "No hot and heavy make-out session? Not even a little heavy petting?"

You picked at the number given to you by the cashier at the counter and rolled your eyes. "No, Ryanne. No heavy petting."

"Well I can't say that I'm not disappointed, but it is a good thing." She nodded down at her hidden bump and shot you a mischievous smile. "That's how this little one happened."

"Oh God, please don't go into detail. I'd like to be able to look Claude in the eyes again."

Ryanne just rolled her eyes as she took another sip of her drink. "Oh please, it's not like you've got virgin ears. Now explain to me why you were going all spy-like when we saw Travis and Nolan."

"I just told you–"

"No, you told me that you had a little heart to heart about whats-his-face and then you planted one on our favorite rosy-cheek boy. Nowhere in there did I hear a denial of his feelings."

You sighed and picked at your blueberry muffin wrapper. She had a point. There was no reason for you to run from Nolan like that, not a logical one anyway. "I just...don't want to be embarrassed, I guess?"

"Explain."

"I woke up and found a note on the counter from Nolan saying he wanted to talk when they got home from morning skate." You leaned back into your seat, taking a piece of your muffin with you. "And normally, 'we need to talk' isn't a positive thing. So I just freaked out, I guess."

Ryanne nodded her head as if she understood what you were saying. And maybe she did. Her and Claude had been dating long before you met the two of them. Dating or even being involved with an NHL player was brand new territory to you, one that she'd know how to navigate. But could it be the same thing as dating your best friend too?

"Please stop looking at me like that."

"Like what?"

You sighed and chewed on your muffin as you shook your head. Following the muffin down with some hot chocolate you rested your elbows on the table. "Like I'm some scared girl who's running from something possibly good for her because she doesn't want to get hurt again after being burned in a previous relationship."

Bringing her cup up to her lips, she smirked and nodded her head to the slight. "You said it, not me." After taking a sip, she leaned her elbows onto the table and looked at you. "But in all seriousness, are you just going to avoid him and pretend like nothing ever happened?"

You bit the inside of your cheek, considering her suggestion. "I mean, it'd be kind of hard to do that since I live with him and sleep in his bed."

She raised an eyebrow, "and?"

You groaned and rested your head in your hands. "And I really liked the kiss and wouldn't mind doing it again. Which is so weird because he's Nolan, my best friend."

"He's also the guy who managed to rock your world with a single kiss. Now imagine what he could do if there was some heavy petting and–"

Your ringtone cut her off and while you were silently praying to whatever universal magic there was, you were also panicking about who it could be that was calling you. Grabbing the phone out of your purse, you turned it over to see the same number from the clinic that had called you last night. "Hold on, a sec." You pressed the accept button and took a deep breath before bringing the phone to your ear. "Hello?"

"Hello, may I speak to Y/N L/N?" A voice that definitely wasn't Dr. Pippen, asked.

Your heart began to race. What if this was a different Doctor who was in charge of treatment for whatever venereal disease Preston had given you. "This is her."

"Hi Y/N, I'm Dr. Scott, I work here with Dr. Pippen, who called you yesterday with some test results."

"Yes sir, he did call me yesterday. I'm supposed to receive the results for some more tests today."

Some shuffling of paper in the background only made you more nervous as Ryanne placed her hand on top of yours for comfort. "Well he's not in the office today, so I'm calling to give you your results." More shuffling of the paper only intensified the suspense before he cleared his throat. "Your HIV, Syphilis and Hepatitis B results all came back negative."

You sink down into your seat in relief as the weight on your shoulders lifted. "Oh Thank God."

"Is there anything else you need, Miss L/N?"

"No, no sir nothing else."

"Alright, well you have a good afternoon, and if you need any information on contraceptives and STD testing, we have pamphlets available at the clinic."

You felt your cheeks burn as his suggestion burned the image of Nolan sitting in the living room reading all of the pamphlets. Pamphlets he didn't have to grab but wanted to because he wanted to be able to help you and be by your side in case your results went the other direction. "Yes, thank you, Doctor."

You hang up the phone and looked at Ryanne whose eyes were wide. "So does this call for a little celebratory shopping?" She smiled, patting your hand.

You look back down at your phone to see text messages that must have come through during your call.

From Nol:

hey where are you? want to grab some lunch before pregame nap?

From Nol:

also has the doc called yet? what are the results? you're supposed to get them today, right?

From Teeks

you ate my fucking watermelon. didn't you get my note?

From Teeks:

i'm eating your leftover mac and cheese. consider us even.

You locked your phone again and shoved it into your purse, looking back up at Ryanne. "Any chance this shopping will last us till the guys have to be at the arena?"

She sighed and shook her head. "You're going to need to confront him at some point Y/N," standing up and downing the rest of the hot chocolate Ryanne tipped her cup to you with a smile, "but of course it can."

–––––––

The retail therapy with Ryanne was more than what you needed. 30 minutes into your second store, Target of all places, you felt happy. Ryanne went on and on about how the two of you needed to come shopping more often, especially since you had picked the cutest outfits for their soon to be, bundle of joy. Of course, you agreed to. Besides the few co-workers you had that were around your age, Nolan, and Travis...Ryanne was your closest friend.

When you got back to the apartment, it was empty and that alone was a relief. Your note from this morning was still sitting on top of the kitchen counter, only this time there was an additional one on top of it.

Y/N,

Check the bed for a surprise from 'the girls'. See you at the game tonight.

- Nol

p.s. you owe me watermelon.

- Teeks

You couldn't help the way that your cheeks reddened and your heart rate sped up when you read that sentence in Nolan's handwriting. At first, you thought that maybe he had bought you something. Until you realized that, 'the girls' was no way Nolan would refer to himself as. Unless he enlisted the help of some of the fellow WAGs to get you something. You rolled your eyes at Travis's side note and made your way back into Nolan's bedroom. On the bed was a dark gray jean jacket with flyers patches on the upper parts of each sleeve. It looked pretty straight forward, no excessive designs on it– not the usual playoffs jacket you'd normally seen.

The moment you flipped it over, your heart dropped into your stomach. On the upper back was a patch that said 'Patrick' and right in the middle were big, bold numbers '19.' Flipping it back over, it was then you noticed the small '19' on the right breastplate.

This was a WAG jacket...for Nolan....for you.

You dropped it onto the bed and quickly got out your phone, calling Ryanne. "Hello?"

"Why am I staring at a jacket with Nolan's last name on it, right now?"

"Yay! They must have came in at practice today. Crystal said she'd bring them and give each of them to the guys to take home. Put it on, does it fit?"

"Ryanne. Why–"

"Oh shoot, I guess that means we're wearing them tonight, which totally screws up that outfit." A short pause took over before she gasped. "Unless you don't wear that tank under the sweater! Ooh, which I bet will accentuate your boobs even more for Nolan to–"

"WHY?" You didn't realize just how loud you had yelled into the phone until Ryanne's side of the call was completely silent. "Sorry Ryanne, I just...I'm really confused."

"Be ready in 15. I'm coming to get you. And Y/N, you better wear that outfit and that jacket."

With a quick click of the phone, Ryanne had ended your call. You sighed and put your phone back into your purse before looking at the jacket and then dumping your shopping bag contents onto the bed next to it.

Of course, you couldn't have let the shopping trip without Ryanne insisting that you buy a new outfit for the 'new and improved, y/n' as she put it. An outfit she solely picked out herself and claimed that her inspiration and end goal was, of course, something that would snatch Nolan's attention.

You tugged at the bottom of the one size too small sweater, wishing that it could stay tucked into your jeans as you planned it too. It wasn't until you realized just how much it accentuated your chest that you realized just how Ryanne planned for you to grab Nolan's attention. Deep breathing did the trick of keeping your calm. It is, of course, very bad to upset or be upset at a pregnant woman.

"Can someone please explain to me why we're wearing the jackets? It's not even playoffs yet." You groaned, adjusting your sweater beneath the decorated jean jacket given out amongst the wives. "And why I even have one? I'm not dating Nolan."

"Oh sweetie, maybe not officially. But we all know that the two of you might as well be dating." Crystal, Simmonds wife smiled, wiggling her eyebrows.

You sunk further down into your seat and bringing your beer up to your lips. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Yes you do," Ryanne sang, smiling and looping her arm through your free one. "I think we're already planning your first date. I mean, if there's anyone who can push Nolan into finally asking you out it'll be Claude and Wayne. Those two are you biggest supporters, I swear."

You took a sip of your beer as you tried to hide your blushing face away from them. "There's nothing to support. We're just friends."

"Friends who had a PG-13 make-out session."

Crystal gasped and leaned over, holding onto my knee. "You and Nolan kissed? Uhm, when?"

"Last night. The party was still going on and they both wanted to go to bed, so Y/N offered Nolan a spot to share and one," Ryanne held up her index finger, "he agreed without a second of hesitation. two," another finger, " they had a huge heart to heart and three," she went to hold up a third finger when you brought her hand down.

"I kissed him, he kissed me back and then pushed me away and said, 'yeah I'd like to do this, but not now. sorry for rejecting you."

Ryanne shoved your hand off of hers and glared. "That's not what he said," she looked back at Crystal with hopeful eyes. "He said, that he wanted to kiss her and you know. But not in the middle of a party and he's been wanting to talk to her all day, but she's been avoiding him."

Crystal looked at you with proud eyes and squeezed your knee. "I feel like a proud parent right now! I've been waiting for you two to get together since you arrived in Philly. Now how was it, the kiss?"

You blushed again, taking another sip of your beer...only this one was a lot longer. "It was pretty great."

"What was that?" Ryanne smiled, cupping her ear. "Did I just hear the Y/N L/N admit that kissing her best friend was, in fact, great?"

"Oh shut up," you laughed, swatting at her. "You're lucky that you're pregnant or I'd dive-bomb you."

"Speak of the devil, here comes your man," Crystal smiled, nodding her head as the boys were coming back onto the ice for the third and final period.

The game had been a tough and brutal one. Yet again, they were playing the Pens and it was a pretty heated rivalry. Nolan had been checked into the boards more times than you could count...or want to see. It was weird, before this whole thing about your feelings with Nolan, you never had any problem seeing Nolan getting checked. You knew he was a tough guy and would probably get his redemption later on in the game. However, this game he'd spent most of his time chirping with anyone who would even dare to look in his direction, particularly number 59– Guentzel, his jersey read. And every time he got checked, you could feel yourself wince and then hope that he was okay.

"Come on, come on stand up! We have to cheer with everyone else!" Ryanne smiled as she and Crystal both tugged on your arms to get you standing with the crowd. Normally, the WAGs all sat up in a box, especially with a game as big as this one. But for some, strange and odd reason, the families and WAGs were sitting in a lower section, 5 to 6 rows up from the ice.

"Wooo! Go Flyers!" You cheered, clapping your hands together as the starters for the period stood on the ice. You watched as Nolan skated his last lap, looking at you with a smile before going off the ice to wait until his shift.

"Did you see that?" Crystal asked, looking at Ryanne. "I think he was checking Y/N out."

"Maybe he was checking out her chest. I didn't pick this sweater a size too small for nothing."

"I hate both of you." You grumbled, pulling the jacket tight over your chest and sitting down as the third period started.

You kept the jacket tight over your chest as you watched the game, keeping an eye out for your two roommates. When the play stopped and you saw Nolan come out for his shift, you sat up a little more on the edge of your seat, earning knowing smiles from Crystal and Ryanne.

"He's so feisty tonight. He hasn't stopped chirping 59 since their first shift." Ryanne said, perching up a little to see. "Like look at him, he looks pissed."

Just then, 59 skated closer to Nolan on the line and said something that pissed him off because the moment the ref dropped the puck, Nolan shoved the player. 59 dropped his gloves and skated at Nolan who followed suit.

"Uh...I'd say he's a little more than just pissed." Crystal said, standing up as the crowd around us roared.

You couldn't get yourself to look away from the sight of the two boys fighting. Nolan had a fistfull of 59's jersey and was throwing punches at him every chance he got. 59 got a few licks in, that was evident the moment Nolan lost his grip on the jersey. 59 went to grab the back of Nolan's jersey and tried to pull it over his head and lock him in. Nolan, the sneaky player he is, snaked an arm out of the sleeve and continued to throw wild and blinded punches, still getting a few licks in until the two of them fell to the ice.

The crowd around us roared into cheers and screams as the people sitting on the glass beat against it with fervor. You stared with tunnel vision, laser-focused on Nolan as you watched him tear off half of his jersey and not bother to pick up the equipment he lost on the ice before stumbling back towards the locker room with a trainer fast behind him. You could feel the adrenaline from watching his fight mix with the worry your heart was beginning to feel, making a combination that left you feeling all sorts of lost.

Never in all of the years of watching Nolan play hockey, did you ever feel the need to know if he was okay after taking a hit or getting into a fight. Normally, you'd think nothing of it and wait until the end of the game for him to walk out with some makeshift bag of ice taped to a limb all while giving him a few chirps of your own. But now, you wanted nothing more than to run out of your seat and find your way through the corridor and into the training room, needing to know what happened.

"Y/N?" Ryanne waved a hand in front of your face and you shook your head, looking at her. "You zoned out, are you okay?"

"I just..." you looked back out towards the ice as the ice girls worked on scraping the blood off of the ice. "Whose blood is that?"

Crystal looked up from her phone and at you. "Nolan asked for you."

"What?"

She held up her phone to see a text from Wayne. "Wayne's in the training room getting P.T. and said Nolan mentioned you. Do you want to go down?"

"Nolan wants me down there?"

"Sounds like it girl." Ryanne smiled, nudging you.

You stood up from your seat slowly and nodded your head. "Okay, okay yeah uh, I'll be right back."

You left your beer in your cupholder and made your way up the section steps. On your entire walk down to the corridor and trainers room, you couldn't help but replay the fight in your head. Did Nolan do as well as you thought he did? How many hits did 59 get in? Were they quality ones? With each thought, you tugged your jacket against you tighter and tighter. And just as you came to a stop in front of the training room door, you realized that you weren't pulling it against you because you felt exposed, but because it made you feel safe.

You closed your eyes and took a deep breath, preparing yourself for what you were about to see. A few deep breaths later, you opened your eyes and pushed open the training room door. When you walked in, Nolan was hunched over on one of the tables, his jersey off and his head hanging down as he held a towel to his face. He looked up to see who was at the door and when he made eye contact with you, his eyebrows furrowed and then his mouth opened, only to close again as if he couldn't find the words to say.

You ran over to him and held onto his shoulders, looking over him to make sure his injuries weren't too severe. Your hands then wrapped around his back and you hugged him tightly, not caring if you got any blood on you. When you pulled away, you sighed, looking at the damage done to his face. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, just some stitches on my head and then something for my nose. Cliff says I should be able to go back out once he gets the blood out of my jersey."

You let out a sigh of relief and then the images of him fighting 59 took over. In a quick moment, you smacked his padded shoulder and glared at him. "What the hell, Nolan?"

“Um, OW? That actually kind of hurt, Y/N."

"What the hell do you think you're doing fighting that guy? Since when did you become a fighter?"

"Why do you care? You've been avoiding me all day. You never even told me the results for your doctors' appointment." He put more pressure on the towel as he looked away from you, only to look back at you with a gleam in his eyes. "Wait a second...are you worried about me?"

His truthful accusation set you back. Of course, you were worried about him, he's your best friend! "One, you don't know that I've been avoiding you all day, and two, you're my best friend. So excuse me if I don't want to see you get your face smashed in by some dude you’ve been exchanging petty middle school glares at all game."

A cocky smirk took over his face as she brought the towel off of his face, revealing the damage done. A nasty head laceration just by his left eye and a bloody nose. "You've never been worried before. You haven't even snuck in one of your infamous chirps yet."

You could feel yourself getting frustrated because he was right. But now didn't feel like the best time to admit your feelings for him. Or maybe it was. "I hate you, you know."

"For?"

"Being right," you sighed and walked closer, standing directly in front of him. "I have been avoiding you all day. because...well, it felt like you kind of rejected me after our...kiss last night."

You shrugged your shoulders and looked away from him. "And I guess I'm just really embarrassed about it and didn't want to face you this morning. But now I'm wearing a WAG jacket with your name on it, Ryanne and Crystal are in my mind saying how much they like us together, and we're not even dating! Not to mention, for the first time since I've ever watched you playing hockey, I found myself worried sick about you."

"You were?" He whispered, almost in shock himself as if he hadn't known my feelings since last night.

"Yeah," tugging the jacket against you tightly again, you looked at him. "Every check into the boards made my stomach twist into knots. And then when you started fighting with 59 I just...I don't know."

The silence between you two was overbearing and you couldn't help but wish that Cliff would come back with Nolan's blood-free jersey any second now.

"He said something," You looked up to see Nolan removing the towel from his face. "Guentzel. He said something...about you. We'd been chirping all night, stupid shit here and there. But then that last second right before the shift, he must've noticed the jacket or something...because he'd love to have his way with you and I just snapped."

He fought to protect you. It wasn't from the pure frustration of the game and rivalry, but the chirping had turned to you being the subject and Nolan wasn't having any of it. "Nolan?" He looked back up from his towel, the swelling starting to settle in. "Do you like me?"

He laughed and shook his head, bringing the towel back up as he looked at you. "Isn't it obvious, Y/N?"

"Obviously not, since your teammates and their wives all want us together and yet I've never known about your feelings for me. So please Nolan, tell me. Don't give me a subtle hint or a stupid, crooked smile...just, say the words."

"Y/N," he dropped the towel next to him and reached out, grabbing both of your hands. "I love you. I've loved you since we were like 10-years-old and I'm an idiot for taking so long to finally act on my feelings and do something about it, but I just–"

You leaned forward, carefully cradling his face in your hands before pressing your lips to his. A simple kiss that sent electric shocks to the tips of your toes. You pulled your lips from him, keeping your eyes closed and your vicinity close as you tried to catch the breath that the small kiss had knocked out of your lungs. Opening your eyes to see Nolan looking at you, you smiled and brushed your thumb along his right temple. "I love you too."

He smiled and cupped the right side of your face and on instinct, you leaned into his touch as if you'd known it all of your life and were finally letting your heart accept what you'd been missing out on for so long. Nolan wrapped an arm around your waist and held you tight before pressing another kiss to your mouth, this one more feverish and hungry than the one the night before.

"Alright Nolan, let's just stitch you up and– Oh!"

Embarrassed, you stepped away from Nolan and turned to see Cliff standing there with Nolan's jersey in his hand. "Sorry, Cliff."

He just smiled and shook his head, placing Nolan's jersey down on another table. "I'm gonna go get the stitch kit, I'll be right back."

Nolan kept his grip tight around you as Cliff left the room again and he pulled you back, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth. "So, does this mean if I ask...you'll go on a date with me?"

You brushed your fingers along his jawline, smiling down at him. "Hm, if I say yes, what do I get?"

"A night away from Travis, your favorite dessert and lots of kissing," he mumbled, pressing a kiss alongside your jaw.

"No surprise visits to any clinics?"

He raised his eyebrows and took in your smile. "Negative?"

"All three."

He pulled you into him and hugged you tight as he pressed another kiss to your temple. "Change of plans. If you say yes, we're kicking Travis out of the apartment and onto Hartsy's couch, ordering in your favorite food and then christening every surface we can find."

"So, that also includes a new roommate and endless amounts of cuddles?"

"Sure thing, spread eagle." He laughed, kissing you again before pulling back moments later. "Wait, new roommate?"

"You, dummy." You smiled down at him and then a thought dawned on you. "So uh, who's going to tell our parents the news?"

"More like who won the bet."

"There was a bet?"

"Oh Y/N, there's been a bet ever since the joint sex talk featuring my mom's fresh produce," he cringed, pulling you into him again. "At least we'll never have to sit through one of those again."

"Until they start asking us about grandkids."

You both burst into a fit of laughter as Cliff came back into the room, a stitch kit in his hand. You pressed a kiss to Nolan's temple as he squeezed your hand. "Are you heading back out there, Y/N?" Cliff asked, sitting down on a stool.

"Yeah, someone's got to make sure Ryanne doesn't go all crazy pregnant lady on some fans," You laughed, nodding at him. "You take care of our boy, Cliff."

"Always do, no matter what the punk says."

You laughed and walked towards the training room door, opening it and getting ready to walk out. "Has anyone told you how hot you look in that jacket?"

You turned to see Nolan, not even wincing as Cliff did the first stitch on this cut. "Eh, only this one guy. Long hair, pretty eyes, can't seem to grow a beard. Does he sound familiar?"

Nolan rolled his eyes and then a serious look fell over his smiling expression. "Will I see you out there?"

You winked at him and smiled. "Always, Nol. Always."

#nolan patrick oneshot #nolan patrick imagine #philadelphia flyers imagine #philadelphia flyers oneshot #hockey writing #hockey imagine #hockey oneshot #nhl writing #nhl imagine #nhl oneshot #nolan patrick #my writing

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fairlyspnfanfic · 5 years

Text

A New Start - Part 3

Part One Part Two

@vicmc624 @waywardprincesa @heyyy-hey-babyyy @carissime72 @deans-baby-momma @formulafun @woodworthti666 @yetanotherreader @crashlyrose @hobby27 @gabby913 @jxackles @polina-93 @supernaturaladdictsblog

Forty-eight. In just six months, forty-eight children missing. And only two had been recovered. The pit in my stomach grew with each missing person’s poster I viewed. With each desperate parent’s plea that I read and every news report that came up, each ending the same way. No leads, and a search party being called to a halt.

I had been researching for hours, long into the night and well into the morning, and my eyes were beginning to cross in the light emanating from the computer screen. My knees strained as I stood up, stretching my arms up above my head. I walked over to the closet next to my bed and pulled out my nicest suit. A high-waisted black pencil skirt accompanied by a stark black blazer over a pressed turquoise V-neck blouse. I threw it on, casually gathering my hair up into a clip, trying my hand at a messy bun. “Good enough.”

In my nightstand drawer was a mahogany box with a portrait of an elephant carved into the top of it. I opened it quickly and grabbed the wallet on the top of the stack of wallets. Flipping it open, I confirmed that it was the FBI badge that I had used so often years ago. It had been lying dormant since then, collecting dust in the box, unused. I hadn’t even given it another though until the disappearances had become so very prevalent. Dean had argued with me so forcefully while we took the photo for it. Not wanting me to have it at all. “You’re not coming, you don’t need it.” I heard his voice saying all over again. “Stay here, where it’s safe. You’re just gonna get hurt.” I shook my head. “What do you need that for anyway? Stay here. Keep digging. Let us know what you find. Stick to what you’re good at. Leave the hunting to us. Please, Y/N.” I took a deep breath and walked over to my shoe rack, grabbed my sensible heels and slipped them on.

It wasn’t long before I was down the stairs and in my car on my way to the police department two towns over, an endless list of questions running through my head. By the time I was opening the door and asking for the lead detective, I was in full FBI Agent mode and ready to go as if no time had passed at all.

“Detective Stehlen?” He nodded. “I’m Agent Stark. It seems you have a bit of a problem here. Forty-eight missing persons. All children. Where are you at with the investigation?” I flashed my badge quickly but made no offer to shake his hand or exchange any pleasantries. His eyes darted around the room, seemingly desperate for a senior officer to bail him out of the predicament he found himself.

“We…Well we don’t have…See there’s not much to go on here Agent Stark.” The words tumbled from his mouth as he squirmed. He nervously ran his hands through his spiky brown hair. “There’s no leads, no evidence. They just disappear. No trace.”

“Uh huh.” I took a step closer to him. “I’m going to need a list of all of the families. Parents, their contact information, addresses. Everything you’ve got. The bureau’s taking this over.” At that, the detective seemed to become indignant, his fragile manhood threatened by his job being insulted.

“Hold on, you can’t just swoop in here. This is my case. It’s still an open investigation and I’m leading it. Nobody’s taking-“

“Stehlen, you’ve had six months and all you’ve managed to do is lose more children. You’re lucky you still have your badge.” My voice rose with as much authority as possible. I paused momentarily to let my threat sink in. “The bureau is taking this case over. I am taking it over. You’re out. If you interfere or involve yourself in any way, I will make absolutely certain that you never work in law enforcement again in any capacity. You won’t even be able to serve coffee to beat cops. Is that understood?” His eyes were wide, a gazelle trapped in the sights of a lion ready to pounce.

“Of course, Agent Stark. Not a problem. I’ll get you the information and all the files right away.”

“Thank you Stehlen. Very kind of you.” My voice softened as I smiled at him. He scurried back to his desk, collecting manila file after manila file. It took about half an hour for him to bring all the paperwork to me and get me set up in a private room so that I could peruse it all. There were hours of information in front of me. Days even. I set to it right away.

All the children ranged from 9 to 17 years old. They didn’t attend the same school. They didn’t live in the same neighborhood. Their parents didn’t work in the same offices, and they didn’t seem to have any interactions with each other. Nothing tied them together. Nothing that I could see in all the paperwork spilled before me. “Start at the beginning” I could hear Sam telling me as if he were standing right next to me. I picked up the file for the first child that had gone missing. A girl. Lorali. Age 12. She had gone to the park down the street from her house and didn’t come back when she had promised to. Her parents hadn’t heard from her since.

I glanced up at the clock. It was nine-fifteen in the morning. More than a decent hour to start contacting people.

Five hours and more than ten families later, my mind was on hyperdrive. I’d found it. The link. I knew what brought them all together. All ten of the families I’d seen, the first ten kids that went missing, had all been active on a new social media site called Tracked. They posted videos, chatted with each other, exchanged information. All without their parents consent or knowledge of course. But they all had accounts. And they’d all been chatting with the same person the day of their disappearance. Each of them had been setting up meetings with them when they were taken. One or two, I could’ve chalked up to be a coincidence. But ten? I knew I had it. “I’ve got you now, Serenader64.”

A quick IP trace, a few firewall hacks, a tiny DNS hijack, and I had not only shut down his access without him knowing it, but I had his exact location at every given second. And no matter what sort of monster he was, this would be the last day he drew breath.

I grabbed my blazer off the back of my chair and slipped my arms into the sleeves. “Stehlen!” I yelled. He came flying into the room. “Yes?” His dejected answer thrilled me.

“I’m running out. I think I’ve got a good handle on these. They can be put away now. I’ve got a hunch. Going to go investigate it.”

I left the department and headed for my car. I pulled my cell phone out of my pocket and looked at the map; a flashing blue light indicated where the creature was. I pointed my convertible towards it and drove. It was only about twenty miles. So close. I held onto the hope that maybe, just maybe, this monster was keeping the kids alive somewhere. “I so need this to be a win.”

“You have reached your destination.” The voice on my phone rang out as I drove passed the driveway of a large but very bright Mediterranean style home. “This can’t be right,” I said to myself as I put the car in park and turned off the engine. The walkway to the door was well landscaped and the solar powered lights were off. I could feel the gun tucked into the back of my waistband and the smaller knife that I had strapped to my hip pressing into my skin, as if trying to warn me. Slowly, I brought my hand up to ring the doorbell.

When the door opened, the man starring back at me looked to be no more than 35. His hair was brown and cut military style. Short, and clean around the ears. No facial hair to speak of and his brown eyes lit up when his kind and welcoming smile presented itself. “Hello there. Can I help you?”

“Good morning, sir. I’m Agent Stark, with the FBI.” I flashed my badge again. “I’m investigating a few cases of missing children in town-“

“Horrible thing, missing kids. Seem to be a lot lately. Anything I can help with?” His voice was sincere, and his face went from happy and pleasant to intent and focused, as he waved me in the door, and I followed him into the foyer.

“Possibly, sir. The bureau’s been doing our normal investigating and it seems that some of the missing children had been communicating with someone in your home using an app called Tracked. Do you know anything about that?”

“Tracked? No, I don’t know about anything like that.” The words came from his mouth, but his eyes seemed stunned. I watched his pupils seem to dilate, almost as if they were panicked. “Are you certain you have the correct address?”

“Unfortunately, we’re very certain, Mr.? I’m sorry, I didn’t quite get your name.”

“Sean. Sean Smythe.”

“Well, Mr. Smythe, as I said, we’re very certain. Is there anyone else in the home who may have access to a cell phone or computer? Anyone else who may have been communicating through the app?” I asked, already on guard.

He shook his head. “No, just me, myself and I here.”

I glanced around the foyer. “Do you mind if I take a look around? Standard procedure you understand.”

He put his hand up and stepped in front of me. “Actually,” he tensed up. “I’m in the middle of something just now. It would really be better if you came back later. This evening perhaps?”

I eyed him suspiciously. “I’ll just be a moment.” I pushed through his arm and made my way into the living room. A standard couch, loveseat and chair setup with a grand piano in the corner. No TV. Just passed that was the kitchen. Large and full of dishes, both clean and dirty, with milk jugs and cereal boxes strewn about the counter tops. There was a door just to the right. I reached for the knob to open it.

“I’d really rather you didn’t, Agent.” Mr. Smythe’s voice was louder and all pretenses of politeness held within it were now gone. I grabbed the knob and began to turn.

“Fuck,” his voice screamed. I felt a hard and swift knock to my head and my vision went black.

Part 4

#dean x reader #dean winchester #sam winchester #reader insert #oneshot #spn imagine #spn fanfiction #spn fanfic #castiel #supernatural

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breadcaaat · 5 years

Text

part two

Jeongguk x hybrid!Reader

Words: 4.2k

Warnings: bad language, blood, drowning, nudity, jk falls out of bed

When Jeongguk gets home the first thing he does is cry in the shower, which is a pretty reasonable course of action given the two brutal murders he just witnessed - murders that had splattered blood all over his clothes without his realizing.

He’d only noticed when he got home and saw himself in the mirror. His hoodie and sweatpants were unsalvageable and he’d thrown them straight onto the floor to be trashed later. He could only hope no one had called the cops on him as he walked home. I must’ve looked like the actual murderer, he mused, and it prompted some harsh scrubbing. He wanted to be clean. He wanted to forget everything he’d seen tonight.

And he wanted a fresh bowl of ramen, damn it. He hopped out of the shower and dried off, then put some water to boil.

While waiting for that to finish, he picked his clothes up and emptied the pockets. Wallet, check. Phone, check. Collar, also check. He’d snatched it in his escape from the restaurant on some unexplainable impulse, but now he didn’t know what to do with it. He chucked it on the table, deciding to deal with it later. Rubbing his arms and puffing some hot air into his hands, he realized just how cold it was in his apartment with no clothes on.

The heating was down in his apartment again. He cursed, smacking at the wall next to the thermostat. His hair was still wet and he’d hoped he could just air-dry it, but with no heat he’d have to break out the blow-drier and the extra throw blankets to avoid a cold. Couldn’t he just have an easy night? Just once? He almost cried again just from frustration.

With an extra pair of socks, a clean hoodie, and a belly full of ramen, Jeongguk fell asleep fitfully, and cold.

Rise and grind! Let’s get it! Pop that pussy, my guy! Rise and grind! Let’s get it! Pop that pussy, my -

A head of bed hair puffs out from under the covers, all disgruntled and squinty-eyed. Four hours of sleep. He whimpers something along the lines of “not enough” before fumbling about the sheets for his phone.

- Let’s get it! Rise and -

He stabs at the screen until his alarm turns off, then dumps himself back into the comforter. His best friend - Hoseok - was a die-hard morning person and had recorded that alarm for him after Jeongguk professed to other alarm tones being too boring and not super effective.

Wait - Hoseok. Hoseok.

His best friend was an investigator!

He’d have to talk to him later - but first, work. He blew a handful of won last night on ramen that’s probably still sitting where he left it at the crime scene, bloated and mushy.

“Rise and grind,” he muttered to himself, and then fell out of bed when his foot got caught in the sheets.

The first thing Yeongho says when he sees him is “You look like you didn’t sleep at all last night,” to which Jeongguk doesn’t register he should reply because he didn’t get any sleep at all last night. His boss - Mr. Gim Yeongho, a man in his early fifties with bready cheeks and happy little crow’s feet - is in the midst of manning both the kitchen and the bakery with the aid of his daughter, Miyun. Running back and forth keeps them busy while the wife - a quirky, snappy little woman named Sungyun - takes orders and manages everything else. Busy little bees. Jeongguk’s the delivery boy for this little breakfast place, and he likes it. It may not be super lucrative but his bosses are like second parents, and the pay is better than a fast-food place.

“I,” he started a few seconds too late “ - yeah, I didn’t get much last night. The neighbors were, uh, loud.”

Yeongho wiggled his eyebrows, then guffawed. “Loud?”

Jeongguk blushed and whined a little, and Miyun giggled from where she was manning one of the stainless steel tables, chopping something. “You left that door wide open,” she whispered at him as he walked past, and he mustered up a small - albeit reluctant - smile.

Meandering his way into the break room and clocking in with all the enthusiasm of a zombie, he went to scoop up the keys to the little company scooter only - shoot, someone misplaced them. They weren’t on the rack. Maybe the dude on shift yesterday tossed them somewhere. Wouldn’t be the first time, he thought to himself.

Jeongguk heaved a sigh. Placing the keys on the counter, he leaned down to pull his uniform vest and cap out of the cabinet. It was only as he was putting on that cap that he made eye contact with the very keys he’d been looking for - holding, goddammit.

Lord, he was out of it. He could tell today was going to be difficult; already he was unable to focus and socialize and that’s bad business for a delivery boy. Also “ - extremely unsafe! Kid, d’you hear me?”

He was barely able to say sorry for spacing before Sungyun bapped him over the head with a rolled-up newspaper, knocking his cap askew and toppling him out of his squat and onto his bum. He yelped and she cackled a little. “Aigoo! You’re so cute, like a baby.”

“Why’d you hit me?”

She snaps back from gushing and cracks him over the head with the papers again. He winced. Getting hit with that pot yesterday must’ve left quite the shiner on his skull, but he couldn’t tell her that or she’d fuss over him more than she was about to. “You’re practically still asleep! You expect me to let you out on the roads like that?” She mumbled something about boys being insane then, and then crouched down and patted at his face. “Aish, did you even wash your face this morning? This kid must be stupid, no wonder he’s tired!”

He tried gently batting her insistent, fussy hands away, but this just instigated a comical little hand fight that ended with him taking another newspaper swat to the head.

She stood up - spry as ever - then with a huff stomped out. “Wash your face before you go! Or you’re walking those deliveries!”

Yeongho ducked around the corner a few moments later, guffawing again when he saw the fresh crime scene, Jeongguk the unwitting and frazzled victim. “She getcha?” he asked, and Jeongguk belted a soy sauce packet at him half-heartedly. He disappeared back into the kitchen, still laughing. Music started up somewhere in the building.

With the first round of customers’ breakfasts and bevvies stored safely onto his little company motorbike, he waved goodbye to Sungyun (who’d force-fed him a too-big breakfast and a whole 12 oz black coffee) and set off.

His first customers were a construction crew. He wasn’t quite sure what the project was, only that it was relatively small since they were usually only six to nine in number most days. Tired, crass, and playful, they greeted him like a messenger from god here to split the bread and multiply the fish - or whatever that one story in the Bible was.

The eldest in the crew could be a problem at times, but not because he was mean or anything. Just a talker that talks slowly, ready to teach Jeongguk some life lessons and Practical Man Skills like construction or how to win a proper fist fight. Then he’d reminisce on the first hand fight he’d ever been in, and the last, and some in between, and the talking would go on. He’d honestly love to sit with the man on a porch one day and just listen to him dispense wisdom, but other people needed breakfast.

Those other people - or, the next at least - were the math department of a local high school. They were all pretty drowsy, and not as familiar with him as the construction crew, so that trip was quicker. They pitched in to give him a nice tip, which was nice. Must’ve had some sympathy for how young and poor he looked (oof) as teachers and all that.

Throughout all this, he frustrated himself trying to reign in his wandering, unfocused thoughts. Films rolls of last night replayed in his mind’s eye over and over, dissected and analyzed. He arrived at too few answers and too many questions. Felt like he was running in circles. That, and all the literal running was taking a toll on him; he hadn’t had more than two hours of sleep last night so his energy level was a pitiful fraction of what it'd usually be.

His next stop was always the most intimidating, but only because the area was pretty well-to-do.

As in, rich. Not Gangnam-level rich, but… well-to-do.

Hm.

At least the nervousness the building gave him helped distract him from himself.

Skidding to a stop in the parking lot of KJ Plastic Surgery Center, he popped off his helmet and skittered inside. One of the surgeons here - a Miss Noh Hana - had been a regular as long as he could remember working at the place. He even had her order memorized.

The receptionist recognized him and simply waved him along with a small smile. Giving the man a hurried little bow, Jeongguk made the short journey to Mrs. Noh’s office: room 2C, second floor.

Standing outside her door, he took a little breath. This woman made him nervous. She had this sort of mature, porcelain elegance about her that made one feel either poor or unintelligent. Or both. Jeongguk figured it was forgivable since she didn’t seem to create that effect intentionally. Just another pretty middle-aged woman that made young men nervous. He knocked.

There was a brief shuffling of paper and the sound of someone shifting in their seat. “Come in.”

He peeked in, and a smile peeked back from Miss Noh. “Jeongguk! Good morning.”

A quick bow, a small grin. “Good morning Miss Noh. I have your breakfast.”

“Hope so. I’m starving.” She cleared a little space on her desk as he walked over, plastic bag crinkling and tea in hand. Lemon, no honey or sugar. She liked bitter and salty things. “How has your morning been so far?”

“Traffic is light and I think it’ll only start to rain after my shift.”

“So pretty good.”

“Pretty good, yeah.” He grinned a little.

“Has anyone ever told you that you look like a rabbit when you smile? It’s adorable.” She cracked the cap to her tea and took a deep breath of the steam that rolled out. “Oh, this will wake me up,” she murmured. Pulling out her wallet she politely asked how much, then passed it over. He thanked her, bowed, and then went to walk out.

“Ah, wait Jeongguk.” She stopped him and he turned around, eyes wide.

“Yes, Miss Noh?”

“Come here,” she waved him over with a slim hand, and he shuffled back over, curious. “Here,” she said softly, taking his hand in her own and wrapping his fingers around a very generous tip. He blinked up at her, surprised. “Miss Noh?”

“You look tired. You must have a night job, yes? So you’re working hard, but money is hard to come by.” She let go of his hand then, returning her gaze back to her paperwork to shuffle it around. She seemed shy all of a sudden. “That’s all. Have a good day Jeongguk.”

He smiled, bowed again. “You too, Miss Noh. Thank you!”

Jeongguk exited the building with a smile on his face, last night’s traumas temporarily forgotten. This wad of won nearly doubled what he’d earn today, and that’s enough to put a smile on anyone’s face.

By eleven, his shift at Gim’s Breakfast Delivery was over, and it was time to head to his second part-time. He hugged Sungyun goodbye - she was still scolding and fussing over him - and then turned in his uniform and clocked out.

This next place was a moving company. A lot of physical activity he didn’t have the energy or focus for, but he pushed through since this boss wasn’t as lax on him as the Gim family was. Losing this job was very possible if he wasn’t fast enough or spaced out and broke something. It didn’t help that he hadn’t had any time for lunch. That shift ended after what seemed like an eternity. It was dark now, but he had a night shift.

This place was closest to home, and probably the last place he wanted anyone he knew to find him. The convenience store. He’d be here until about two in the morning, when the next clerk would take over and set him home free. Until then, he was stuck listening to the outdated pop tunes buzzing from somewhere and pacing until he found something to do.

First thing he did was make himself some ramen. Someone came in while he was eating that just to buy some condoms and an energy drink. He didn’t even bother talking to him, just rang his stuff up. The dude seemed embarrassed anyway. A couple of minutes later he finished. Contemplated making another ramen bowl. Made another.

After some pacing, he found himself scribbling on some receipt paper. He thought back to the tiger girl. Now that he was forced to stand in one place with no sort of physical activity to distract him, he couldn’t help it. He’d really had no time to digest last night with how busy he’d been from the moment he’d woken up.

He wondered where she went. If the police found her. How the investigation was going. Briefly, if Hoseok was on the case - but, no, not his department. Jeongguk didn’t know much about how stuff like this worked, but he knew that Hoseok didn’t investigate homicides. He figured he should talk to him, and soon. Would he get busted for inhibiting police investigations if he didn’t turn himself in as a subject? He’d have to pose the hypothetical to Hobi.

Crumpling up the receipt paper, he turned and looked out the window.

Two hours left.

Jeongguk was gonna pass out standing up, he was sure. Walking home was hell. He was tempted to cuddle up with the hobos in their sleeping bags and on their park benches. Stumbling on, he kept himself going with murmurs of Just eight more blocks. One step after another. Your bed’s at home.

He paused at a familiar footbridge and peered out over the black water. God - everything was so dark. It smelled fresher here by the river, though, and he pulled in a deep breath of it. It helped clear his head a bit.

I can stop and breath for a bit. He rolled his head back to the sky. Tomorrow he had another morning shift, which was gonna be rough. No shift at the moving company, though. That’s good. He could nap in the afternoon… Needed groceries…

He swayed a little; dazed, exhausted, overthinking. The only thing keeping him standing were his locked knees and weak sense of balance.

A motorcycle roared down the street behind him and whipped past. Jeongguk slipped, startled.

He crashed into the water, knocked unconscious.

The motorcycle roared away.

Stripes saw the boy slip and heard him crash, and she was running to leap off the bridge before she could second-guess her actions. The air whipped past and the water swallowed her, lightless and bottomless. And cold.

It snatched the breath from her lungs. She fought her way to the surface to fill them and - it was colder above the water than beneath.

Heaving as deep an inhale as she could, she dove back under.

He’s sinking so fast. Faintly, she could see the ghostly outlines of his fingers, the little worms of his hoodie strings. Closed eyes. Jumping, spasming diaphragm.

Her ears popped, and she caught up to him. Hooking her arms around his waist - why is he so tiny? Does he eat enough? - she hauled him up to the surface. It was the longest ascent she can ever remember swimming. Breaking through the surface felt like birth.

She noticed with a fleeting panic that he wasn’t heaving in breaths like she was. His chest was still.

They emerged from the water soggy, shivering, and stumbling. Her grip slipped and he fell into the mud.

It’s so quiet out.

Whimpering nervously, she tried to remember what it is you do with a drowning victim. Empty their lungs, right? How? Burp them like a baby?

Not too bad of an idea, right?

Rolling him into a sitting position, she tilted him forward and started hitting his back, careful not to break anything. The ease with which she could snap a spine on accident was terrifying. His chest jerked. One slap, two, three.

She lost hope at six, and it was the seventh one that had him coughing up all the river grime he’d swallowed. It came out of his mouth in pathetic heaves and spluttered coughs, and she went a little gentler with the baby-burping method now that he was unplugged. She chuffed in a lame attempt at comfort.

They sat there for a couple of minutes, her hand tracing his spine with the aiding pat here and there. Jeongguk dazed and confused. He didn’t even remember being the water.

“Are you - “ her voice croaked, not often used “ - are you okay?”

He lurched to the side and retched. That’s a no. She rubbed his spine again, not really knowing what to do.

“Water,” he slurred. “Want water…”

We’ve had enough of that for now, Stripes thought dryly. “I’m going to pick you up.” It wasn’t a question. She was going to pick him up and take him home. She just had to cross her fingers and hope she remembered the way.

“What?” It sounded like his mouth was waterlogged.

She didn’t answer, just picked him up in a fireman’s carry. He moaned a complaint but had no strength to fight it. Stop fussing, she thought. Her tail twitched.

Climbing the concrete riverbank was hell, and stumbling over the lip of it felt like yet another birth. Nothing I wouldn’t do for a bed right now. Or dry hair. Or clean ears.

They tramped home - what an odd couple - and she listed off other things she’d kill for in her mind to keep her from dumping this moaning, sleepy cub back into the river. Warm food. Meat. Red meat! Fish too. I’d love some red snapper. Or king salmon. A shower. A bath! Better if that’s warm too.

The sopping wet duo entered his apartment building and tramped over to the elevator. He was starting to get heavy after five blocks. She needed to dump him somewhere and be done with it all.

She used his outstretched foot to press the up button. It took a couple of minutes. She fidgeted a little. Her tail swished lethargically, and her waterlogged ears twitched. She could hear the tortoise of an elevator rumbling slowly down the shaft, like an old man taking the steps one at a time.

I need to get my ears dry, she thought. One of them had that uncomfortable water bubble going on in it, and it was bothersome. She tried to shake her head like a dog as she usually would, but this made Jeongguk slip and shift around and he moaned petulantly at that. Her ears flattened back with a huff.

“You should walk on your own,” she mumbled.

Jeongguk drooled.

The elevator pinged open to reveal one very surprised passenger, whose eyes widened at the sight of them. Scrawny thing. Smells like cheap soju.

Stripes growled and swished her tail. He skittered out like a spooked lizard.

Thankfully, Jeongguk hadn’t lost his key lanyard in the river. She was able to fish it out of his hoodie and stomp into his dingy little apartment, which was barely warmer than outside. No wonder he’s so skinny. He can’t even afford heating. She dropped him on the couch with a thump and another moan that earned him a tail-swat to the bicep.

Stripes surveyed the room for a second, the chatter of her teeth audible. Without heating, they couldn’t just crash and sleep the chill off until the morning - she needed to warm them both up. A bath would be best.

There was only one room separate from the rest of the apartment, so she figured that was the bathroom. In it, there enough room for about one person to operate - they’d have to squeeze around each other to both use this place. However, this could work out - there was an ancient, crusty shower head and a poorly plastered bathtub, but a tub nonetheless. She set it to fill with lukewarm water.

Next, clothes. They both needed new clothes. Her especially. She’d been wearing the same sweat and hoodie set from her dog friend for two weeks now. His scent was no longer on it. Now it just stunk. She pried it off and tossed it straight past the hamper and into the trash can with a sad little sniff.

It hit the wall with a splat and slid in. The sound almost made her snort.

Ducking her head into the bathroom, she judged it to be about half full. That’s enough, right? “Should be,” she mumbled.

Glancing over at Jeongguk, she saw he was out like a light. “Hey,” she croaked. I haven’t used my voice in a while. My throat hurts.

He didn’t stir.

If you’re dead after my hauling you this far, I’ll kill you again. She hauled him off the couch with a growl.

This woke him up, at least a little. “M’tired,” he mumbled, pawing his hood up and pulling at the strings until only his nose peeked out. “Lemme stay…”

“No. Strip. Take a bath.”

“No…” he rolled onto his other side like a child refusing to wake up for school.

She half-sighed, half-growled, tail swishing. She needed to keep him from getting hypothermia before she could take her own bath. Why wasn’t he more cooperative? If he were more alive, she’d beat some sense into him.

Hooking her hands into his belt, she dragged him into the bathroom and heaved him into the tub.

That woke him up. He startled and water sloshed out in heavy plops at his very delayed survival response. Why didn’t you react like this in the river, you shit! Gah!

He clawed his hoodie open, looking her in the eyes for the very first time since the restaurant. They widened incrementally. “Stripes?”

Her ear twitched. “That’s me. Who’re you?”

“…J-Jeongguk. I…”

“Hm?”

“Why are you…naked?”

She glanced down at herself, unabashed, and uttered a small “Ah.” Jeongguk could feel his ears and face burning.

“You get warm, then it’s my turn. I’m borrowing your clothes.”

“What—?”

He didn��t get to finish; she was already out of the bathroom. Faintly, he heard her ruffling around his dresser and sighed. No stopping her. Well, the water did feel nice, even if it was spilling over and making a mess - oh shit fuck -

Finally, he was settled. She could tell he was trying to stay awake to keep an eye on her, but failing miserably. His eyes kept shutting and his head bobbing unwittingly, but she left him to it. He’d fall asleep soon. She needed a bath, anyway.

Speaking of which.

She bit her lip in excitement, butt almost wiggling at the sight of the rolling steam. She hadn’t had a bath in two years. The last time she’d even showered had been a week ago, and bitterly cold. There were so many soaps in there too! Well, like, four bottles of stuff, but still! If this is what Jeongguk used to smell so yummy, she was looking forward to doing the same.

She dipped a toe in, and then everything all at once. A soft sigh escaped her in the midst of sloshing water. She wiggled her toes, skin prickling and tingling. It’s as good as I remember it being. I want to take a bath every week. Every day! Does that make me a beast of comfort? God that feels good…

The purr that rumbled out of her wasn’t something she was familiar with, and she soaked for a minute to revel in the vibrations. The last time she’d made this sound was when one of the cagedoggers had given her a duvet for her birthday. She sorta missed that duvet. It had been trashed. The down was clumped and the quilting was wearing thin. But it’d been warm. She’d had to leave it behind after this last trade, and could still feel the ache of being forced to part with something so loyal and sentimental.

In the present, Stripes washed her hair for the first time in a year. She eased the mats out of her fur, scrubbed the dirt and the blood and the grime off her skin. The water steamed and cleared her nose. For the first time in awhile, she didn’t have to keep an eye on her back.

The knots in her muscles eased, just a bit. It was a start.

A/N: sorry for taking so long, IB has its foot up my asshole rn.

Tag List: @feed-my-geek-soul @astronomyturtle

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topimagines · 5 years

Text

Love Her Madly- Part Five

You woke up alone on the couch with a blanket draped over you. You sit up looking around but there was no sign of Josh. you looked around the house to find yourself alone. You went back to the couch and checked your phone and saw only one notification, a text from Josh.

From Josh

Needed to go for a run. I’ll text you later. I’m so sorry Y/N.

You furrowed your eyebrows at why he left and never woke you up. Why would he have said he was sorry? Maybe he was stressed about something or maybe he had realized how controlling he got the night before. He could get a little carried away sometimes.

Brendon could too, but in a very different way. Any chance he got he would spoil you. He never got rough unless it was discussed between the two of you. Josh was great but nothing like Brendon, but being with Josh made you forget about all the things Brendon does for you. Josh brings out a different side of yourself, and you sorta liked it.

You unlocked your phone and see you had a bunch of texts. Weird they weren’t on your lockscreen. You look to see you had gotten a text from your best friend Jenna.

From Jenna

Call me asap.

7:36 am

This is really important. Please call me soon.

8:01 am

You’ve probably seen it already. I’m so sorry. Please call me.

8:16 am

Things are only getting worse online. I don’t know the full story but I need you to call me.

8:43 am

Really concerned about you. Should I come over?

8:54 am

You didn’t know what she was talking about. Maybe someone caught you and Josh, but that wasn’t a possibly. You were both so careful when in public.

You dialed Jenna’s number and she immediately picked up.

“Y/N where are you?” she blurts out.

“I’m in my living room. Why?” you question and you hear her take a deep breath. “What’s up?”

She doesn’t say anything. You can tell it’s bad news, you knew her too well. You were best friends with Jenna and you knew when she got silent something was wrong.

“Jenna.” you pause “what’s wrong.”

Her breath is shaky “Y/N I’m so sorry, but Brendon was caught last night with another girl at a club.”

You could hear it in her voice, her heart broke for you. You sat there blank for a moment before it really hit you what Jenna had just said.

“No.” you voice breaks and a tear falls down your cheek. “How?”

“It’s all over the internet Y/N. There is pictures of him kissing a girl at a club last night and leaving with her.” she listens to you silently cry for a minute before speaking again. “Do you want me to come over? There is sort of more that I wanted to ask you about. Well Tyler and I wanted to.”

“What is it.” you say, voice cracking. You had a feeling you knew what was coming next “I can take it.”

“Well they’re saying the reason Brendon cheated was because you cheated on him.” she pauses. “With Josh.”

“Okay.” more tears slip down you face. “Thanks for telling me. I’m gonna go think about some things. I’ll call you later.”

“We’re here for you Y/N and we always will be. Love you bestie. Stay strong.” she tells you and then the phone call ends.

You stare at the wall in front of you. Maybe Brendon knew and that’s why he cheated. There had been some rumors of you and Josh a few months go but you put them down quickly and Brendon said he never believed it for a second. Maybe he had a change in mind. You felt so bad and not for yourself. You fucked everything up.

You pick up your phone and look up Brendon’s name. Immediately articles popped up about last night at the club. You found a video that was posted an hour ago from a celebrity news source. You clicked on it and were welcomed by a woman standing in front a tv with Brendon’s picture on it.

“Welcome back to Celeb News. Breaking news in my opinion the cutest couple L.A. has to offer is in some deep shit after last night. Yes Brendon Urie and his wife of four years are yet again in the headlines for cheating, but this time it isn’t Y/N, or is it. Brendon was caught last night by paparazzi kissing another girl.” the picture on the screen changed to the picture of Brendon kissing the blonde. “Y/N was spotted in L.A. that afternoon shopping and wasn’t a blonde. So unless she dyed her hair and took a plane at the same time, that was not Y/N Brendon was all over. Brendon was later seen leaving the club with her and her face sure confirms this was not Y/N. the usually cheery and happy to meet camera couple wasn’t there. Instead it was a regretful Brendon and a strange woman.”

You look closely at the picture of Brendon. His face showed full regret. He looked shocked and you could practically feel his guilt.

“Why would Brendon do this you may ask? They look so happy and Y/N seems to always be there and supporting him. Well rumor has it she isn’t the victim in this case. Y/N has had a lot of suspicions and conspirisory surrounding her for the past few months about her being with Twenty One Pilots’ drum player Josh Dun. Although these two have never been seen together in public in a suspicious way they’re bond just seems a little too friendly to just be friends.” you knew this was your fault. How could you do this to Brendon.

“Panic at the disco’s lead singer announced early this morning that he is very sorry to all of his fans, but he will be canceling tour until further notice. He explains in a tweet that he needs time to rethink his mistake and work on repairing all the damage he has caused in his loved ones lives.”

You couldn’t watch anymore. You were the one the needed to fix things. Brendon felt so guilty for cheating once yet you had been cheating for months and didn’t stop even thought you felt guilty. You felt like you should had been mad at Brendon, but you weren’t. You were mad at yourself. You were pissed at yourself for letting things go on this long.

You close the app and open your text messages to text Brendon. You see that Brendon had texted you multiple times. The messages were open, but you don’t recall ever reading them.

From Brendon

I miss you. The old you. I wish it could be just you and I.

1:43 am

You assumed he was drunk sending these.

I love you so much. I can’t believe I still love you through all of this.

2:01 am

Take him and leave me. I’m so sorry.

2:16 am

There wasn’t another text until around 7 am.

Y/N i’m so sorry. Please just let me speak before you read or watch anything. Last night was the biggest mistake of my life. I’m coming home. I’ll be there by 10. I love you Y/N. Never forget that.

7:12 am

You look at the clock and it says 8:53. You don’t respond to Brendon. Knowing things were going to go down once he got home. You hated yourself. You wanted to run, but you knew that wasn’t a good idea. Brendon deserved an apology, well he deserved a wife that didn’t cheat and break his heart, but it was too late for that. You had to sit here and deal with all the guilt and hatred for yourself.

You went to your and Brendon’s room to see if Josh’s bags were there but they were gone. There was no sign of him. You decided to shower off and put on some sweats and tee shirt. You looked like shit, but you didn’t care. The only thing on your mind was the Brendon would be home soon. Before leaving your bedroom you sent Josh a text.

To Josh

I see you left in a hurry. Probably a good idea. I’m sorry for everything. We should have never let it go this far.

Sent 9:39 am

From Josh

Brendon’s texts woke me up this morning. Sorry for going in your phone. I love you Y/N I’m sorry things had to happen this way.

9:41 am

You couldn’t bring yourself to text him back. You wanted so badly to delete him from your mind and memory. Brendon was your one and only.

But Josh was something else.

You force yourself to pick up the house. You fold the blankets on the couch, put the laundry into wash, dust off Brendon’s piano, and wash the dishes. You hoped this would distract you from that fact the your life was crumbling slowly and there was about to be a landslide.

You had just finished washing the last dish, putting it on the drying rack when you heard the front door shut. You took a few deep breaths forcing your tears away before you forced yourself to turn around.

Brendon stood in the kitchen entryway. His eyes were bloodshot red, cheeks rosy and stained with tears, his hair messy like he had been pulling on it out of anger. Brendon had a natural presence of happiness, even when he was pissed. There was no happiness present in his body. You took your eyes off of him to stare at the floor.

His voice cracks and you can tell he had been crying a lot more than talking. “How do you do it?”

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veridium · 5 years

Text

the kids aren’t alright

college au update aka I’m finally getting to write some wonderful dating fluff so what if it’s all nervous and a bit clumsy? it’s so stinkin’ adorable. have fun, readers!

special thanks to one of my favorite Fall Out Boy songs for the title.

chapter index + previous episode

So they are dating.

Not just friends, not just hanging out. Dating. Dating? Dating.

When Olivia says goodbye to Cassandra on Sunday night, first order of business is to sit on her bed and overthink things, of course. Even while doing homework with her typical fearsome dedication. They’re dating. It’s a step that needs getting used to all of Monday while their days keep them apart: Cassandra has an evening exam to work on, and Olivia needs her alone time to process, anyways. They still text, though; they’re good about that when they want to be.

But then, it’s Tuesday. Tuesday, when they can cross paths. They lose the ‘privacy’ of a weekend free of classes and intermingling with the rest of the student body. How is that going to go?

It’s just past 8:30am and she’s putting in silver stud earrings when someone knocks on her half-open door. “Look alive,” Ellinor says as she enters, backpack on with jeans and a long-sleeve pullover on. Both look clean. Hm, she must have found time for laundry in between her stringent schedule of being Cullen’s respirator and procuring flowers for her nice plastic vase.

“Morning!” she runs her fingers through her loose and combed hair. Waves of blonde that look effortless, but are really the work of a 7:30am shower and a 7:45 blow dry.

“Fun plans for today?”

“Class.” She’s curt, but she means it. Class is fun. Yet Ellinor only groans and kicks back on the freshly-made bed. Living in a single occupancy dorm room has its perks, but with her friends, the term ‘single’ doesn’t really hit home. More like ‘selective.’

“Class. What, no…?” Ellinor tries to tease it out of her. She can’t blame her -- it only takes 30 seconds and a brief glance to know Olivia is on edge. She sucks at retaining some semblance of calm. Then again, Ellinor of all people could be trusted to do well by it. She’s kind and wonderful like that.

But the question remains: what’s going to happen?

“Uh, no,” she shakes her head, assembling her notebooks from her desk table. Two, both political science, just with different course numbers written in sharpie on the front. She’ll need the third one already in her backpack for the class she TA’s for, and then she’ll be set.

Her phone vibrates on her pillow but she’s too distracted to run for it, leaving Ellinor the perfect, gaping open window to do the honors herself. She makes a “tsk” sound.

“You’re a dirty liar, Olivia Sinclair. You’ve been texting her all morning! Who texts this much at 7am?”

“It is not that much!” she hisses, rushing over and swiping the phone away from her. It isn’t all that much: just a good morning, then some playful wordplay, and about plans for the day...she answers more in depth than she did Ellinor: classes, possibly a workout in the afternoon if she feels up for it. Then she’s subbing for an evening dance class because her coworker is out sick still. Cassandra shares much the same detail. It’s perfectly normal. Right?

Ellinor doesn’t flinch. “Alright then…”

“It’s...I’m…” Olivia clicks her home button and tossing the phone on her desk by her bag.

“So, are you going to invite her to the party, or blindfold her until we pull up in the driveway?”

Maybe. Could that work? “No! I’m telling her, okay, it’s only Tuesday. Shit.”

“Only Tuesday. You said you’d ask her yesterday when we got Boba. Soon it’ll be Wednesday, then Friday, and she’ll be wondering why you aren’t around for your brooding Planet Earth marathon date.”

“Hey! Planet Earth is a masterpiece!” She’s never seen more than 15 minutes of Planet Earth in her entire life thanks to a High School Biology class Sub.

Ellinor rolls her eyes, air blowing out her puffed cheeks as she lazily slides feet first off the bed like some all-knowing smug-slug. Back on her feet, she hooks her thumbs on her backpack straps and shrugs. “Liv, you know I’m not her biggest fan--”

“Oh! Ohoho! Bombshell tonight! Call Nancy Grace!”

“Man,” Ellinor winces, eyes closed as she heads for the door, “you are still terrible to be around under-caffeinated. Look, all I’m saying is, the writing’s on the wall. You want your girl--”

“We are not using labels yet.”

“--to come to a party with you, you tell her about the party. Step one.”

Olivia sighs and leans against her chair, legs crossing. Their Sunday heart-to-heart only 24 hours gone, and Ellinor is back to pushing sense. Who gave her the right? If Olivia hadn’t been just as terrorizing with her, she’d call foul. Only, with one park bench rant and Rutherfaker stand-off in the hallway under her belt, she knows she’s the last sinner to throw a stone. Besides, Ellinor is right.

Ugh, Cassandra hates parties. She hates parties and she hates drama. Since they have collided, Olivia has introduced a bounty of both things. But this is who she is: she works hard, dances on tables on the weekends sometimes, and lurks on soccer field grass with her best friend like a fool. The everyday college student, she is.

“You’re worrying.” Ellinor cuts in, and Olivia comes to. They’re both still standing there, like statues, while she has descended down the rabbit hole of internal questions and concerns. With renewed gusto she tosses her notebooks in her bag and adjusts the way her black jumpsuit fits around her waist.

“I’m worrying. But I have a right to.” She walks over to where her shoes are neatly stacked on the a rack, and picks out her dark red velvet boot heels. “Even if she does agree, she definitely isn’t wearing a costume.”

“Oh, LORD forbid,” Ellinor rolls her eyes, hands up in the air before she slips out the door. Probably to immediately pull out her phone and gawk at whatever cutesy bitmoji Cullen sent her after five minutes of not messaging.

It’s not like her and Cassandra couldn’t have the exact same glee about things. Shouldn’t they be gleeful? Is that the correct term? After all this would be the honeymoon stage in all the stereotypical romantic comedies. Bleh.

She continues to mull over it throughout her back-to-back morning classes, and her notes are uncharacteristically direct and thorough, even for her. When she writes, she exerts her anxiety on the page -- this is why she stopped using mechanical pencils after freshman year. Poor .7 lead never stands a chance. Coming out of class, she decides it’s her turn to make the plan.

Hey, meet me for lunch after class at 12:30? Or do you have somewhere else to be?

Cassandra, within a minute or two:

Sure. I just have to drop off books to a Professor. Meet me by the benches on North side?

Olivia: Yep! Sounds good! :)

Lunch plans. Those are good. Those are nice. Maybe they can talk and be cute, and she won’t revile it or find some reason to feel uncomfortable with it. It’s just...so surreal. Lucky enough, it’s a beautiful day outside. Fall is in full bloom, and the leaves that were once changing color are now beginning to release themselves from the abundant trees all over campus. Quad is especially scenic, so much so when she parks herself with her butt on the top of the bench and her feet in the seat, she actually enjoys the moment. Taking perhaps her first long, relaxed breath of fresh air she has had all day.

“Olivia!”

Well, that was short-lived.

Opening her eyes and looking up and down the concrete path, the first thing she sees is a nice grey peacoat buttoned around a nimble and tall body. There’s a strap of a backpack on one shoulder only, and a white and gold glittery beanie on a head of auburn red hair. Oh, not again.

“Leliana.” She braces, her flight or fight instinct dueling for dominance in her head. If she can projectile spit and then run, she could make it. It’d be fine. Or, even better, kick some muddy leaves on her expensive looking shoes.

Leliana approaches as if there’s absolutely no problem with her existence as far as Olivia is concerned, hands in her pockets and grin on her face. When she reaches the ground in front of the bench, she halts and rocks onto her toes.

“Hey. It’s been a while!”

“It’s been a week.” Not long enough, would be my true answer.

“I...can’t believe how fast the semester’s gone. It’s almost Thanksgiving. And Halloween is tomorrow!”

“Yep. Tomorrow.”

“Got any fun plans?” she keeps smiling.

“Uh, no,” Olivia manages to animate herself with a shrug. Otherwise she’s pretty much a gargoyle on the poor bench. “I don’t really go out during the Holiday itself. It’s a lot of...unnecessary antics.”

Leliana nods and steps even closer. “Yeah, you have a point. Hey, could I talk to you for a second?”

Oh Jesus please take the wheel and drive me promptly into a brick wall. “Uh...well, I’m supposed to be--”

“Meeting Cassandra for lunch. I know! I won’t stay long.”

Oh, will you? Olivia fights off a scowl. She can only hope Leliana found out about their lunch plans the old fashioned way called ‘texting’ or ‘pleasant conversation,’ but a part of here fears her phone camera’s been hacked. Nevertheless, she scoots off to the side, thereby inviting her to sit down. Once seated, Leliana pivots towards her, and crosses one leg over the other. The well-meaning smile then dissipates.

“Look, I know...you may not have the best opinions about me after what happened at the Gala. If you’d let me, I’d like to explain myself.”

“Oh?” Olivia raises a brow, back arching. “And what possible explanation could make me understand why you felt the need to take digs at me in public so that I would become upset? You barely even know me. What gi--”

“You’re right, I barely know you. But, try to look at it from my point-of-view: one of my good friends suddenly perks up about a girl, after denying herself the chance for so long. She starts getting all wound up, and before you know it, she starts hanging out with her, only every few days when you reach out to check in, she says she’s upset about something or other. If you’re me, you’re pretty damn concerned as to what this girl’s intentions are, and you want to investigate for yourself. So I...got a little carried away. I can admit that.”

Olivia is side-eyeing her so hard she wonders if she’s using x-ray vision through the bridge of her nose. Once again someone has been a dick for the sake of friendship, then. Fine, she can understand that...but the one thing she can’t figure out is how Leliana seems to come out of nowhere. Cassandra had never mentioned her throughout any of their hangouts or conversations. For all she knew, Cullen was her one companion.

“Thanks for that. I guess.” She does her best to loosen up, but her pride gets in the way of a lot of things. Shit, maybe she is Pride. Maybe that is what she’ll be for Halloween. Priorities, Liv.

“You’re welcome. I can see now you aren’t just spinning for a good time at the expense of someone else’s feelings, or else you wouldn’t have bothered coming back around after what happened. Cassandra is difficult sometimes.”

“She isn’t difficult, she’s just deliberate.”

Leliana grins. “Cassandra is many things.”

“How do you two even know each other? I never saw you around when we were first starting to hang out. She doesn’t…”

“She doesn’t mention me?” her grin grows into a smile as she rests her elbow back behind her. “I know. It doesn’t bother me. She and I met when we were both involved with the Campus Chapel. Josie might have told you I was a Student Chaplain last year?”

“Uh…” she hesitates on whether to admit they’ve discussed her, but she can’t resist the chance to know more about Cassandra even if it’s through her. “Yes.”

“Yeah! We ended up working together a lot on events and volunteer stuff. It took awhile for us to be anything but that. She’s a hard cookie to crumble. I am, too, though.”

“She’s...she’s a cookie, alright.”

Leliana giggles, and her gaze returns to her. “On a...well, okay,” she adjusts, “can I be real with you?”

“Real? Have you not been real this entire time?”

“Oh, hush,” she giggles some more, “I’m serious.”

“Sure.”

Leliana’s face goes back to that mature expression she had when she first sat down. Solemn. “I know that it may be easy to believe Cassandra is as put-together and unbreakable. But...you should know, it’s not all there is to her.”

Olivia shakes her head a bit. “I didn’t think it was.”

“I know, but, just trust me on this one. I know from experience.”

“Experience?”

She sighs under her breath, and dares to place a hand on Olivia’s knee. “Just be careful with her. I tease, but, she is my friend.” She then stands, facing her head on. It’s slightly intimidating -- scratch that, considerably. Leliana is jovial, but there’s an intensity to her. One you catch if you look long enough.

“I trust you get me when I say I would do anything for my friend’s happiness,” she adds, taking hold of her shoulder bag handle. Olivia doesn’t know whether to take that as a compliment, or a threat. Either way, she continues to eye her but play along.

“I do,” she answers, tucking some hair behind her own ear. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it,” Leliana waves her hand, before looking over her shoulder. They both do, because coming up the path is a well-dressed woman with short black hair, a knee-length blazer coat, and those black leggings Olivia cuddled against on the couch Saturday afternoon. In that moment, Leliana’s reply hits home.

Not long after it does, she is smiling at Olivia and stepping back onto her merry way. “You’re turning heads. Take care.” She walks with a pep in her step, departing just as Cassandra draws near.

Well, that wasn’t foreboding at all, Olivia thinks to herself as she watches Leliana’s beanie grow smaller and harder to see through the neighboring figures walking to-and-from her direction. Cassandra’s boots scuff onto the grass, jerking Olivia’s attention out of her staring.

“What did Leliana want?” she asks, already folding her arms. Her nice leather satchel shines in the sunlight like it’s polished.

She sounds displeased. “Leliana?” Olivia blinks, “Oh, she just wanted to clear the air about the Gala. To say sorry.”

Cassandra’s eyes narrow and gaze down the path where her very nice and peculiar friend had gone. Not convinced. “Really. That’s it?”

“Yes!” Olivia smiles and hops off the bench, nearer to her. Her movement distracts Cassandra, which is what she hoped for. “You said it yourself, she’s your friend. You don’t trust her to make things right?”

“I trust her to do a lot of things. Namely: too much.” She starts to get caught up in it, but rather than raising the heat, she loosens up her shoulders. It’s like a well-oiled machine of emotions.

Cassandra then changes the subject to salvage the moment. “Anyway, I thought we could try the Greek place on the corner by Williamson?”

Olivia smiles. Now she’s talking. Dusting off her thighs, she follows at her side as they walk. The first bit of their journey is quiet, observant of the goings-on. It’s peak campus foot traffic, as people hurry to overwhelm the different food hubs all around. Cassandra doesn’t just have good taste, she has smart taste: Williamson is in a tucked corner, perhaps the most removed from the rush hour. Olivia had learned this when she went with Ellinor once, trying to satiate her Greek craving with the nearest place on Google Maps.

As they near the shop, Cassandra breaks the silence. “Yesterday was fun. Thank you again for making breakfast.”

“What? Oh!” Olivia waves it off, “It’s no big deal, stop thanking me! It was good to...to cook again.”

“Everything okay?” Cassandra notices the slight low-tick in her tone at the end. It’s almost cliche, the way it happens -- and she hopes she wouldn’t catch it. But she does.

“Yeah,” she brushes it off, “I’m just still processing lecture.”

Cassandra smiles, and lowers her gaze to the ground in front of them as they round the corner. It’s easy being like this with her. Easier than all the hype Olivia builds in her head about the way things are, the way they should be, and what they aren’t. In the moment, in the thick of it, it all makes sense. No comparison and no longing.

She folds her arms against her chest as they keep going. Only a minute or so ‘till gyro goodness.

An hour later they are sprawled on playfield grass nearby the shop, under the sparse shade of old trees planted around the perimeter of it. A bit like the Siberia of the campus athletic areas, out on its own in a nook of campus not many people frequent. For casual picnicking with food and bare feet in the grass for two women who say they have distaste for exhibiting affection, though, it’s perfect.

Besides, they’re sharing bites of each other’s food, now. That shit is damn-near explicit. No one wants to see that rated X, woman-on-woman action.

“I think we had a practice out here, once,” Cassandra balls up her gyro foil, the remnants of a meal long-gone. “It was miserable, actually.”

Olivia has long-devoured her gyro into oblivion, and is laying flat on her back beside her with her glasses on, taking in the blue and cloudy sky. “Oh? Is the grass not...green enough?”

“Is that a serious question?”

“I don’t know! Is grass...like...a factor to consider?”

“In a way, yeah.”

“Oh…” she wrinkles her nose, a foot itching the other with toes. “Huh.”

“Think of it this way,” she says as she twists open her hydroflask, the squeaking sound of the seal an echo of every single time a person does during class seminar discussions. “You’re a dancer. Flooring matters, right?”

“Pff, yeah, you won’t catch me launching myself six feet in the air to land on gravel.”

“See? It’s like soccer. Or any field sport. The grass you land on, run on, fall on. It matters.”

Olivia stares up at her shoulder, and can only imagine what her face looks like. It must be beautiful, because there’s an excitement in her voice that is almost infectious. Maybe, if she stays exposed to it, she could grow a...tolerance, of athletic occupations. Maybe. Maybe with Cassandra, she could do a whole lot of things.

She’s been to quiet. Cassandra glances down, looking like she’s expecting Olivia to be asleep or something. But when their eyes meet, it’s all grins and unexpected butterflies.

“You’re teaching me something new every day,” Olivia remarks as she lifts herself up, propping on her hands. “I like that. Keep doing that.”

Cassandra reclines back to be shoulder-to-shoulder with her. “I’ll keep doing it as long as you want,” she says sweetly, “even if you wish to argue about it sometimes.”

“It helps me process information. If I can’t fight about it, it isn’t worth knowing.”

“Socrates, reincarnated.”

“Not even!” Olivia chuckles, nudging her. She lingers in the lean-in a bit indulgently. Cassandra nudges her back, until they are both veering into one another and away like haphazard pendulums. Then, their faces still in suspension close enough to tempt. And then, the lean...the closing in...slow closing of the eyes...and then the kiss. If anything could convince Olivia movie scenes in life were real, it was the way it felt getting used to kissing her. To being kissed by her. To be the person she kissed, out of everyone.

She gets into it. Too into it. It’ll overwhelm things. She stops herself and pulls back. Her lip rolls as their eyes open into each other, and Cassandra looks a bit surprised.

“Um…agh,” she says, a bit short on a breath, but happy.

Olivia grins. “Yeah. I know.” It’s terrifying. And so good.

Cassandra exhales in a smile, and they separate. This, this is the honeymoon sensation. Everything feels right, and generous. This is what makes brave risks happen.

Olivia pulls her knees up against her chest and opens her mouth. Pausing, and struggling, but she gets it out. “H-hey, I keep meaning to ask you something.”

“Yeah?”

“This weekend. Do you have anything planned?”

“This weekend?” Cassandra tilts her chin, gazing out at the empty half-brown field. “Not really. I mean, if you wanted to do anything, I was going to…” she trails off. The butterflies hum in Olivia’s core, but she does her best to stay steady.

“Oh! Uh, yeah. Well, that’s what I was gonna say. Our friend Dorian, he’s having this Halloween party thing. Ellinor and I were invited, and we can bring plus ones. I was...I mean I know you’re not into parties like, in the...the Hangover sense…”

“‘The Hangover’ sense?” She asks, alarmed.

“Uh y--no! Not that bad, just!” she laughs anxiously, “okay more like...like Clueless.”

“The one where the guy is an asshole and she and her best friend get a fight ab--”

“No, try...uh...fuck,” she shuts her eyes hard and taps her forehead, “well, okay, it’s a thing. It’s just...a production. Dorian, he--”

“Dorian Pavus, right? I know him.”

Olivia’s train of thought, derailed in a half-second’s worth of what the fuck. Her eyes go wide, and she whips her head around. “You know Dorian Pavus? God, please don’t say Church. Don’t say it.”

Cassandra raises a brow. “No. Not Church. I don’t know him well, but I know of him. He’s...interesting.”

“He’s really cool. I mean, we go to the same gym and he works there part-time like me. I mean, he’s...he usually just calls me the name of a blonde character. Like Elle Woods or...you know, Piper Chapman.”

“Piper Chapman.”

“...Yeah.”

Cassandra nods slow. “Okay. So, I was right to say...interesting.”

“Okay yeah fine. But he throws amazing parties, and all of my little crowd will be there. Ellinor and Cullen are going!” She throws it in like it’s a last ditch brownie point to take her over the edge. The look of overt skepticism on Cassandra’s face is telling, though.

“I imagine this won’t be no small backyard BBQ,” she rejoins, taking a second sip from her open canteen before putting the cap back on. “But this also explains why Cullen all of a sudden started his laundry this morning.”

“Does he not do his laundry?”

“He…” Cassandra looks for the words, “He does. It’s not that he’s not all about that kind of stuff. It’s just...for some reason laundry is like a tell-tale sign he’s emotionally preparing himself for something. Once, his sister tried to run off to Nevada to be in some cover band her friends made and his half of the suite smelled like lavender linen on steroids.”

“Oh…” Olivia frowns, “that’s...intense.”

“Yeah. It was fine though, in the end. Don’t say I told you that. He’d die if anyone found out. Especially you, or the team.”

“No worries. I don’t really hang out in that crowd anyway, you know that. I mean, Ellinor and I showing up at Rylen’s party...”

“Rylen doesn’t throw parties, he throws beer in an ice cooler and pulls out a frisbee yelling at everyone to dare him to ‘Air Bud’ it,” Cassandra jests harshly, her legs criss-crossing as she sits up.

“I wasn’t saying...well, I just meant that it’s not the same thing. Dorian’s parties aren’t small like that, but they’re fun! And good people will be there. I’d like you to go with me.” With me.

Cassandra quietly looks ahead. Her fingers pensively tousle and twist at the grass, but she doesn’t prick or pull. Only feeling, only tactile.

“Liv, there’s…there’s reasons why I tend to keep things lowkey.”

“I know,” she’s quick to offer compassion, perhaps a little too quick. “I get it. No drama, the better. I just didn’t want to go on ahead without considering you. We did say...well, you said we should be compassionate with each other, and communicate.”

Cassandra half-smiles, and her shoulders roll straight. “Yeah, but there’s...well. thank you for considering me.”

Her heart flutters. “Anytime.”

“Does this mean you’re asking me to be your date?”

Olivia purses her lips, and her shoulders bunch. “Maybe. You don’t even have to wear a costume. I’m doing the ‘deadly sins’ thing with Ellinor. You can just wear whatever you want.”

“So that is why you were arguing about Ellinor being Wrath. Hm. You have a point, there.”

Oh, God, if she ever heard you say that. Olivia’s reaction is half smile, half grimace. “Yeah. She’ll warm up to it. I think I might go as Envy. Make things fair so that neither of us win the coveted and almighty Lust mantle.”

“That would be the favored one, between you two.” Cassandra takes Olivia’s hand into hers, so cooly it makes Olivia blush. “I don’t think you’d be Envy though.”

“What? Oh, is this where you call me Sloth?”

“No way,” Cassandra huffs, “I was going to say Pride.”

She echoes her thoughts back when her and Leliana talked on the bench. A second affirmation of her search. Pride? Pride. Alright. She looks out, her head going from side-to-side as she thinks it over.

“Pride. How would I dress as Pride, though?”

Cassandra’s tongue is quicksilver. “Simple, wear what you had on when you came to Rylen’s with Ellinor. You could have been the dictionary image for it.”

“Oh, fuck that! You!” Olivia has urge to do something she hasn’t done in years. And certainly not to anyone she’s been involved with. She shoots her arms out to Cassandra’s sides and begins to tickle her, fingers spindling up and under her arms. It’s a daring move, one you’d think someone like Cassandra would stiffen and admonish. Yet, in a strangely amazing twist of fate, she lurches and begins to laugh. Laugh, and laugh, and laugh. Falling back onto the ground as her knees bend towards the sky, curved and kicking as Olivia rushes up and over her. Laughing,right along with her out of sympathy.

It’s a light she’s never seen, Cassandra losing control like this. And she loves it. She is so stunning.

“Stop it! S-stop!” Cassandra cuts in between laughs, breath escaping quick and shallow. “Y-you! Ahh!”

Olivia gives an Aha! To her tone, Then, it all starts to slow down. Laughs ease. Cassandra’s snuck her arm around Olivia’s waist, holding her close despite having been held captive. Chuckles boil down to snickering, and then recuperating heavy breathing.

“You...you didn’t tell me you were ticklish!”

“I-I,” Cassandra bubbles out the remainder of her glee, “I don’t think that’s something you...you brag about.”

“I think it is!” Olivia argues, chest half on top of hers. “You, ticklish? It’s like the world’s best kept secret.”

“Well, now I have to kill you, so it will stay that way.”

“You wouldn’t dare!”

Cassandra smiles and clings to her, the strength in one arm enough to nearly crack the spot in Olivia’s back that’s been a problem for her since 9th grade. Good to know for future amateur chiropractor needs.

The romantic position they’ve found themselves in sticks, the Siberia soccer field enough of a stowaway place for something considered ‘PDA’ to be acceptable. Olivia is engrossed, her chin resting on her chest. A subtle, lucid breeze combs through the edges her hair.Cassandra’s olive skin basks so well in the sunlight overhead, especially when she’s contented.

“This party,” Cassandra says after a few moments of wordless admiring, “it would be fun?”

“Hmm, Yes. I’d be there, after all.”

“Well, then I suppose it is my kind of fun then.” She agrees, but there’s a touch of carefulness to the end of her sentence. Carefulness from trying despite implicit reluctance. Olivia pauses to examine, but is only met with a well-meaning stoicism.

“You mean it?” she questions, sliding her knee in between Cassandra’s to rest.

“Yeah. If you can handle Rylen and the others, I should be able to handle your crowd.”

Olivia is reminded of Ellinor’s eye-for-an-eye logic, and her brow furrows. “My crowd is...I think you’ll like them. I mean, they’re all just really gay and well-dressed.”

Cassandra holds back a chuckle. “Oh, really?”

“Yeah! You saw! And besides, we can join them. Be gay, and well dressed, and if you’re lucky we can also be gay and well-dressed in taco bell,” she whispers the ‘taco bell’ part like she’s a screaming concert-goer, something that provokes Cassandra into poking her ticklish waist in return. More giggling, more effortless giggling, and it’s all even.

“See! I am the master of persuasion!” Olivia rejoices, still stuck on the feeling of lounging on her. Class where? Campus whomst?

“You have talent, I think you’ll go far in life.” Cassandra rubs up the side of her back, before laying her head into the grass and closing her eyes. Grinning and inhaling, nice and deep. “Alright, a few more minutes, and we have to head back. Or, at least I do.”

“So we do.”

Cassandra opens an eye at her, but Olivia only winks. A last exchange before she lays her head back down on her chest.

Cassandra exhales. “So we do.”

It’s all so good. No dramatic fights, no screaming matches, no salty comments. Just them. It’s so potent, Olivia understands why Ellinor was so moth-drawn-to-flame when her and Cullen started...doing things. This is fucking great. It’s like...nothing can touch her, and everything is as good as it’ll ever get. Which is pretty damn good, by her standards. Not even Leliana’s odd behavior can get her down.

Though, admittedly, as they took the last minutes they could to rest in the sun-baked grass, she wonders. If Cassandra was not all alright, then, what would she ever have to hide? She peers up, tempted to ask straight out. Cassandra has her eyes closed, and she’s so tranquil. Her hand wrapped around her, making her a part of it. Olivia can’t stomach the idea of ruining it.

What goes on inside that head of yours when no one thinks to ask? If you have your reasons, what are they?

She gives up, and lays her cheek back down, and the world washes away for a moment longer. The trees and their enduring leaves sway gently up above in a wind, A moment that screams ‘take your time.’

#college au update #adventures of ellinor and olivia #day & age #ellinor trevelyan #olivia sinclair #modern!olivia #WOO FLUFF #HAPPY IT'S GONNA BE MAY UPDATE

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jaythesaltybastard · 5 years

Text

Fallen Streaks of Red

GABENATH GIFT EXCHANGE GIFT FOR @auroralynne

Nathalie Sancoeur, for all the pristine smartness and beautiful form that she is, considers herself an idiot in that moment of time. She’d been enraged; she’d been rebellious; she’d been heartbroken.

An Akuma never came, but a blade did.

Nathalie cuts her hair

Pls note that this is absolute trash and my italics/bold stuff didn’t transfer over.

Nathalie had been staring at herself in the mirror for a long while. It could have been moments. It could have been decades. She did not care to know.

Clots of dark hair lay swirling around her, a splash of red fisted in her right hand on the bathroom counter, in her left was a knife.

She promised herself she would never cut again, not after Michael had caught her nearly twenty years ago.

And yet…

She had acted on spite, with no emotions but confusion and rage, heartbreak coursing through her veins like a wildfire.

She had been prepared to end it all, but stopped.

Michael’s blue eyes had flashed through her eyes. Not his thirty-one-year-old eyes, but the ones of a seven year old checking on his crying thirteen-year-old sister.

She had promised. Nathalie could never break a promise to her brother.

And so, she cut her hair. Chopped it off like it was the thing that would stop Gabriel’s damned obsession.

Gabriel.

Nathalie’s already-white knuckles turned a shade lighter as her fist tightened. She had not cried since she was fifteen, she would not cry now.

With a shout, she whirled around, throwing the knife full force at the wall.

Glass shattered as the knife went home.

The fragments of the clear, sharp material glistened in the dim light, but Nathalie’s attention was drawn to the frame, still hanging from the wall.

It was a picture of her and Gabriel shortly after he had started his business, six years prior to him meeting Emilie. Nathalie had been his best friend, still was.

She looked back at her mirror.

Her hair was a mess. Cut just above her shoulders, lopsided, strands beginning to cross and tangle. Nathalie sighed.

She undressed swiftly, turning on the water of her shower and stepping in before it had a chance to change temperature. The frigid water caused her to bite her lip, goosebumps trailing down her arms. It did not last long.

Two seconds later, the water was scalding hot. Nathalie gasped, first instinct to move away from it. She did not. Her feet remained planted to the tub as the water burned her shoulder, quivers running through her. She bit her lip as she moved, turning to face the water so to wash away her makeup. She winced as the harsh heat travelled down her face, barely daring to move. Her hands were frozen at her side for a moment longer before she raised them, collecting a small amount of soap and getting a rag wet. She placed the soap onto the rag and lifted it to her face, scrubbing away the makeup harshly. She had no doubt her face would be slightly red.

After she was positive that all remains of the makeup were gone, she grabbed her shampoo, squirting some into her hand. She paused after only a moment. She wouldn’t need nearly as much as she used to.

After scrubbing her hair clean for far longer than she normally would have, even when she had longer hair, she moved to the rest of her body.

After she finished, she turned the water off and reached out from behind the curtain, grabbing a towel and pulling it into the tub. She dried her hair as best she could before stepping out.

Nathalie paused as she looked at herself in the mirror. She bit her tongue, lips curling into a scowl.

She glanced at the digital clock on her bedside table, sighing as it was only eight o’clock.

She glared at her reflection once more before turning and exiting her bathroom.

She sifted through her closet, finding an old, too-big t-shirt from when she’d met Jonathan “Jagged” Stone back in Iycée, the print nearly impossible to find these days.

She allowed herself a small smile at the memory.

She walked her her drawers, pulling on a pair of loose-fitting underwear and throwing on some sweatpants while she was at it.

After cleaning up the glass, she wondered back to her living room, pulling out her personal phone and dialling up a number.

He answered after two rings. “Hey, Nat. It’s a little late to be calling, isn’t it?”

“Hey, Mikey. Remember that chinese place we used to love to go to?” Nathalie asked.

“Yeah, why?”

“Can you grab some takeout from there and come to my apartment?”

“What’s wrong?” His voice betrayed concern.

Nathalie sighed. “I just want to see you,” she half-lied weakly.

A pause from the other end. “Be there in twenty.”

~~~

Roughly twenty minutes later, the door opened and the smell of chinese takeout filled the room.

The moment Michael set his stuff down, he had embraced Nathalie. They stood like they for a few seconds, before Michael pulled back and examined Nathalie’s wrists. Seeing nothing, his fingers trailed over the ends of her newly shortened hair.

“Oh, Nat,” he breathed, embracing her once more. He was less than an inch taller than her, so Nathalie found it easy to sag against him, burying her head into the crook of his neck like she always did when she needed comfort.

“I brought terrible horror movies,” he whispered, Nathalie tried to hid her amusement, but a ‘tch’ escaped her, setting her off. She laughed, Michael joining in a moment later.

~~~

“This movie is terrible,” Nathalie snorted, curled into her huge, fluffy recliner while Michael stretched out on the couch.

“I know right?” Michael laughed, taking another bite of his noodles. “They had literally no chemistry at all.”

Nathalie chuckled.

They sat in silence for a few minutes as the movies credits finally rolled by.

“I can fix your hair, you know. Uncle Sam used to keep me in the barber shop and I asked him to teach me once.”

“How old were you?”

“12.”

“And you’re, what? 32 now?”

“31, actually.”

Nathalie gave a disbelieving scoff, rolling her eyes.

Nearly a half hour later, she was tracing her fingers over the ends of her now shorter-than-before hair. It reached just below her chin, tickling her ears lightly.

“Reminds me of when you were twenty.”

Nathalie smiled. “It does, doesn’t it?”

“Are you going to go back to work?”

“I don’t know yet.”

Michael didn’t press further.

“Want to watch the sequel?”

Against her will, a smile bloomed on Nathalie’s face.

“I’d love to.”

~~~

Later that night, Nathalie awoke to the feeling of something breathing below her. She opened her eyes slowly, squinting as she tried to focus them.

Michael’s face, although nearly consumed in shadows, was unmistakable despite the darkness. She pulled herself up, careful to avoid waking him.

She padded into her kitchen, silently pulling a glass from the cabinet and grabbing some form of alcohol from her rack next to the fridge. After quietly pouring herself a glass, she took a quick drink, grimacing as the strong tang of her Spirytus Rektyfikowany hit her throat. This stuff could knock out 200 pound, fully grown men, and here Nathalie was, in all her 87 pound glory, drinking it like it was water.

Weaklings, she thought, nearly snorting. She had thirty years of tolerance, so of course she had an unfair advantage. Maybe she could drink some and get Gabriel to try it. That would be a show.

After finishing her, admittedly small, glass, she put the whiskey back, opting for something a little weaker. She’d always had a soft spot for brandy.

Once she finished two glasses of that, she put it back, not wanting to get too tipsy. She was already buzzed. Glancing at her watch, she read 2:47 and wondered what to do next.

She could always get an early start on the day, though her alarm wasn’t supposed to go off until 4. She had decided to go back to work as the second movie came to an end the night before. She would not let Gabriel get the better of her. Besides, she needed something to do for the day. Boredom never bode well with her.

And then there was also Adrien, she’d never leave him alone in that house.

So, she decided she’d shower, get dressed, maybe scroll through her private social media a bit. What? She may work for Gabriel but that doesn’t mean she can’t have a social life.

By the time she’d finished showering, Michael was awake and making breakfast.

“Mornin’,” he greeted, Nathalie raised an eyebrow.

“I’m not used to people cooking for me, feels a little weird.”

“We’ve got to get some meat on them bones, you’re like, what? 90 pounds?”

“87, actually.”

“Even worse. Eat,” he ordered, setting a plate of scrambled eggs in front of her. Nathalie rolled her eyes but picked up her fork and stabbed a couple of pieces.

They ate happily for thirty minutes, chatting about whatnot and complaining about the recent weather.

Nathalie’s alarm went off in her bedroom, and she stood, moving to turn it off. Once returning, she saw Michael doing the dishes and moved to help him.

“No, I’ve got it,” he said. “You go ahead and finish getting ready.” Nodding in appreciation, Nathalie went back to the bathroom. After brushing her teeth, she wondered what to do with her hair. After a good ten minutes of messing around with it, she settled for just pinning the right portion to her head so it would stay out of her face.

She went back to the living room, dressed in her usual work suit.

“I, personally, think the short hair suits you,” Michael complimented. Nathalie gave him a small smile.

“Thanks, Mikey.”

“No problem, Nat.”

~~~

The initial response to her shorter hair had been hilarious. Adrien had glanced up at her, saying a quick hello before returning his gaze to his phone. She counted exactly six seconds before his green eyes had snapped back to her, mouth agape.

She almost smirked. Almost.

“Is there something wrong?” she asked flatly, raising one of her eyebrows smoothly.

“I just… your hair,” he said, blinking.

“What about it?”

“It’s shorter.”

“You don’t say,” she quipped sarcastically.

There was silence for a short moment.

“What will father think?”

Nathalie just barely kept herself from tensing. Shit. “I doubt he’ll care.”

Adrien shrugged. “Whatever you say. You know him better than I do.”

Nathalie figured the younger Agreste was referring to her and Gabriel’s past friendship, but still felt a pang of anger in her stomach, yesterday’s argument fresh in her mind.

“You should be heading off to school soon. None of your activities are until after five so feel free to do whatever you like until then.”

Adrien perked at the notion that he’d be free for almost an hour after school ended. “Thank you, Nathalie.”

“Get going.”

The moment he was gone, Nathalie walked to Gabriel’s office, knocking swiftly once to let him know it was her and only her. She did not wait for a response as she opened the door, stepping inside. Gabriel kept his eyes trained on the screen before him

“I’m a little surprised you came back,” he stated calmly. Nathalie tried to decide whether or not she wanted to answer.

“I as well.” She sat down, booting up her computer.

She could feel his eyes on her, but she did not look.

“Nathalie.”

“Yes, sir?”

“What have you done to your hair?”

“It’s shorter, obviously I cut it,” she replied smoothly. She knew he wouldn’t care that she was being sarcastic, maybe a little rude. He knew she could yeet him out the window if she so desired.

“I know that. I meant why.”

Nathalie sighed, sending him a glare she’d only dare show to her worst enemies.

“Oh my god, Nathalie, stop. Please, you know that look gives me the chills.”

Nathalie felt a spark of triumph, but she did not let it show.

Gabriel let it go.

For a while.

After another two hours, they were getting ready for a conference when Gabriel stood behind her, his fingers running through her hair. She tensed, fighting to keep a grip on her coffee as a quiet gasp escaped her. She forgot how much she loved it when people played with her hair.

“I see you still like it,” Gabriel purred in her ear. She turned, her chest nearly brushing his.

“I do. Is there a reason you care?” she asked.

“Remember back in collège when I played with it and you pretended to hate it?” Nathalie bit her lip. She did remember. “We both know that was bullshit.”

Her phone buzzed, and she held back a sigh of relief. “Come on, the meeting starts in five minutes.”

She could see Gabriel’s disappointment. As good as he was at hiding emotions, Nathalie could see right through anything he threw at her.

The conference was boring, Gabriel wasn’t even paying attention. Half of the people there weren’t paying attention. Thinking quickly, she picked up her phone.

“Hello, you’ve reached Agreste Fashion, Nathalie Sancoeur speaking.”

Silence.

“Is it important?”

The rest of the board were looking at her, she kept the act up.

Widening her eyes only slightly, she asked, “What do you mean ‘Adrien sprained his ankle’?”

A few seconds of silence. She sighed. “Of course. I’ll be there to pick him up in twenty minutes.” Making sure the screen was viewable to no one but herself, she ‘hung up’.

“Sir-”

“I heard you. Terribly sorry, but I must see to my son.”

“Understandable, Gabriel. We’ll continue without you.”

Gabriel nodded, standing and following Nathalie out the door. He turned to her. “Good thinking.”

Nathalie shrugged. “It was obvious which way the discussion was heading. I saw no point in staying.”

He was in front of her. He was close, very close. He was leaning down. Nathalie did not move.

He first kissed her jaw, feather light, then her cheek, then the corner of her mouth. Before he continued, he paused.

“Short hair looks exquisitely good on you, you know,” he murmured, running a hand through her hair. Nathalie’s breath hitched. “Do you want this?” he asked. Did she want this? She didn’t know.

Her body apparently did, because she moved, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him to her.

Their lips met, soft at first, but slowly becoming more fervent.

“Sir-” she gasped when he kissed her neck.

“Yes?” he purred.

She forced herself to push him away. “Not here. Not now. Literally any other time but now.”

“Maybe in an hour? At the mansion?”

Maybe never, she thought. “No. I have to meet Michael then.”

“Michael?” His brows furrowed together.

“My brother. I’m going out with him and his husband in a bit.”

“Husband?”

“Gay people exist, sir.”

Gabriel hummed. “Perhaps I can indulge you later, Miss Sancoeur.” He pressed a chaste kiss to her cheek. Then he was upright and fixing his hair. Nathalie followed in suit.

~~~

True to her word, Nathalie left within the hour, heading to a nice coffee joint where she’d be meeting Michael and David.

David was a handsome, tall black man with kind brown eyes and a drop-dead smile. Nathalie wouldn’t admit it aloud, but she’d had a crush on him before he and Michael got together.

“Nathalie!” David smiled, waving her over.

“Hey, David!” Nathalie smiled, hugging him. Michael was grinning beside her.

“It’s been too long! Tell me, can I kick Gabriel’s ass now?” David asked, chuckled when Nathalie smacked him lightly. “I’ll take that as a no. I saw you in TV the other day, I wasn’t sure if it was actually you.”

“How so?” Nathalie asked, crossing her arms and giving him a pointed look.

“You were so...” He motioned with his arms as he search for the right word. “Dead? Emotionless? Not the Nathalie so know.”

Nathalie shrugged. “Work has always been stressful. I have to depart my soul for the day to keep it from getting sucked out by Gabriel.”

“What about the kid, the blonde one. You said his name was Adrien?” Michael cut in.

“He survives only because he’s naturally a ball of sunshine,” Nathalie said plainly, her expression dead serious.

Michael and David shared a look.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to yeet him?” David asked in a soft, comforting tone. Nathalie let out a laugh.

“As tempted as I am to say yes, I’m afraid I can’t have the authorities after you,” she grinned.

An hour later, Nathalie and the two men were walking along the street when a loud explosion was heard. Screams followed a moment later, and Nathalie cursed.

“Guys!” David shouted. “We need to go!”

Nathalie nodded following them.

“Nathalie, come on!” Michael called. Nathalie grit her teeth.

“Fuck it,” she hissed, ditching her heels and racing to catch up.

They had just turned into an alley when Nathalie stepped a piece of glass.

She cried out, gritting her teeth and grunting with the effort to stay quiet.

“Nat,” Michael gasped, leading her to the wall and helping her sit. “David, you’re a doctor, you think you can help?”

David shook his head. “The best thing to do would be to let Ladybug and Chat Noir defeat the Akuma and let the lucky charm heal it. If I pull the glass out, the blood with flow free and we won’t have anything to stop it.”

Nathalie took a deep breath, focusing on the sounds of fighting. “At this rate it shouldn’t be long. It’s just a little pain, I’ll survive a few minutes.”

David sighed and nodded while Michael kept watch for flying cars.

A little over fifteen minutes passed, then the familiar glowing ladybugs whooshed by and Nathalie felt the pain, which has dulled significantly, vanish. Nothing but a dull throb remained, and Nathalie notes that her heels were back too.

She stood up, brushing herself off and giving the two men a smile. “I’d better head back to work. Maybe we can actually hang out next week?”

David hugged her and said, “Yeah, text me a time and a date and we’ll be there.”

Michael joined in on the hug. “Yup.”

~~~

The moment Nathalie arrived at this the mansion, she went to Gabriel’s office, opening the door without knocking and making her way to his desk.

“I should punch you, you know,” she said icily.

Gabriel actually looked up. “And why is that?”

“Because of your Akuma, my foot was stabbed with a piece of glass. Believe me, had it been Michael or David, you would be bruising right now.”

Gabriel stared at her coolly. He stood slowly, circling around the desk smoothly. Nathalie fought the urge to step away from him.

His hand lifted and he began to stroke her hair. Nathalie heart thundered in her ears and her breathing stilled. Gabriel leveled his gaze with hers.

“If I apologized for the Akuma and for the argument, would you let an old dog have his fun?”

“Maybe if you stop,” Nathalie breathed, “that old dog could have all the fun he wanted.”

That made Gabriel pause. She could see the desire hidden in his eyes, and knew she’d won.

Gabriel gave her a wicked grin. “You have yourself a deal, Miss Sancoeur.”

Nathalie knew it would not be easy, but maybe, just maybe, she could get him to move in and let go.

She hoped to god she could.

#nathalie sancoeur #gabriel agreste #michael sancoeur-jackson #david jackson #adrien agreste #gabenath #gabenath gift exchange #myfic #my fic #trash fic

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expatimes · 3 years

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Maidan Market: Indian sporting goods market fighting for survival

Kolkata, India – A fresh consignment of sports replica jerseys arrives at a stall in Maidan Market, one of the largest sporting goods bazaars in India that is located in the heart of the eastern Indian city of Kolkata.

Mohammed Nadim, who has been working at the stall for more than 23 years, pulls out a plastic stool from underneath a rack stashed with low-priced football jerseys and begins examining the consignment.

“Uhssee, theek-e ache (80, the count is fine),” he mutters in a mix of Hindi and Bangla before handing the load-bearer the counterpart of a signed receipt.

The shipment consists of 10 replica jerseys of each of the eight teams taking part in the Indian Premier League (IPL), the biggest Twenty20 domestic league in the world.

The 2021 edition of the IPL begins next month and Kolkata, the capital of West Bengal, is one of the six host cities.

Nadim says the stall would typically order 10 times that number ahead of the tournament every year.

That was in pre-pandemic times. Now, he adds, it is unlikely his store would order a refill in the lead-up to this year’s competition.

“Due to the pandemic, we still have stock left over from last year,” Nadim told Al Jazeera.

“We are replenishing them minimally given there’s been a slight increase in business across the market of late. But stocking up in bulk right now is beyond our means because the virus has brutally slashed our earnings.”

Maidan Market houses 449 stalls – 80 percent of which only sell sports items

Set up in 1954 for cloth merchants and artisans who migrated to the western part of divided Bengal following the partition of India in 1947, the market, officially christened Dr Bidhan Chandra Roy Market, gradually evolved into an arterial sports-merchandise hub in the country.

Housing 449 stalls – 80 percent of which only sell sports items – the bazaar, nestled a stone’s throw away from the iconic Eden Gardens cricket stadium in the vicinity of the Maidan, has been witness to several epochal shifts integral to Kolkata’s identity.

The market ships most of its produce – raw materials and finished products – from northern Indian cities and the months-long suspension of trains hampered supply and demand.

As stall owners remained indoors, a further misfortune struck the market.

Against the backdrop of the pandemic and the exodus of migrant workers the lockdown triggered, Kolkata also bore the brunt of the catastrophic Cyclone Amphan, which made landfall on the coastlines of eastern India and Bangladesh last May.

“So bad was the waterlogging in this area after the storm that the local police let us open our shops for a day so we could save our goods,” recounts Sumojit Pradhan, who runs his father’s store.

“Cricket bats and shoes worth over 50,000 rupees ($690) were damaged in our shop alone,” Pradhan told Al Jazeera.

Kolkata’s booming mall culture had slowly been eating into Maidan Market’s business

Last November, Nadim bemoaned how the pandemic had brought the market to its knees.

“So terrible was the nosedive in our sales that I’m drowning in debt,” Nadim said at the time.

“I’ve pulled my kids drop out of school and, if someone in the family falls ill, I don’t have enough money to be able to afford a doctor.”

A year on from the lockdown, more patrons are frequenting the market and it has returned to its usual 9.30am-8.30pm business hours, ditching the six-hour window it stuck to for several months after reopening.

“I’ve been printing around 120 jerseys a day since January,” said Sunny, who runs a vinyl-printing desk at Maidan Market.

“It’s been about 40 per cent of the daily orders I used to get before the pandemic. Things could be better or worse in the coming months. For now, I’m just relieved I’m earning an income again,” Sunny told Al Jazeera.

Kolkata’s booming mall culture had slowly been eating into Maidan Market’s business.

With the pandemic prompting a dip in spending on non-essential products, and an accelerated shift to online shopping, a lack of a digital presence is also hurting the stall owners.

“The loss incurred in the past 12 months … we may not be able to recover from it even in five years’ time,” Sheikh Nazimuddin, joint secretary of the stallholders’ association at the market, told Al Jazeera.

“And such is the nature of in-demand items like cricket bats, helmets and guards, customers hardly prefer buying them online. That’s why this market never previously felt the need to have a digital presence.”

For the first two months after the market reopened last June, sellers with stockpiles of fitness equipment made good money while the others struggled to keep their heads above water

Since the onset of the coronavirus outbreak, Pradhan, 24, has been among a few traders at Maidan Market who have funnelled time and effort into either creating or increasing the online presence of their brick-and-mortar businesses.

From having their stores listed on Google, to displaying select samples of in-store stock on Facebook and Instagram pages and taking orders on WhatsApp, the pandemic, Pradhan admits, has forced a “major rethink” of customer engagement approaches.

The changes in consumer patterns notwithstanding, several long-time loyalists of Maidan Market believe the enduring charms of the bazaar will help the sellers weather the ongoing adversity.

“Maidan Market is a great leveller. Players of every social and financial standing gravitate towards that place,” said Jhulan Goswami, Indian women’s team cricketer who learned her craft at Kolkata’s Vivekananda Park.

“The affordability, variety, and year-round availability of its products are its USPs. E-commerce sites are no match when it comes to these attributes,” Goswami told Al Jazeera.

Manoj Tiwary, the Bengal and Indian men’s cricketer who has also played in the IPL, agrees.

“Ever since I visited the market for the first time as a 15-year-old, I’ve witnessed first-hand the kinship every young athlete who comes here develops with the market, starting with the buying of equipment,” Tiwary, now 35, told Al Jazeera.

“That relationship is then nurtured by the goodwill of the shopkeepers who go to great lengths to help you pick what’s best for you.”

Most stall owners are hoping for a smooth IPL in April and May to lift sales

For the first two months after the market reopened last June, sellers with stockpiles of fitness equipment made good money while the others struggled to keep their heads above water.

“With gyms shut and outdoor activities prohibited, dumbbells, resistance bands and weight plates sold like hot cakes,” Pradhan recalled.

“Flag vendors, printers, jerseys sellers and bat dealers were starved of an income.”

For sellers like the Islam brothers, Rafique and Nurul, who operate the oldest trophy store in the market, hardly any business came by until December.

“Offices, academies and schools were closed. Who would buy trophies or medals if no sports events take place?” said Rafique, 64, who was one among the first stallholders to test positive for COVID-19 after the reopening of the market.

“It was only after a few local clubs began organising small sports and social events, say, to felicitate front-line workers, did we notice a slight uptick in sales in December and January,” he said.

With most sports coaching academies across the city and local tournaments under the Cricket Association of Bengal having resumed by late February, several old-timers and first-time buyers have since been making their way to Maidan Market.

“The ongoing vaccination drive has lifted the common man’s spirits,” said Somenath Das, while helping his 14-year-old daughter try on a new pair of cricket shoes.

“We took whatever safety precautions we could and came to this market. Growing up, I used to buy all my football gear from here. Now, it’s my daughter’s turn.”

Somenath Das visited Maidan Market to buy his daughter’s cricket shoes

But an air of resignation hangs over the market as a new nationwide surge in cases unfolded in recent weeks, reaching record highs.

Many stallholders fear that the gains made by Maidan Market since the start of this year in restoring a semblance of normalcy to the way it conducts business might be ruined by the second wave of the coronavirus outbreak.

Most admit that apart from relatively better psychological preparedness, they have little to no measures in place to counter the economic costs of a potential resuspension of all business if infections spiral out of control as they did a year ago.

Most stall owners are hoping for a smooth IPL in April and May to lift sales.

“With the IPL moving to the UAE last year because of the COVID crisis in India, the on-ground excitement around it died, meaning practically no business for us,” Nadim said.

“But even if the next tournament is held entirely behind closed doors, the return of top-flight cricket to the Eden Gardens could create enough buzz for fans and owners of malls, restaurants to buy merchandise from us.

“Ummeed par duniya kayam hain (Hope is what keeps people alive),” he added, as an afterthought.

Read full article: https://expatimes.com/?p=19526&feed_id=39652

#Asia #Coronaviruspandemic #cricket #Features #fighting #goods #India #Indian #Maidan #market #sporting #Sports #survival

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dazombi3fari3 · 4 years

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Hey doll hey! I hope you are having a good day today. Today is a bad Bi-Polar day for me. I woke up feeling out of sorts and a bit cranky. My makeup didn’t work that well for me today but I think it turned out OK. So let’s get into it.

Base: I primed my face with Hourglass Veil Mineral Primer ($54 at Sephora). I color corrected using Tarte CC Undereye Corrector ($25 at Ulta) in Light-Medium. To conceal my under eyes I used NARS Soft Matte Complete Concealer ($30 at Sephora) in Medium 1 Custard. For foundation today I am wearing The Balm Even Steven Whipped Foundation ($22 on their website) in the color Light-Medium. I set my full face using The Balm Sexy Mama Anti-Shine Translucent Powder ($20 on their website). I bronzed using Chanel Soleil Tan De Chanel ($50 on their website).

Eyes: I primed my lids using NARS Soft Matte Complete Concealer ($30 at Sephora) in Medium 1 Custard. I set the lids using The Balm Sexy Mama Anti-Shine Translucent Powder ($20 on their website). I then went into the Urban Decay Naked Ultimate Basics Palette ($24.97 at Nordstrom Rack) and used Pre-Game (a cream colored matte) all over the lids to brighten the eye. As my first transition shade I chose Faith (a light toned brown matte). As my crease color I chose Lockout (a mid-toned brown with peach undertones matte). I took a mixture of the colors Extra Bitter (a dusty orange brown) and Pre-Game (a cream colored matte) and used it to blend all the edges of the crease and the transition. I used Blackjack (a dusty black matte) on my outer v and outer 1/3 of my mobile lid. On my lower lash line I did a drop shadow with the color Extra Bitter (a dusty orange brown). I went into the ELF Rose Gold Nude Palette ($10 on their website) and into the 5th color in the palette (a rosey pink with a gold reflect shimmer). To highlight my inner corners I used the 2nd shade in the palette (a pale pink with silver reflect shimmer). I lined my waterlines with BH Cosmetics Power Pencil ($8 on their website) in the color Beige. To do my brows today I chose ELF Lock on Liner and Brow Cream ($4 on their website) in the color Medium Brown. I set my brows with ColourPop Brow Boss Gel ($6.50 on their website) in the color Dark Brown. I carved out my brow line with BH Studio Pro Brow Highlighter ($5 on their website) on the matte side. I set the brow line using Pre-Game again.

Cheeks and Lips: For blush today I used Tarte Amazonian Clay 12-Hour Blush ($29 at Ulta, Sephora, and the Tarte website) in the color Blissful (a mid-toned rosey pink matte). I highlighted the tops of my cheeks, between my brows, and Cupid’s Bow using BECCA Shimmering Skin Perfecter Pressed ($38 at Sephora) in the color Champagne Pop. I lined my lips using Charlotte Tilbury Lip Cheat ($22 on the Beautylish website) in the color Pillow Talk and then filled in my lips using Milani Color Statement Lipstick ($4.19 at Ulta) in the color 86 Tropical Nude (a pinky coral nude cream).

Final Thoughts….

NARS Soft Matte Complete Concealer: B++ It comes in 16 shades, 7 of which are for deeper skin tones. You get .21 ounces of product in the pot. 1 tap into the jar is all you need for both under eyes. This is a matte concealer that doesn’t settle into fine lines (as long as you apply it with a brush). This concealer sets completely down with no need to powder it. It lasts all day. This concealer I never really reach for because I forget I have it half the time. I am starting to really like this concealer. I like the finish of it, even though it’s a matte concealer it doesn’t look cakey or dry. It looks like a demi matte, even though it’s a true matte concealer. I can see myself repurchasing this product.

The Balm Sexy Mama Anti-Shine Translucent Powder: B+ You get .25 ounces of product in this compact. I like this powder, however they do not have an equivalent powder for deeper skin. It’s not a really long lasting powder, I do find that I have to reapply this powder a few times through the day, but it’s not chalky, it’s not cakey, it’s finely milled, and it’s easy to tuck this compact into a jean pocket. I have so many compact powders that I am not sure if I will repurchase this one.

ELF Rose Gold Nude Palette: C- You got .49 ounces of product in this palette. This is one of few palettes that ELF has put out that I do not like. The shimmers are way to glittery and the shadows have major fallout. The shimmers are pretty colors but the glitter fallout is just not worth it. I am decluttering this palette this week.

ELF Lock on Liner and Brow Cream: A- You get .19 ounces of product in the pot. It comes in 4 universal colors. I really like this cream brow product. It goes on smoothly, no skipping, no clumps or patchiness. It’s got just the right amount of pigment to it, unlike other products like this where there is so much pigment that it looks like you are wearing sharpie on your brows. It sets down and lasts pretty well on my brows, even on super hot days here in Florida. This is my second pot of this brow cream. I will definitely repurchase it again.

ColourPop Brow Boss Gel: B+ You get .11 ounces of product. The color is great and it applied well. Out of the 4 brow products that ColourPop makes, this is my favorite. It’s not my all time favorite brow gel, but it is a pretty good one. It paired well with the brow cream that I used today. I don’t know if I will repurchase this one or not, I have other brow gels that i like more, but I will definitely use up the one that I do have.

BECCA Shimmering Skin Perfecter Pressed: B++ You get .28 ounces of product in this compact. It comes in 11 shades, I only own the 1 shade. I do like this highlighter, but it is super glittery until you use a setting spray to melt it into the skin. I have had this highlighter ever since the week it came out, I use it a ton and still haven’t made a dent in it…. so I do not see me repurchasing this anytime soon, however if I do end up hitting pan on it I will definitely repurchase it.

Milani Color Statement Lipstick: A+++ You get .14 ounces of product. It comes in 36 shades. I had a ton of these but when we moved I decluttered all but 1. The color I kept goes with everything. This is a high pigmented and creamy lipstick. It doesn’t feather, crumble, or bleed into fine lines. It wears down evenly and lasts a pretty decent amount of time. I may be picking up a few more shades as I forgot just how much I like the formula.

Well that’s all for now dolls. I hope that the rest of your day is wonderful, and remember save a spoon for a bit of makeup.

XOXO

Rose Gold Face of the Day Hey doll hey! I hope you are having a good day today. Today is a bad Bi-Polar day for me.

#Beauty #Face of the day #feelings #Makeup #Makup Reviews #Product Review

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kierarutherford · 7 years

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10 Questions Ask Meme

Rules:Answer 10 questions and then come up with another 10 questions for the people you tag!

Was tagged by @princessvicky01 so let’s keep this rolling

Favorite small town? Real or fictional. - I live in a small town, and have lived in many but none have ever been a favorite. SO I suppose I would love to check out the small town of Honnleath (pre-darkaspawn)

Video game or DLC you’re most looking forward to right now? (sans DA4) - I have yet to purchase it and it haunts my dreams. I am aiming to get my hands on the Witcher DLCs.

Favorite fictional world? (i.e.: Middle Earth, Thedas, etc.) Why? - to be fair I have two. One would have to be Thedas as I it holds my OCs and a special Commander. The second would have to be Witcher’s world (don’t remember what the whole place is called. TOO many city/towns to name.) Great, indepth lore and creatures.

Where/what was the best cup of coffee you’ve ever had? If you don’t drink coffee, what’s the best meal you’ve ever head? - Best cup, uh... I have never had a “best” cup of coffee anywhere out but the morning back home after my daughter was born. The first sip of freshly brewed coffee brought to me, while holding my little girl. That may be the best sip ever.

Where/when do you do your best daydreaming? When I lay in bed. I daydream myself to sleep. Putting myself in the shoes of my OCs and trying to figure out how they would react. There is a tiny piece of me in each of them.

Favorite TV show right now? I don’t really watch a lot of tv. Right now I’m addicted to Live PD (probably only in countries with A&E)

Is your canon Inquisitor reluctant about their power, or do they embrace it full-force, or something in-between? Kiera takes the reigns as she was a First to her clan and much was always expected of her. It is simply a tool to aid those in need. Diana- she hated it. Her personal “night light” she called it many times. Trying to deflect the horror and personal irritation. Hyacinth - she was unsure of it but as long as she can heal and help, she makes due.

What’s the best purchase you’ve ever made? I shop on bargains all the time. So I really can’t pin point that one awesome score. I would say my proudest was netting a $45 sweater for my daughter (in-store) for $4.99. I do love hunting through clearance racks.

Favorite or go-to clothing brand/designer/store? I am not loyal to any brand per say. I sale hunt. I prefer to hunt at Old Navy currently but the winds may change.

Are there any popular TV or video game character arcs that really bother you? How would you change them, if you could? - The one that stuck with me over the years was the ending arc of Legend of Zelda Ocarina of Time. There was SOO much room to do something there and they did a hack ending (in my opinion.) Played it multiple times and it always stuck with me. (Also my first -he should have totally gotten the girl- grumble fest)

@fereldenpeach questions

If you could trade places with a fictional character for a day, who would you pick and why? - Diana Trevelyan. She’s tough, quick witted and scandalous. She knows what she wants and isn’t afraid to do whatever she has to to get it. Her relationship with Cullen is deep and runs on lewd at times. I envy her free spirit and openness.

What’s your favorite vacation memory? - Too many. We always made a trek to visit my grandparents as a child and those moments (while colourful) always stuck with me.

What’s your go-to alcoholic beverage? Don’t drink? What’s your favorite smoothie or milkshake? If I drink (I do enjoy a good drink- perhaps too often) I like coolers or my mix. Ginger ale, grapefruit juice and Canada Club whiskey. Extra ice. I’m an ice chewer

When did you have your first kiss? I was fourteen, he was my first boyfriend and it just happened. I do remember it being a wondrous moment. All teeth, tongues and lips. He was more experienced than I, and it was grand.

Who was your first fictional crush and why? lol so totally nerdy! I was in love with Link from Legend of Zelda and Carth Onasi from Knights of the Old Republic. I wrote a HUGE fanfic (printed in a book in my closet today). It has never seen the light of day lol

What’s your favorite Dragon Age mod that you use? Don’t use mods? What’s your favorite outfit from the game’s options? - I have to admit I love the Spoils of the Qunari, wrap thing. lol I made my own in several colours down in the Undercroft.

What (or who) was the gateway to joining the DA fandom on Tumblr? I don’t really know? I was creeping around the internet, dying for more Cullen things when I stumbled upon @khirsahle amazing fic and I believe there was a mention somewhere of a tumblr. So I boldly decided I wanted to write, and get on this tumblr and find my like minded Cullenites and bask in the delicious man.

Name three things you absolutely can’t live without and tell us why. ah hard one. I am a travel light person. 1 - my phone, it is my day planner, alarm, watch, contacts to my parents, camera, etc. 2- Comfy runners. I have terribly sensitive feet and wear shoes all the time. Without them I’d have horridly sore feet. 3 -caffeine. I drink anywhere from half a pot of coffee to a full pot of tea a day. My tea pot is a 12 cup size lol. I’m a mom of 3. I NEED caffeine.

When did you first start playing Dragon Age? Which game did you start with and have you played all of them? I have been here since the beginning in Dragon Age addictive hell. I played the first, it’s dlc, then Awakening, then 2, it’s DLC and now Inquisition and it’s DLC. I actually had to create room on my xbox to play Origins because I had over 38 saved characters. Wiped them all out and repeated that 3 more times. lol Of those play throughs I only romanced Zevran once. All others were Alistair.

What’s a project you’re really proud of? Where Flowers Dare to Bloom. It has hurt me and healed me in so many places. It has been a personal healing tool and the next couple chapters are currently cleansing my soul.

Here are @princessvicky01 10 :

1) What was your first pet? If you’ve never had one is their one you would like? My first pet. He was a terrier/poodle/rescue thing. Benji. Loved him till he passed of old age when I was 9. Amazingly well tempered and awesome dog.

2) If you could only replay one game forever, what game would it be? lol that is my life. I literally play games to their disk death. If I was cursed to a single game. I’m picking Dragon Age Inquisition. To forever romance and marry Cullen, please.

3) What was/is your favourite subject at school?Why? History. I loved it. Especially ancient history. Eqyptian history, medieval history. All of it. Myths and legends. I adored it all.

4) Do you prefer to be too hot or too cold? I can’t handle heat, so I’d have to say I’d rather be too cold.

5) Do you have any hobbies? If not is there any you want to try? This is kinda a hobby I suppose. I am a terrible starter to things that I never finish. It is a horrid habit that I do way too often. I crotchet, I knit, I sing (lol fairly well too), I used to play in photoshop, games, play baseball.. I’m everywhere and no where.

6) Whats your favourite restaurant/eat out food - Italian, Chinese, Mexican ect I love Italian. Pasta. I am addicted to pasta. Fetticine Alfredo, spaghetti and marinara sauce. Yes please.

7) Mages or Templars? Why? Mages. To be sent away from family at such young ages, forced into a stone prison. It’s heart breaking. All because they are different. Never nullified the Circle in any play throughs. I can’t kill children just because they can hold fire in their palms. Teach them, let them live and let them help!

8) Favourite film/movie genre? I’m not a film person really. I do watch the occasional movie but again I’m all over the place. Favourite of all time; Robin Hood- Men in Tights. A Mel Brooke’s picture.

9) Whats your spirit animal/daemon aka the one that represents your personality? A bear. Quite literally lol. Loyal to family, extremely protective and I’ll rip your arms off and feed you to my kids if you mess with them.

10) Cullen Rutherford shows up at your house. What do you say/do? Seriously... depending on the situation, I have no idea. I mean, I think we all know what we dream about but reality wise... I honestly don’t know.

After a mile of questions. Here are mine now lol:

1- Drink lyrium become a Templar or grip a staff and become a Mage. Once you pick you cannot go back. Choice and why?

2- If you could meet anyone of your followers/readers/people you follow, who and why?

3- Dream Cullen date, go!

4- Do you believe readers should comment on your writings? Or are likes/kudos enough?

5- If you had an hour to sit with your favourite character creator from any game, how would you use that time?

6- If you could cosplay one character, who and why?

7- When you sit to write, what is your must haves to work? Coffee/tea, a song, tv in background, what’s your must have thing?

8-Do you follow any of the prominent writters out there? Steven King? R.R Martin? J.K. Rowling? If so, who and why? If not, who would you love to sit and chat with?

9- What time do you feel is the best for your writing? How long do you write for?

10- If you could make one wish come true, but for only one full day, what would you wish for?

Tagging @daisytje @angyvalentine @dorianofminrathous @omnipotentoverlord @queenmelisende @ma-sulevin

#ask me meme #meme thing #some da some not #about Kiera #Kiera replies

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notgonnarememberthis · 7 years

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Beautiful- Chapter 2

Heyo I return with a plan/news for once in my life.

1. In regards to the fic my plan is to build up more of a relationship between Joan and Sherlock in between scenes and once we get to the present will begin the “real” narrative of the fic.

2. In regards to how damn long this took to come out I am really sorry but I just got super tangled up in a massive shit storm of writer’s block. On top of that my grandma visited from Arizona and my brother’s baseball team has had 2 tournaments in the meantime (one of them being a week long tournament 4 hours from home) and I don’t miss games.

September 27, 2012

Sherlock hadn’t stopped pacing since the end of the excursions. He’d checked his email on the progress of a cold case he was looking into on the matter of longitude and latitude correlating with the placement of bodies from a serial killer. Of course he’d stumbled past an email from his father regarding a sober companion coming to pick him up from the rehabilitation center. Underneath was the provided information on the woman who would now be living in the same house with him for the next six weeks.

What his father had failed to know that approximately thirteen years ago he’d met a woman of the same first name and coming occupation in the bar and proceeded to sleep with her that same night. He’d escaped in the morning without rousing her scribbling a quick hangover remedy on a post it before making off with all of his possessions.

He doesn’t remember the full evening as he got regrettably wasted. He still remembers vivid details though. The feeling of her dark hair running over the back of his hand, the freckles dusted like constellations across her skin, her moaning his pseudonym.

Surely there were other Joans studying to become a surgeon in New York. He runs the possibilities through his brain. Records showed that this Joan had lived in the state since birth so moving from far away wasn’t an option. Chances still could be likely though.

Briefly he hears shuffling from the other room. His previous partner must’ve awaken. He should probably warn her that he’d left the curtains open… He checks the clock observing it to be about 11:56 a.m. Well whatever poor sap was home sick or running late would get quite the show.

He thinks quickly flipping on the multiple televisions scattered through the room. If it was her he could test her with a movie playing on one channel. From the stupor of the night he did remember Joan laying her head on his shoulder while some sappy love story droned on in the background. She didn’t fall asleep long after that. The subconscious memory would spark in her eyes revealing if she remembered him or not. If it wasn’t her or perhaps if she didn’t remember then he would appear as a loon who just left rehab without his escort.

“Excuse me Mr-” Of course the voice is familiar. His luck is that his father hires the one ex-surgeon turned sober companion that he’d slept with 13 years ago. He shushes her and pauses all of the screens with one button allowing the woman to continue. “My name is Joan Watson.” Yes he is very very aware and familiar with the name. The woman in front of him is no doubt the one he slept with all those years ago. She doesn’t look like she changed a bit. “Your father hired me to be your sober companion. He told me he was going to email you about me.” He did. “I’m here to make the transition from your rehab experience to your everyday routine as smooth as possible so I’ll be living with you for the next six weeks,” Lovely. “Which means I’ll be available to you 24/7.” Even better.

“Do you believe in love at first sight?” Her mouth shuts and her eyebrows raise in surprise. “I know what you’re thinking. The world is a cynical place and I must be a cynical man thinking a woman like you could fall for a line like that. Thing is,” He takes a step closer taking away the space she’d so humbly put between the two of them. “It isn’t a line.” He does not stop moving studying her face for any flashing cues that may give away stimulated memory. “I have never loved anyone as I do you right now in this moment.” Something dark flashes in her eyes.

She’s just about to say something as he unpauses the movie. The actor on the screen repeats the dialogue word for word. She looks between the screen himself before her cheeks flush a lovely shade of red. Embarrassment and shame fill her wonderful features. Ah, so she doesn’t remember. Lovely.

Regardless if she did remember she would’ve known him as Sean rather than Sherlock. The only clue to give away that it was him were some of his tattoos he’d actually had at that age. Joan shuffles to gather the things from her bag that had scattered across the floor in her shock. The woman still appears to be rather shaken even as the monologue ends clutching her bag tight to her chest. Confusion laces her expression. For the better too.

“Spot on.” He says with confidence in his tone. “Sherlock Holmes.” She takes his extended hand shaking it yet her expression remains shocked and a bit apprehensive. He looks her up and down once more for good measure. She’s cleanly dress, well styled too. She’s definitely done well for herself if the designer shoes would say anything. “Please don’t get comfortable. We won’t be long.” He shrugs past her to go gather his shoes and shirt which had been scattered throughout the Brownstone during his earlier… activities.

“Mr. Holmes did your father tell you about me or not?” Frustration laces through her tone. Maybe if he keeps it up she’ll drop the manner and leave.

“Uh…” Ah yes there’s one shoe he’d been looking for. “He emailed. Said to expect some sort of addict sitter.” Distaste spills off his tongue. His father likes to pretend he knows what’s best for him even after all these years.

“Then he explained his conditions with respect to your sobriety.”

“Then you mean his threats to evict me from this; the shoddiest and least renovated of the five, count them, five properties he owns in New York. Then yeah he made his conditions quite clear.” He grabs the other shoe slipping it on. “I use, I wind up on the streets. I refuse your help, I wind up on the street. It’s my understanding that most sober companions are recovering addicts as well.” He studies. “But you’ve never had a problem with drugs or alcohol.” With a quick bounce he;s back on his feet once more.

“Your father told you.” She excuses.

“Of course he didn’t.”

“Well do you care to explain why you broke out of rehab the same day you were being released?”

“Bored.” He answers plainly.

“Your were bored.” She questions half annoyed and half inquisitorial. Maybe she’d make a good test subject. She does ask a lot of questions.

“No I am bored right now.” He corrects. Where the hell did he sling that shirt? “It happens often you’ll get used to it.” He notes as he digs through a hamper to find another shirt. “Regarding your friends at Hemingdale I believe they should be thanking be for exposing flaws in their rubbish security system, wouldn’t you?” He grabs a shirt from the dirty hamper giving it a quick sniff to make sure it is sufficient enough to pass in public without causing a distraction. “Excellent.”

“There was a woman leaving just as I got here.” She says slowly. “Did she get you high?”

“About six feet.” He says rather smugly obtaining his belt from where it hung loosely on the ladder in between a pair of handcuffs. “I actually find sex repellent.” He says. “All those fluids and odd sounds.” For a brief second her head tilts and there is a sparkle in her eyes. He wonders if she’s caught the lie. Well it’s not precisely a lie. Sex in itself is disgusting but the ability to turn off is a rare and exquisite experience when you find someone distracting enough. It was something she’d taught him that night. Something he’d only managed to duplicate with Irene. He shakes his head quickly at the thought abandoning that dangerous path. “My brain and body require them to function at optimum levels so I feed those as needed. You’re a doctor you understand.”

“Uh, I’m not a doctor.” She corrects politely. Ah so something bad happened then.

“Well you were a doctor. Surgeon judging by your hands.” He studies. Though again he’d known this long ago. “Is your car parked near by?”

“Uh, yes it’s just outsi-” She stops in her tracks. He reaches over grabbing his vest off a rack. “Wait how did you know I have a car?”

“Parking ticket.” He says simply. “I saw it in your purse when you dropped it. Can’t have one without the other can you?” He glances at the clock with a frown. Lovely, Gregson wouldn’t be too happy with him. “We’re late. We need to get going.”

“Late for what?” There she goes with those questions again.

He checks his phone without answering her question. “Actually scratch the car. Manhattan bridge is down to single lane. We’ll take the tube instead.” Good it’ll give him a little practice to hone in on profiling before they reach the scene. “Look at this place.” He frowns with disgust. “Yuck. I’ll wait for you to tidy it.”

She glances at him in disbelief anger filling her dark eyes. Good. It shouldn’t take as long as he initially accounted for to rid of her then. He just needs to play his cards right and she’ll be gone. The sooner the better and that goes for the both of them. But she doesn’t leave. He had left and she’d moved out but they both came back. To the Brownstone, to each other. They’d housed Kitty and a pet turtle named Clyde. She’s stayed by his side unknowing of the truth all this time.

July 25, 2014

The first time Sherlock truly sees a crack in Watson’s hard formed walls isn’t until years after their first meeting. It’d been a particularly rainy summer in New York. Odd for the times but it ended up pertaining to a case. For the past 3 years children were disappearing from public places, ranging from ages 5 to 12. They were lured away from parents and drowned a few days after their disappearance. The man would leave the body on the side of the highway with a folded swan on top of their chest. It did not take the media too long after that to oh so cleverly nickname the perpetrator The Origami Killer.

He and Watson had only been on the case for six months when the eleventh child went missing. An eight year old by the name of Bobbie Hilton had gone missing after his father Malcolm Hilton took the child to the mall. The father claimed only to look away for a moment before the boy had gone missing. They’d also lost another child Ethan Hilton in an accident only a year prior. The little boy had wandered into the streets and Malcolm had been a few seconds too late trying to throw them both out of the way. Malcolm absorbed a good portion of the blow but it was not enough to save seven year old Ethan. The boy died after being in a coma for three months.

It was through this information that Watson managed to make a theory that the killer was kidnapping children of parents that they deemed unfit to be parents. From the Hiltons who experienced a tragic accident, to a family of previous drug addicts, to a woman who’d grown up with bipolar disorder neglecting to get her next dosage of medication. She’d seemed to hit the nail on the head.

From there they managed to track down a social service worker who’d made contact with at least three of the parents before the children went missing, the Hiltons included. They had no substantial evidence to work off of so they conducted an unofficial stake out following a man by the name of Stafford Hunt using an array of cars that Alfredo had loaned to the two of them. Hunt apparently spent an unusual amount of time at a warehouse not far from the Brownstone.

“We have to go in.” Watson insists already beginning to climb out the sleek black car. She’d been acting strange ever since this investigation begun. He’d just shrugged it off as the involvement of many small children. Their lives ended much too soon wracking onto her subconscious. They very rarely dealt with cases involving children as their victims.

“We wait here for Marcus that was our deal for the stakeout remember?” He reminds her.

“It’s been sixteen days Sherlock. You and I both know that it’s the longest Hunt has kept a child. If Hunt is our man we need to go now.”

“You really believe he’s our man don’t you.” Her eyes have lit up with passion since they’d found Mr. Hunt a week ago.

“A connection to three out of the eleven families is the best we’ve found. The best that anyone has found in three years.” She insists. He shifts uncomfortably weighing the options. Rain beats heavily on the room of the car in the silence.

“Very well. However we wait until he comes out.” Joan rolls her eyes but she doesn’t protest in any other fashion. They sit in silence until a man runs out of the building and into his car. Once he rolls out of sight he hastily texts Marcus their location before following Watson into the building.

Watson whips out her flashlight surveying the area. Once they determine that they’re the only two there they freely wander. The place is relatively empty. Abandoned crates left creaking open on opposing sides of the large building, pieces of the ceiling deteriorating allowing the rain to pour into the wooden building.

They split off as Sherlock goes off to investigate the several crates spread throughout the place. He’d managed to make it through two before a shout broke through the empty room.

“Sherlock!” Watson’s voice echoes spurring him into a run. She’s near the center of the room flashlight abandoned on the ground. She’s tugging furiously at something but she’s only able to make it budge slightly. “Help!”

He skids across the floor rushing to help her. Together they lift the grate fixed into the ground to expose a man made hole. Rain water pours down from the hole in the ceiling onto their backs. They reach shoulders deep into the water pulling the body of Bobbie Hilton from the depths. They settle him carefully and Watson checks for a pulse. She quickly goes into the procedure of CPR pressing into the small boy’s chest.

“Hey!” A voice calls out from the doorway. Stafford Hunt stands at the entrance pointing a gun at the two of them. “Step away from the boy!” His gun is pointing at Watson and Sherlock’s heart thuds much too quick. He needs to think of a solution. He can hear Watson muttering fragmented sentences but she makes no move to stop what she’s doing.

“Easy.” Sherlock puts up both of his hands standing. “Nobody needs to get hurt Mr. Hunt.”

“Step away!” He shouts seeming to ignore him. Sirens break through the silence as cops rush onto the scene. Hunt points the gun back at the door giving Sherlock time to occupy the space between Watson and Stafford. Finally he hears the sputter from behind him. He looks back as Watson turns Bobbie on his side rubbing his back as he coughs up the water from his lungs. She wraps him protectively in her arms as his little body racks with violent shivers.

Briefly he can hear Gregson insisting that Hunt put his weapon down. From the sound of it he’s not cooperating. Sherlock turns back to the scene just in time to see Hunt turn back towards them ready to fire.

Two gunshots and the scream of a child blast through the empty space. Stafford Hunt collapses onto the floor two wounds in his back. Paramedics rush in once the sign is clear taking Bobbie from Watson’s arms. Her expression is blank, unreadable. No relief flooded her face now that this one was finally over.

Once they were both checked out they were allowed to go home.

Watson hadn’t moved from her spot on the couch since she’d showered and changed. Her favorite red cardigan is wrapped around her like her own personal armor. She finally stopped shivering so there was that.

He places a cup of tea in front of her but she doesn’t move to grab it off the table. He sits next to her silently offering his support in whatever demons she was battling within her mind. Without him.

“How do you do it?” Finally her voice croaks.

“Do what?” He studies her face but her expression continues to give away nothing. Watson is one of very few mysteries he does not believe he will ever solve. He doesn’t want to either. Since that one night he’d faired off the thought of sleeping together. Not that he didn’t want to. Watson is a very attractive woman. Her face is nearly perfectly symmetrical aside from the dusting of her freckles. She’s incredibly attractive yes but he does not wish to risk their relationship. One that’s so carefully put together.

She takes a shuddering breath before she continues. “How do you face society knowing all the terrible things we do to each other?” As if watching glass slowly crumble as does her facade. A tear slowly runs down her cheek and her body folds into itself. Her knees tuck into her chest and she places her head on them to hide her fears from him.

Carefully he pushes closer wrapping an arm around her to test boundaries. When she doesn’t flinch or shrug him off he pulls her closer. Her face buries into his shoulder as soft sobs shake her body. His heart breaks as she weeps for the lost children, for the parents that had to suffer. He places his lips on the crown of her head as the tears soak into his t-shirt. It’s remarkable that even her sobs are silent. The only things giving away her breakdown being the feeling of her tears and the shaking frame crumpled against his.

This was the first and only time Watson broke down in front of him. Sure she’d been angry and shouted at him. Regardless she never cried. Her eyes watered but she turned away before they fell.

Now however seeing her like this; broken and vulnerable… human. It somehow made her seem all the more beautiful.

#joanlock #joan watson x sherlock holmes #sherlock holmes x joan watson #joan watson #Sherlock Holmes #elementary cbs #elementary AU #One Night Stand

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