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ilongfor-the-arts · 1 year

Note

Hi babey! Can I request a Carmen Berzatto x fem!Reader one shot? Reader is a friend of his or more of a coworker but she finds Carmy attractive and one day someone says something about him, just for a laugh, nothing really mean and reader chimes in with a “ I’d totally sit on his face”? It doesn’t have to be a smut, you can do whatever you want with this idea. Thank you in advance love xx

After Hours

Pairing: Carmen Berzatto x fem! Reader

Warnings: smut, language, face sitting (obvi), cumming in pants

Summary: *in req*

Word Count: 3.6k

“Okay Y/N, I gotta serious fuckin’ question for ya’.”

I rolled my eyes and continued stirring the sauce. I was aware that this inquiry would most certainly not be taken seriously.

“Hit me, Richie.”

Despite not having uttered a word, Richie laughed loudly.

Oh God, this was gonna be painful.

“Alright, alright, who do you think is more attractive, me or Carmy?”

I arched my brow and cast a glance over my shoulder. Richie's figure was leaning smugly against the counters, his arms crossed over his chest. The pace of the day was unexpectedly slow. Richie chose to focus his attention on me because, frankly, he couldn't go five minutes without bothering someone.

Hey, at least he wasn't yelling and upsetting everyone in a five-mile radius. I’ll take annoying Richie over screaming Richie any day of the week.

“Seriously? That was your serious question?”

I asked, frustrated that he tore my attention away from the sauce.

“I’m dead serious honey-”

“Don’t call me honey.”

Richie displayed his open palms.

“Alright, alright. Sorry, I forgot.”

I rolled my eyes again, bringing my gaze to the sauce. Staring at Richie for lengthy stretches of time gave me a migraine.

“Are you gonna answer my question?”

I pretended to ponder his inquiry despite already knowing the answer.

“Well, that’s difficult. You both are such charming and attractive men.”

My tone was thick with sarcasm. I mean, come on? Did Richie really think he had a chance? I glanced to my right, then to my left. I took care to be subtle so Richie wouldn't assume I had ulterior motives.

“I’d have to say, Carmy.”

“Fuck!”

He exclaimed under his breath. I chuckled through a closed mouth, scraping my spatula against the bottom of the plate.

“Was it close?”

“Do you really want me to answer that question?”

“That depends. Is the answer something I want to hear?”

“No.”

“Then no.”

The restaurant possessed an oddly tranquil atmosphere at this hour. The quiet chatter of voices resembled lovely white noise. I wished it would gently lull me to sleep. Even though a little frantic activity kept my mind sharp, I greatly valued quiet times like these. Unfortunately, my moment of peace was interrupted by Richie’s loud voice.

“Ok, but like, what does he got that I don’t?”

I managed to control the urge to roll my eyes. Instead, I opted to twist the knife.

“Well, he’s more attractive for starters.”

Nice. This sauce was coming together.

“Oh, come on, now you’re just bullshitting me.”

With a chuckle, he said.

“I’m a chef, Richie. I don’t bullshit.”

“What makes him more attractive?”

Jesus. After I answered his stupid question, I assumed the conversation would be over. I would not have humored him if I had known he was going to prolong my agony.

“He’s got nice arms, and nice hands, and nice eyes-”

Richie laughed. I grinned, pleased that I had irritated him. Call me rude, but Richie has been nothing but trouble for me since day one. And the fact that I was finally crawling under his skin made me internally satisfied. I was scratching an itch that had been bothering me for months.

“And, come on, have you seen his nose? I mean, it’s gorgeous. I’d totally sit on his face.”

Richie found that amusing, and we both laughed before being unexpectedly interrupted by Carmen.

I froze.

Jesus. I sure as hell hope he didn’t hear that last part.

He threw open the door to his office and sauntered confidently into the open kitchen, holding a clipboard and a pen in his large hands. I prayed his mind was truly focused on the inventory check and not our conversation.

Oh God, why did I say that? Now the only image clouding my brain was me, sitting atop his nose.

Shit!

Why did he have to look so fucking good all the time? Can’t he look bad for once in his life? It would sure help right about now as I was finding it increasingly difficult not to imagine myself cumming all over his beautiful face while he vigorously tongue fucked me.

Carmen slowly became aware of two sets of eyes boring into the side of his skull. He paused his scribbling to cast a glance in our direction. His beautiful blue eyes darted between us, meeting both of our gazes before tearing away to look at the other.

“Um- hi guys…”

He said hesitantly, seemingly unsure why we were both gaping at him as if he had just interrupted a serious confession. Richie bobbed his head.

“Cousin.”

I followed suit.

“Carmen.”

Carmen arched his brow and shifted his body so that his torso was facing us.

“Uh-are you guys alright?”

His gaze continued to dart back and forth between ours. Every time he captured my stare, my heart instinctively skipped a beat.

God, what kind of sick thoughts have I polluted my mind with?

“I’m great.”

Richie chimed in.

“I’m great as well. Uh-we were just talking about…”

Come on, think of a lie!

“...baseball.”

Stupid! Stupid, stupid, stupid! Thankfully, I was unable to blush as all the blood in my entire body had rushed to my core.

“Oh yeah, I was just tellin’ Y/N here about that cubs game last night.”

“Oh…”

Carmen’s voice trailed off into the tranquil air.

“Alright.”

His gaze landed on me, and he held it.

What’s he gonna say to me?

What’s he gonna say to me!

“Keep your eyes on that sauce, chef. Don’t let it burn.”

Right, of course.

“Right, of course. Sorry chef.”

Despite wanting to gawk at him a little longer, I tore my eyes away from him. He was most definitely suspicious, and the last thing I wanted was to make it worse.

“Richie, you can head out if ya’ want. We close in thirty minutes, and I don’t expect much more business.”

Shit.

I knew Richie would accept his offer. It wasn’t in his nature to deny going home early. So, with the exception of a few dishwashers, I'd be completely alone with Carmen.

Great, just great.

“You sure about that cousin?”

Oh my God.

Please stay.

I never imagined in a million years that I'd want to spend more time with Richie. But if he stayed, I would most likely avoid an awkward confrontation if Carmen had overheard me.

“Yeah, I’m sure. I think Y/N and I can hold down the fort.”

There was complete silence. I didn't turn around. I keep my gaze fixed on the sauce.

He most certainly overheard me.

Otherwise, why would he ask Richie to leave?

“Alright.”

No! My heart began to race. My hands began to shake.

Shit! I hadn't been paying attention. The sauce had begun to burn. The vile stench of burnt flour filled my nose. I cringed.

“Ah! Shit.”

I mumbled under my breath.

“Are you alright, chef?”

Do not stand next to me and breathe down my neck. That was the absolute last thing I needed right now.

He approached me, and his hot breath grazed my neck. Goosebumps rose along my skin.

Fuck.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just... accidentally burned the sauce.”

He glanced over my shoulder, his chin lightly brushing against my shoulder. My throat tightened.

“It’s alright. Don’t sweat it. Just throw it out and do it again.”

Fortunately, there wasn't much going on, or I'd be subjected to his piercing screams as he frantically bolted around the kitchen.

“Yes chef.”

I angled the skillet over the trash can, scraping every drop of burnt liquid into the trash.

“Good luck.”

Richie whispered when Carmen vanished from view. He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. I sighed in frustration.

“You’re the one that instigated that stupid conversation. I’m placing all the blame on you if he asks.”

Richie placed his hands on his hips. He was sickeningly arrogant. I just wanted to smack that stupid little smirk off his face.

“If he asks? You seriously think there's a possibility he didn’t hear nothin’?”

“Sh!”

I placed my finger over my lips.

“Why do you always have to talk so goddamn loud? He's out of sight, not out of earshot.”

“Sorry.”

Richie apologizes, his tone lacking sincerity. I didn't expect anything more.

“I sure as hell hope he didn’t hear anything.”

Richie noticed my tense posture and unconscious scraping of the empty pan. He chuckled.

“Relax honey-”

I glared at him. He cut himself off.

“Relax Y/N. He ain’t gonna fire you.”

I didn't respond. I returned the skillet to the stovetop and began remaking the sauce.

“But fine, if it puts you at ease, then blame me. He hates me anyway.”

"Thanks, Richie, you're a real doll.”

“You owe me one.”

“I don’t owe you shit.”

Richie scoffed. But he was far too cheerful to be angry. The subtle frustration quickly faded and died.

“I hope to see ya’ tomorrow, Y/N.”

“The feeling is not mutual, Richie.”

Richie leaned against the counter, catching my attention. I mockingly scowled at him, over exaggerating my exasperation.

“How’d you get to be such a saint?”

He inquired. He placed a hand over his chest, as if moved by my insult.

“It’s a God given talent, Richie, something you wouldn’t know about.”

He recoiled, pretending to be hurt.

“I would be offended, but I’m the one that gets to go home while you gotta face my cousin.”

I quickly glanced to the left to ensure Carmen was still out of sight.

“Don’t rub it in.”

Richie chuckled.

“Alright, goodbye for real this time.”

I didn't respond. Carmen reappeared shortly after Richie had left. He stationed himself only two feet away from me.

Great.

Fabulous.

Were his hands shaking?

Was he blushing faintly?

Hell no. That’s all in my head.

It'd be in my best interests if I stopped staring at him. I reduced the heat, afraid that the sauce would burn a second time and make it obvious that I was distracted. Carmen took an onion from the plastic container and began chopping. His typically quick hands were moving at a glacial pace.

“How are you?”

He asked.

“I’m pretty good, and yourself?”

Carmen shrugged nonchalantly.

“I’m alright. Kinda expected today to be busier, y’know?”

I scraped the pan to ensure the sauce ingredients were thoroughly combined.

“I get it. I mean, it’s a Saturday. Where the fuck is everyone?”

Carmen laughed, but it sounded forced. He didn't seem particularly pleased, nor did he smile. I bit my tongue.

“We may try out to-go’s tomorrow. Y’know, just see if it works. Personally, I think we should get a handle on everything before we try out a completely new fuckin’ system, but Sydney is pushin’ me.”

He was rambling. Carmen was never this talkative.

“I think to-go’s might be a good idea.”

Carmen pursed his lips into a straight line.

“There’s potential for it to be successful. The downside is that it also has the potential to blow up right in our fuckin’ faces.”

I tucked a stray hair behind my ear and glanced at Carmen through my fingers. He kept chopping slowly, his biceps flexing as he pushed the blade through the vegetable. The knife was dull. Carmen could feel my gaze. He cast a glance at me. As our gazes locked, a surge of heat pulsed through me. I quickly dismissed it, returning my attention to the sauce. Which, if I may say so, was progressing quite nicely.

“So, what were you and Richie talking about?”

I gulped audibly. Oh God, here we go. It’s time to address the giant elephant in the room.

“I told you. We were talking about baseball.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really.”

His jaw muscles pulsed as he clenched his teeth.

“Forgive me if I don’t believe you.”

He murmured. I wouldn't have heard his words had I not been paying attention. I scoffed loudly.

“Why don’t you believe me?”

“Cause…”

Carmen’s voice trailed off, his Adam's apple bobbed as he gulped.

“Cause…”

He wasn’t cutting anymore. His grip on the knife became white knuckled. My playful smile dropped.

“Cause I heard you talking. The walls here are thin.”

Shit.

What should I do?

Apologize?

“I’m sorry Carmen.”

Carmen gritted his teeth, muscles bulging from his cheeks.

“Shit-I don't even know why I said it. I was just being stupid. I was just-,” I was rambling, “I was just making a joke-”

“You don’t need to apologize.”

I zipped my lips.

“Were you being serious?”

What?

He was mumbling.

I didn’t hear him correctly.

“Sorry, what?”

Carmen had a crimson face. He was unable to look at me. His empty eyes were fixed on the half-chopped onion resting on the cutting board.

“I-I asked if you were serious.

Was he seriously asking if I would be willing to sit on his face? I shrugged nonchalantly.

“I mean… kinda.”

Carmen’s bottom lip subtly quivered.

“Kinda?”

Oh my God.

He really was asking me if I’d be willing to sit on his face?

“Well, I mean. If you must know than yes. I was being serious.”

The air around us became tense as the silence lingered.

“Why?”

I asked, deducing that he most likely wasn’t asking me because he was simply curious.

“Cause, y’know, you could, if you wanted to.”

He turned to face me, a lustful undertone hidden behind his pupils.

“I mean- I’m not great at that kind of shit but- like- I wouldn’t mind giving it a try… Y’know, if you’d be up to it.”

It was my turn to blush. I mean, I’d definitely be up to it. I wasn’t lying when I said I wanted to sit on his face.

“Uh. Sure.”

My breath shuddered, and my words faltered as a result.

“Like, when?”

Carmen shrugged while flinging fictitious dust specks from the counter.

“I don’t know. Like, right now is good with me.”

Right now!

He wasn’t being serious.

“We can go to my office.”

Oh my God he was being serious. I gaped at him, wide eyed.

“Sure.”

I said hesitantly, still unsure that this was really happening. I was expecting him to laugh and say this was all a big joke.

Carmen nodded.

“Perfect. Um… I’ll be waiting.”

As he pushed past me and made his way to his office, his shoulder touched me. The feeling lingered. I stood still, in shock, gazing aimlessly at the plain wall.

What.

The.

Fuck.

I gently pushed the door open, peering into the dimly lit office. Carmen sat, the heel of his hand resting on his brow. I allowed myself to stare. He hadn't noticed my presence yet. My gaze was drawn to the veins protruding from his well-defined biceps. My eyes followed the threads downwards, halting when they landed on one of his numerous tattoos.

My breath hitched, a sudden wave of heat traveling to my core. I could feel wetness pooling between my thighs.

His palm was pressed against the crotch of his pants.

Shit.

He was cupping himself through his jeans.

“Hello.”

I said softly, opening the door slowly so as not to startle him. Carmen quickly redirected his attention towards me, resting both hands on the armrests.

“Hello.”

I closed the door gently behind me, trapping us. We were now cut off from the rest of the world, and the possibilities were limitless.

“Carmen if we stall any longer I’m gonna start having second thoughts.”

Carmen’s eyebrows shot upwards.

“Alright, alright. Let’s get this show on the road then.”

He stood, tugging subtly on his clothing in a futile attempt to hide his growing erection. Carmen lay flat on the floor, his gaze fixed on the ceiling.

I couldn't help but laugh. I'll be honest: he looked a little ridiculous.

“What?”

I waved my hand through the air.

“Oh, nothing.”

Oh shit. I suppose it was my turn to get naked. I kicked off my shoes and shakily undid my jeans, pulling them down until they encircled my ankles.

“Just- if you want me to do something different then-then just tell me because I don’t think I’ll be able to talk because…”

His voice trailed off. I chuckled.

“Because I’ll be sitting on your face?”

I dragged my soaked panties down my legs, adding them to the messy pile of clothing.

“Y-Yeah, exactly.”

Carmen chuckled, but it was an extremely uneasy sound. He was clearly nervous. I couldn't fault him. My nerves were also quite prevalent.

The cool air brushed against my now bare legs, raising goosebumps along my skin. I sauntered over to Carmen, his wide eyes following my every move.

“Shit.”

He mumbled under his breath.

I straddled his waist, running my open palms along his torso, hoping to somewhat reassure him. The strong muscles in his stomach rippled. I bit back a moan as the dull pulsing of his abdomen had slightly stimulated my aching cunt.

“Just- whenever you're ready.”

I nodded, shuffling upwards until I was straddling his neck. Carmen stared at me. His blue eyes were soft and his plush lips were slightly parted. His cheeks encompassed a hint of blush.

“I’ve been ready for a while now.”

I said, staring down at him with a faint smile prevalent on my lips. Carmen swallowed.

“Me too.”

I ran my fingers through his greasy hair. Carmen groaned through a closed mouth as I raked my nails along his scalp.

I positioned myself above his face, admiring his lust blown pupils before sinking down atop his nose.

“Fuck.”

I murmured, my eyes instantly fluttering closed as the tip of his large nose brushed against my swollen clit. Carmen began to hesitantly lap at my velvety wetness, his calloused hands wrapping around my plush thighs to hold me in place.

“Jesus Carmy.”

It was one thing to fantasize about it. When I was in the situation and could indulge in every minute touch, it was a completely different experience.

Carmen began to gradually grow more confident. His tongue began to eagerly penetrate my wet folds. And he bobbed his head in such a way that his nose stimulated my swollen bundle of nerves.

I furrowed my brow in pleasure. The coil within my lower abdomen was tightening. At this point, any sense of unease had vanished.

His nose gave a particularly pleasant nudge to my clit. I convulsed, arching my back as my entire body tensed. My fingers tightened around the roots of his hair. Carmen moaned, the vibrations resonating within my stomach.

My head lulled forward. Carmen’s lively eyes met mine.

“My God Carmen. Your mouth is fucking immaculate.”

My voice was shaky. I couldn't muster a confident tone. He began to quicken his movements, his eagerness growing as a result of the praise.

Shit, he liked that.

“You’re so good Carmen, you make me feel so fucking good.”

I reached behind me. Carmen moaned loudly against my cunt as I tenderly cupped his rock hard erection through his jeans. Surprisingly, his movements didn’t falter. I maintained intense eye contact, preserving the link between our psyches.

“Does this turn you on baby? Does it turn you on when I sit on your pretty face?”

Carmen whimpered. I scoffed breathily, gently massaging his erection.

“Soon I’ll return the favor. I bet your cock would feel really good in my mouth.”

Carmen instintivley jerked his hips against my palm. My abdomen was now pulled tight. The pornographic sucking of his mouth agaisnt my clit was making my brain foggy.

“Fuck Carmy I’m gonna cum.”

I threw my head back, continuing to palm his clothed erection as Carmen erotically ate me out. Every precise movement of his tongue delving between my folds along with the manner in which his nose subtly grazed against my clit was sending me spiraling.

“I bet you’ll look really pretty with my cum all over your face.”

Carmen readjusted his face, his warm lips now wrapped around my clit. He gave a particularly hard suck, and with that, I released. I moaned loudly, praying to the universe that no one was lingering around after hours.

Not that I really cared. I was far too engrossed in the erotic sensation of my boss’s mouth to be thinking of anything beside my freight train of an orgasm that was sweeping throguh my body.

Carmen continued to gently eat me out as I came down. I removed my hand from his cock, refocusing my attention on him. He was lapping at my juices desperately, wanting to prolong this feeling for as long as possible.

When I assumed he was satisfied, I shifted my hips downwards until I was straddling his waist. My cheeks flushed hot as I took in the sight of my wetness completely coating his chin.

“Jesus Carmen. You look hot.”

He licked his lips, a faint smile playing on the corners of his mouth. I leaned forward, giving him a quick kiss. My taste coated my tongue almost instantly.

“Do you want me to put your cock in my mouth?”

I whispered seductively.

“Uh…”

I pulled back.

“I don’t have to if you don’t want me to.”

I said this with as much sympathy as I could muster.

“No-No, it’s not that I don’t want you to, it's just…”

I cocked an eyebrow.

“I don’t think that’s necessary.”

Necessary?

I reached back. Perhaps a subtle touch will entice him to accept my offer.

I furrowed my brow in confusion.

He was soft.

Oh.

I couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Did you cum in your pants?”

Carmen blushed.

“Y-yeah.”

His bottom lip trembled.

“Sorry.”

I smiled, placing my hands on either side of his head to gain the necessary leverage to press my lips against his.

“It’s alright.”

I mumbled reassuringly.

“I think that’s really fucking hot”

#fanfic #imagine #imagines #x yn #x you smut #x fem!reader #x y/n #x female reader #smut imagine #x reader #carmen berzatto x you #carmen berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto #carmen berzatto smut #the bear #the bear fic #the bear fanfiction #the bear fx #the bear season 2

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callsign-joyride · 1 year

Text

Rules & Regulations | 0.3

Summary: You work in the human resources department at NAS North Island. A noise complaint at a hotel leads to some unexpected endeavors - and an ironic workplace romance.

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x reader (no use of Y/N)

Content warnings: Hangman being Hangman, Rooster being kind of shy, fluff, fade to black sex

Series Masterlist | Next Chapter | Previous Chapter

The sounds of grown men shouting from down the hallway were making it hard for you to sleep. Looking at the time on your phone, you sighed before getting up and sliding your shoes on. Once you got to the room where all of the noise seemed to be coming from, you started pounding on the door.

“It is one in the fucking morning and I’m sure there are kids here! I can hear you three doors down!” You shouted. Right as you were about to start knocking again, someone opened the door.

“Hey, the name’s Hangman. Uh, sorry about the noise but the only way for you to get us to be quiet is if you… Give me your number.’

Of course someone who looked like that would act like this.

“Oh, sure. It’s 8675-not-your-fucking-business! Jesus Christ, just be an adult and be quiet!”

Hearing all of the commotion, someone else got up and pushed Hangman out of the doorway.

“I’m Bradley. Sorry about him, he wasn’t raised. What can I do for you?”

You sighed and tried to explain the situation again without getting too loud. Bradley nodded his head and listened as you went over everything that had been going on.

“I’ll get them to be quiet. Here’s my number, so you can text me if we’re still being loud. I’m so sorry that we bothered you. Hopefully, I’ll see you in the morning?”

“Yeah, sure.”

Bradley got his friends to quiet down, that much was clear as you settled back into your bed. Even though things had since quieted down, you still texted Bradley to tell him how much you had appreciated the short interaction. It was another one of those nights where you fell asleep texting because you were exhausted, but you also didn’t want to stop texting him. He texted you the next morning to ask if you would get breakfast downstairs and if you wanted to sit with him and his group. Part of the reason that you said yes was that you knew that Natasha was in the group. You found Natasha sitting in one of the booths, so you sat in front of her to wait for Bradley. She had told you that the guys didn’t really know who you were aside from the situation last night, but it wouldn’t look weird if you sat with her.

It didn’t take long for Bradley and the rest of the group to find you after exchanging several texts and muttering to Natasha how stupid most men are. He seemed slightly surprised that you already knew Nat, but he didn’t think much of it as he took you over to meet the rest of the group.

“This is Fanboy,” he said.

“Oh, so you were one of the ones fucking around in the lobby last night. Just when I thought it couldn’t get worse,” you said. The comment was so out of pocket that the other guys had to laugh.

After you formally met the rest of the group, you got your breakfast and sat with Bradley. The two of you were so deep in conversation that it didn’t feel like anyone else was in the room even though Hangman stared daggers into you after you laughed at one of Bradley’s jokes. You kept the conversation going as you made it up to the rooms.

“Hey, do you wanna go out sometime? I’ve really enjoyed talking to you and I want to get to know you more over dinner if that’s okay?”

You smiled.

“Of course. Are you doing anything tonight? There’s this really good seafood place a few minutes away if you’re into that.”

“I’m not doing anything anymore. Yeah, I just canceled my plans. What kind of place is it? Like, do I have to dress nice?”

“You don’t have to, but I would like to see you in your dress whites. You look really good in those. I think I’m just gonna wear a t-shirt and shorts, though. I’ll pick you up at six.”

Bradley wouldn’t have admitted it, but he was glad that you said yes to the date. He was even happier that it didn’t seem like you wanted to wait. Time could not go by fast enough. All you wanted was to spend time with Bradley, but it didn’t make sense to pick him up earlier than you had planned. Instead, you spent most of the day with Nat. The two of you mostly talked about Bradley (of course), but she didn’t seem to mind.

“He’s a really great guy. Plus, he knows that I’ll rip his plane apart if he fucks this up. Don’t tell anyone that I said that.”

The comment made you giggle. Natasha sat on your bed as you went to the bathroom to check your makeup and reapply your perfume. It was finally nearing six, and you figured that there couldn’t really be harm in being early this time. Ten minutes to six counts as six, right? It was hard to figure out why you were so nervous. Natasha and Bradley were friends, she said that he was a good guy. There really shouldn’t have been anything to worry about because it felt like the entire date was in your hands. Bradley looked nice. He wore a simple Hawaiian shirt and a pair of shorts, so you balanced each other out.

The drive wasn’t long, but it was somewhat anxiety-inducing. You couldn’t tell if Bradley wanted to listen to music on the way there or not, and you didn’t know his taste. That wasn’t something that you wanted to mess up, either. It didn’t take very long for you to be seated at the restaurant. You made light conversation as you ate, and it was getting to the time when someone had to pay the check.

“If you think that you’re paying, you’re sorely mistaken. Don’t even try to take your wallet out of your bag,” Bradley said as he pulled his card out of his wallet.

“I picked the restaurant and we just ate like a hundred dollars in seafood. I’m paying.”

“I can spend a hundred dollars. How about this, you can pay for the next date and I’ll pick what we’re doing, okay?”

Nat was right. Bradley was a real charmer because you were fairly certain that you were going to pay for at least your portion of the meal. He was a good tipper, too. You handed him your phone when you got in the car and let him pick the music. It shouldn’t have surprised you that he picked an ’80s playlist, but it wasn’t the first genre that you thought he would go for. Everyone was flying back to North Island the next day, so you didn’t have that much time left with Bradley.

“I really want to kiss you right now. Is that okay? Can I kiss you?” He asked when you were outside the door to your room. You chuckled and pulled him down to your level before leaning in to kiss him. One of his hands was on your waist and the other was on the back of your head. You separated so that you could open the door to your room without any difficulties, but you looked at him with lust-filled eyes and he knew that he was a goner.

“What time do you have to check out tomorrow?” You asked.

“Nine.”

“Oh, we have plenty of time,” you said as you dragged him into the room.

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stratiotis-nth · 3 years

Text

Castiel has been able to see Glimpses of people’s future when he meets them for the first time—specifically when he first makes eye contact. It’s the big family secret and Castiel hates that he’s the one stuck with it. It’s infuriating—Gabriel asks if Castiel could make eye contact with some hot guy or girl to see if he’ll get lucky, and Castiel ignores him every time.

He doesn’t see the person’s entire life when he looks like them. It’s more like…a tsunami of information. Sometimes it’s images or feelings or sounds. Usually, Castiel can’t make heads or tails of what he experienced, so he stopped trying to interpret them a long time ago.

At this point, the flood of information is an annoyance, and he’s done his best to just avoid eye contact altogether.

Maybe that’s why Castiel is so quiet and keeps to himself. He doesn’t like meeting new people if only to avoid the data dump of another person’s future. He’s thankful he doesn’t get Glimpses when he looks at anyone he’s already Glimpsed, because he’s never be able to look Gabriel in the face. And anyone who Castiel had accidentally Glimpsed before have long since disappeared from his life, and Castiel is such a recluse that he hasn’t had a new friend in years.

Until Gabriel was an annoying asshole.

His older brother practically wrestled Castiel out of the house they shared to go clubbing. It had been a close fight and Castiel had gotten damn well near to biting Gabriel’s arm—but he eventually lost because Gabriel threatened to trample Castiel’s carefully cultivated garden in the backyard.

For the sake of his plants, Castiel reluctantly ducked into Gabriel’s obnoxiously bright red Camero.

“This is a stupid idea.” He grumbled, crossing his arms and keeping his hands tucked firmly against himself. “I’m just going to be standing there staring at the floor like an idiot.”

“No, you’re gonna keep that chin up and meet some people, Cassie.” Gabriel said briskly as they drove to Downtown. “Glimpsing a few people isn’t gonna change your life. You need friends, my bumbling, weirdo brother.”

“I can live my life just fine without friends, Gabriel.” Castiel snapped. “I have you, my cat, and my garden. I work from home and can support myself if needs be. What else do I need?”

Gabriel sighed.

“You’ll always have me, Cassie.” He said. “But have you ever thought about what you want?”

No. Of course he hadn’t. Castiel hadn’t had the luxury of knowing what he wanted since he first discovered the Glimpses.

“Your Glimpses shouldn’t be what stops you from having a life, little bro.” Gabriel continued firmly. They were in Downtown now, string lights lighting the two way street and neon signs making the air gleam in multicolor. Castiel’s chest clenched with anxiety, carefully avoiding the stream of bodies moving up and down the sidewalks in case he made eye contact with as passers by.

Gabriel pulled into the VIP spot of his nightclub, Sugar+Spice and grinned at Castiel.

“C’mon, brosky, time to swim amongst the fishes.” To complete Gabriel’s inspiring speech, he slapped two condoms into Castiel’s hand and ducked out of the car before he could throw them back.

Grumbling under his breath about invasive brothers, Castiel begrudgingly followed Gabriel through the back entrance of the club.

It was loud, hot, and chaotic. Despite not having made eye contact with anyone yet, Castiel’s senses were immediately overloaded with noise and light. He could barely hear Gabriel over the din, risking a glance up in an effort to read his lips.

This way. He seemed to be shouting. Gabriel grabbed his hand and tugged him along anyway. Castiel allowed himself to be dragged, bumping through a crowd of people with his eyes fixed on their passing feet.

Gabriel took him up to a slightly quieter, less crowded second floor and sat him down at the bar.

“Alfie!” Gabriel called to the bartender, rapping his knuckles on the glass bar top. “Dirty Shirley for my fruity brother!”

“Gabriel!” Castiel hissed. He didn’t necessarily care if people knew he was gay, but he didn’t want Gabriel going on trying to get him laid.

“Coming up, boss.” Alfie called, already moving nonstop and smoothly as he tended to the other patrons lining his bar top.

“See ya, Cassie.” Gabriel clapped his shoulder. Castiel’s heart seized with terror.

“Gabriel, don’t you dare—“

“Sorry little bro, I’ve got club owner responsibilities to attend to.”

And then, Castiel was alone. Alfie’s slim hand set a red-pink colored drink in front of him and moved on before Castiel could think he would wait a second for a thanks. He was probably too busy to care for social expectations like please and thank you.

Castiel didn’t know how long he had sat there, hunched over his drink and staring at the bar top resolutely. Gabriel could drag his ass into public, but he couldn’t make him talk to people.

People seemed to catch the hint to leave him alone, or maybe Alfie had warned them against it before Castiel could sense their presence. Some tried, though, but Castiel just shook his head. That was usually enough to leave him be.

It was well after 1 AM when he’d finally had enough sitting around and staring at his drink to ward off horny one nighters. He stood, determined to find Gabriel and force him to take him home. He was tired, anxious, and terrified of this place and of people. He didn’t like Glimpsing—it was like intruding into their privacy and instead of doing it intentionally like how a burglar would invade a home, it was hurled at him when he didn’t want it. The last time Castiel had Glimpsed, the images and noises had been too much. It had overloaded his mind and nearly made him pass out from the onslaught.

The last time he had Glimpsed was the first time he’d met a future serial killer. One could imagine why Castiel didn’t like Glimpsing anymore.

He pushed his way through the crowd, trying to find Gabriel’s recognizable white dress shoes amongst the writhing sea of legs and lower bodies.

Castiel finally reached the stairs, the door swinging shut and blessedly blocking out the din of the dance floor. The peaceful silent lasted for only a moment, though.

“Whoa, Jesus!”

Castiel slammed into a very solid form and went tumbling backwards, his back hitting the bottom staircase with a painful thud before he toppled back onto the concrete floor.

“Shit, shit, shit! I’m so sorry! Jesus fuck, here, lemme help—“

The person he collided into was scrabbling down the last few stairs, kneeling over him and grabbing his arms.

“Hey, man, you okay?”

Castiel’s entire body was ringing with the aftershock of his fall. His back throbbed painfully, already promising a nice purpling welt.

Maybe it was the pain, or maybe the ringing in his head muted out higher reason, or maybe just fate, but Castiel drifted his gaze to stare at the person who had run into him.

The moment he met the pair of green eyes the color of matcha and wild grass, he was assaulted with an onslaught of Glimpses.

Warm, comforting yellow and orange, the color that light up a home on a cozy, winter night.

The sizzle, pop and bang of fireworks in a dewy field, ringing with a pair of laughter. Bursting, bright colors lighting up a starry sky.

Metallic, greasy smell of an auto shop, the sharp chemical scent of acrylic paint, the words Winchester Auto in neon lights on the top of a busy garage and art studio.

But the main image, the one that always came through crystal clear when he had a Glimpse—

was Castiel himself.

He couldn’t force the image away, or what followed after.

It was Castiel, looming over the man’s point of view with his arms braced on either of his vision. His own face was slack with pleasure as his entire body moved up and down in a very obvious thrusting motion. His eyes were bright and wide and so full of something warm and gentle and careful that Castiel didn’t believe he could ever really do that.

He closed his eyes, willing the main image and surrounding flashes of senses to fade.

“Dude, please tell me you’re okay.” The man fretted, his hands now cupping Castiel’s face and shaking slightly. The way the man was leaning over him looked so much like how Castiel was leaning in the Glimpse that it brought him back to himself.

He sat bolt upright, smacking foreheads with the man and immediately making himself dizzy again.

“Ow.” They both mumbled. The guy scrambled back to give Castiel some space.

“You okay, man?” The guy asked again, staring at him with wide eyes. Castiel’s first reaction was to advert his eyes, but this time for an entirely different reason than the Glimpse. His cheeks burned with the embarrassment of what he had just witnessed.

“Yes.” He managed, but it sounded strained. The man, apparently took that strain as pain instead of mortification.

“Oh shit, you’re probably all banged up, shit. Did the stair hit your back? Did it break the skin?” Suddenly, warm hands were gingerly touching his lower back, feeling for the welt already swelling. Electrical shocks rippled under his skin despite the layers of clothes between him and the hand, but Castiel hissed sharply when the pressure of his fingers hit the welt.

“Sorry, hang on. Don’t move too much, not until I can be sure you didn’t break anything.” The guy was completely unfazed by touching Castiel. It was a gentle touch, but definitely clinical. Was this guy a nurse? Doctor?

“I used to be a paramedic.” The guy answered Castiel’s unspoken speculation. He gently pressed around the welt. “Anything hurt?”

“No.” Castiel managed faintly, his brain already providing unhelpful scenarios where the man’s hand drifted lower and suddenly his last Glimpse was coming true right then and there—

“Okay, I don’t think anything’s broken.” The guy said, sounding relieved. “Can you stand?”

“Yes. It’s just a bruise.” Castiel said, his defenses rising with the determination to never allow that last Glimpse to come true. There were too many risks, too many dangers associated with having friends, let alone pursue a romantic relationship. For this man’s sake and for Castiel’s sanity, he would do everything in his power to stop that Glimpse from happening.

“I’m alright, thank you.” He said quickly, stepping back to allow an acceptable amount of space between him and the man.

“Okay, uh, good.” The guy said, ducking his head sheepishly.

Please don’t. Castiel begged helplessly, staring as the man glanced up at him through his lashes. He was undeniably gorgeous. Light brown hair styled lightly and freckled, tanned skin. Those enrapturing green eyes that made Castiel want to smother himself in that very shade, framed by long lashes. Plush pink lips and a little scruff that Castiel wanted to feel on his skin. Broad shoulders filled a worn leather jacket over a flannel and Henley. Oil-stained jeans and scuffed boots. Rugged and beautiful.

What the hell did future Castiel do to secure a night with this man? How did an awkward, nobody with a fear of people manage to have sex with this perfect, gorgeous man who could get anyone he wanted?

“Sorry about that, man. I swear I don’t go running into hot guys as a pick up line.”

Castiel’s jaw dropped, and the man went very red when he realized what he’d said.

“Ah, fuck. I-I didn’t mean, that’s n-not—shit, I didn’t mean for it to come out like that—“

“It’s alright.” Castiel cut him off hastily. “I’ve actually got to go. I’m supposed to meet my brother and he’s probably worried that I haven’t shown up.”

The man looked embarrassed but startled by Castiel’s hasty retreat. But he moved to let him up the stairs.

He was already a few steps up when the man spoke again.

“Sorry again, man.”

It was a mistake to turn back around, but Castiel did, perhaps selfish enough to indulge in the man’s beauty one more time.

Then something happened that never happened before. Castiel had another Glimpse when he met his eyes.

It was gentler than the first, like an aftershock after an A-bomb.

Deep, sweet spices mixed with buttery pie dough and tangy apple.

A warm, soft red that enveloping his entire body like an embrace to protect and cherish.

The man’s deep, rough voice murmuring “Cas” with such profound affection and care.

Then, Castiel’s voice answering in the same low, gentle caress of soft happiness—“Dean”.

This could not be happening.

#SORRY FOR THE CLIFFHANGER THIS WAS GETTING TOO LONG AGAIN #IM REALLY BAD ABOUT KEEPING THESE SHORT #BUT I KINDA WANNA WRITE THIS FULLY??#MAYBE? idk #supernatural #cas #castiel #destiel #spn #casdean #dean is bi #dean winchester #deancas #destiel fandom #destiel fanfic

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ashintheairlikesnow · 3 years

Note

Ash can I maybe have some soft vampire chris, or soft early chris? Pleeease? :3 -theo-

Not sure if this counts as soft, @boxboysandotherwhump, but...

CW: Vampire whumpee turned caretaker, blood drinking, bad guy death, caretaker turned whumpee,

The duct tape across his mouth feels like a fucking insult more than a gag, and Jake glares at the asshole pressing it in over his lips. The guy meets his gaze with a cockeyed grin.

"Oh, don't look so put out, you're the one who had to come downstairs and interrupt us. Just stay right there, still and quiet, and we'll be in and out before you know it, bud."

He gets a pat on the head, and Jake jerks away from it, his mouth trying to curse without being able to open. The tape pulls painfully and he holds back his wince.

He kicks out, but the guy dodges it easily. His hands are taped behind his back, wrapped again and again with the damn duct tape until it feels like they're cutting off his fucking circulation.

He'd come downstairs for a glass of water, that was all. Just a drink to help himself get ready for bed after finishing up an essay at 1:30 in the morning, and he'd found out people had broken in only when he more or less walked in on them taking the TV right out the front door.

A gun to his back had gotten him on the couch, and now he felt a little bit like the whole roasting chickens you buy at the store all tied up with twine.

"In and out," A second guy agrees, taking Jake's game consoles from the entertainment center right in front of him. "No need to be all fussy about it, man. Not like you aren't insured, right?"

"Cutie like you shouldn't worry about anything." The first guy ruffles his hair.

Jake kicks out again, and this time it lands.

He feels the pain of kicking with bare feet and doesn't care, what matters is the expression of almost comical surprise on the robber's face as he connects with his knee and sends the guy crashing to the ground.

"God damn it!" The guy rubs at his knees, glaring up at Jake before he pushes himself up, pulling the gun out of the back of his pants where he'd kept, swinging his arm to hit Jake across the face with the butt of the pistol.

The pain cracks bright and white in his mind, behind his eyes, and he groans, muffled by the tape.

"Have some fucking manners!" The man snaps, and hits him again, the other side of his face. Pain, again. Stronger than the ache in his cheekbone, though, is Jake's anger.

How dare these assholes? How dare they? Nat is just trying to help people, and here they're walking around robbing her, and she's a better person than she should be, than anyone should be, and how. fucking. dare. they?

He kicks again, connects but the guy stays up this time. He just starts hitting Jake, over and over, with the butt of the pistol.

Again and again.

On the final blow across his forehead, something feels like it snaps, and Jake's thoughts scatter apart, replaced by a dizzy sickness as the world spins crazily. He slumps to the side, dropping onto the soft couch cushion. He's bleeding from his head, now, he thinks.

Head wounds always bleed so fucking much.

At least he can tell the ER doctors the truth about how he got this one.

There's a soft hissing sound that starts up, and Jake can't place it. He blinks once, twice, but he's having trouble focusing. He has a moment of wild incomprehensible worry about if the kettle is about to whistle, if the water is boiling for tea. The two men, though, glance to the side, towards the entryway to the house, where the stairs are, in confusion.

The house is dark. It's 2 in the morning by now, and everything is mostly silent in the world, just the soft buzz of the streetlights by the sidewalk, the occasional rumble of a passing car, and... a strange, nearby hissing.

"What the fuck? Do these idiots have a cat?" Guy 1 grabs a flashlight hanging off some kind of weirdass toolbelt he wears and shines it towards the stairs.

There's a sudden scuffle near the stairs, and the hissing ramps up in volume, becomes a wild, shrieking, inhuman scream.

Jake can't see that far, but he dimly hears Guy 2 exclaim, "Jesus Christ, what is that?!"

"Oh, my God!"

Movement.

The scream seems to echo, to hang in the air, the sound of an animal who feels only fury.

The flashlight drops, shining pointlessly into the corner of the living room, on nothing at all.

Jake stares into the darkness, struggling to see, as one of the men, the one who pistol-whipped him, falls backwards as if pushed, knocked onto his back onto the floor, and... something lands on top of him.

It occurs to Jake that it's Chris just as the little vampire drops his head to the man's neck and then quickly tears to the side, slitting his throat as easily as Jake might cut through butter with a warm knife.

There's a spray of blood, and Jake flinches as some of it lands on his own face, on the couch, spreads across the floor.

Chris raises his head, his eyes reflecting in the dim light, glowing like a cat's with pupils slit with focus, his bloodied mouth open in a snarl.

His fangs seem longer than they were last night.

The man beneath him struggles, weakly, already dying. It takes moments before he goes still.

Chris raises his eyes, and the soft hissing starts up again as he turns to see the other man just as he moves to run.

Jake watches the guy make it to the door before Chris lands on his back, grabbing him by the hair and pulling him back inside, slamming the door. He jerks the man's head back, forcing his spine to arch, baring his neck for the fangs that bury there.

The man stumbles backwards with Chris hanging off his back. He makes it one step, two steps, three, and then drops onto his ass on the floor, clawing at Chris, at his hair, his face his shoulders.

His mouth is open in a scream, but the sound seems so far away, like it can't fight the volume of Chris's shrieking battle-cry from before, the wild call of a hunt.

The vampire locks on, and as the venom takes hold the man's fight suddenly ceases. He slumps, seated on the ground, chin dropping to his chest.

For a second, the only sound is the sickening liquid noise of Chris swallowing, again and again. Then he purrs, the rumble loud enough to echo through the room as he drinks, soft satisfied little hums making their way out of his throat. His hands knead of the man's shoulders where he holds him, like a cat kneading its paws into a blanket. It lasts a few seconds. Less than a minute.

It feels like forever.

When he finishes, he pulls away, stands up, and lets the man's body drop onto its back on the ground, the slack, wide-eyed expression lit by the beam of the flashlight still lying on the floor.

Chris turns to look at Jake, and his mouth and his shirt are drenched in blood. It's everywhere, and he looks every inch the monster vampires are said to be. Bloodthirsty and thoughtless, except that he doesn't look like he's still hungry or hunting.

He looks worried, and a little bit scared.

And so, so very young.

So... human.

"Jake?" His voice is slightly thick, and Jake tries not to think about why it sounds that way. "Are, are, are you okay?"

Now how in Christ's name does he answer that question?

He just shakes his head - pauses - and then nods.

It takes a couple of minutes for Chris to get a washcloth, wetting down the edges of the tape, pulling it free of Jake's mouth and then wetting again, bit by bit. It hurts less than it would otherwise. All Jake can smell is blood, and he gags, but at least he doesn't throw up. He's got that going for him, right?

His head throbs, until Chris leans over and licks the wound torn open across his forehead. The wet cool tongue is slightly rough, and Jake shudders in disgust and then...

Then, the pain in his head is simply gone.

"Wh-what-"

"Ssshhhh," Chris says, softly, pressing at his cheek, watching him wince. "I, I, I can't heal the, um, the, the bruises. Those are underneath. Does-... does, does anything, is anywhere else hurt?"

Jake blinks, and slowly shakes his head. "Chris, have you-... have you killed people before?"

Chris meets his eyes, and gives a very small smile.

"Yes."

"When?"

"Before, um. Before... you."

@burtlederp @finder-of-rings @endless-whump @whumpfigure @astrobly @newandfiguringitout @doveotions @pretty-face-breaker @gonna-feel-that-tomorrow @boxboysandotherwhump @oops-its-whump @cubeswhump @whump-tr0pes @downriver914 @whumptywhumpdump @whumpiary @orchidscript @nonsensical-whump @outofangband

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mellointheory · 3 years

Text

inhaling smoke, i just awoke pt. 2

Red is curled up on his couch, a blanket wrapped around his shoulders and a rapidly cooling styrofoam cup of instant noodles clasped between his hands. He ate about half of it before he got distracted by the tv, and the rest served better as a heat source, honestly. It was criminal how cold his apartment was; he was wearing his earmuffs inside, for God’s sake.

There’s a knock on the door and he looks up, setting the cup of cold, soggy noodles on the coffee table. He gets up, still swathed in his blanket, and shuffles across the floor to open the front door. Antfrost is standing there, wearing the same thick green coat from earlier that day, with a long shape that looks suspiciously like a firearm strapped to his back underneath it.

“Are you ready?” He asks.

“I’m always ready.” Red pulls his blanket off and balls it up, chucking it back over at the couch. He picks up his baseball bat, giving it a quick once over to check the coat of red and white paint, then slots it into the straps on his back. His bag is sitting next to the door, the velvet pockets lining the inside carefully packed with the pots that he’d chosen. The sedatives Antfrost had requested, swirl pale yellow in their black cushioning. He’s brought some additional ones just in case; shimmering harsh pinks and purples and blues in the shadows of his bag. Antfrost peers inside his bag and nods in approval.

“How far away is it?” Red asks, stepping outside and closing the door behind him. Antfrost leans against the door while Red locks it, his face peering out of the depths of his green hood. His eyes do glow a little, soft blue light that Red would probably have to get very, very close to have reach him. He adds that to the bucket list.

“It’s close enough to walk; we should have time. And I don’t want to get there until after the doors close.” Antfrost turns and starts walking. His tail is tucked away again, safe from the cold that bites at Red’s hands and face when he follows.

“Can I call you Ant?” He asks. “Antfrost is kinda long, you know.”

Ant shrugs. “I guess I don’t mind.”

“Fantastic. Okay, and what’s your plan then?” Red shoves his hands into his pockets as they reach the street. It’s snowing again. Flakes land in his hair and on his shoulders and melt when they touch his skin.

“They close the doors after everyone’s finished betting.” Red can tell from the bitterness and focus in Ant’s voice that this wasn’t a spontaneous thing; he’s been planning this for a long time. “It’s a warehouse that they took over and repurposed. There’s still catwalks on the ceiling and ways to get in from above. I can drop the gas you made and knock them all out and steal the chimeras.”

“That seems like a solid plan.” Red agrees. “What were you planning before you got me to make this for you, though?”

Ant taps his waist. “I was gonna try to get them with the tranq darts I have, but this will be a lot more effective.”

Red shudders at the thought. “You know tranq darts aren’t immediate, right? They take time to work into your bloodstream.”

Ant is silent. Red quickens his pace to catch up--he has longer legs than him, but the cat hybrid moves with more speed and lightness than he does--and looks the man in the eyes. Ant is only about half a head shorter than him, but the hybrid has his shoulders hunched and is looking down so Red has to lean over a bit.

“You knew that, didn’t you?” He repeats.

Antfrost squints up one eye gingerly. “Maybe….?”

“Jesus, you’re lucky you found me.” Red straightens up and continues walking.

“Well, I’m not sure about that yet,” Antfrost mumbles. Red chuckles.

He can tell when they’re getting close to the chimera fights, because he can hear the cheering. Antfrost pushes his hood back as they approach, his head craned up to scan the side of the warehouse. His ears twitch, little flakes of snow falling on the soft fur and standing out against the dark brown in the harsh lights of the warehouse.

“There’s a ladder over there.” Ant points up, bounding lightly over to the rungs. As he runs his tail untucks from wherever it was hidden away, furling out behind him. It swishes in Red’s face when he mounts the ladder after the hybrid, almost brushing his skin. He wrinkles his nose, eyes crossing when he tries to focus on it.

The snow on top of the warehouse is undisturbed except for Ant’s footprints in it. Red follows the hybrid across the roof to the mouth of a heating vent that arcs from the concrete. The metal tube channels sound and warm air up from the warehouse inside; one of them welcome and the other not. He can hear cheering, and snarling. Ant’s ears flatten back against his skull at the sound and his tail begins whipping around like an angry snake. There’s a quiet growl that Red half thinks is coming from the hybrid’s throat.

“What now?” Red asks, partially to distract Ant from whatever rage is welling up inside his little catboy heart.

“Inside.” Ant ducks over and clambers inside the mouth of the vent. Red glances down inside before he follows. It’s a short drop that Ant somehow managed to make silently, then the thing levels out. He adjusts the bag slung over his back and eases himself down inside as slowly as possible. Nevertheless there’s a quiet clang as his boots hit the metal, and Antfrost hisses a quick shush at him. Red drops to his hands and knees and starts crawling down the vent after the hybrid.

“There’ve been far nicer reasons for me to get on my knees for someone,” he whispers. His voice echoes a little against the metal walls. It’s dark in the vent, and he can only barely see the movement of Ant’s tail in front of him. It’s a pity, just a couple more degrees of visibility and he’d see something much more pleasant to look at.

“This is a little bit more important than sucking dick,” Antfrost’s voice wafts back at him.

“Agree to disagree.” Red says. The noise of the cheering below them is now too loud for him to hear what Ant says in reply.

Antfrost’s back drops down from Red’s view and he sees the vent has opened up. When he looks out he finds a catwalk spanning the ceiling of the warehouse, with Antfrost already crouched on top of it. Below them is a throng of the cheering, shouting audience surrounding a ring in the center of the floor made out of concrete barriers. Two chimeras are fighting in the ring, a blur of blood and fur and scales. Red has a strong stomach for gore, but that doesn’t mean he finds it at all pleasant to see what the things are doing to each other.

He lands on the catwalk next to Antfrost. The hybrid jumps, then shakes himself.

“Give me the sedative,” Ant whispers, holding out his hand. His eyes are focused on the ring below.

Red reaches into his bag and pulls out one of the glass bottles; luminous pale yellow liquid swirling behind the glass. He reaches to put it in Ant’s palm, then pauses.

“What’s your tolerance level?” He asks.

“What?”

“Chemical tolerance. You’re a hybrid--it’s definitely been documented for you.” Hybrids are treated like second class citizens; shuffled around to keep more survivable areas of the city habitable for normal humans. Most hybrids have their chemical tolerance marked down somewhere so the government knows what areas they can dump them in without having them immediately die. Red has unusually high tolerance for a human, which is part of why he chose this line of work.

“I don’t know, seven?” Ant whispers back.

“It’s on a scale of one to a hundred, idiot.” Red reaches into his bag and fumbles around for a mask. There’s a screech from the creatures below.

“Red, they’re dying.” Ant says, trying to snatch the bottle out of Red’s hand. Red relents and shoves it into the hybrid’s palm. He pulls out the other two bottles he’s prepared, waiting as Ant arches back his arm to throw.

It’s a work of art, his aim. The first bottle lands directly in the thick of the audience and shatters, the liquid inside turning to gas the second air touches it. It balloons outward, clogging the air with thick yellow mist. Antfrost grabs the second bottle and hurls it so it breaks directly in front of the double doors that serve as the exit. The people down below are panicking; it’s like stepping on an anthill.

Red is good at his craft. A few seconds, and they’re already collapsing. Antfrost throws the last bottle; ensuring the entire warehouse floor is coated with heavy yellow fog. There are hybrids and cyborgs, here and there, who are only momentarily confused by the attack from above, whose systems are too resilient to the gas and are now gathering their bearings. One of them looks up and sees them.

Antfrost tackles Red to the catwalk. It shakes when they hit the metal and he’s momentarily stunned, to stunned to even protest. He still hasn’t gained his breath back when one of the cyborgs on the floor opens fire, bullets punching into the railing and barely missing them. Ant leaps off Red, whipping a crossbow out from under his coat. He aims down below, pulling the trigger. Red is still on his back trying to reinflate his lungs, and he can’t see if Ant managed to hit any of his targets.

A bullet strikes uncomfortably close to his head and he rolls upright, charging across the catwalk with one hand shoved into his bag. He fumbles for a bottle, then stumbles as something severs one of the wires from which the catwalk is hung. There’s the screech of metal and they plummet.

The good news: most of the onlookers collapsed near the edges of the room, not in the center where they fall, and the only casualties are two of the four hostiles still on their feet. The bad news: there are still two people trying to kill them.

Red Red struggles to his feet, yanking his baseball bat out from the straps on his back. Antfrost glances over at him, just for a moment, then leaps backwards as the cyborg swings a fist at him.

Red doesn’t have time to spare concern for Ant, because there’s a hybrid with claws and fangs and a nasty grin on her face charging at him. She has three arrows bristling from her shoulder, and she’s unsteady on her feet. He sidesteps, grips his bat firmly in both hands, and slams it into her shin. She collapses, lashing out at him with a clawed hand. He hops backwards on one foot to avoid her, stomps the tip of the bat to the ground to stabilize himself. She lurches forward, dragging herself with her good side, and sinks her claws into his calf. Red’s first reaction is, he must admit, a dumb one. He tears himself away and is rewarded with claws ripping through the muscle of his leg. Fucking Christ it hurts.

He falls just out of the reach of the hybrid. She has too much tranquilizer in her bloodstream to get up again and she’s already going under. Red tries to reach for his black bag only to realize he dropped it when the catwalk fell.

Catwalk.

Cat.

Antfrost.

He snaps his head up to see Ant dangling from the grip of the cyborg. The hybrid snarls, his hands wound around the arm at his throat. His claws are fully extended and scrabbling against the black metal.

Red screams the first thing he can think of as loud as possible.

“HEY, CUM SLUT.”

The cyborg whips his head towards Red, glowing yellow eyes narrowing. His grip loosens in his momentary distraction, and Ant thrashes forward, sinking his teeth into the man’s shoulder, where metal meets flesh. Red wonders what he has to do to get the catboy to bite him like that.

The cyborg hisses a swear and slams Antfrost to the concrete. Red panics and grabs the fallen baseball bat on the ground next to him. He hurls it towards the fallen hybrid.

A brown-furred hand snaps up and snatches the bat out of the air. Ant rolls backwards, dodging a punch from the cyborg, and leaps to his feet. He bends his knees, grips the bat, and swings.

Red painted that bat months ago in red-and-white stripes out of paint he mixed himself. It was combined with a little chemical mixture that turned acidic when it moved at a fast enough velocity. Red had never been able to swing it fast enough to get those decorative stripes to transform into something that could burn through whatever it hit in milliseconds

.Antfrost, on the other hand, can.

The bat sheers straight through both of the cyborgs legs, eating through the metal like it was butter. The cyborg hits the ground, his legs severed at the knee.

Ant gives an incredulous look at the bat in his hand, then lowers it and bounds over to Red.

“Are you okay? What happened?”

“Claws.” Red says brightly, trying to ignore the warmth seeping from his leg and the burn of the gashes through his muscle. He likes pain sometimes, in certain circumstances, but these are not the type of circumstances he tends to enjoy.

“Do you have a painkiller in your bag?” Antfrost drops to his knees next to Red.

He screws up his face. “Something like that.”

Ant turns and leaps over a few inert bodies, grabbing Red’s bag from the wreckage of the fallen catwalk and bring it over. He puts it down and latches his hands under Red’s arms, pulling him into a sitting position.

Red unzips the bag and pulls out a small vial that shimmers a tantalizing blue.

“You know, they say never get high off your own supply,” he says wryly as he uncaps it, “but this is an exception.”

It tastes like melon milk and fizzes a little as it goes down. Damn, he really is a good producer. The lady who ran the pharmacy he worked at couldn’t make one of these taste good for the life of her.

The pain in his leg fades and he relaxes. Antfrost has climbed into the ring and is picking up the two sedated chimeras, carrying them carefully to the empty cages next to the ring and laying them down inside. He takes the cages outside through a small door labeled Exit, and through a rising haze of uncanny calmness, Red wonders if he’s just leaving. He would be concerned about it, but even with his high tolerance the drink he took is getting to him. He doesn’t feel high or buzzed, just calm.

Ant runs back inside, empty handed this time, and comes over to Red. He bends down to look him in the eyes.

“Are you—were your eyes always that…shiny?” Ant asks.

“Yeah, it’s from exposure.” Red replies. He stares back into Antfrost’s eyes: large blue wells, with his pupils widened in the low light.

“All the chimeras are loaded into a truck out back. Can I carry you?”

“You can pick me up any day, Ant.” Red tells him.

The hybrid slides his arms under Res’s back and legs and heaves him up, walking carefully to the door. His arms are warm and his fur is soft where it brushes against Red’s skin.

Antfrost helps him climb into the passenger’s seat, then runs around the front of the truck to sit behind the wheel. He starts it with the keys still in the ignition and spins the wheel, pulling out from behind the warehouse.

Their section of the city is already near the outskirts, and the drive probably doesn’t take long. Probably. Red’s thoughts wander as Ant drives, thinking about animals and chimeras and acid paint. He snaps back to reality when they’ve officially left the city. It’s easy to tell, because outside is a wasteland of hills and trash.

Ant pulls over on the side of the road and stops the truck.

“Can you walk?”

Red glances down at his leg thoughtfully. The effect of his mixture is wearing off, and it stings slightly, but he nods anyway.

They unload the cages one at a time, driving a little way in between each one. The chimeras run as soon as Ant opens the cages, smart enough to head for the hills.

The last one they unload is the larger of the two that were in the ring when they broke in. It’s still sedated, so Ant leaves the door wide open and then sits on the ramp of the truck to wait for it to wake up.

Red climbs up beside him, shivering a little at the cold night air. “What about the other one?”

Antfrost casts a glance back into the truck. “It’s not doing so good. Too hurt to let out.”

Red looks at the cage with the aforementioned creature. It’s some kind of cat creature with horns and spikes on its back, its shoulder torn open in the fight. It sleeps fitfully.

“Are you sure they’ll survive out here?” He asks.

Ant rests his chin in his hands, hunching his shoulders. “I mean, I did.”

“You lived out here?”

Ant nods. “I’m not actually from Hypixel City. I lived out here until some people came promising opportunities and riches. It was bullshit. I was barely any different from them.” He nods at the still sleeping chimeras in their cages.

“They made you fight?”Ant nods. “For a while. Then Bad came and got me out.”

Red stares at Ant’s ears and the velvet-soft fur on them, the pads on the palms of his hands, the twitch of his nose. He sneezes, rubbing at his whiskers with one hand. Red wonders about the kind of madman who looks at the catboy sitting next to him and forces him to fight in a pit for entertainment.

“I’m cold.” Antfrost says suddenly. Red deliberates for a second, then scoots over and wraps a hand around the hybrid’s shoulders.

“What about you?” Ant asks, staring at the open cage on the ground and the sleeping chimera inside.

“What about my past? Well, nowhere near as bad as you.” Red laughs at the thought of comparing their childhoods. “I have unusually high tolerance for a human, so i started working for a pharmacist. Maybe I accidentally mixed something wrong and blew up the area.”

Ant gives him a sideways look. “Maybe?”

“Maybe.”

The hybrid chuckles, letting his head rest on Red’s shoulder. “Thanks for doing this, Red.”

“For you? Anything.” The words are bold, but he’s not in the mood to hold back his thoughts at the moment.

Ant doesn’t reply, but there’s an unmistakable rumble in his chest that Red immediately identifies as a purr. They sit there for a long time, under the moon in a wasteland, waiting for a creature to wake up and leave its cage.

They talk, about colors and toxins and friendships and names. They sit there until the chimera wakes up slowly, stretching its limbs, and scrambles out of its cage as fast as possible.

And in a toxic wasteland under a yellow moon, sitting on a stolen truck, Red kisses the love of his life for the first time.

Three years later and he wakes up to the chill of a winter morning.

Antfrost is lying next to him, curled around him to soak up as much heat as possible. Red moves to get up, but his boyfriend mumbles something in protest and somehow wiggles even closer to him. Red relents and lies back down, wrapping his arms around the hybrid.

And, finally, his hands aren’t cold.

#velvetiscake #antfrost #ppcrew cyberpunk #mello writes #long post

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andypantsx3 · 4 years

Text

conspire | 2 | first date

pairing: Todoroki Shouto / Reader

length: 13,307 words / 5 chapters

summary: Shouto Todoroki had definitely only asked you out in order to ward off his horde of interested suitors. So why does he keep actually taking you out on suspiciously realistic dates?

tags: romance, reader-insert, fake dating, misunderstandings

warnings: aged up characters, eventual smut

The next morning, your classmates wouldn’t shut up about it.

The rumor of your rendezvous with Shouto had spread like wildfire through the school, and you were assaulted by a wave of questions the second you turned up to modern lit. “Is it true?”, “Is he your boyfriend?”, “How do you know him?”, “Is he a good kisser?”, all blended into a cacophony of sound that nearly bowled you over as you stepped through the door.

You felt your face grow hot under their scrutiny and quickly stuffed yourself into your desk. “Yes, we’re dating. No, I won’t answer other questions about it.”

“Come on,” Miko--the girl in the desk closest to you--begged. “You’re dating Shouto Todoroki, the cutest boy in school, and you won’t even tell us how you know him?”

You wracked your brain for something close to the truth. “We, um, got along really well on that support item project last month. It’s nothing special.”

Miko’s mouth opened to fire off another question, but Mr. Cementoss cut her off with his arrival, launching immediately into his lesson plan. You sent up a silent thank you to whichever patron saint of fake dating had been listening.

The rest of the school day passed much the same way, and you wondered several times if the price of your senior project was perhaps too high.

You’d known that Shouto was something of a celebrity due to his parentage, supreme good looks, and incredible power--even outside the walls of UA--but you hadn’t really thought through how that would affect the people who stood closest to him. Knowing what celebrity looked like and actually experiencing it for yourself were two very different things, you found. You’d never been subjected to attention like this before and you weren’t sure that you liked it.

By the time Saturday rolled around, you’d started to wonder if you shouldn’t just call this whole thing off.

The sight of him that morning, however, immediately robbed you of your resolve.

He’d asked you to meet in front of your dorm mid-morning, and he showed up looking unfairly handsome in well-fitted jeans, a grey scarf, and a dark jacket with a high collar that framed his sharp jaw. He looked good, way too good for this early in the morning. You felt a shiver go through you, and not just because of the cold.

“Good morning, Y/N,” he greeted you, the corner of his mouth curling. He gestured with something in his hands and you found your eyes drawn to two takeout coffee cups from the cafe just outside the school gates.

Okay, he was a literal angel and forgiven for everything you had been through this week.

“I didn’t know how you liked yours, so I got all the extras,” he said, handing a cup over to you and turning out a pocket to unveil a mound of sugar packets and tiny creamer containers.

You smiled, feeling warm. “Thanks, Shouto. Pretty sure every support engineer has bypassed the need for modifications at this point and just mainlines straight from the coffee pot. Black is perfect.”

He grinned down at you. “Too many late nights?”

You groaned at the tidal wave of memories. “Support items should just build themselves.”

He laughed and gestured you to follow him, leading you out of school grounds and to the nearby train station.

“Where are we going?” you wondered as he ushered you onto the train. He herded you into a corner and stationed himself in front of you, one arm extended to hold the bar over your head. You wondered if it was something like a natural instinct at this point for hero students to assume a protective position, as Shouto’s choice had the effect of shielding you from the rest of the train car.

“I...asked around about you,” he admitted, looking a little embarrassed. “I’ve been told that your interest in quirks and support items doesn’t just end at the classroom door.”

You flushed. You were kind of a nerd, he had your number.

“I’m taking you somewhere I think you might like,” he said. He took a sip of his own coffee, varicolored eyes glinting down at you over the rim of his cup.

You nursed your own coffee as the train rolled into the city, resisting the urge to close your eyes and lean into him. It was something you might do with an actual boyfriend, and as cute as it was that he was taking you out on a real life fake date, you didn’t think he would appreciate you putting the moves on him.

He led you out of the train at the city center and down a few blocks, finally pulling you into a building with a very modern glass facade. You recognized it at once.

“The Support Museum!” you chirped happily, your interest picking up. They had an interactive exhibit going on right now that you and some classmates had talked about coming to see. Your fingers suddenly itched with the need to test out some of the items.

Shouto looked at you from the corner of his eye, a flash of curious blue. “This is okay?”

“Hell yeah,” you intoned, picking up the pace to get in front of him. “If you’re cool with being bored to death for the next six hours while I have a great time, then this is perfect.”

He gave you a dry look. “I care about support items.”

You scoffed. “You have like, one.”

A slow smirk overtook his features. “Maybe you could convince me to add more.”

Something hot flashed through you and you gave yourself a hard pinch through the fabric of your jeans. His tone seemed laced with insinuation, but you knew better than to buy into it. It was just hard when he was looking at you the way he was.

Damn him for having a face like that.

“Careful,” you said, trying to reroute your brain, “you’re signing yourself up for a whole lot of wild rambling and weird tangents.”

That soft smile pulled at the edge of his mouth again. “I’m used to it. Midoriya, my best friend, is a lot like that.”

You’d been in the room with Izuku Midoriya before and didn’t doubt it. The boy could certainly give you a run for your money. If he wasn’t equipped with the wildest quirk you’d ever seen, he would have made one hell of a support engineer -- you were probably lucky you didn’t have to compete for grades with a mind like that.

“Treat me like white noise,” you said as he shouldered past you to pay for tickets.

You let out a noise of protest when you noticed what he was doing, but he pressed you back from the ticket counter with a strong arm you couldn’t get around. It seemed only too easy for him to hold you off and pay for tickets at the same time, and it was slightly offensive. Maybe you needed to put in more time in the support course gym.

“I asked you out,” he said by way of explanation after you complained all the way through coat check, only shutting up when you were distracted by the sight of him in a soft tee shirt and blue button up. “I should pay.”

You made a dismissive noise. “It’s not the nineteen thirties anymore, dude. I can pay for my own stuff.”

He turned to you with a wry look. “Are we fighting about money already? Not something I’d thought we’d get to at this stage, to be honest.”

You laughed. “Our first fight as a couple.”

He pinned you with an interested look, something in his gaze growing hot. “Should we kiss and make up?”

Your face instantly went up in flames, like he’d lit you up with his quirk. Jesus Christ, he was a teaser? You’d thought he was just the quiet and thoughtful type -- who knew that he hid an ironic sense of humor underneath all that? This was going to be bad for your health.

“Cute,” you quipped for something to say, marching in front of him quickly so he couldn’t see your face. “Uh, where to first?”

He let you lead the way around the museum, and in minutes you’d pretty much calmed down from the heat of the moment, distracted by the halls filled with the forefront of quirk theory and the corresponding support equipment.

As someone who’d been born without a quirk of their own, the concept had always been fascinating to you, leading you into the support track at UA in your efforts to study quirks and their applications. It was incredible how genetics determined which people had none, and whose ranged from benign improvements like seeing slightly better through fog to more deadly power that roiled just beneath the surface of one’s skin like Shouto.

The deviations in power manifestation stretched the genetics of each human further from one another than they had ever gone before -- sometimes by a full 0.1-0.2% of their DNA structure -- and it was crazy cool. While your speciality was more applied science, you couldn’t deny the biology of it was equally as interesting.

At the rate it was going, people like you could share more genetic similarity with a banana at some point than someone like Shouto. Well, after a couple more millennia of evolution.

Shouto chuckled and you realized with some alarm that you had been babbling all of that out loud.

“Should I be concerned that our children might come out as bananas?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

You gave him a sour look. “You know that’s not how it works.”

He flashed you a cheeky grin and followed you easily as you led the way through the other exhibits.

He listened attentively as you oohed and ahhed over the different displays, asking very pointed follow up questions like he was actually interested in what you had to say. You fell into a very involved discussion about most of the displays, and you realized with some surprise that plenty of time had passed without you realizing it, and that you were having an incredibly good time.

Shouto paid for lunch at the museum cafe as well, affecting hearing loss over the sounds of your protests, and kept up the easy conversation all the way through the meal.

After lunch, you two queued up for the interactive exhibit that you’d initially wanted to see, eventually being let into the exhibit hall in a small group. You immediately lit up like a kid on Christmas.

The hall was studded with actual support items that had been developed for the top twenty heros, ranging from real costume pieces that had been retired to replicas of items currently in use, supplied by the same companies as had built them. The items were free for testing with the caveat that the user had to be careful.

You spent a fair amount of time over pieces of Edgeshot’s costume that had been made from strands of his own hair, allowing it to fold and reshape with the changes to his body, and more time over Ryukyu’s size-changing suit that mechanically adapted to her dragon form.

Shouto stopped over a flame-resistant gauntlet from his father’s previous costume.

“Think you can melt it?” you asked with interest. You wondered how fast they’d eject you from the museum if he succeeded.

Shouto shook his head. “My flames are hot but I doubt it.”

You perked up. “How hot?”

“I haven’t actually measured,” he admitted and you groaned.

“Your super cool quirk is totally wasted on you,” you said. “You have to let me do tests.”

His mouth twitched again. “What kind of tests?”

“Anything you’ll let me,” you said. “Temperature gauges, cryogenic structure analysis, body scans when you use both energy sources. I have my theories as to how your quirk is actually scientifically possible but I need more data.”

“Body scans, huh?” he asked.

Of course he’d seized on that one. God, he was such a boy.

“Yes. We’ll get you all strapped up in wires and those little sticky nodules. It’ll be super sexy, trust me.”

He chuckled, and set a hand to one of his father’s boots that was also on display. “Fine, but later. Want to test this out now?”

You leaned in, nodding, and he let a flame grow in his hand, pressing it to the fabric of the boot. The cloth activated instantly, channeling the flame across the surface of the boot in the customary style of Endeavor’s flaming costume.

“Fuck, that’s so cool,” you breathed, leaning over to read the description of how it worked. “You need something just as obnoxiously showy on your costume. You’re letting your own dad upstage you.”

He laughed again and let the flame die down.

You wandered companionably through the rest of the exhibit, thrilled when it ended in an arcade-like simulation of Wash’s quirk that let you rig up and shoot water around at various targets. Shouto immediately targeted you instead.

“You're supposed to be a hero,” you whined, whipping around to aim your water cannon at him in revenge. “How could you target a civilian like this?”

His hero training had clearly paid off, as he was too skilled at dodging to get caught up in any of your attacks. Your time was called without you able to catch him once, but you left the exhibit with your own shirt sticking wetly to your body. You tried not to wince, thinking of the wintry weather that would no doubt invade the confines of your jacket once you made it outside.

Shouto immediately pulled you to the side of the coat check, however, his eyes trailing down your shirt where it clung to you. You tried not to feel self conscious.

“Let me,” he said quietly, placing a hand against your shoulder. Searing warmth washed over your skin under his hand and you tried not to arch up into the pleasant heat. You stood incredibly still, hardly daring to breathe as he passed his hand lightly over your shirt, taking care not to touch you anywhere too scandalous, though some traitorous part of your mind almost wished he would. This close, you could catch the scent of some light cologne, minty and fresh, and the smell of it made your head spin.

It took just under a minute for him to fully dry out your shirt, each second passing like a small eternity.

You were able to gather your wits just enough to laugh about his bright future in steam cleaning as you tucked back into your coat, then followed him to the train back to campus.

It was nearly dark by the time he walked you back to your dorm, the sun dipping low to kiss the horizon, sunset orange fading into the deep blue of an evening sky. You realized that you’d spent all day with him and had hardly noted the time passing -- he was a very, very good date. Some girl in the months after graduation was going to find herself very lucky with him.

The dorm was quiet as you approached, which was unusual for a Saturday evening, and you realized with a growing sense of horror that your classmates must be waiting quietly, watching for your arrival from inside to see what he’d do. Shouto must have realized the same thing almost the same time that you did, as he stepped into your space at the doorway, catching the sleeve of your coat to pull you close to him.

“Is this okay?” he asked softly, face dipping close to yours. His features were somehow even more symmetrical up close and it was overwhelming to look at. “I quite liked today, so I thought…”

Your heartbeat kicked up in your chest and the tips of your ears went hot as you panicked, tangling your own fingers in his dark jacket like a lifeline. “Y-yeah,” you answered. “This is g-great.”

He smirked, leaning in even closer to you. You held carefully still as you had in front of the coat check, all the nerves in your body straining with anticipation. Then a hot mouth pressed softly to yours, and every neuron in your brain misfired.

The next thing you registered, your arms were around his neck and he was pressing you gently up against the door, his tongue in your mouth and his large hands on your waist. You arched up into his touch, desperate to get closer, twining your fingers in his soft hair.

He gave a low groan and pressed you harder into the door, a hand coming up to cup your face as he did something absolutely criminal with his tongue. So much for his career as a hero.

A muffled shout came from within your dorm and you jerked apart, panting. Your face flamed in embarrassment.

“Wow,” you said dumbly, and the corner of his mouth twitched.

“Wow indeed,” he teased, stepping back from you.

You shook yourself as he did. Right, fake dating. The kiss had been hot but it was only for show--and the show had been successfully executed. You had to resist the urge to drag him back for another.

“I’ll text you?” you squeaked out and he agreed, looking weirdly satisfied as he bid you good night.

You watched him for a long moment as he trudged back down the path to campus, heart beating a frantic staccato in your chest.

Shouto Todoroki was the most dangerous boy alive and it finally dawned on you just what you had agreed to for the next few months. You were so absolutely fucked.

#bnha #bnha x reader #todoroki shouto x reader #fanfic #todoroki x reader #boku no hero academia #todoroki shouto

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lemon-boy-stan · 3 years

Text

white lies, right? - reggie peters

genre: angst. warnings: mentions of suicide. swearing. too much angst. like there’s literally angst in the second paragraph. tears, bye. ps: my inbox is always open if you ever need to chat so just dm me!

“hey, alex - alex said to come check up on you.” his voice makes you jump. reggie chuckles, smiling softly as he backs up behind you. “said you weren’t feeling the best, boo,” reggie wraps his arms around you and hugs you tight, making you grumble loudly.

“i’m fine.” you say through gritted teeth. “tell alex to keep his nose out of my business.” you shove reggie’s hug away and he’s obviously offended because he makes a loud noise to tell you he is and all you do is huff loudly and roll his eyes.

“you’re lying to me again.” reggie called you out, “why can’t you just tell the truth for once?” the hurt in his voice made you flinch and look away. “alex told me about yesterday...” his voice trailed off, broken.

“he said he wouldn’t, i told him to tell anyone, anyone, just not -”

“just not me, right? even though we’re meant to tell each other everything, alex is the first to find out? why? are we not - are we not dating anymore? am i not your boyfriend? y/n.”

“because -” you let out a sharp tearful breath, “i didn’t want anything to be done about it, reg,”

“what do you mean?” reggie was hurt and it was obvious that he was openly hurt. he might not be the sharpest tool in the shed but he knew that he loved his girlfriend.

“i didn’t want a second chance!” you cry out, making him go quiet. “a second chance was the last thing i wanted,” you choke. “when we died, i -”

“you didn’t want to go back,” reggie whispers the words this time and you nodded. “and when alex - i remembered alex taught me how to hold things and how to touch solid things and - and -”

“shh,” reggie coos you, rubbing the red marks on your neck. “but he found me,” you ignore his shushes, “alex found me and i hate him ihatehimihatehim,” now reggie’s crying, openly crying, like you’ve never seen before.

you’ve seen him cry but never like this and it breaks you, actually breaks you. “no, reggie, don’t cry i’m sorry reg, please -”

“don’t cry?” he cuts in, “don’t cry? y/n. you - you tried to - oh my god, you tried to - and you’re expecting me, your boyfriend, not to cry?! i’m sorry i’m being emotional but jesus fucking christ how - you should’ve told me -”

“you couldn’t have done anything about it!” you choke back, fisting your shirt, making him cry more. “we’re already dead!”

“but that doesn’t mean you just get to die again!” reggie’s lip shook, “you can’t just - you can’t just leave us - and -” “it’s not like you’ll be any worse without me,” you mutter.

“don’t you fucking dare,” he hisses the words, “don’t you fucking dare!” you flinch and he sighs, “i’m sorry i yelled at you,” he whispers, “but please, y/n. you are worth so much... you’re worth so much to all of us than you could ever possibly imagine. you... you may not believe it but you’re not just my girlfriend. you’re my lifeline, you have no idea what you get me through... just please... promise me, promise me you’ll talk to me next time. or, or luke. or alex or julie. just please, baby. please just talk to me. there - there’s so much we haven’t done yet, so much. if - if you really did go, i would have to go with you, do you understand me? i would have to go with you. so please, just promise me...”

“okay, reggie,” you whisper, “okay, i promise.”

MASTERLIST - requests for jatp are open!

#reggie peters #reggie peters x reader #reggie peters imagine #reggie peters angst #reggie peters x reader angst #reggie peters angst imagine #jeremey shada #jeremey shada x reader #jeremey shada angst #jeremey shada angst imagine #jatp angst #jatp angst imagine #luke patterson angst #luke patterson x reader angst #reggie peters x reader suicide #tw sucidal thoughts

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not-close-to-straight · 4 years

Text

100% Professional (Eight)

MASTERLIST

****************

"I'm surprised you wanted to meet here." Peter glanced around the coffee shop and then slid into the chair across from Wade. "Not that this isn't a nice place, it's just um--"

"--just that I usually don't take my fucked up face out into pubic places?" Wade finished, and when Peter's eyes opened wide in horror, Wade waved him off. "Don't, Pete. Don't stress out about it. I know that's not what you were going to say. It's my new thing, cutting people off with something self deprecating to take the awkwardness out of the minute. It's fine."

"I was definitely not going to say something about your face." Peter finished slowly. "I was uh-- I was going more for the 'wow Wade, I didn’t think hippies were your people'."

Wade chuckled and Peter relaxed a little more. "Yeah, this is a little granola crunching and Birkenstock wearing for my usual taste. Close to home though, and I'm too lazy to walk much further, so here we go."

"You're walking places now?" Peter smiled when a waitress put down a pot of coffee. "Since when?"

"Group therapy." Wade said shortly. "One of the guys said it helped to walk places because they could focus on the number of steps instead of who may or may not be watching them, and then once they made it about the halfway point, why bother turning around, right?"

"Group therapy." Peter repeated, obviously trying to find the right way to respond to that information. "So um-"

"I didn't ask to see you cos I wanted to talk about therapy." Wade interrupted. "Or about how I'm making an effort to better myself or anything like that."

"Then why'd you want to see me?" Peter poured a cup but didn't take a sip, just cradled the warm cup in his palms instead. "I can't imagine it's to ask me out on a date."

"No." Wade huffed a laugh. "Uh no. That's not it. But I did want to see if maybe you wanted to go to a movie or something, just as friends."

"Friends."

"Something's here, Pete." Wade drummed his fingers on the table, fidgeted at his jacket, scratched at the drawn on eyebrows. "There's something between you and I and even though it's pretty fucking obvious I might never be ready for actually dating, I don't want to lose you completely. So. Friends?"

Peter was quiet and Wade cleared his throat to add, "It's fine if you say no. I get it. It was a weird start because I was basically paying you to hang out with me, then it got worse when I had my breakdown and then it got weirder when I panicked about the date and stopped talking to you for a couple months and--"

He stopped when he realized Peter wasn't even listening. "Pete? What are you doing?"

"Hm?" Peter looked up from his phone. "Sorry, what?"

"You're not listening." Wade tried and failed to keep the shock and hurt from his voice. "Well shit Pete, I knew I made shit weird but I thought I deserved a conversation without the phone out, huh?"

"Oh!" Peter brightened into a smile and turned his phone around for Wade to see the screen. "The theater down the street as an all day marathon of old school horror films since it's Halloween next week. Sound good? They have that pizza joint inside and we could just eat pizza and drink beer and watch terrible horror films all day."

Wade blinked at him and Peter clarified, "I was listening Wade. There's something between and it might not ever be dating but I don't want to lose you either. So let's get some pizza and beer, talk through old movies and figure out when we're going to do it again."

"Just like that?" Wade took a sip of his coffee so it wouldn't be quite as obvious how badly his hands were shaking. "You don't have any questions for me? Or need to say anything?"

"How's your new massage therapist?" Peter pulled out a few bills and tossed them on the table, holding out his hand to help Wade up. "Do you like them?"

"They are 100% professional and very ugly." Wade confirmed. "Super boring and never lets their hands stray anywhere close to inappropriate."

"Wow, they sound terrible."

"The worst." Wade confirmed and when Peter laughed out loud, something wonderful loosened in his chest. "It's good to see you again Pete."

"Mm-hmm." Peter pushed Wade down the street towards the theater. "You buy pizza and I'll buy beer?"

"Sounds good."

****************

First it was movies, Peter and Wade taking advantage of all the Halloween hoopla to watch special showings of classic horror films. They laughed at the terrible effects and cackled at the cheesy lines and got into arguments about whether or not the always blond girl was only hired for the size of her rack or if there had actually been a screaming audition.

"There might have been some screaming but it probably wasn't for the movie." Wade decided. "I feel like her audition took place on a couch, ya feel me?"

"Oh ye of little faith." Peter snorted. "She's obviously talented and was definitely cast for her--" the woman on screen stumbled for no apparent reason and fell into a strategically placed puddle, soaking her white t-shirt clear through. "-- you know what? Comment withdrawn."

The movies were fun, and from there they moved on to grabbing lunch together a couple times a week. Wade got more comfortable using light make up to cover the worst of his scars, he manged to find eyelashes that didn't made him look ridiculous and his drawn on eyebrows no longer rubbed off if he wore a beanie, so he headed down towards the Daily Bugle on Tuesdays and Thursdays to meet Peter at a sandwich shop and talk about their days.

"J Jonah Jameson is without a doubt the crankiest guy in the world." Peter said around a mouthful of meatball sub. "His wife came in and gave him a kiss and he complained about how her chap stick tasted afterwards. He has a beautiful wife who visits him at work just to give him a kiss and he complains about her chap stick? That guy would piss off the Pope, I swear."

"I think the doorman in my building is sleeping with the receptionist." Wade said the next time around, picking at his Italian sub with a suspicious expression. "And I don't mean dating. I mean I went to take the stairs, heard noises I've only heard on the Discovery channel--" Peter snorted soda up his nose when he cracked up laughing and Wade grinned. "--so I took the elevator and lo and behold, no one was at the desk or the door. "

"Oooh sexy." Peter leaned over and snagged one of Wade's fries. "But I got one better. Gwen was protesting at Hammer Tech the other day...

*********

The only natural progression from lunch was dinner but Peter came towards Wade side of town for that so they could try a new Thai place one week and then something Greek another and repeat their favorite taco stand at least six times in between.

Sometimes they met at Wade's apartment and walked together, other times they just met at the restaurant and snagged a table by the window. Sometimes the conversation stayed to light topics, other times Wade would open up about what they were talking about in therapy, or Peter would talk about Gwen and Flash and things would get serious and thoughtful and Peter always had to stop himself from reaching out and trying to hold Wade's hand.

Things were bound to change at some point, they were bound to slip over that line from just friends and give in to the attraction still simmering beneath the surface and it was one night at their favorite taco stand that it finally happened.

"If this kills me, I'm coming back to haunt you." Peter warned as Wade handed him a spicy chicken taco. "I swear."

"Quit being such a puss and just eat it." Wade said impatiently. "It's spicy chicken Pete, quit staring at it like I'm serving you salted dog or something."

It might have been the over whelming spice, it might have been Wade's salted dog comment, but either way, Peter took a bite of the taco and promptly bent over trying to cough his lungs up, gasping for air and chucking the taco to the side so he could hold onto the cart and not collapse.

"Ignore him." Wade told the vendor. "He's a drama queen. Your food is delicious. C'mon Pete, you're embarrassing me in front of the taco guy, pull it together."

"I'm dying." Peter wheezed, clutching at Wade dramatically until the big solder finally laughed and hauled him up, pounding at his back good naturedly. "Wade, save me! Save me!"

Peter finally got his breath back, finally got over the eye watering seasoning and managed to breathe without wanting to choke and straightened up to his full height, wiping at his eyes and scolding, "Do not hand me something new to eat and then hint that it may or may not be dog meat!"

"Sorry, Pete." Wade grinned unrepentantly. "I'll wait until after you swallow it next time."

"Fuck me, I hate you." Peter coughed again and Wade rubbed at his shoulder. "Jesus, that was-- no offense man--" he waved at the taco vendor. "--but I'll stick with the usual if that's okay with you? Spicy chicken is not my thing apparently.”

"One usual coming up." he promised and Peter turned back to Wade, leaning in and resting his forehead on Wade's shoulder without putting any thought into the motion.

Wade apparently didn't think anything about it either, since he slid his arm tighter around Peter's back and held him close, turning his nose into Peter's hair and inhaling the scent of his shampoo. "Sorry about the fireball chicken taco." he muttered, then oophed when Peter pinched his side savagely. "Ow! Damn Pete! Let's work on a safe word before we start getting kinky!"

Peter laughed hard enough to make his entire body shake then, and neither one moved away until the taco vendor cleared his throat and announced, "I have your usual, Mr. Parker."

"Thank you." Peter reached for his food with one hand and linked his other fingers with Wade. "So, ridiculous chicken aside, what else do you want to do tonight? I hear they are putting up lights in the park since Christmas is only a few weeks away? That could be fun, or if if’s not fun, at least it will be sparkly which is just as good right?"

"Pete." Wade looked down at their linked hands and then up at Peter nervously. "What are you doing?"

"Oh." Peter dropped Wade's hand immediately, and even backed up a step. "Sorry. I just um-- sorry. I wasn't trying to pull anything. We're friends, Wade. Just friends."

"Just friends." Wade repeated and Peter added, "100% professional."

"Friends don't have to be professional." Wade pointed out, fighting a smile and the overwhelming flare of hope when Peter lit up into one of those beautiful grins.

"I guess you're right about that. Friends don't have to be professional." Peter inched closer, and then closer again and reached for Wade's hand. "This is okay?"

"Yeah." Wade swallowed hard and nodded. "Yeah, this is okay."

"Lights in the park?" Peter pressed at Wade's palm. "Or do you want to call it a night?"

"...I'm not ready to say good night to you yet."

"Oh good." Peter flushed a little when Wade squeezed his fingers. "I'm not ready to say good night to you either."

****************

SAY SOMETHING ABOUT THE CHAPTER!

****************

@ships-galore @ceealaina @izziebladez @cwar1864 @hausoffro @tonystarkisanangel @multishippinglife @girlnic @iam93percentstardust @paranormalmoonlight5 @igotloki @moosette05 @wayward-student-philosopher @kaz-brekkers-gloves @atomicfandombomb @1fuckingshitup69 @agentlokii @livewire28 @tulipsnbigcats @kimstark @alex-stark-rogers @bibbarnes @heeeyitskay @goindownshipping @quietgayguy @nanita90a @justaniche

@chiby-chan @thanossucks @i-am-worth-it-25 @dan4thefam

#ncts fics #spideypool #peter parker #wade wilson

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bird-in-a-cage · 4 years

Text

In today’s update of Whoops My Hand Slipped, and 100% inspired by smutty voice in my ear ( @cockasinthebird in case you couldn’t guess) and yesterday’s ravenous ghost talk, I present this. Enjoy!

E | 3157 | dubcon, spectrophilia, dom/sub vibes, choking, public sex, light nipple play

L Train

Steve fiddled with his tie, waiting on the platform for the red line to take him downtown. He was nervous, naturally. Not everyone got their foot in the door at Pierce and Pierce. But he had. And without his father's help. He had a job interview scheduled for ten. Nailing it was of the utmost importance. It meant he could stay in Chicago for one, his tiny uptown apartment with the windowsill lined with small succulent pots. It also would prove to his father that Steve wasn't a screw up. He could finally put his adolescent years and all the horrors they held to bed once and for all. Cut all ties with Hawkins and his family for good.

It was more than a job interview.

The platform gradually filled with commuters as the train pulled into the stop, already full of people. Steve had hoped getting a slightly earlier time would have meant it wouldn’t be so busy. He didn’t really want to have to ride an hour through the city crammed in like the fish in a trawler net he now was. But it would be okay. The journey didn’t matter, only the destination. He found a place to stand near a set of doors, facing outwards to watch the city go by, shifting his messenger bag to his front to keep it safe from pickpockets.

Steve knew there weren’t any, but his small town brain wouldn’t let those kinds of prejudices die.

The doors slipped close in front of Steve’s face before the train shuddered and shunted back into life, setting off at a pace through the city. Steve sighed silently to himself and ran through potential questions he might be asked, hands moving between playing with the strap of his bag, to the end of his tie, to brushing through the hair by his ears. All nervous habits and ticks. Never able to properly keep still. He closed his eyes for a moment, mentally picturing the interview. Placing himself as smooth and confident, with all the right answers. The total opposite to how he was in reality. Pierce and Pierce didn’t need to know who he really was.

Steve’s eyes flew open when he felt something touch his chest. There was nothing in front of him but the door, locked tight for safety. Maybe he had imagined the first, but the second time around there wasn’t a chance. It felt like a hand, open and splayed, right in the middle of his chest. The pressure of it slowly moving around to cup a pectoral muscle. It was strange to say the least. It didn’t feel like it was over his shirt though. It felt like it was directly against his skin. Steve glanced around. There was a man standing behind him but facing towards the rest of the carriage, nose deep in a folded up paperback. To Steve’s left was a woman in a pencil skirt, a black handbag pinned under her arm, again facing the carriage, focusing on nothing in particular with headphones on. Steve bit his lip before an embarrassing noise could be heard over the rattle of the engine as he felt fingers circling his sensitive nipple. His brain was suddenly spinning into overdrive, trying to work out what was happening and why. It wasn't another commuter and it certainly was far too direct to just be a haphazard breeze.

Mmm aren’t you a pretty one…

Steve felt his nipple being pinched as he probably resembled an owl, frantically looking around for whoever had spoken. But the voice that had floated around his head didn’t look like it came from anyone nearby. No one else was reacting if they had heard anything, or said anything even. It wasn’t a quiet voice either. Someone else would have definitely heard it. Steve hung his head and breathed hard through his nose. Now wasn’t the time for a breakdown, not on the biggest day of his life. Certainly the most important. Maybe that’s why it was happening. Stress and pressure. Steve closed his eyes again, just for a moment.

Nah ah pretty boy, let me see ‘em. You got real nice eyes.

Okay. No. This wasn’t happening. Not at all. Someone was playing a joke. A hideous prank. Steve kept his eyes shut on purpose now, ignoring the voice that was clearly just in his head. Trying to just breathe calmly and regain some form of composure. It lasted all of two seconds before his now hard nipple got another playful pinch. A noise bubbled in his throat that he had to pass off as a small cough.

Come on princess. I’ll show you mine if you show me yours…

Steve furrowed his brow at that. What did that mean? He opened his eyes, just a crack, and glanced up from his shoes, nearly screaming when he saw blue eyes and a wicked grin suddenly in front of him in the impossibly small space. Steve blinked in fright and it was gone. Like it had never even been there. Breathing wasn’t helping anymore. Not when he could feel something running through his hair, raking fingers combing it back all the way to the base of his neck. It made Steve shiver down to his toes. He loved having his hair messed with. Even a trip to the salon was a danger for being slightly turned on by the hair wash station.

God what was happening? Why couldn’t anyone else hear this voice? Why did Steve suddenly see crystal blue eyes? Why was he having a breakdown now?

The hand left his hair and travelled down his spine, skin prickling in its firm wake, causing Steve’s back to arch with it. Down down until one hand became two and cupped his ass almost posessively. Another noise almost made its way out of Steve’s mouth in surprise.

Jesus baby, look at all this now. Goddamn shame for it to be all covered up in a monkey suit...

Was… Was that a complement? Steve shook his head, trying to get the voice to fall out of his ears, maybe shake loose the part of his brain that was shutting down and allowing any of this to happen. Certainly trying to shake away the thought that this actually felt good. That the hands now kneading his ass were actually pretty nice. Wide and definitely firm. Exactly what Steve liked. For a small moment he let himself enjoy it, maybe subconsciously pushing back, just a little, for more. The voice in his ear chuckled almost knowingly before the whole of Steve’s back just felt warm. Unnaturally warm. Stranger than if he was stood halfway under a heating vent or had his back against a radiator.

Let’s see what else you got huh?

The hands worked their way around Steve’s front, around his waist and down. Behind the messenger bag that was now having to hide the beginnings of a semi, through clothes that apparently he may as well not have even been wearing. Steve definitely felt a hand wrap around his cock like it was just out in the open, circlingly tight and giving one sharp tug. A noise bubbled and popped out of Steve’s mouth before he could stop it this time. An embarrassingly high moan because okay that really did feel good. Steve felt the flush burn his cheeks, keeping his head down towards the floor in the vain hope that no one was paying attention enough to know it was him. All lost in their own pre-work worlds. The voice laughed almost cruel in Steve’s ear. Mocking in a way as the phantom hand started playing more, working Steve into complete hardness, tenting his best work pants and pressing into the leather of the bag. Steve’s grip on the strap of it was turning his knuckles white.

God you’ve got a nice cock princess. Real nice. You got the whole package huh?

The whimper that left Steve’s bitten lips was shameful. He didn’t want this, didn’t ask for this, didn’t even know what was happening but, he didn’t really want it to stop. It had been a good few months since anything had touched him, aside from himself. And whatever was working him over felt so good. Practiced even. Different from Steve touching himself, tighter and rougher, but still good. He dug his feet firmer into the solid flood to stop his hips rocking into the feeling that was taking over, sweat starting to bead on his temples.

Mmm don’t be shy now baby. Bet a sweet lil’ thing like you just loves being all full…

Steve swallowed thick. What could that possibly even mean in this context? In the middle of morning rush hour on the busiest train Steve had ever been on in his life, shunting from station to station through Chicago towards the biggest opportunity he’d ever gotten, being groped and touched all over by an apparent ghost that just haunted the train? Was this a dream or a nightmare? Steve couldn’t even tell anymore. Maybe that was it. Maybe he was still in bed, having a stress dream. His alarm clock would blare any minute, he’d open his eyes and this would all be over. He’d be staring over at the closed bedroom door and not down at his shiny black shoes. He wouldn’t be feeling a small damp spot growing in his briefs. He wouldn’t feel the phantom hand leave his cock and start rolling his balls around slowly like marbles in a wide palm, and he certainly wouldn’t feel another hand around his throat, forcing his head up off the floor and towards the ceiling. An advert for insurance right there in front of him.

Bet you love suckin’ dick, huh pretty boy? Fuck, just made to take whatever you can get I bet. What I wouldn’t give to have those lips wrapped around me. Bet you could swallow me all the way down huh? No problem at all. Bet you ain’t had a gag reflex for a long time now...

Steve’s knees were starting to shake. This was all too much. He still wasn’t sure if it was a ghost or the voice of his subconscious ringing loud and true in his head. Because the voice wasn’t lying. Not even a little. The hand left his throat. Steve didn’t want to admit he missed it, feeling something that felt like a thumb press under the hinge of his jaw, fingers achingly close around his windpipe. He screwed his eyes shut, tight, trying to keep breathing and not pant or moan like his body wanted too, especially when the hand returned to his cock, now stroking with careless abandon.

Steve was going to come. He was going to come right in the middle of a subway train in his best suit less than an hour away from the biggest job interview of his life and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it.

But it wasn’t the stroking that was going to take him over the edge. No. It was the sudden feeling of something blunt and hot pressing up hard against his asshole. His eyes flew open and all he saw was his own reflection in the train doors, a flushed mess sweating out of his own skin like he’d come down with a sudden fever. Steve had enough life experience to know exactly what was going to happen. He couldn’t move from it, there was nowhere to go with everyone packed in like a sardine can. In true honestly he didn’t exactly want to move from it.

You want this baby? I promise it’ll feel so, so good.

Steve could only stare at his own reflection, his own eyes dark with lust and want and god he’d gone completely insane. The hands left his cock and wrapped themselves around his hips. Instinctively Steve arched back, practically presenting. That was his answer. He did want it. He wanted it bad.

Fuckin’ knew it...

The groan Steve heard in his head was sinful. So deep and sexy it was like the soundtrack of a porno playing just for him. But what he felt was even better. So impossibly good. Going from nothing to stretched out and full in just a few short moments with no pain. It was heaven. Steve couldn’t stop the small whimper from his throat even if he wanted too. The man reading the paperback coughed. Annoyed. He’d definitely heard that one. The voice laughed, rocked up and punched the air out of Steve’s lungs, those devilish hands letting go of Steve’s hips and travelling up to his chest again. This time deciding to play with both of his nipples, flicking and twisting and circling around and around. Steve wouldn’t have lips left after all this with how hard he was having to bite them.

He no longer cared what was happening. If he was having a breakdown then so be it, this all felt far too good. Like nothing he’d ever experienced before.

Rock for me baby. Let me know you like it...

The voice was so sultry Steve had no option but to obey, rocking small on the balls of his feet. The voice moaned loud and deep and it just sent pure sparks along Steve’s spine. It definitely felt like something was inside him, something thick stretching him open and fucking him without a care. Steve felt it thrusting in and out, setting a brutal pace straight away that just wouldn’t be possible. God it was incredible. The small wet patch was getting bigger, threatening to leak through and stain, but Steve didn’t have the brain power to care anymore. He shifted his bag ever so slightly over the sensitive head of his cock, using three layers of different materials to his advantage, making his eyes roll back into his head. The voice just laughed and went harder. It was a miracle Steve was still on his feet. Was pretty sure whatever was fucking him was the only thing keeping him upright anymore.

Fuck, look at you. Such a little slut. So desperate for a dick you’ll take anythin’. Ain’t that right princess? Nod for me darlin’, you know I’m right. Say it outloud. I wanna hear it.

Steve bit his lip harder. He couldn’t. That was just too much. That would be admitting that this was good to the world. That wasn’t about to happen. A hand wrapped itself around his throat again, head being dragged back up to the insurance advert, locking eyes with a picture of a smiling woman holding a set of keys. Steve gasped and the grip was tighter this time. The other hand was back around his cock. God he could feel fingers everywhere. Splayed over the expanse of his throat and squeezing. Trailing through his weeping slit, wrapping tight on the strokes up and down then trailing again. The dick fucking him was getting harder somehow, brushing over his prostate with every other thrust. Steve was going to explode. This would be how he died. On the L Train red line. They’d find his corpse with a gaping asshole and drained of every ounce of cum Steve could possibly ever make. No evidence to be found. No motivation for a killer.

Come on pretty boy. Say it. Say you love my cock.

The hand tightened enough for Steve to choke and cough. His brain was swimming. A coil had formed hot in his gut, winding tighter and tighter. Jesus there was no way this was about to happen.

Say it!

“I love you cock…” Steve barely muttered out, gasps and a moan spilling out too. The man with the book coughed again but Steve didn’t care anymore. He was lost in a world of invisible hands and see through dicks and a voice, a deep deep voice that was grunting and panting hot next to his ear. Steve kept rocking back, a deep part of him wanting to just fall to his knees and let this ghost or whatever take him mercilessly.

Yeah you do. Yeah you do. Fuck!

Steve gasped at the feeling of wetness that wasn’t his own, deep inside him. That was extremely real. There was no way it couldn’t be. The ghost kept rocking into him, spilling and apparently milking himself in Steve’s body. He’d never felt so violated before. But it poured pure gasoline on the burning fire. With one more stroke of an invisible hand Steve came in his pants, whimpering like he was about to cry as the world whited out, falling forward to brace his hands on the door so he didn’t just crumble and fall apart. He panted through his nose, deep and hard and heavy. His briefs felt disgusting sticking against his spent cock. The voice laughed breathy, what was probably a nose brushing behind Steve’s ear with apparent affection.

Fuck, that was good. Thanks pretty boy.

And with that everything stopped. Steve was left alone, up against the train doors. The hands and voice totally gone. The only evidence of their presence was buried deep inside him. Steve ran off the train as soon as it pulled into the next station. If it was his he didn’t care. The first lungful of air was bliss. He gulped it down like water in a desert, trying to clear his head, staring at the steel vehicle. If his pants weren’t sticking to him so uncomfortably Steve would argue with himself if anything had even happened.

Blue eyes and that grin flashed through the glass of the doors. They winked and blew Steve a kiss before the train set off again, having to keep time through the city and its next stop.

Steve stayed on the platform for a while. A still beacon in an ocean of moving bodies, mentally trying to process what had happened but he just couldn’t. It was all far too much. Did he really just get fucked by a ghost? No, okay, one thing at a time. Pierce and Pierce. Job interview. He could ditch his briefs and try and block out this morning, he could still try. Piecing together his surroundings the office was only a few blocks away. He still had time to make it. Focus on one thing and one thing only. Don’t let them see the crazy. Prove everyone wrong.

Determined, Steve pressed on. His body felt truly fucked. His insides just felt wrong and out of place in a way that would be amazing if it wasn’t down to a spector’s wicked work. No. Don’t focus on that. Professional, not crazy. It was two blocks down that Steve came to a stop from his march, a sinking realisation setting in. Regardless of the outcome, he’d need to get the same train home. And that thought didn’t fill him with as much dread as it should have.

#harringrove #billy x steve #my writings #tw: dubcon #also on my ao3 #spectrophilia

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neerasrealm · 3 years

Text

Nathan’s Arrival

HIIIIIII did anyone order a jeffverse fanfic?? no?? well too bad, you’re getting it anyway. Also this contains a LOT of other people’s characters. Dally and Grease belong to @t3chnomancer-lich, Nine, Stat and Praline belong to @carnalhaus and Blondie belongs to @consensual-castration (tumblr let me tag people challenge) Anyway, enjoy! Word Count: 2333

The room smelled funny. Musty, iron-y. Like...blood. At least he associated the smell with blood. He moved his head, a quiet groan escaping him. Ugh. where even was he? The surface around him was hard, and the floor felt uncomfortable under him. At the very least, his headache from the night before was gone. His eyes cracked open slightly. He was in a kitchen. It took him a few moments to realise it was the kitchen. The one he’d raided last night. He glanced to his side, realising with horror the fridge was still wide open too. ‘’Fuck-’’

And then the door across from him swung open. His head snapped to the side, staring with wide horrified eyes at the man standing in the doorway. Tall and muscular, Jeff could clearly see his strong arms due to the white wifebeater he was wearing. His black hair was messy and long, tied back in a ponytail. His skin looked burnt, discoloured in places, and his face adorned stitches on either side of his mouth. In an instant, his dark eyes were fixed on the smaller boy sat on the ground before they flicked to the fridge.

‘’Ey, what the fuck?!’’ he stared at the fridge, as if in shock, before storming over. Jeff skittered backwards, away from the man who heavily reminded him of trailer parks he’d found himself sleeping in. He stopped at the fridge, rummaging around before his head snapped to the boy. He was glaring, angry as all hell. ‘’What the hell is your problem?!’’

Jeff flinched. ‘’I-I-’’

‘’You ate my damn jerky?!’’

Was- was he...was this guy angry about Jeff eating his beef jerky rather than breaking into his house? He didn’t have much time to think about it or say anything though, because he was abruptly grabbed and yanked up. He yelped, gripping the angry man’s wrist out of panic. ‘’What the hell?! Who the fuck do you think ya are, huh?!’’

‘’P-please I-’’ Jeff glanced around, desperately looking for a way out. God why did he have to put his knife in his backpack instead of his pocket?! His eyes fell on the doorway and they widened. More people were in the doorway! A teenage girl with bleached bangs and a much shorter boy with a...really weird face. But he wasn’t in any position to judge. ‘’Help!’’

‘’Stat what the fuck, are you doing.’’ the girl grunted. The man, apparently called Stat, snapped his head over to her. He snarled.

‘’Bitch ate my jerky!’’

‘’Yeah and you’re bein’ loud as fuck!’’ the girl snapped back. Her head snapped over to Jeff and her eyes narrowed. She strode over, her thick heels clomping against the kitchen tiles. She grabbed Jeff’s face, squeezing his cheeks and shoving her own face in his. He tried to pull away but her sharp acrylic nails dug into his leathery skin instead. She snarled, looking at him with disgust. ‘’Ew.’’ she eventually said. She looked at Stat. ‘’Put him down. He looks like he has a fuckin’ disease.’’

Stat growled and dropped Jeff. Still panicking, his head snapped to the side and he lunged for the window. The girl behind him yelped and snatched him, making a quiet noise that reminded him of a motor revving. She held him aloft with surprising strength and he squirmed in her arms. She suddenly smacked him before dropping him again. He yelped, holding his sore face in his hand, seething. His head panged and instinct seemed to suddenly kick in, making him swing his fist back and try a punch. The girl grabbed his arm and yanked him, sending him stumbling feebly into the counter.

‘’Nice one Lina!’’

He looked over his shoulder, taking in the room again. There were two other ways out. The back door, and the kitchen door which was wide open. He bolted for the kitchen door, past the weird-faced boy. Freedom and safety seemed to be right in his grasp, but then he smacked face first into a wall. With a feeble yelp he fell back, his gaze travelling up slowly. He froze.

That wasn’t a wall. That was a person. A giant as wide as he was tall. Eyes obscured by jet black hair, showing only a slit-mouthed smile. A terrified yell escaped him and he scampered back, whirling to his feet and bolting for the backdoor.

‘’Jesus christ someone gettim!’’ Stat yelled.

‘’Gettim yourself!’’ The girl, presumably named Praline, yelled back. Stat snarled and ran over, grabbing Jeff’s backpack and yanking him to the table. He yelped and thrashed, panicking like a wild animal. His head pounded, the voices filling it again and making him want to kick, punch, scratch, claw, bite-

‘’What on earth is going on in here?! Stat! Oh dear lord is that a child?!’’ a new voice to add to the people Jeff was trying to identify and differentiate. It was higher pitched, with a southern drawl. Stat huffed, turning his head to the side. Jeff followed his gaze, glancing over at the door where two more people had joined the giant. He didn’t get a good glance at the other as he was distracted by the thinner, blonde man wildly gesturing and pointing at Stat. ‘’What do you think you’re doing?! Let go of him, the poor thing!’’

Stat’s face scrunched up in disgust. ‘’You stay outta this, ya fuckin’ fruit!’’

‘’PFFFT- HAH!’’

‘’Stay out of this Dally!’’ the blonde snapped his head over to the small boy from earlier before turning back to Stat. ‘’Let him go! Right now!’’

‘’Like hell I’m listenin’ ta you! You wanna fight or somethin’?!’’

‘’Stat,’’ another new voice. This one deeper and more relaxed, but still cautious. Jeff looked over at the voice’s owner. He was shorter and his face...half of it was obscured by black hair, and the other half looked horribly burnt. He padded toward Stat. ‘’Let the kid go.’’ he murmured. Stat scrunched his face up. It wasn’t until the man-giant crossed the kitchen and set a gigantic hand on Stat’s shoulder that he let go, shooting Jeff an unhappy look. Finally free from the angry trucker’s grasp, he sat up, looking around in fear. It was then he noticed something. All of them had...scars. Some similar to his own. Burns and a slit mouth. He blinked to make sure he wasn’t imagining it. ‘’You okay there?’’ The half-burnt man’s voice made Jeff turn to him. He crawled back on the table, trying to put distance between himself and him. ‘’Did Stat hurt ya?’’

He paused for a moment. No, no he...hadn’t really been hurt. Stat was rough but- it would bruise at worst. He palmed at his face where he’d been smacked. ‘’...t-the girl hit me.’’ he finally mumbled.

The half-burnt man seemed to study Jeff for a moment before turning to the blonde. ‘’Blondie,’’ he said. ‘’Can ya take him to your room? Away from the others.’’

‘’Of course,’’ Blondie turned to Jeff, smiling kindly. He held out a hand. ‘’Come on dear, let's get you away from these brutes, hm?’’ he shot a glare at Stat, who rolled his eyes. Deciding he’d rather be with the friendly southerner with the girly nickname than the angry truck park resident, Jeff clambered off the table and followed him out of the kitchen. He glanced around the house as they walked. It seemed big- that was the reason he’d even broken in here in the first place. The house was big, and big houses meant rich people, and rich people meant plenty of food. Blondie led him to a bedroom. As he stepped inside he looked around.

The bedroom seemed cozy. A nice rug on the floor, vinyls on a shelf, ornate furniture. It seemed homey. Comfortable. ‘’Here we are,’’ Blondie murmured behind him. ‘’I’m terribly sorry about all the hassle in the kitchen- but you’ll be safer here.’’ he shook his head, muttering to himself. Jeff hesitated, then slowly walked over to a wall and leaned against it. Close enough to the door but still casual enough for it to look like he was relaxing. Sort of. Blondie walked past him and took a seat on the bed. Jeff glanced around. The room looked...harmless. No sign of weapons. Of course, there were objects that could be repurposed into weapons. The plastic flamingo on the bedside table looked particularly threatening.

Blondie looked him over for a few moments. Jeff shifted. He looked a mess and he knew it. Long black hair flying out every which way, scruffy stolen clothes, a black backpack that was torn and stained with mud and blood, not to mention his skin...leathery and white, scarred with a permanent smile. Blondie tilted his head, smiling kindly. ‘’What’s your name dear? If you don’t mind telling me.’’

Jeff stared back for a second. Names. He didn’t give his name away, not in situations like these. Too risky. Police knew his name. He wanted to get out of the house, preferably without killing anyone. Could he even fight his way out? With so many people?

‘’...Nathan.’’

‘’Nathan! Wonderful to meet you dear,’’ Blondie held out a hand to him. ‘’I’m Blondie.’’’ he smiled. Jeff- or rather, Nathan, reached over and shook his hand. He looked at Blondie for a moment. He had scars on his face- he’d been too panicked to really give them more than a glance before, but now he could see that and they were faded to an extent. Two lines running up from either corner of his mouth and another running across the bridge of his nose, along with a couple others. Nathan’s eyes lingered on the scars on Blondie’s cheeks for a few moments too long. Long enough for Blondie to notice. He didn’t seem offended though. Instead he tilted his head. ‘’Would it...be okay for me to ask you a couple of questions, Nathan?’’

He hesitated for a second, then nodded. Blondie smiled. ‘’Good. For a start...how old are you?’’

He shrugged. ‘’...sixteen.’’

‘’Sixteen...’’ Blondie seemed to ponder on his age for a moment. Nathan shifted. He didn’t exactly look it- with his face mutilated and burnt, not to mention he didn’t exactly eat properly, so he hadn’t grown as tall as he probably should’ve. He looked away. ‘’And...where did you come from?’’

He glanced at Blondie. ‘’What do you mean?’’

Blondie furrowed his brows. ‘’What...made you come here?’’

Made him come here? What did that mean-? Nothing had...made him come there but- thinking about it...the past few weeks had been- weird. He kept going in a certain direction. Something in him wanted him to get somewhere. But that feeling, that need to keep moving was...gone. Replaced with a...weird contentment. ‘’I-I dunno…’’ he looked away. ‘’I mean I- I did break in because I wanted food…’’ he licked his dry lips, feeling slightly guilty.

Blondie nodded, smiling kindly once more. It reassured Nathan slightly. ‘’That’s fine. You don’t have a home, do you?’’

He blinked, surprised by how blunt he was. Then nodded. ‘’No- no not really…’’ he shrugged. He looked at Blondie for a long moment. Something about this house felt- weird. Not a bad weird but...thinking about it now, Stat had been burnt, with scars on either side of his mouth. The giant monster that had scared the shit out of him earlier had the same scars he and Blondie did. Was that all a coincidence? That everyone here had the same scars as him? He opened his mouth, about to ask- what exactly he was going to ask he didn’t know but- either way he was interrupted by the door behind him opening.

‘’We okay in here?’’ Nathan actually jumped in surprise. His head whipped around, staring at the half-burnt man from before with wide eyes. He relaxed a bit and gave a small nod, leaning against the wall again. The other man walked past him and sat on the bed beside Blondie. ‘’You got a name?’’

‘’N-Nathan.’’

He nodded. ‘’I’m Grease. Sorry about earlier. It’s nothing personal.’’

‘’Honestly- I don’t know why we still keep Stat around when he’s such a- such a ruffian!’’

Grease rolled his eye. Clearly he had heard this a few times too many. Instead he focused on Nathan. ‘’So, Nathan…’’ he looked him over for a long few moments. ‘’Can I ask ya something?’’

‘’Sure.’’

Grease shifted before he spoke again. ‘’Ya got Jeffery anywhere in your name?’’

Nathan froze. His muscles tensed, his eyes filling with fear. They knew. Or at least- Grease knew. He recognised him- he must have! He gulped. ‘’Li-Listen I-’’ he pursed his lips. ‘’I-I do okay but- listen I don’t wanna hurt anyone I-!’’ a feeble whimper escaped him. ‘’...please don’t call the cops…’’

Blondie frowned, sad at the boy’s panic. Grease shook his head. ‘’We’re not gonna do that.’’ he looked at Nathan. He was...reassuring, in an odd way. Fatherly. ‘’Promise.’’ Nathan gave a small nod, relaxing a bit. ‘’My name’s Jeff Bartosz,’’ he pointed at Blondie. ‘’Jeffery Devereaux.’’

Nathan paused. ‘’I-I’m...Jeff Woods. Nathan’s my middle name.’’ he frowned. ‘’Can I- uh- ask something…?’’

‘’Shoot.’’

‘’...where am I?’’ something was up. The same name? Similar scars and burns? ‘’Is this like...a cult or…?’’

Grease shook his head, smiling a bit. ‘’Not a cult, no,’’ he looked at Nathan for a long bit. ‘’...how about I explain that later, huh? You look like you could use some food first.’’

‘’And perhaps tea,’’ Blondie suggested. ‘’If you like it of course.’’

Nathan cracked a small smile and nodded. ‘’That- that’d be really good-’’ he slowly slipped his hands into his pockets. ‘’...thanks.’’

‘’Of course dear,’’ Blondie stood up and crossed the room. He paused at the door, looking at him. ‘’Do you like chai?’’

‘’Never had it.’’

Blondie chuckled. ‘’Well then I’ll introduce you, hm?’’

Nathan gave a small nod. ‘’...yeah. I’d like that.’’

#jeffverse #N-Jeff #jeff the killer #jeffery woods #jeffery nathan woods #Nine jeff #<- too lazy to tag every jeff im using this one for clout #creepypasta #creepypasta fanfic #creepypasta fanfiction #writing #my writing

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anamikaa · 3 years

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Beatrix Kuroki and Miriam Brooks: Bad Guys

This story is a second part of a round robin story. Its part 1 'Absent Friend' was posted by @kino-indiana . You can reblog with your own addition or you can check out @kino-indiana for more round robin stories.

⚫⚫⚫⚫⚫⚫

Miriam woke up to a buzzing sound of an alarm clock. The bedside clock showed the time 7:00 am. She could probably get an extra hour of sleep, since her school had been suspended for two more days for the death of a fellow student, but she chose not to. After a shower and a breakfast, she decided to call that girl Beatrix.

Last night, when Beatrix came up and offered help, all she could feel was relief. But thinking back with a clear mind, it seemed a little reckless to trust a complete stranger with a matter as grave as murder. On the flip side, Beatrix could provide her with some vital information that could help her investigation. Hopefully, it’s something concrete enough to convince the others of Stillman’s murder. Shoving all her doubts in a metaphorical box Miriam finally hit the call button on her phone.

Beatrix Kuroki was on her fourth cup of coffee of that morning when her phone started ringing. Without looking at the contact name, she knew it was the girl from the last night, Miriam. Subconsciously, her fingers tightened around the half-empty coffee mug. The uneasy feeling in her gut multiplied tenfold with an intense urge to run and hide somewhere. And she would have done just that, if it could solve her problem. A boy was dead. It’s not something she could forget with a good night’s sleep.

Beatrix answered the phone on the third ring. Which irked Miriam a little. They decided to meet at Park Prakriti, around two miles away from her house, in fifteen minutes. Her mother was already out for work. So Miriam grabbed her cell phone and house keys, locked the doors and headed out.

She found Beatrix standing at the gate of the park, staring blankly at the clock tower of Kino Temple, that could be visible from any other part of the town. “Hey! Beatrix!” Miriam shouted when she was close enough. Beatrix turned and waived with a nervous smile. She was wearing a loose white t-shirt and a leopard print jeans, her jet black hair put in a messy bun.

The park was mostly deserted except for a group of six to eight-year-olds playing tag. Their shouts disrupting the silence of the place like stones thrown in stagnant water. The girls settled on a bench, far in a corner, that was designed to look like a half cut tree log.

“I’m sorry about your friend.” Beatrix started.

“Me too.” Miriam replied.

Beatrix glanced back at the children. Her mind was still debating if going back there would be a good idea. What if she’s only endangering another life.

To Miriam, Beatrix seemed even more anxious than the night before. But that’s kind of normal assuming your daily activity doesn’t involve investigating the murders of your classmates.

“So coming to the point, why do you think Cealan Stillman was murdered?” questioned Beatrix, as she turned to face her.

“You tell me, Beatrix. Why do you think Stillman was murdered? As far as I know, Stillman didn’t have any friends in school. Hell, I have scarcely seen him interact with anyone outside the detective career track. And the fact that you call him by his full name doesn’t help the case. So what reason do you have to believe that he was murdered?”

The look on Beatrix’s face faltered. It was enough for Miriam to realise that she had messed up. The art of subtlety was not one of her many talents. But still, she could have made an effort to make it sound less like an interrogation.

“Look, let’s not make it harder than it needs to be. You can be honest with me right now and I promise, I’ll do the same. And if you don’t want to be a part of it then that’s okay too. What do you say?” Miriam further added hoping her voice sounded amiable.

“No. I want to be involved. And you’re right. We need to be honest with each other.” After a brief thoughtful pause, Beatrix declared, “There’s something you need to see. Come with me.” With that she jumped to her feet, not waiting for any answer from the girl next to her.

After five minutes of walking in suspenseful silence, they were back at the place of their first interaction. Miriam followed Beatrix as she made her way around the towering headstones. Kino Cemetery was a work of art, forbidding and attractive in its own way, even more so in daylight when you can see the misty forest behind the burial ground. Beatrix suddenly stopped, causing Miriam to knock into her back. Her gaze glued to the grave of the boy who recently died.

“Don’t tell me we are here to dig up Stillman’s grave” Miriam spoke up, her tone suggesting she wouldn’t be much opposed to the idea.

“What? No. Why would you say that?”

“Hey! You’re the one who’s acting all mysterious and brought me to see his grave. What am I supposed to think?”

“Well, I see your point but this is not what I wanted to show you.” Beatrix moved away from the grave. “For that we have to go into the woods.” She said, looking Miriam in the eye, as she tried to gauge her reaction. The townsfolk usually never ventured into the forest. Rumours surround it, lots of it, including being inhibited by some tribe that didn’t like being disturbed and being hunted by the spirits of witches, keeping it away from people. Even the rebellious teenagers left it alone. How convenient for them.

The expression on Miriam’s face was not one of wariness, as Beatrix had expected, but of a curious anticipation. Though, she never believed in those over imaginative theories, Miriam always knew there’s something off about the forest; like the untimely deaths of people working in the cemetery. All from natural causes. Nothing suspicious. But she knows how to connect the dots. And despite what Ryan Murphy says, her gut feeling is never wrong.

For Miriam, going into the forest felt like walking into another world. The fog was thick, so much that it was getting harder to see where the trees stood. But Beatrix seemed to know her way around. As they went deeper, the fog started thinning out too, and they could see more clearly. Ironically, it made Miriam feel more vulnerable like a blanket of protection was stripped away from her.

“Don’t make any noise and stay with me.” Whispered Beatrix, to which she could only nod. She refrained from commenting on the fact that Beatrix appeared more nervous than her. Miriam strained her eyes and ears in an attempt to stay alert. Still and all, nothing could be heard other than their light footsteps and the occasional chirp of birds or insects. The trees around them stood tall and uptight as if too proud of their primeval heritage to look down on two feeble animals. Suddenly, Miriam felt her feet fly out beneath her as she landed on the dirty, mouldy ground of the forest, staring up at the sky. She could feel something wet and squishy under from where her left hand was perched as she was trying to brace her fall. Reluctantly, she turned her head to find a dead raccoon-like animal halfway through decomposition with half of his organs outside his body. A loud screech, Miriam never knew she was capable of, escaped her lips. Beatrix was quick to cover her mouth reminding her to keep quiet. Miriam’s hands quivered with a chilling sensation. She didn't even have a minute to calm herself as they heard a series of footsteps echoing through the forest. Before she could make sense of what’s going on, Beatrix dragged her to a nearby bush that was entangled with vines making it a good hiding spot. Through the gapes, they could see men wearing black uniform pants and black t-shirts with face covered in ski masks, some with guns, some not, running around. 'They are searching for us.' Miriam thought to herself. She tried to calm her nerves, to come up with something that could help, but her brain drew a blank.

They sat there with bated breath, curled in a ball, trying not to make a sound. It felt like an eternity until they couldn’t hear the footsteps anymore. Miriam emerged first to make sure that no-one’s around. Dry leaves and branches were tangled in her curly brown locks. She walked a bit further from their spot to see if anyone’s hiding behind the trees. All of a sudden, a hand clasped her face and someone was dragging her back. Miriam tried to kick and elbow the person but soon she was backed into a tree with the guy pressed against her, blocking her escape. From his attire, it was clear that he’s one of them. Miriam could feel the butt of his gun against her stomach. She just hoped to God Beatrix would stay where she was. In another attempt to free herself, Miriam pulled his head with her free hand and banged it on the tree.

“Ow! Fuck!” He groaned in pain, momentarily losing his hold and giving her the perfect chance to escape. But something froze Miriam in her place. The voice behind the mask was one she knew too well. Impulsively, she peeled off the mask only to find a familiar brown eyed boy staring back at her.

“Look, I can explain. I’m not the bad guy here, I prom-Ow!! Jesus Christ!”

Before Patel could elaborate, he was hit with a heavy rock on his head above his left ear. Beatrix, who had succeeded in both sneaking up on them and injuring the man in question, was standing there with a perplexed expression, staring at a groaning Colin Patel, who was lying on the ground showcasing his very colourful vocabulary.

“I really thought he was the bad guy here.” Beatrix said when she caught Miriam’s eye.

#writers #writblr #writing challenge #round robin story #original writing #free write #writers on tumblr #writeaway

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troop-scoop · 4 years

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Mistakes & Regrets VIII

Summary: When a trip to your Dad’s hometown of Hawkins goes wrong, you end up in the year 1983, and have to learn how to cope with being stuck in the past.

Pairing: Steve Harrington / Future!Reader (like, a really slow burn)

Warnings: Swearing, (Italics are memories when they’re in bulk, but if it’s one line it’s a thought!)

A/n: Aye, I finally updated!

•••

It was clear that Callahan and Powell didn’t quite believe your story. At least not without the evidence left on your knuckles, and even then, it was like they didn’t completely believe that a fifteen year old girl could hit a taller, stronger and older teenage boy and cause a fight.

But you did. You punched a seventeen year old Steve Harrigton in the nose, and had the bruising to prove it. You were sure you were the only girl to have ever hit him, and while you felt slightly bad, he still deserved it.

You didn’t intend for the fight to escalate to what it had been in the span of seconds, but you did intend on the first punch. His words were uncalled for, and hurtful.

“You said you hit first?” Callahan questioned still holding the note pad and wooden pencil.

“Yes, for the last fucking time, I hit first.”

Powell gave you a look. “Language.” He reminded.

Your brows furrowed as you looked up at the cop who stood above you while you stayed seated. “You’re not my dad.” You responded. Both of their faces were clearly annoyed. You’d been giving attitude since they arrested both you and Jonathan. Though Jonathan was still in cuffs, and you were just sitting by Callahan’s desk, because you didn’t punch a cop in the nose. “Now can I please eat?” You asked, gesturing to the box of donuts on the desk.

Powell sighed and opened the classic pink box for you to get a donut. You reached your bruised hand into the box and pulled out two sprinkled donuts.

“We said one.” Powell reminded you again.

“You wanna be the one responsible for my death of starvation?” Taking a bite from the pink frosted donut, both of the officers only shook their heads while you turned in your seat, legs over the arm of the chair.

“How are you doing over there, Johnny boy?” You teased a bit, getting Jonathan to turn his head to look at you.

“You know, you’re the most sarcastic person I’ve ever met.” He told you while Nancy held the ice filled dish rag to his face again.

You nodded with a shit eating grin and continued to eat while Callahan sat down in his seat and Powell went to his own desk.

“Hey. Jonathan? Y/n? Jesus, what. . . what happened?” You looked up to the doorway to see Joyce, and the chief of police walking into the station. Joyce looked worried as she reached the desk Jonathan and Nancy were sat at, with the chief right behind her.

Callahan stood up while you grabbed the box of frosted treats, holding it in your lap while you watched the officer stand up.

“Ma’am. . .” Callahan started

“In my defense, there was no adult supervision.” You spoke quickly, looking up at the young version of your grandmother who furrowed her brows and shook her head with an absent mind at your statement.

Jonathan turned his head to you again, eyeing you curiously before looking back to Joyce. “We’re fine.” He informed while you finished off the first donut.

“Why is he wearing handcuffs?” Joyce demanded pointing a hand at Jonathan’s wrists, but the only thing you could really see near his hands was the reindeer dish rag he was holding to his hands.

“Well, your boy assaulted a police officer. That’s why.”

Looking up at Callahan you heard Joyce speak. “Take them off.” Your grandmother was assertive in your time, and your dad had told you she actually cooled off compared to how she used to be. You’d never believed him, but you did now.

“I am afraid I cannot do that.” Callahan was trying to be calm.

“Take them off!” Joyce now yelled while you and Nancy made awkward eye contact.

“You heard her. Take ‘em off.” the chief’s voice was that of a man who hadn’t had coffee yet that day and was exhausted.

“Chief, I get everyone’s emotional here, but there’s something you need to see.” Powell interrupted the conversation.

The chief looked at you, and made eye contact, getting a bit of a weird feeling while Joyce and him now made eye contact. He’d given her nod before he and the two other officers left the station and Joyce was pinching the bridge of her nose before looking back at the three of you, She got between the two desks and spoke in a hushed whisper to you. “Who knows?”

“Jonathan and Nancy.” You didn’t need to have her say what she was talking about. You knew, just from her hushed voice exactly what she meant.

Joyce looked at Jonathan and Nancy who were looking at her as well. “Okay. . .” She said, still in her hushed voice so no one else could hear her but you. Not even Jonathan or Nancy could hear. “Hopper knows, too.” She informed, the grimace already on her face at your expected reaction being a loud groan of frustration.

“Great, just what I need.” You commented with a sarcastic nod.

As if on cue, the chief, Callahan and Powell came back into the station, the chief carrying a box that made a metal rattling noise, he reached the table Nancy and Jonathan dropping the box on the table with a loud ‘bang!’

Standing up from your seat, still holding the box of donuts, you looked into the box, your jaw dropping at seeing the large iron bear trap, surrounded by boxes of bullets, the gun from the day before and a few other things.

“What is all this stuff?” Joyce asked, looking through the box.

You leaned down to whisper to Jonathan. “When I said Sam and Dean Winchester,” You started, “I didn’t fucking mean it” Jonathan looked up at you just as confused as when you said it before. “I seriously didn’t mean it.” You told him again

“Why don’t you ask your son? We found it in his car.”

You eyes shot to the chief as your grows furrowed. As Jonathan spoke “Why are you going through my car?” and you spoke over him saying, “You violated his fourth amendment, what the fuck dude?”

Joyce backhanded your arm when you swore. There wasn’t much of a big difference between what she was like in your time, and now. If you could even say that this was ‘now.’

“Are those really the questions you wanna ask right now?” Hopper asked looking at you, going into interrogation mode. But you’d been suspended once, and almost expelled, you knew how to deal with people in that mode.

“Yeah, actually.” You told him with a sarcastic, breathy chuckle. “You didn’t have a search warrant, or anything, no probable cause. And you think you can get away with it just because a lot of people forget about the unit in middle school that focuses on the Bill of Rights and the Constitution. Or did you forget everyone’s basic rights? Because I know how much training a cop has to go through, and they don’t refresh anyone on people’s rights.”

Hopper looked irritated as you spoke, but you were more irritated than him. The entire situation was annoying, and all you wanted was to go sleep in your own bed, in your own home, and your own time period.

“I wanna see all three of you in my office.” He affirmed, you went to argue back when he turned away but Jonathan beat you to the punch, though it wasn’t what you were going to say.

“You won’t believe me.”

“Why don’t you give me a try?”

•••

“So, we’ve got monsters, a girl from the future, and a missing kid.” Hopper spoke after Joyce took Jonathan outside the office, leaving you with Nancy and the chief. “And you’re Will’s daughter?”

You gave a slow nod, “Yeah,”

“Kid-”

“Listen, Chief, I don’t want your pity, so please, just stop.” You told him, crossing your legs and looking down at the ugly carpet

Hopper remained quiet for a moment before he continued on talking, “Who’s taking care of you?”

“I am.” You shrugged a bit, looking back up at the chief, watching as his expression grew sad as he looked down at you.

“How old are you kid?” He asked, still holding the photo of the thing Jonathan had gotten a picture of.

“Fifteen.”

You heard yelling in the main area of the station, which is when Hopper pushed himself away from the edge of his desk and went to the door, with you following shortly after, your curiosity piqued.

You heard Hopper tell Joyce and Jonathan to stay there, but he didn’t notice you following, hot on his heels. You were quiet when you walked, and light on your feet.

“Where’s the chief? I want to speak to him right this instant!” You could hear a woman yelling while the main room came into view. Her greying blonde hair cut into an ugly and ill fitting pixie cut, that people usually called the ‘can I talk to your manager’ haircut.

“Ma’am, I need you to calm down.” Callahan tried.

“What is your name, Deputy?” The woman demanded, which is when you looked to the young boy by her side. Probably her son. His arm in a fresh white cast and in a sling over his neck. He looked at you curiously as though he’d seen you before, and you could have sworn you’d seen him once before.

“Well, I’m an officer,” Callahan chuckled, “Okay?”

“Name and badge number, both of you!” She demanded while you continued to stand in the entryway to the hall, arms crossed as you and the boy continued to examine each other, as if confused by the other’s presence. You couldn’t place it, but he was oddly familiar.

“What the hell is going on here?” Hopper demanded as he walked to the mother, son, and his officers, stealing your attention away from the boy, and his attention from you.

“Chief-”

“These men are humiliating my son!” She shouted, looking at the chief and pointing directly at Callahan who immediately tried to defend himself.

“No, no, no. Okay, that’s not true-”

“There was some kind of fight, Chief.” Powell informed, uninterested in the situation going on.

“A psychotic child broke his arm!” The mother added, gesturing to her son’s broken arm. The memory of watching a classmate at school breaking his arm coming back, making you shiver a bit.

“A little girl, Chief, a little one.” At that, you laughed. Wondering what he’d been doing to piss off a little girl so badly that she broke his arm. Hopper turned his head to look at you and you covered your mouth immediately, still smiling under your palm.

“That tone! Do you hear that tone?” The mother demanded again, looking at the chief with anger and frustration clear on her face while you continued to smile.

“Honestly, I’m just trying to state a fact, It was a little girl-” Callahan started again before Hopper interrupted.

“We don’t have time for this, will you please take a statement” Hopper told them, gesturing silently as if telling them to get the woman and boy out of the station, before he turned back to look at you and grabbed your shoulder, leading you back a step or two.

“I think it’s his pride that’s hurt more than his arm.” You chuckled a bit before hearing the boy give his description of the girl.

“She had no hair, and she was bleeding from her nose!”

“Hello?” It was a simple question and the girl only stared at you, confused by your word, as though she’d never heard it before.

You hadn’t seen another person in a long time. You counted the hours on your watch, how often the short hand fully passed over the face of the tiny clock. And it had done it six full times. You’d been there three days, and you felt like it was a death sentence, or that it was a fever dream.

“Hello?” The girl repeated your word back to you, not knowing the meaning. You took a subtle step towards her. But she looked as though she wasn’t were you were. No shadows were cast onto her body, and she looked completely clean, unlike you.

She was small, and young, maybe only the age of your brother, her eyes scared and dark. Though you couldn’t tell if her eye color was brown or if her pupils were blown wide. Her hair was a medium brown, and buzzed down. And her clothing was almost clinical. Like what you’d think a futuristic x-ray shield would look like.

“Yeah. . . Hello.” You told her. You realized she wasn’t confused by the word, but by seeing you there. She reached a small hand out to you, and you took it. Her pale hand in yours as you stared at each other for a moment.

Any thought of what was going on around you was gone. You didn’t know if one of those things would sneak up on you or not, you were just intrigued by her presence.

“Who. . . are you?” The girl asked with a small struggle, like she’d never really been taught how to speak.

“Y/n, how about you?”

“I know you!” The boy exclaimed, snapping you out of your own thoughts about the girl. “You helped me pay for water balloons back in August!”

That wasn’t right. You’d been in Hawkins since September fifth. There was no way you could have possibly helped the boy buy water balloons. But you did remember buying a kid a pack of them with your brother in Melvad’s when your fathers had let you two go to the town’s small downtown to get snacks at Melvad’s.

“You had a really thin walkman. . . it was dark silver, and it had a lens. You were wearing a Star Wars T-shirt.”

That’s what you’d been wearing when you went to Melvad’s that day. August 11th. The day before you fell into that hole and ended up in that place. You’d had your phone out and now that you recalled the memory, you remembered the boy looking just like this boy. Now you were confused, and terrified.

“Yeah. . . That was me.” You told him quietly before Hopper grabbed your shoulder and led you away.

•••

It was all freaking you out. The story that somehow this girl that you were pretty sure you saw in that weird place was with your uncles Mike, Lucas and Dustin. The men who were were also constants in your life, and your dad’s life long friends. Neither you, or your dad would remember a time where they weren’t around.

But what was freaking you out the most was that this girl was the reason for the government trucks and cars and helicopters circling around the Wheeler home. And it wasn’t right that you were trying to find the four of them, by rushing into the Byers home to find Will’s walkie talkie.

Once in the house you went to the farthest room, going to the bed and looking under it while Jonathan went to the desk and Joyce looked through the drawers of his dresser.

You saw it almost immediately and grabbed it, pulling it out and holding it up like a prize. “Found it.” You told the four others.

“How’d you know it would be there?” Jonathan questioned, taking it from you and extending the large antenna that was almost as long as your arm.

“Under bed policy.” You shrugged like it was something everyone had.

“What?” Hopper asked, looking at you.

“My dad and I have this rule, if there’s something that I don’t want him to see, I can put it under the bed. He promised me he would never look under there. I’ve hidden many report cards under my bed.” You explained while Nancy took the walkie from Jonathan, turning it on and pressing the button to speak to her brother, sitting on the edge of Will’s bed, Joyce sitting next to her and grabbing your hand

“Mike, are you there? Mike? Mike, It’s me, Nancy.” You squeezed Joyce’s hand and she did the same to you.

“Mike, are you there” No answer came.

“Answer, Mike, we need you to answer. This is an emergency, Mike, do you copy? Mike do you copy?”

“Nance-”

“I need you to answer. We need to know that you’re there, Mike.” Nancy finished before Hopper took the walkie from her, giving it a shot himself.

“Listen, Kid, this is the chief. If you’re there, pick up. We know you’re in trouble, and we know about the girl. We can protect you, we can help you, but you gotta pick up. Are you there? Do you copy? Over.”

There was no answer, and everyone’s confidence and hope in the situation visibly left the room when everyone’s shoulders dropped and their heads tilted in frustration and thoughtfulness, including you, who was still terrified over what the boy named Troy had said in the station.

“Yeah, I copy, it’s Mike. I’m here. . . We’re here.” Mike’s voice came from the walkie, a bit of static from the distance.

“Oh thank god.” You murmured as Joyce scooted over for you to sit and her arms wrapped around your shoulder, holding you close.

•••

You looked at the four children who got out of the car, as well as Nancy who ran to her younger brother and embraced him in a tight hug.

But the girl, you recognized her as the girl from that place. But now she was wearing semi normal clothes. An outdated pink dress with a white collar and a jacket that clearly wasn’t her own. Her eyes were on you the moment she got out of the car.

“Is that my dress?” Nancy asked, looking at the twelve year old girl.

“Who is she?” Dustin questioned. You knew all of them, saw childhood photos of them when you were growing up. You knew who was who. And you knew he meant you.

Looking to Jonathan, Joyce, and Hopper who just looked at you. The both of you waiting for who was going to make up an excuse first. But none of them did, just staring at you.

You looked back to the group of children. “Just uh. . . A time traveling weirdo, I guess.” You told them with a tight lipped smile that was more than just forced.

•••

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ashintheairlikesnow · 4 years

Text

Come Back: Chris

CW: Police brutality/violence, references to past noncon/violence and conditioning, blood, stimming, head banging, self-injury (largely accidental), references to murder (none occurs).

Chris wakes up to the sound of pounding on the front door.

It’s warm in the bed, curled between Jake and the wall, and at first Chris thinks the sound is part of a dream or just someone running down the stairs, but then Jake goes very still next to him, every muscle tense, and Chris understands that the sound, whatever it is, is bad.

BAM-BAM-BAM.

“Open up!”

Loud voice, deep, slightly muffled through the front door.

“Shit,” Jake whispers, a nearly-silent breath of sound, and that’s wrong, too. Jake makes bear noises when he wakes up, wordless little grunts and angry sounds as consciousness filters back in. Jake makes sleepy sounds, because he doesn’t sleep enough, and when he wakes up he has to fight off his brain from dragging him back asleep.

Chris knows everybody’s wake-up sounds, they tell him what his day will be like. Leila yawns, high-pitched, arms over her head with stretch. Antoni mumbles to himself, talks his way through his routine. Nat hums little songs she calls hymns and says have something to do with redemption. Chris knows all the sounds of good days.

Jake without bear noises means a bad day, except it’s not even day, because it’s still pitch-black outside and Chris’s head feels fuzzy with sleep. He looks at Jake’s clock - he can read numbers, if he’s careful and doesn’t think of them as words - and sees 3:45.

For a second Chris wonders, surreally, if Sir had a party run late again, if he’s woken up beside someone else’s pet and there’ll be explanations again-

“J-Jake?” That’s Leila, calling out from her room down the hall, and Jake pushes himself up on his elbows, the mattress shifting with his weight. “Jake, is everything okay?”

“What’s that sound, Jake?” Antoni, his accent slipping back in from sleepiness and worry. Chris can picture him, his fuzzy curly hair a mess of blondish-brown around his head. “What’s that sound mean?”

The pounding on the door again. BAM-BAM-BAM. BAM-BAM-BAM.

“Shit,” Jake says again, louder this time. His eyes are wide in the darkness, owl-eyes. “Fuck, this is it, isn’t it? Nine’s intel was right, we just got the date wrong.”

“Wh-what’s, what’s, what’s, um, what’s it, Jake?” Chris’s voice is weak, and small. Jake slowly turns to look down at him, the owl eyes right on his, and there’s an owl that calls outside the window sometimes, plus a mourning dove. A woman he doesn’t remember used to tell him, mourning doves are like pigeons with prettier names, baby, but he doesn’t remember her and he doesn’t remember that moment and he can’t get the parts of his brain back on the track, they’re all derailed and smoking wrecks stuck on owls and hoo-hoo-hoo and what does Jake mean, this is it?

Nat comes flying down the hall from the attic, stopping in Jake’s doorway with her housecoat thrown over her sleeping clothes, her brown hair loosely fanning around her, sweeping to the side and then falling down her shoulders again. Chris thinks about mermaids, swimming in water.

“Jake, we talked about this,” Nat says, her voice flat. Her face is calm but her eyes are wide and frightened. “We knew this could happen.” She looks over her shoulder, back down the hall. “Antoni, Leila, get out. Use the basement tunnel, it’ll bring you up by the bus stop. Take the first bus you see. I’ve called Nine, he’ll pick you up at the next stop after that. Chris will be right behind you in just a second, wait for Chris.”

Red and blue lights flash against the window in Jake’s room, and Chris stares at them, momentarily fixated. They’re not here to help us.

“Got it, Nat!” Leila calls it out and Chris can hear rustling, probably them getting dressed. Leila is throwing her long hair into a ponytail as they run down the stairs past Jake’s door, just flashes of people, barely visible in the dark. The basement door opens and shuts.

“Nat, Chris-” Jake says, softly. “He… he can’t-”

“I know he can’t,” Nat replies, slightly flat. She closes her eyes. “Leila and Antoni will help him. He’ll be fine once they get to the next shelter. We’ll be fine, Jake. As long as they don’t find the rescues, we’ll be fine, I don’t keep the records here.”

“How did they-”

BAM-BAM-BAM. A deep voice, muffled, carries right up the stairs. “This is the police, open the door!”

“Jesus fuck,” Jake whispers. “Do you think someone my classes turned us in after I brought Chris?” Guilt twists Jake’s expression into something ugly and dark. “Or, fuck, what if it was that guy I gave the literature to, I swear to God, Nat, he seemed really fucking sincere-… I, fuck, what if-… if I find out it was him, I swear to God-”

“What ifs won’t make any of us any safer,” Nat snaps. “You know our story. You know how we get them off our back. Get Chris to safety-”

BAM-BAM-BAM-CRASH.

The front door slams open, smacking into the opposite wall so loudly Chris can hear part of the wall crack with the impact.

“Too late,” Nat says, and the color drains all out of her face, blueish in the pale early-morning light. She doesn’t say anything else, just disappears. Her feet thump down the stairs, and they must be so cold on the wooden stairs, Chris’s feet are cold every day.

Jake rolls out of bed, pulling the jeans puddled on the floor up over his boxers, fumbling at the zipper and button, mumbling, “Shit shit shit shit shit shit…” to himself in a low, nearly emotionless voice.

Chris stays right where he is. Eyes wide, heart pounding, he curls his knees up to his chest and puts his arms around them, pressing against the wall of Jake’s room. Police mean go back, police mean being good in the dark again, police mean barcode scans and being called Baldur and they mean his Sir will give him the smug pleased smile that only barely curves his lips and and and-

His head drops against the wall, and he feels better, for just a second. He does it again.

Jake turns to look at him, heartbroken face grieving face did my face look like that when- but the rest is static, headaches and pain. “Chris, man, I’m sorry, but we can’t do that right now,” Jake says, keeping his voice low. Nat downstairs is talking to the police officers, barking words and answers to their questions. Chris can see her in his mind, her arms crossed in front of her, talking to them with her eyes narrowed.

Something crashes downstairs. Nat yells out, “That’s damaging my fucking property!”

There’s a sound Chris knows, then, one he knows deep in his bones, deeper than thought. The sound of an open palm against a face. Nat cries out.

Jake moves, then. He grabs Chris by both arms, grip tight enough to hurt, and drags him out of the bed trailing blankets and sheets all tangled with his legs. Chris whimpers but bites down on his lip, hearing the sounds of more things being destroyed below. Nat’s yelling means nothing, Chris can’t differentiate words from sounds any longer, it’s all just the same noise of bad panic bad wrong bad going to be hurt bad bad bad.

Jake flings open his closet door, dragging Chris into the small space after him, his hand pressing against the smooth old wood along the back wall, searchingly, his eyes scanning up and down, looking for something in nearly total darkness.

“Jake-… Jake, Jake, Jake, what are we-… what’s, what’s happening to to to to Nat, what’s, what’s happening to Nat, Jake, what’s-”

“Sssshhhh, I need you to be quiet right now, Chris,” Jake says, and his voice is low and false-calm, the way you talk to children when you tell them there’s nothing to be scared of, the way you talk to them when there are angry men with guns in the house and someone has to talk to them but it doesn’t work and the guns go off-

Chris lets out a strangled little cry at the sudden flash of pain, sparking in him along with the image of a dark-haired woman’s in a rictus of terrible fear, mouth an O, and inside the O Chris falls down into the darkness again.

“Sssshhhh, you have to be quiet, you have to be, Chris, you have to be, I’m so sorry. We, we had intel, but they… they lied on the intel, Nine thought it’d be next week, we were going to get you ready but-… shit, where is it, come on come on come on-”

Jake’s and finds a loose board, and he makes a fist and lightly punches it, knocking the board out on one side from the wall just enough for him to slip his hand underneath. He pulls on something under there and Chris flinches back as the bottom half of the closet wall swings open, inside, like a door.

Chris’s fingers twist, tap against his own side, rhythmically, a push of sensation, a hint of control. Something he can keep despite the sound of the house being destroyed downstairs.

“Chris, I need you to crawl in here and be totally silent, okay?” The whites of Jake’s eyes show all around, and Chris nods frantically, heart pounding too hard in his chest, he can’t breathe around it, gasping in jerky, shallow little breaths. Tears prick at his eyes. This is supposed to be a safe place, safer than Sir’s, where no one wants him to be good. Where he doesn’t have to be silent.

“J-Jake, Jake, I, I’m scared, I’m scared of-of-of, of, I’m scared of them, I’m scared-”

“I know, man. I know. Get on in.” Jake all but forces Chris into the closet, shoving him into a small dark space just big enough on three sides for Chris to sit with his knees bent, but it’s tall and he can stand if he wants to. “I’m scared, too.”

Jake gets scared?

“Stay in here. Do not come out, no matter what you hear.” Jake puts both hands on him, on either side of his face, and Chris nods jerkily, the tears running down. “If they don’t see you, or hear you, they can’t take you. They can’t hurt you. They can’t give you back. Just stay in here, and be as quiet as you can. When I can… when I can come back-” Jake’s voice catches, and Chris sees that his eyes are glittering, too. “Wait until it’s totally quiet out here, count to four hundred, and then come back out. We’ll-… I’ll, I’ll call somebody to come help you, okay? I, I swear. We’ll… we’ll call someone. Maybe Addie… fuck, Addie’s gonna find out about you, I just… no, it doesn’t matter now. Okay, you have to wait, Chris.”

Chris nods. “Yes, Jake, I-I-I, I can, can wait, Jake, I can wait for you-you to come back, but-but, but, but but but do you swear, do you-” His head still pounds, a woman’s voice speaking with the same urgency somewhere inside his mind.

Baby, stay right here and don’t move, they’re not here for you. They won’t hurt you.

Mom, come back!

Don’t move, honey. Just stay here. Don’t move.

M-Mom-

Don’t make a sound.

“I will come back for you,” Jake says, meeting Chris’s eyes. His jaw is set, his eyes are blazing blue fire in the dark. “Listen to me, Chris. I’m coming back.” He pulls his own shirt off over his head and shoves it at Chris, who clutches gratefully onto it, breathing in the smell of strong soap, lavender fabric softener, and Jake’s skin. “It might take a couple days, but-… but I won’t leave you here.”

“Please, Jake, I’m, I’m, I’m scared, I can’t-”

“Yeah you can, buddy. You can.” Jake grabs him into a crushing hug, holds him close, and then pushes him until his back is against the real closet wall, hidden a couple feet behind the fake one. “You’ll be okay. What did I say?”

More crashing downstairs. Jake winces, glances over his shoulder. Nat is yelling again. “Attagirl,” Jake whispers. “Buy us time, Nat, come on, buy us a little more time. Okay, Chris, what do you need to do? Tell me what you need to do now.”

“W-wait, wait, wait wait wait til, um, until it’s silent, and then count-… count to, to-to-to, can’t, m-my words are b-bad, Jake, I’m sorry-”

“It’s fine, man, your words are fine. Just tell me how high you need to count.”

“To, to, to four-four hundred, four hundred and then come out, and, and, and what then, Jake?”

“Then you wait for me. I’m coming back for you.”

“Jake-”

“Listen.” Jake whispers the words, he doesn’t sing them. “I will send out an army to find you in the middle of the darkest night, it’s true…”

“I will rescue you,” Chris half-whispers, half-hums the words.

“That’s right. I’m coming back, Chris. I’ll come back for you. Wait for me.” Jake closes the hidden door, leaving Chris in total darkness, curled up, tapping on his own skin. But the fear is bigger than his body, it fills him up and leaks out in tears and whimpers, and he has to be silent. Chris jams Jake’s shirt up against his mouth, tries to focus on the smell, comfort, home.

He can hear, outside his hiding spot Jake’s voice raised loud and deep, his scary voice he uses when people frighten Chris. He hears other voices yelling back, and crashing. It’s all too muffled to understand. But he knows what it sounds like when they throw Jake against the wall. He can feel the thud rattle through the walls of the old house. Knows what it sounds like when a body drops to the floor.

Chris holds his breath. No no no no no-

Jake yells again, and Chris exhales. Jake yelling is good, it means Jake is breathing, it means he still has a voice to yell with. Nat shouts this is fucking brutality you shits, and Chris gnaws on his lower lip, nervous. Nat doesn’t like to swear very much, but now she curses up a storm, unafraid, her voice strong. More crashing, it sounds like the house is coming down around his ears, like the walls will collapse, too, and bring Chris down to the first floor to drown in the drywall and plaster.

The tapping isn’t enough, and neither is rocking, and finally Chris bunches up Jake’s shirt and puts it up against the wall to his right and knocks his head into it, into the wall through the shirt so the sound is muffled. Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump.

Little rushes, adrenaline-soothe, reassurance. Thump. Better now. Thump. Calmer now. Thump. He can breathe now. Thump. Tears dry on his face, dried-up riverbeds down pale skin. Someone told him once that if a mourning dove calls outside the window, someone you love is going to die.

Heard a mourning dove the day before-

His head hurts too much, he can’t think about that.

Thump. Don’t die, Jake. Thump. Come back, Jake. Thump. Don’t leave, Jake. Thump. I’m scared, Jake. Thump. Thump. Thump.

Boots stomp loud up the stairs, and Chris keeps hitting his head to keep himself from making any other noises, biting down on his lower lip until he tastes copper-salt-sweet blood in his mouth, sucking on the busted spot on his lip to draw out more. Thump, thump, thump, goes his head against the wall, but the sound of the boots and the crashing is louder, and they don’t hear him at all.

He flinches back at the sudden crash of something against the wall in Jake’s room, glass breaks in a high-pitched scatter-sound. The bed is overturned, a deafening sound that makes Chris squeak and cower back, waiting and waiting for one of them to find the secret way to open the little door in the closet wall, to find him here.

Thump. Be silent. Thump. Don’t make a sound. Thump. Don’t move, Chris. Thump. Don’t move.

He doesn’t know how long they are in the house.

There are sounds that draw out forever. Crashing and destruction noises, in Jake’s room - closest to the stairs. Methodical, they search room by room, destroying everything in their path, talking to each other about the nothing they find. Chris is very good - he stays silent, he keeps Jake’s shirt between his head and the wall. He doesn’t move, just like his mom Jake says.

He understands, without knowing why, that there was a time once that he didn’t listen, that he moved, and it made everything worse.

At some point the sounds of Nat and Jake yelling fade out, and then are gone. At some point the stomping up and down the stairs stops, and there’s some talking, low voices angry that they didn’t find what they were looking for. Chris wonders if they were looking for him.

At some point, the sounds stop, and it is silent in the house, except for the creaking noises the house always makes in the wind that’s kicked up outside. Once he is sure, totally and absolutely sure, that it is silent, Chris starts counting along with the thumps of his head on the wall.

Thump. One. Thump. Two. Thump. Three. Thump. Four…

He counts to four hundred slowly, starting over and over again as his brain stutter-skips on sixty or twenty-two or one hundred and eight. He doesn’t know if he really makes it to four hundred, all he knows is that he tries, and tries, and tries again, and eventually he thinks it has been long enough.

He pushes out on the little wood door that hides him in the false-backed closet, keeping Jake’s shirt clutched in one hand. He blinks against the sudden burst of bright sunlight through the window - how long was he hidden? - and stares at Jake’s room.

They cut the mattress down the middle, the stuff from the center is spread out everywhere and box springs are poking through the slice. Jake’s lamp was the sound of broken glass, and Chris’s bare toes curl in on themselves as he slowly stands, stepping out of the closet, whining in his throat like a small dog - like Arjun, he thinks, like Addie’s dog - and looks at the clothes strewn along the floor, too. Jake’s textbooks are bashed, some of their spines broken, lying open to spots he’s marked with highlighters.

Outside the window, a bird trills. Chris looks up to stare through the slightly scratched-up old glass. There’s a red cardinal outside, sitting on the branch of the white birch tree.

Chris moves carefully, slowly, placing each step in hopes he won’t walk into glass. The hallway is a mess, too, the towels have all been pulled down from the linen closet, all the stuff from the bathroom is spread around on the floor. The other bedrooms look the same - Antoni and Leila’s tiny amount of personal things are all shattered, mashed-up, destroyed. Their clothes are in piles on the cut-up remains of their beds.

Leila’s romance novels are dumped in a corner of her room, the other bed where Krista used to sleep is all broken, too, and Chris is suddenly glad Krista moved out, that she was somewhere safe before they came.

Chris tongues at the still-sensitive open bit on his lip, staring at the way they’ve left the staircase to the attic pulled down. He climbs up it slowly, the wood cold as ice against his bare feet, and finds that Nat’s room has been destroyed, too.

Chris taps himself as he walks, twist-fingers-tap-skin, again and again, letting the little darts of touch soothe him, help him hold out against the panic that is trying to break his heart right out of his chest. He heads all the way downstairs to the first floor. He has been silent. He has been good. He stayed in the closet and he didn’t move and he didn’t make a sound.

Just like he should have the first time, when his mom told him to be quiet-

But he doesn’t have a mom. They don’t have those, anymore, after. Just owners.

Except you, you have friends.

The dishes are all broken, bits of ceramic shards spread around the kitchen floor. The coffeemaker is inexplicably intact, brewing the automatic morning pot that Jake had set up the night before, a cheery sound that draws the first sob from Chris’s throat, holding Jake’s shirt against himself, twist-fingers-tap-skin.

The door to the basement is open, and he goes down the stairs, but Antoni and Leila aren’t there. He didn’t think they would be. They had to go before they were found, too. They couldn’t wait for him. He knows where the secret door in the basement is but he doesn’t dare try it.

What if the cops are just waiting at the bus stop? What if they took Antoni and Leila and they’re scanning their barcodes now, and they’ll be sent back, and if Chris tries to get on a bus they just scan his, too?

Sir would welcome him home. But that’s not home, and Chris doesn’t want his Sir. He wants Nat, he wants Jake.

No. He has to stay here. The shelter is safe. But… he’s all alone in the house. That’s not safe at all. He’s not safe. The safe place isn’t safe anymore.

Chris moves back up the basement stairs, whimpering.

A car drives past on the road outside and Chris lets out a frightened little cry, flattening himself against the wall, until it goes past. It wasn’t here for him at all. His eyes are drawn by something wrong, on the wall, and Chris stares at the spot until he remembers Jake hitting the wall, the way it rattled up through the frame up the house until Chris could feel it in his hiding place.

There’s blood on the wall.

Jake’s blood.

Chris begins to wail, then, sliding slowly down to the floor, rocking back and forth as he cries, heaving sobs that choke and catch in his throat because he’s not supposed to be loud, now, they’ll come back and they’ll find him, they’ll take him back. He doesn’t want to be Baldur anymore, he doesn’t want to be a numbered boy, he wants to be Chris, he picked Chris for himself, Jake says he gets to make Chris but they made Jake bleed and Jake is never coming back-

“What’s that sound? Is that someone cryin’? Is somebody still inside?”

Chris’s heart stops.

No. No no no no.

There’s a face peering in through the front door, a hand held up over the eyes, squinting, looking right at him. Chris made too much noise. He was too loud, but now that he’s started he can’t stop, and he keeps bubbling up tears and sobs and snot even as he tries desperately to be silent again.

“Y’okay, darlin’?” The voice is a woman’s voice, older, getting the creaky edges along the sides that come with advanced age. “Can you let me in, sweet boy? I live right next door. Are you all alone here?”

Chris whimpers and curls up tighter, closes his eyes. Maybe if he’s very, very still, they’ll go away.

“You’re scarin’ him, Grandma,” A much younger boy’s voice says, high-pitched. “What d’you think Miss Yoder did?”

“Y’know damn well what she did, baby,” The old woman says, not quite snapping. “She did a good turn, and in our world that don’t go unpunished. Honey can you let us in? We just want to help you.”

Chris shakes his head frantically. He’s not supposed to talk to anyone, he’s not supposed to let anyone in. He wasn’t supposed to make any sounds and everyone dies when he’s not silent, everyone dies and bleeds and they take them away, they take him away.

“Pl-please,” He whispers, thumping his head on the wall, trying to calm his fluttering panic. “Please, please go away, please, please please please go away, please-”

“He’s real scared, Grandma.”

“I have eyes, baby, I can see that. Not blind yet, and I’m not deaf either. He’s prob’ly been scared a real long time. Come on, honey-… oh, the door’s not even locked.” The old woman turns the doorknob and pushes the door open. It screams along the floor, bashed right off its hinges, and Chris bangs his head even harder, trying to drown it out.

Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump.

“What’s he doin’?”

“Heck if I know, Jaden. Hey, sweetheart, you don’t need to be scared of us. We saw them come in here and wreck th’ place. Is there anything we can do for you?”

“Go away,” Chris whispers. “Please, please go away, pl-please, please don’t-… please just go away…”

“Okay, baby. But we’re right next door, right here on your right side.” The woman’s voice is soft, soothing. He wants to trust her but he’s not supposed to talk to anyone without Jake or Nat and they’re not here, because they’re gone, because they made Jake bleed. “Listen, honey, y’hungry?”

Chris cracks open his eyes and watches her, but he doesn’t move. He doesn’t nod. He doesn’t do anything but look. His stomach growls, audible in the silence.

The old woman’s got a face that’s a mess of kind wrinkles and sparkling black eyes, textured black-and-silver hair pulled into a bun at the back of her neck. The boy next to her gives Chris a tiny smile and waves - he looks ten or eleven.

Chris whimpers and curls up tighter.

“Okay. Look, I’m about to go make breakfast for my grandbabies. If you want I can bring you by a plate?” The woman’s eyes move past him, take in the bit of the kitchen mess she can see through the open-framed doorway. “And a fork or two?”

The coffeemaker beeps. Coffee’s done, Jake will want a mug-

Chris chokes back another sob.

Jake’s not here to drink the coffee.

“I’ll bring you a plate, you decide if you want to eat it,” The old woman says, gently. “My husband got in a few of these scrapes back in the 70’s, sweetheart, it’s a lot of cleaning up but they can’t hold ‘em ‘less they found something. D’you know if they did? Was there anything to find here?”

“What did Grandpa do?” The boy blinks, tilting his head back.

“He was all in on the lib thing back then. He’d be crushed to know they’re still fightin’ for it. Come on, honey. D’you know if they found anything they can charge Natalie Yoder with?”

Chris blinks once, twice. Then, in a hoarse voice, he answers, “She, she, she, she doesn’t keep records here, um, she-she said.”

The old woman lets out a breath of relief, closing her eyes “Praise the Lord for small mercies. They got nothin’ to charge her with, then, I bet, or her young man.”

The idea that Jake is Nat’s young man makes Chris twitch the tiniest little smile, thinking of the face Jake would make if he heard that.

“It’ll be okay, darlin’,” The old woman says, then steps back out of the doorway, onto the big concrete front porch. Chris relaxes, just a little, as she puts distance between. “I’ll have my Jaden here leave the plate on the front porch for you in just a bit, how’s that sound?”

Chris opens his mouth, swallows, then says, softly, “It, it, it sounds oh-okay, thank you, ma’am, thank-thank-thank, thank you.”

“Grandma?” Jaden looks up at his grandmother, although not by much - he’ll be taller than she is when he grows up by a lot. “Why does-”

“Hush up. We’ll be back to leave the food. You take care of yourself. I’ll ask around and see if some folks can’t help you clean up this mess before your people get back for you.”

My people.

They say goodbye, and leave Chris right where they found him, curled up against the wall, close to the red spot where Jake’s head hit, he thinks, must have hit so hard…

Outside there are birds calling and the wind in the trees. Jake’s textbooks are a mess and he’s going to miss class and Chris can’t go to yoga by himself can he? And the chipmunk starts chirping outside, going a mile a minute, and Chris shudders and wonders if chipmunks are bad omens, too.

It’s deja vu, he thinks, when you think you’ve lived through something before. He feels like he’s done this before, sit on the ground next to a red spot on the wall. But the spot was bigger the first time. And it was on the floor, too.

He can’t remember why, or how.

Chris lets his head tilt back into the wall, pulls Jake’s shirt up to his nose, takes a deep, deep breath.

Soap-lavender-skin-Jake.

“Please, please, please come back,” Chris whispers, now that he is alone again. “Please come back, Jake, please, please come back, Jake-Jake, come back, come back, come, come back…” The morning is chilly and his toes feel like ice and his fingers are frozen in the fabric of Jake’s shirt.

The blood on the wall is drying brownish, now.

A bird calls.The food shows up, just like the old woman said, her grandson leaving it on the porch in a covered plate to keep it warm. Chris shovels the eggs and bacon into his mouth still curled up on the floor in a destroyed house, staring outside through the window in the living room, ducking his head below the windowsill whenever a car drives by.

Chris waits, and waits, and waits.

More food comes at lunch and then at dinner, left in silence by the boy, who waves at him through the door but doesn’t say a word.

Chris puts the dishes in the sink, and then he returns to the window, to watch.

Jake is coming back.

He promised.

So Chris waits, watching the sun go down, hoping his people will come back.

#whump #jake the shelter guy #chris the strawberry blond romantic #tw: police brutality #tw: violence #tw: blood #tw: stimming #tw: stim #tw: referenced past abuse/noncon #vague references but still #tw: accidental self-injury #tw: self-injury #safehouse raid #conditioned whumpee #captured caretaker #caretaker #whumpee #tw: head banging #tw: headbanging

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prune-life · 4 years

Text

Patience, baby (Samuel Drake x Reader) One-shot

Please read the A/N so you won't be confused, thank you!

Tagging: thank you so so much @missdictatorme for wanting to be tagged in this monstrosity of an attempt of a fanfic

Warnings: Nothing, but the reader has a moment (But, Sammy to the rescue! (Yay!))

A/N: Okay, where to begin? lmao I initially wanted this to be a 1920s AU but it got mixed in with a lot of my ideas so, just take it with a grain of that 100 years old, 20s-70s salt. All the flapper slang will be under the fanfic! Also hi hello hi this is my first time writing a Sam fic and I was disappointed when reading this crap, but I do hope you'll enjoy it nevertheless haha. Thank you for reading! (Also, Sully is a bartender, hope you like it!) Also, also, sorry for any grammatical errors!

✧*。 ✧*。

A suggestive tone picked up when you entered the many familiar rooms within the of yore building. It was no grand, simply striding between the many alleys and rat holes which imitated a classic neighbourhood, including the rats within - the people - giving it an excellent vibe of life and long driven days with thrill and fun.

Despite the early-late chatter and noises that eluded out of the nifty house, it never ceased its lively, but overly relaxing atmospheres.

That is, after all, what you came for.

Artie Shaw's clarinet waltzed, his music coming out of a crooky gramophone near the corner of the counter, where stood the man that you’ve been meeting almost the whole week until now, this glamorous week being more than welcoming to the many ideas and opportunities you’ve been met with. Today was, to your own anticipation, hopefully the same day as the others have been.

“Hell-o, darling. When did you get here?” the hair greying man greeted out of nowhere once you stood infront of his wooden counter, a cigar hanging from the side of his mouth, his frame sporting a white button-up, complimented by a typical black vest with - what appeared to be under the everlasting, golden dim of light – an embroidered rose with a story tale red down the sides of his torso.

His grim hands worked themselves on a glimmering piece of glass, which even from your own position, smelled of the nectar called alcohol.

“Just now, all these nights have me feeling like a lonely dud.” You sighed, slumping your shoulders, the black, thick coat which kept you warm throughout all these nights revealing a white fuzz from the inside. You slipped it off to the crook of your elbow and reached the stool you’ve placed yourself yesterday. And the day before. And the day before that. “What about you, Victor? Still have that cuddle-cootie slat biting on your ankles?”

Sully stopped in his tracks, rising an eyebrow at you curiously, before exhaling, a smile tugging on the corners of his smoky lips. He set down the freshly washed and wiped glass infront of you and turned himself around, reaching for the drink of runny rum, which had the nickname of your 'usual'.

“I believe they had a wonderful... Night. Together.” His gruff voice directed towards you, and he tilted the bottle forward. "Elena is quite the catch, Nate's doing well for himself."

You put your palm onto the ring of the cup, giving him a subtle smile, and he halted.

“Not today.”

Sullivan’s arm spread wide and he slightly bowed, turning around, setting the glass up on its mighty spot, “What will it be, then?”

“Just juice will do,” you whispered, looking around the bar, before giving him a twinkling wink, “only for tonight.”

You continued after he popped open a boring bottle of fruit juice, setting it infront of you like it’s the holy essence itself.

“I’d think that Elena would know better than to... Get it on with a forty-niner,” you took a short sip from the bottle, quickly putting it down, “no offense.”

“Don’t say that to me,” he chuckled, “feathers is much obliged, they might've had a couple too many drinks than was planned,” Sullivan sent you an amiable grin, before you turned around and stood on your feet.

“Going to test your skill on billiards?” he questioned from behind you, tapping his finger on the side of the juice jar.

“As if I ever will,” you smiled back at him from behind your naked shoulder, the pearl necklace hugging your neck tight shifting, “I’d much rather keep it calm this time, had a stressful day.”

“Want to talk about it?” Sully offered.

“Nah, I’m alright,” you sighed, but looked forward and began step-stepping away form the busy man.

Victor exclaimed after you through the loud musica, “No hesitation to talk to me, sugar!”

You smiled to yourself.

I know.

✧*。 ✧*。 ✧*。

A tiny tinkle rung above your head, your shoulders immediately getting the breeze of cold air from the closest window, hair bobbing with the silent wind. Music played, this time in a hum, the people around the table eager and keen, some of them hanging by big cushioned seats under a light that shined in the middle of the pool table, as above, so below, a glass visible inside it, staring almost trimmed back at you with it’s shiny reflection.

The place was a brown green aesthetic, with alcohol and cigarettes flaring up your nostrils, wafting through the air like a swarm of bees. The people were lucky there was a window.

“Hey, dude look at you making a spiffy!” an arm swung over your bare shoulders, the warmth creating a sudden, harsh sensation.

“Hey, Chlo,” you snickered at the drunk girl, her ponytail swimming around from behind her neck as always. Her shimmy moving ignited your alert, her stumbling more than foreign to her usual self.

“I’ll tell you what, I’ve seen some keen molls around gin mills- Jesus,” Chloe followed, before Harry stood up infront of the two of you.

“She’s... wasted,” you laughed gently, grabbing her arm and hoisting her arm up yourself, her legs regaining their balance.

Harry nodded in return, crossing his arms over his chest with a soft, inaudible sigh that you only caught by a grumble.

“Bad day?” you asked, pointing to the girl.

“Bad day,” He nodded, “we all have them.” He continued, chuckling, grabbing the girl by her armpits and quickly striding with her to the closest, unoccupied cushion that could work as her own throne.

You shook your head at the girl, eyes trailing around the pool game.

The silent group of people that orbited the room were engaged in touchy-feely kisser conversations, and you felt a sudden feeling of loneliness run over you.

You decided to pack your loneliness out on the club of crickets that played out by the dumpsters from behind the bar's doors.

Together with the unboxing of your halfway empty cigarette box, the everlasting, sickening strawberry scent piled in a round swiftly sticking onto you and your clothing. Your run down, 20s lighter flickered your cigarette on and you took the deepest breath you have all day.

Alone with your thoughts, finally being able to breathe, your back goosed up from the cold, accomodating with the change of icy temperature. And you enjoyed it. To an extent, it brought you an unfamiliar feeling of serenity.

In this hectic world, it was hard to find this one feeling. Except it was there, for a split second, growing and manifesting into euphoric silence.

Tears suddenly welled up in your eyes, and you took another drag of your cigarette, your exhalation a shaky breath.

Warmth spread on your cold shoulders, and the moment you didn’t budge, a sweet, honeyed voice whispered in your ear.

“’vening, princess,” rough hand slithered their way around your shoulders, gently ringing themselves around you, a subtle contact of the person’s lips sitting atop of your exposed shoulder.

You slightly smiled and blinked the tears away, tilting your head to the side to give better access.

Chapped lips enveloped your skin in tender butterfly kisses, and whilst your bad mood didn’t exactly falter, you felt a strand bit better just because of his presence.

“Hey... Sam, where have you been?” you breathed out when his mouth moved to your jaw and began rubbing his cheek against your own, hugging your waist from behind, front lingering on your back for deeper contact. The warmth of his opened button up warmed up your whole spine.

“Funny story. For another time,” he chuckled slightly, the scarred skin of his temples sitting under your jaw, his hair tickling your side gently, “where have you been?” he asked softly.

You inhaled sharply, but didn’t budge, holding the breath for a little longer, eyes focusing on the lamps of the back alley. They flickered and peppered the scene with a nice glow, and your eyes adjusted only to a fraction of the flashing lights.

Sam suddenly took hold of your wrist and brought the cigarette hanging loosely between your fingers to his face.

Snapping out of the brief trance, your head turned to his side, and your breath hitched in your throat when you tried to take another, without exhaling.

The handsome man stared into your eyes, before he took a slight drag out of the cigarette, smoke slipping past his ever chapped lips upon taking it out.

Just then did you force the breath out.

“What’s on your mind, dove?” he took the cigarette in his other hand and raised his other one to caress the other side of your face with his knuckles.

“There’s alot of things on my mind,” you sighed, closing your eyes for a split second, letting your cheek press onto his knuckles, his bruised skin inching closer into the plush.

Sam remained quiet, straightening up, and your eyes snapped open at his movement.

“Let’s go for a ride.” He said, slipping the cigarette into his mouth, hopping off the stairs, grabbing your hand.

You raised your eyebrows, but smiled slowly and pushed your coat up, reaching your hand out, your fingers intertwining into his.

“Where to?” you asked.

“You’ll see,” his eyes lingered on yours.

You took a step forward, “Alright.”

✧*。 ✧*。 ✧*。 ✧*。

The wind splashed into your face like cold water, each and every single bump available on the road making Sam’s motorcycle jump up and down. The green and yellow hue that blended in with the night created a soothing vibe, and you couldn’t help it when your voice chimed out in an exaggerated yell of excitement the more Sam sped up.

Sam was a good driver, especially on motorcycles, so you trusted him with his skills to not crash the two of you into a nearby dump.

The screeching of tires suddenly stopped your voice, and you fed your sight to the beauty of reflections within a far sea that stretched out into the unknown over its width.

The many shades of purples, blues, greens, yellows and even pinks created a translucent shade which screamed in your face.

“Wow..” you breathed out, stepping off the vehicle, your low heeled t-straps clicking along your speedwalk to the metal fence separating you from the ocean.

You heard Sam’s steps behind you, their sound coming closer and closer, before he was right beside you, his hand flying to your own, fingers slithering their way between yours.

“Do you.. you like it?” he stammered out, his voice a soft snickery, eyes watching your every move.

“Do-do I like it?” you whispered, the cold catching onto you slowly, “Sam, it’s... Beautiful,” you giggled, tapping the fence. “But cold.”

He let out a breathless chuckle, standing closer to your frame, his finger curling under your chin, “Sure is.. look at you, going all shaky on me?”

Your knees slightly buckled and you pursed your lips in embarrassment, gaze flowing down to the waters.

Sam’s finger tilted your head back to face him, your eyes locking onto his shining, hazel ones once more.

Your teeth gently dug into your bottom lip, the plump skin creating a sudden pillow for your ever growing nervousness. His warm fingers spread under either side of your jaw, and before any of you could speak a word, your lips were seduced by his in a slow, starting kiss, your hands trailing up his chest, to the crook of his neck, where you ringed the exposed flesh of it in a slow, lustful motion.

His chest rumbled in a groan when your fingers dug into his scalp, and you tugged back. The tip of your tongue spread on his bottom lip, and he much obliged in twirling his own over yours, slowly and steadily, gaining control over your pace.

The cold pipe holding the fence in place pressed against you, and the coat which provided enough warmth for the time being of your heated moment, turned into pudge, sliding down your shoulders, far off your elbows and fell on the ground, the length now shocking your skin through your thin gown, the frozen material hissing on your lower back.

You squeaked and jumped, Sam holding your hips in place so you wouldn’t fall over, your arms tightening around his neck, lip slightly bruised red from the gentle nibbling he’s been giving you.

“You okay?” he asked, his lips quivering in a held back laughter.

“Oh, oh yeah, yup,” you cleared your throat, reaching down for the coat, putting it over your shoulders hastily, “absolute dandy, swell.”

You looked up at him through a pout, I ruined the moment, what a way to go..

Sam sucked in his lips and licked them, tilting his head and coming down to your height, giving you a quick, breathless kiss, before scooping you up, his strong arms ringing under your armpits.

He took you like a ragdoll, hanging you to his full height, walking towards the motorcycle.

“Well, doll, seems like the clock’s ticking and we’ve got a bit more time to go,” he said in a sing-song voice, plopping you down on the back seat, your form emitting a gentle huff, “and I know just the right way to make you mine throughout all of it,” he sent you a kiss on the cheek, hand on your shoulder, a slight smirk candying his handsome face.

You pursed your lips into a thin line and looked up at him in anticipation, eyebrows rised whilst awaiting his proposal, which you would without hesitation, accept.

“How is that?” you slowly asked, letting a small smile appear.

“With drinks, of course,” he bowed down to you, giving you a smooch on the lips hastily, before he sat on the motorcycle.

You slumped behind Sam in disappointment, but continued on slipping your arms through your clothes nonetheless, giving him your soft, sad puppy eyes that bore into his back.

Sam gave you a side look, before turning around fully, a finger rising up to under your chin.

“Don’t worry, baby girl, I’ll make sure you won’t be able to walk tomorrow.” His slow whisper forced your breath to hitch, goosebumps running up your arms surprisingly, and before you could respond, the motorcycle worked more as a stimulation to your growing nerves than you could’ve expressed to him.

The rest of the night bugged your mind, your eyes always flickering to the clock, counting minutes with Sam only giving in his mischief through those sinful, hazel eyes, the message in them always demanding to you, 'Patience, baby.'

✧*。 ✧*。 ✧*。 ✧*。 ✧*。

Dud - A wallflower

Forty-niner - A man who is prospecting for a rich wife

Slat - Young man

Cuddle-cootie - Young man who takes a girl for a ride on a bus

Feathers - Small talk; light conversation

Spiffy - Elegant appearance

"I've seen some keen molls around gin mills-"

Keen - Attractive or appealing

Moll - A gangster's girl

Gin Mill - A bar

#uncharted #uncharted4 #fanfiction #sam drake #x reader #uncharted+x+reader #samuel drake #sam drake x reader

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oh-mother-of-darkness · 5 years

Text

Stephanie jogged away from the riverbank and towards the city, into the crowds and the concrete. Her headphones drowned out most of the noise and replaced it with loud music; she hummed along as she ran down the sidewalk.

A hand reached out from the an alley as she went past. Without thinking, Stephanie yanked down her headphones and turned into a kick as hard as she could make it. Her heel slammed into the stomach of a man lurking in the mouth of the alleyway. He gasped and doubled over, swearing.

At that point, Stephanie recognized her attacker.

“Jesus!” said Jason Todd. “Shit. Alright, yeah, that’s my fault. I should have let you know I was coming.”

Stephanie scanned him warily. Looking closely, she could see several weapons hidden in his clothing: jeans and a leather jacket over a tshirt— not his uniform. She stepped into the alley to talk.

“Coming why?”

“I could use a hand.”

“With what?”

“Bomb mission.”

Stephanie glared at him. “You set a bomb?”

“No, I’m looking for one.”

“Why?”

“To stop it from blowing up?” Jason stuck his head out of the alleyway and flashed a quick look in both directions. “Why else would I be looking for a bomb?”

“I don’t know! You’re the crime lord. You tell me.”

He sighed. “This may have been a mistake.”

“Why me?”

“I don’t hate you,” he said, “but honestly? This conversation is a really good start.”

Stephanie surveyed him again. He did look serious. She pushed down the voice in her head that told her this was a very bad idea and nodded instead. “Fine. What do you need?”

“A second man.”

“Batgirl or Stephanie?”

“Stephanie. We need to blend into the crowd.”

“We aren’t doing anything until you explain what’s going on.”

Jason sighed again. “There’s not much to explain. There’s a bomb somewhere in this area, but I don’t know exactly where. We find it before it explodes. I defuse it. End of mission.”

“Right.” Simple enough, Stephanie thought. End of mission. What could go wrong?

A lot, and she knew it. “Sure. Let’s go find a bomb.”

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

They split up immediately. Jason went left from the alleyway, and Stephanie went right. She walked slowly through assorted streets and alleyways, keeping to the grid with one headphone over her ear and one slid sideways into her hair. She peeked into dumpsters and storm drains. She checked every passerby for wires or suspect packages.

“Anything?” asked Jason through her headphones.

“Not yet.”

“Me neither.”

Stephanie finished another block and turned back onto the main street through the sidewalk in front of a fancy-looking hotel. She passed in front of the open double doors and felt a blast of air conditioning. A doorman looked lazily out from his position just inside.

“Jason?”

“What?”

“Are you sure the bomb is outside?”

“Not absolutely, no. Why?

“I have a hunch.” Stephanie squared her shoulders and marched into the hotel lobby, waving to the doorman like she belonged. He gave her leggings and tank top a sideways look, but he didn’t tell her no.

She peered around the ground floor. There was a fountain spitting water in middle while staircases wound upward towards the ceiling floors above her. Stephanie circled around the marble without incident. Nothing there. She wandered towards the elevator and hit the button for the top floor. She’d check the hotel from above, she thought, then head back outside.

The elevator played a calming noise over the loudspeaker as it began to move through floors. Stephanie cocked her head to the side. She didn’t like that sound. It made the hair on her arms stand up.

Why? She didn’t know. She listened intently as the elevator hit the fourth floor of eleven. There was something underneath the pleasant chiming— a clicking, regular sound.

The elevator was ticking.

Oh shit.

“Jason?” she asked, hitting the lock button on the elevator panel.

“Yeah?”

“I found it.” She yanked open the metal plating underneath the buttons and found what she expected: a mess of wires around a flickering timer counting downwards one second at a time.

“Active?”

“Yes.”

“How long?”

“Three minutes and… twenty-four, twenty-three, twenty-two, twenty—”

“I get the picture. Where are you?”

“Elevator in the Middleton Hotel.”

“I’m ten minutes out. You’re on your own.”

Stephanie gulped and mentally ran through her bomb defusing training. It had been awhile.

“Do you need me to walk you through it?”

“No.”

“I’m doing it anyway. What’s it look like?”

“I can handle this.”

“Can you?”

“Don’t ask me for help if you don’t trust me to get things done.” Stephanie knelt in front of the mess of machinery. “Five wires. Color coded.”

“What colors?”

“White, red, yellow, black, blue.”

“It’s never the red wire.”

“Thanks.”

“Time?”

“Two minutes, forty-six.”

“What’s the battery look like?”

“This is not helpful.”

“Battery.”

“It’s so relaxing.”

“You realize you’re in danger, right? Stop quipping and defuse the bomb.”

“I’m doing it! I’ve been trying this whole time!”

Stephanie had been. She’d pulled the machinery out of the console and untangled the mess of wires from each other. They dangled in front of her now, each connected to a gray port. That was step one, right? It had to be step one.

“Okay,” said Jason “Do you have the wires out?”

“Yes.”

“Check the serial number.”

“I know!”

“Then do it.”

“Two minutes, thirteen seconds.”

“You’re cutting it close.”

“No shit!” Stephanie almost threw her headphones across the elevator, but she restrained herself. She might need him. God’s truth, she wasn’t sure what she was doing.

“Have you ever done this before?” Jason asked.

“Simulations.”

“Then let me help you.”

“What, you have actual experience with bombs?”

The other end of Stephanie’s line went very quiet.

“Oh hell,” she whispered. “Oh hell, I forgot. I’m so sorry.”

“Whatever.” Jason said. “Concentrate.”

“Yeah.”

Stephanie bent over her bomb again. For the next minute, she fumbled with wires and ports as best she could.

Finally, Jason’s voice came over the line again. “If you can’t do it, get out now.”

“I can do it.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Sure enough to risk your life?”

“Yes!”

“Because in my personal experience?”

“Shut up.”

“Blowing up isn’t fun.”

“That’s really fucking helpful, Hood.”

Nineteen seconds. Stephanie sat back on the elevator floor and came to terms with an inconvenient truth: she was going to have to pull a wire. She didn’t know which one. But she was going to have to do it.

Eleven seconds.

“Start running,” said Jason.

“Not yet.”

Eight seconds.

“Run or die.”

Stephanie looked over her options. With three seconds left, she made her choice.

Stephanie took a deep breath and pulled the red wire.

Silence. The elevator didn’t explode. The clock stopped on its last tick and held steady with 00:01 written across the screen.

Stephanie took another deep breath and collapsed backwards, flat on the floor. She heard Jason breathing on the other end of the line, also too fast and too loud.

“Stephanie?” he asked.

“Red wire,” Stephanie gasped. “It was the red wire.”

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

She saw him lurking on a patio across the street as she made her way out of the hotel doors. She waved to the doorman again and jogged over to meet him.

Jason looked very relieved to see her. “Call the commissioner?” he suggested. “Get the remains out of the building?”

“Already did. Bomb disposal is on its way.”

“Good.” Jason leaned back against his chair. “So… red wire, huh?”

“Red wire. I’m never listening to you again.”

“Not like you did before.”

“Yeah. Anyway.” Stephanie took the seat across from Jason on the patio table. She leaned forward and crossed her arms. “Sorry about the ‘experience’ thing.”

“I told you, it’s fine.”

“I honestly forgot.”

“It happens.”

A waiter came up to their table and asked for their order. They both chose iced coffee, and she went away again.

Jason tapped idly on the patio table while Stephanie checked her phone.

“Do you hate me yet?” she asked.

He smiled. “Nah. Give it another week.”

“What if I ask invasive questions first?”

“Go for it.”

“You died.”

“Yes.”

“How was that?”

Jason blinked at her, apparently at a loss. “Pretty bad?” he said finally.

“Right.”

“I watched the countdown hit zero knowing there was nothing I could do. The building exploded. I don’t remember after that.”

“Yeah.”

“I know the explosion didn’t kill me. The smoke did.”

“Shit.”

“It’s not my best memory.”

Stephanie shook her head. “I guess not.”

They sat in silence for a few moments.

“You were dead too, weren’t you?” Jason asked.

“Kind of.” Stephanie shrugged. “He thought I was.”

“How did he handle that?”

“Poorly, I’m told. He never came back from losing you.”

Jason snorted.

“He talks about you all the time.”

“Good for him.”

“He could have defused that thing in thirty seconds, you know.”

“Oh I know.”

They both laughed, then stopped talking while the waitress brought their drinks. After she left, Stephanie slurped down half of hers in one pull. It tasted good, or maybe she was still riding her adrenaline high. Either way, she was happy about it.

“You could have asked him for help,” she told Jason. “Or any of the others. They would have been a better choice than me.”

“I doubt it.” Jason grinned at her. “They’re pretty useless, and you’re not. You always impress me.”

“Really?” Stephanie finished her drink.

“Really.” Jason grabbed his from the table, pulled out a twenty dollar bill, and left it for the waitress. He swung over the patio fence, waved, and disappeared into the crowd.

“Huh,” Stephanie said. She lost him within seconds. For awhile, she considered running after him. That was probably what Bruce would do.

Sirens screamed down the street as a dozen cop cars pulled up in front of the hotel, along with a giant truck. Men in full body suits poured out of it and into the lobby, shocking the poor doorman from his place by the door.

Ah, who cared what Bruce thought? Stephanie threw her cup in the trash, stuck her phone in the pocket of her leggings, and jogged off, away from the sirens and further into the city.

#stephanie brown #jason todd #i'm proud of this one i think #fanfiction #mine #uhhhhh #profanity

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