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yejiroh · 3 years

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Siren Scales & Village Tales

•••

For @chaoticyuna 's Summerween event!

Siren Gojo with a female reader.

Word count: 2.3k

TW: large bodies of water, bullying, blood.

•••

“The water was always murky by the bog trees, billows of dirt and sod and other bits always falling into the water by the pounds. Further down the dirt road that passes through the swamp, and you’d find a well, then a town.

“A merchant’s town, children waddled through the puddles that filled the pit holes- it wasn’t a rich area, despite all the good business. In the center of the town, a big fountain captured the sun’s rays during the golden hour- usually around 5 in the afternoon.

“Now, back to the well- it’s kind of important.

“The well, around 3 feet wide, was built of what was now crumbling bricks- terribly small, but just big enough to fall down; should you be unlucky enough.

“But there was also a rumor- as there is in every town and village. And, like other rumors that resided in other towns and villages, it was that of the supernatural. But in this case…

“Sirens.

“Sirens were fish tailed peoples with webbed hands and glowing eyes. It was said that if you ever heard one singing, you’d be inclined to bring yourself forward, to take their hand and fall.”

“Fall?”

“Yes, fall. Fall down the well, they would tell you. However, once in a blue moon, there’s a survivor, one who crawls their way up from hell and back to the siren as if they were addicted to their voice; coming back every day while the sun is still up, just to leave crying their eyes out as the sun comes down.”

“Why only during the day?”

“Well, no one knows. It’s just something that happens. Like a law of nature.”

***

“Don’t you think it’d be better to just relax once in a while? It wouldn’t hurt you, I promise.”

Despite all the reassurances of saying a story was a story until proven otherwise, better safe than sorry. And the only well in a 15 mile radius was this one.

Curse them for being so cheap.

Your hands burned from the rope as you dragged the bucket up, clear water sloshing around spilling out some.

“Nanami, with all due respect, you are the last one I want to hear the word ‘relax’ from.”

Gravel bits dug into the souls of your shoes, some chunky enough to feel even through the rubber. It kind of stung.

“Y/n, I’m going to be frank with you; mermen? They don’t exist. Neither do griffins, or hydras, or any of that fairy tail nonsense you’re always babbling about. It’s just us two, and old Mr. Gakuganji down the road.”

Sighing, Nanami adjusted his glasses, not bothering to wait for you as he loaded the last gallon onto the wagon, getting ready to go.

***

People surged forward, coins and paper money grasped in hands before thrown at you two, grabbing at the jars of the well water. It was always like this, the town coming up to the well water like it was their life sustainer, and maybe for some, it was.

“Y/n! Welcome back! Did you see anything unnatural today?”

A mocking laugh, a tall man tore his shirt off- Aoi Todo. Behind him, the Zen’in twins chuckled.

“Actually Todo, I haven’t. BUT, I do have something else to note. That well water you’re drinking? It hasn’t been boiled yet.”

Watching his face contort, a smile is set on your face as Aoi began to hurl, tiny worms and water with last night's feast falling onto his feet.

“Y/n! What the hell! Did your siren buddy put you up to this?”

“What happened to them not being real?”

It was the same conversation everyday. And, like everyday, you was met with a horrible answer.

Todo scoffed before spitting onto the ground, wiping his mouth with his sleeve.

“No man is every gonna want you, you stupid woman.”

“And if I don’t want to marry?”

***

As the hours passed, dusk came, bringing the stormy clouds with it- but it wasn’t yet raining. A ripple in the lake waters caught your eye- maybe a fish, but the fish weren’t in season, so it was unlikely.

You shouldn’t have been out after curfew- there were rules for a reason, yeah, but what was the harm? Especially after dinner, where you’d only had time for stale bread; chewing down the more than stale pieces was troubling.

The sands of the lake were dry, like all the water had been taken from the ground, pooling into the lake. Odd.

“A law of nature? But that's so…”

“Boring? Stupid? Illogical? Aye, it is.”

Kneeling down, you dipped your fingers into the water. There was something missing from the story the elders told you, you're sure of it; no matter how many times you waved your hand in the shallows, not a single ripple- only from that tail you saw earlier.

Something rumbled, whether or not it was the stormy clouds or your stomach, you didn’t bother to check.

Dipping your feet into the water, a sigh of relief escapes your lips- a breath let go you didn’t know you were holding.

Another roll of thunder- but something caught your eye; the tail again.

It was only for a moment, but you could make out the colors and fin shape. Various shades of blue and silver and yellows, shifting in the light, and the fin, large and (almost) pillowy.

It hit the water, disappearing once again.

“Stran-THE HELL?

Digits quickly grabbed your foot, webbed and slimy, pulling you under before you could scream.

Something pressed into your mouth- maybe seaweed? Bitter and salty, whatever it was was quickly shoved down your throat, forcing you to swallow.

As clear as the water was on the top, it was far too dark and dirty underneath. The vice grip that had pulled you down was now dragging you deeper, the breath you were saving long gone with the swallow, your eyes began to close.

‘Count the digits!’

A tiny raise of suspicion, you felt around for a limb, feeling up before coming to your wrist.

Forcing your eyes to open, the tears that pricked at your eyes were quickly swept away with the current.

Head feeling light, panic was soon replaced with adrenaline, and you raised your legs, knees to your chest, before kicking out hard. Your feet hit the thing holding you, and it let go quickly, allowing you a chance to escape.

Already out of breath, you swam up as fast as you could, finally breaking through the water’s surface. You sucked in a deep breath, coughing violently as you wiped the water and dirt out of your eyes, hurrying to the land.

Behind you, waves crashed, and the water of the lake that seemed crystal clear was now red and thickened. The air became heavy with the scent of iron, and soon the entire lake shifted up, sands and all, dragging you up with it.

“Now, now, it's not strange, is it? I think it’s quite the opposite. Normal even.”

You found yourself in the palm of a hand- or, in the webbing between fingers that curled in, as if to cradle you.

Finally getting a good look at the thing in question, it didn’t take long to put two and two together; the fish from the beginning, the thing that pulled you under...and now…

“I’m Y/n, what the fuck are you, and what’s your name? Also, you’re hot.”

And it was true. Big glossy blue eyes that seemed to be lashed by the purest white doves feathered around,the hair, just as white as the lashes, seemed to trail deep down, and looking down, you leaned over it’s thumb, holding it tight as you peered down. Purple scales glimmered all the way down.

Two fingers grabbed your collar, picking you up, bringing you to face an eye.

“You’re a funny little thing- I could just eat you up”-it opened its mouth, biting the air before laughing”- “I am Gojo. You’ve heard of me, yes? I’m a Siren...but I guess the more accurate description would be to say that I am this lake. And thank you, Y/n. You’re much too kind, considering I was about to drown you. Here, let me brush you off.”

As Gojo patted you down, your insides churned; it was much too fast, and to be frank, it was more like you were getting spanked. It didn’t help that dust clouds rolled off you.

“Y-you-ow-’re a -OW-guy?- STOP THAT HURTS!”

Gojo laughed, smiling as you coughed and waved your arms.

“A guy hmm...I suppose I am. You’re quite big for a fairy. And what the hell are you doing near a lake with no wings?”

“Fairy? I’m a human. There’s a whole ass village down the road through the forest.”

“Human? Oh...Ohh, yeah that makes a lot of sense.”

“Are mermaids- sorry, sirens- -lake dudes?”

“Lake dude, siren, doesn’t matter.”

“Right. Are y’all supposed to be this huge?”

Gojo gasped, a webbed hand on his chest and mouth hanging open before promptly putting you down, laying down himself as his lower half dissolved into water, the pit that was the lake somewhat there again.

“Big? You think I’m big? I’m just a small lake! You flatter me Y/n!”

Propping himself on his elbows, he rested his face in his palms, looking at you with a smile.

“Eh, it wasn’t for flattery- just curiosity.”

“Still...well, now I feel bad. I was gonna eat you.”

“Eat me?”

“Yeah.” Gojo scoffed before looking down, glaring at the ground. “There’s this human who calls himself Todo- a real-

“Pain in the ass? Insufferable? Obnoxious? Egotistic? A liar?”

“YES EXACTLY- you know him?” Gojo put his head down, and you watched in interest as some of him crumbled to sand before promptly climbing up onto his nose.Tapping it lightly, you let out a out a small “oomph” as he rose up, eyes on you.

“Yeah, I know him. He’s actually why I’m here now- kinda. The fucking jerk kept messing with me, talkin’ about how, ‘Oh, Y/n, did you see anything weird? A siren perhaps?’ and yeah, the fucking town laughed at me, but it’s okay, cause the well water he drank hadn’t been purified ye-”

Gojo interrupted you, waving his hands around in the water before bursting into laughter.

“The WELL? Not the one by this place I hope? Oh god, thank Yaga y’all purify that!”

Joining in the laughter nervously, you asked why, which sent the siren bawling into more laughter,forcing him to place you on his head so you wouldn’t fall off.

“Oh, oh my gosh- stop tugging my hair Y/n- that well water is connected to this lake- me! Y’all would have been drinking my piss and body had you not purified it! And I can’t have a pretty thing like you melting from the inside out and drowning in your own blood because of scales or something!”

“So...what I’m getting at here is...Todo is going to die if he hasn’t already? I mean, he spit it out, but he still drank a bit-”

A sudden burst of wind, you tugged Gojo’s hair again, holding on so tight your knuckles turned white.

Gojo hummed, deep in thought before exhaling slowly.

“Well- no pun intended-, I believe he’d turn into a fish. At least, that's what happened to the last guy who did that. Man, he was a crazy one. Called himself Get, going on and on about how everything he consumed he could turn into. Weird shit, Y/n.”

“Turned into a fish but could shapeshift?”

“Ah yeah- you guys know magic and stuff is real right? Anyways, my body, as you can see, is basically this entire lake- not like a lake god or something. Once I die, this place will have never existed. Back to what I was saying, I have a strict ‘no-no’ policy. A little spell just so I could get more dinner. And, I don’t think anyone would want to just be a lake their whole damn life.”

“Huh...that makes sense.”

“Yeah. “

“So…”

The two of you paused for a moment, and you couldn’t help but chuckle inwardly; to think that sirens were only bloodthirsty monsters- well, he did try to kill you, and it was true that they were beautiful, but the fact that you were literally sitting on the head of one now- one who claimed to be small- it was entirely laughable.

Clearing your throat, you crawled over, leaning down to come facing his eyes once again, poking his forehead.

“Say...Gojo, you wouldn’t mind eating Todo if he turned into a fish right?”

“Hmmm...not really. Why?”

“Just asking. I’ll drop by here tomorrow, yeah? It’s getting late, and I gotta make sure no one took my dumplings.”

And with that, you said your goodbyes, promising to meet again, you with your vial of well water and siren scales, and Gojo with a gold coin.

“Payment, my dear. Nothing is free in this life, you know. Hopefully now you’ll have some better village tales to tell now.”

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vannahfanfics · 4 years

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Waste the Night Away

Category: Mild Romantic Fluff

Fandom: My Hero Academia

Characters: Hanta Sero, Ochako Uraraka

Additional Tags: Mermaid AU

Hello, everybody! This is another piece for @bnhabookclub‘s MerMay event, this time for the prompt “Well, this isn’t how I expected to spend my Saturday night”!

This is also a present for my lovely beta-reader and number-one supporter @deliathedork. I love you dearest! You certainly make all my hard work worth it! <3 Enjoy!

“Needless to say, I keep her in check! She was a bad-bad, nevertheless-! Callin’ it quits, da dunna dun duh…” Hanta sang along to the music pumping in his headphones as he jaunted along the concrete sidewalk. He punctuated the words with very exaggerated motions, earning him quite a few concerned glances from passersby; not that he noticed, because he had his eyes closed as he skipped a few steps flapping his arms like a chicken. “Then you’re left in the dust-! Unless I stuck by yaaaaaaa! You’re a sunflowwwwwwer! I think your love would be too much!” he yowled and spun around a light pole on the corner before hopping off and scooting a few more steps down the sloping sidewalk.

It was about seven o’clock in the evening, and Hanta was on his way home from a riotous day of videogames at Denki’s house. Hanta had proudly obliterated Denki, Katsuki, Eijirou, and surprise guest Fumikage at Super Smash Bros. Needless to say, he was still riding the victory high- so much so that he had elected to walk home rather than take the bus. The night was pleasantly chilly, just enough to stave off the heat from all his wild dancing, and a few of the stars were visible between the wispy gray clouds trawling over the inky expanse of the night sky. The evening was still young, so as he jitterbugged his way through town, he distantly wondered what he was going to do for the rest of it.

“I can hear you tellin’ me to turn around! Fightin’ for my trust, and you won’t back down! Da dunna dun duh, da dunna dun da…” he clumsily sang as he hopped over the curb to jaywalk across an empty street. He trotted down another incline, which led to his shortcut- a waterway that traveled the length of a series of highway overpasses. The watercourse siphoned excess water away from the city reservoir; it had rained a considerable amount lately, so the freshwater was lapping up at the edges of the levee. The splashing and gurgling of the water served as an accompaniment to his performance while he strolled along, occasionally stopping to kick his legs or punch the air energetically. “You’re the sunflowwwwwer! You’re the sunflower!” he howled again, skipping to the edge of the levee and shaking his hips, before the song ended. He then wrenched his headphones off his ears to rest them around his neck and released a self-satisfied sigh, placing his hands on his hips and staring out at the canal.

Hanta always took a moment to appreciate the view when he came this way, if the water level was high enough. It was extraordinarily breathtaking when the stars were out. Light sparkled across the gently sloshing waves like millions of diamonds. Just above the concrete slopes of the other side of the levee, through a rusted chain-link fence, spread the expanse of the city; gold lights floated like orbs in the distance, emanating from streetlights and houses and businesses. If he squinted, he could make out the reds and green of traffic stops as well, or the flickering neon flashes of animated billboards. He could not hear the deafening noise pollution of civilization, though, aside from the humming of car engines bouncing down from the highway half a mile from where he stood. No, the sounds of nature reigned- the babbling of the water, the chirping of the crickets in the bunches of weeds springing up from the cracked sidewalk, the baying of stray hounds and the hooting of the barn owl that nested in the crooked old tree beyond the fence. He closed his eyes as he drank it all in. The bubbling. The chirping. The howling. The hooting. The little muffled whimpers for help-

Wait a second.

Hanta’s eyes snapped open, and he strained his ears to make sure he had indeed heard what he thought he had. Sure enough, floating down the waterway from his right were small, stifled squeaks and sobs. Someone needs help! He took off down the sidewalk, whipping out his phone to turn on the flashlight. A bright circle of white illuminated the stone construct before him, and he swung his phone side to side wildly to check every square inch of space.

“Hello? Who’s out here? Do you need help?” he called, cupping a hand to his mouth to increase the volume. The noises ceased for a moment, and he worried that he might have frightened them off. “Don’t be scared! I just wanna help you!” He remained still aside from his slightly ragged breaths, eyes searching the dark and ears straining the fresh night air for any sound, any at all.

“… Please help me.” The plea was meek, but close, close enough for him to tell it was a girl. A million deplorable scenarios flew through his mind at once, but he forbade himself to settle on any of them; instead, he focused on picking his way down the slick slope to where he thought the voice originated from. Suddenly, the disc of light from his phone’s flashlight puddled over a caramel-haired, brown-eyed girl with her body half in the water.

“What the shit?!” Hanta panted under his breath. He cried out as the sole of his sneaker slipped over the wet rock, and he sank into a split. He let out a shrill whine as his thigh and groin muscles strained way past the point they were naturally meant to. His feet scrabbled against the slimy, rocky levee wall until he managed to regain his footing again. Hugging the levee surface, he allowed gravity to slide him the rest of the way down the slope until the toes of his sneakers barely breached the rippling surface of the water. “Don’t worry, miss, I gotcha,” he reassured the frightened girl as she shied away from his sudden presence. He held his phone up so that the light illuminated her fully but also fell on him so she could see his kind smile. “We’re gonna get you back up just… just… fine…”

His words trailed off when he happened to look down at her lower half, which rested in the water. It was just instinctual. He hadn’t been sure what he had been expecting, given the situation; he could have discovered any number of sickening or unsavory things. What he discovered was not sickening or unsavory, but downright befuddling. Rather than human legs, the lower half of the girl’s body was in the form of a bubblegum pink, scaly fishtail, with thin, curving fins like a flying fish. Hanta stared incredulously at the appendage for a few seconds before he realized why the girl- mermaid, rather- had been crying out for help. Wrapped around her tail were industrial-sized plastic rings. The hard edges were digging into the flesh, slicing right through the hard scales to cause blood and effluent to ooze out. The mermaid stared fearfully at him the entire time.

“Right! Uh, knife, I need a knife,” he mumbled and began patting his pockets in search of his Swiss Army knife. One never knew when one needed a particular tool, so Hanta had always made a point to keep one on his person. He never dreamed he would be using it to cut some plastic off a mermaid, though.

“Ah-ha!” he grinned triumphantly when he finally tugged it out of his back pocket. He flashed a reassuring smile at the mermaid. “Don’t worry, Miss Mermaid. I’mma have you free in a jiffy.”

“Erm… Thank you,” she flushed shyly and dropped her gaze. Hanta then realized he would need two hands to cut her free, so he grinned bashfully at her.

“Er, would you mind, uh, holding this for me?” he asked with a shake of his smartphone. She stared curiously at the device and gave an unsure nod, reaching up with her small hands to take it. “Just keep that light pointed on your tail- Jesus Christ, she has a tail- uh, keep it pointed there so I can see.” Obediently, she turned the phone so that the flashlight kept her tail illuminated. Hanta bit down on his bottom lip as he hunched over the appendage to begin cutting the plastic loose.

Some areas were more accessible than others; in several places, the plastic was lodged half an inch down in the meat of her tail. He felt pangs of guilt every time the poor thing yelped with pain when he would dig his fingertip into the gaping wound to pry it out. She began to squirm around and sob pitifully, so he decided to try and distract her from the discomfort. “My name’s Hanta. Sero Hanta,” he informed her with a quick smile. “What about you? Do you have a name like humans?”

“In your language, it would be Ochako. Uraraka Ochako.”

“Cute name, cute name.” He winced when she whimpered again, for he was digging into a rather deep laceration to force out some clinging particles of the stretchy plastic. “How did you even do this?” he muttered disparagingly. He glanced at her face to see her eyes tearing up and a self-pitying pout making her lips quiver.

“I just swam into it like a big dummy… I freaked out trying to get it off, and next thing I knew, I was up in this channel. I got it all tangled with my fins, so it was getting hard to swim…” She used to her free hand to wipe at the tears glittering on her brown lashes. “I thought I was gonna be stuck here forever…”

“Hey, hey, don’t worry about it! Good thing I happened upon you, huh?” he interjected as she began to cry piteously. He probably shouldn’t have delved too much into the backstory. A bright idea struck him like a thunderbolt, and he wrenched off his headphones to stick them over her ears. “Here! Listen to this, and it won’t hurt as much,” he instructed her and tapped on his phone screen to restart the music. Her eyes went wider than the full moon above as the music began blasting in her ears. The tears ceased leaking down, and slowly, she began bobbing her head a little. Hanta beamed widely, pleased his clever plan worked, and resumed cutting at the plastic. He gave the mermaid an amused side-eye as she began humming along to the tune.

Once he had tossed the last bit of the plastic up onto the top of the levee, Ochako gave her tail an experimental flap. She flushed pink and slapped her hand to her mouth as she involuntarily splashed water all down his front and into his face. “Don’t worry, don’t worry, it’s just water,” he laughed mirthfully when she began to squeak apologies. “It’ll dry,” he purred and wrung out his shirt. The water gushed down onto the stone levee with spattering splashes. “Anyway, do you think you can swim now?”

“Yes, I do,” she agreed and lowered the headphones from her ears to glance gratefully down at her tail. Thin lacerations painted red cross-crossing lines in the bright pink flesh, but her fins now fluttered freely. He gawked in awe at the realization she could manipulate each one of them voluntarily. She noticed him staring and giggled. “Would you like to touch it?”

“Is that weird?”

“No. Go ahead,” she chuckled. Hanta immediately splayed his palms out over the fishy tail, dark eyes going wide. It wasn’t nearly as slimy as he thought it would be. The scales were a little soft and pliant, feeling like thin discs rolling under his skin. The membranes of her fins were so delicate-looking that he was scared to touch them, but when he did, pinching them between the pads of his forefinger and thumb, they felt like the sheerest lace.

“It’s beautiful,” he murmured on reflex. He looked up to see Ochako blushing and bashfully holding a hand to her reddening cheek. Realizing just how embarrassing that was, he hastily retracted his hands and straightened up. “Anywa- Ack!” He had put too much force in the movement and essentially flung himself. He slipped down the rest of the levee to land with a splash in the water. The bank was only about two feet deep, so he could sit there on his rump in the water and grin shyly at the concerned mermaid. “Well, guess now we really don’t have to worry about you splashing me, huh?”

“No,” she agreed with a girlish giggle that made Hanta feel all dreamy-like. Sighing contentedly, he crawled back up onto the levee and reclined against the slope on his back, putting his hands behind his head and bending one knee. “Well, this isn’t how I expected to spend my Saturday night,” he chuckled.

“Me neither,” she laughed and stretched out on her belly beside him. She raised her tail, and as it caught the moonlight, the scales shimmered like thousands of pink opals. Water cascaded down from it like liquid crystal to plop in the water below. Hanta caught himself staring again and returned his attention to her face, finding her smiling warmly.

“I’m sorry. I’ve just never seen a girl- mermaid- as pretty as you.”

“I’m the only mermaid you’ve ever seen.”

“That automatically makes you the prettiest, though!” Ochako laughed loudly at his explanation. He found himself savoring her laugh. It rang out like bright bells, full of cheer and goodness. He rolled onto his side, resting a cheek in his hand. He ignored the way the rough stone scraped his elbow, because he just wanted to keep looking at her. He knew he would probably never see her again, so he sought to get his fill. Ochako tilted her head to the side coyly.

“Hanta?”

“Yeah?”

“Tell me about the human world.”

So he did. He told her everything his spastic little brain could think of- cars, trains, movie theaters, bubble tea, traffic stops, coffee, videogames, the little old lady next door with the Chihuahua he swore was the spawn of Satan. The amount of information that tumbled from his mouth was disgustingly overwhelming and mind-numbingly mundane. Still, Ochako hung onto every word with the most rapturous expression on her round face. Hanta found himself getting pointlessly excited about it all and was soon sitting straight up, gesturing wildly with his hands. Occasionally, Ochako would pipe up about a counterpart they possessed in the underwater realm, and they would gush about it for a few minutes. They didn’t notice the moon swiftly traveling across the sky, nor the golden lights of the city flickering out one by one. For that brief period, it seemed like time did not exist at all; that waterway was theirs and theirs alone. That little stretch of levee was a dimension beyond all responsibility and borders. They were perfectly content to waste the night away until the dawn came creeping in, flooding the world with its warm light.

The bubble burst when Hanta’s phone began to ring. He grimaced when he noticed it was his mother, and hurriedly picked up, because he’d never hear the end of it if he rejected her call.

“Yeah. Yeah, Mom, I got caught up at Denki’s. I’m all right. I’ll be home soon. Bye.” Ochako was staring at the phone like it was its own life form when he hung up. She then frowned sadly.

“Does this mean you have to go?”

“Unfortunately so,” he sighed heavily and rubbed the back of his neck, then smiled sheepishly at her. “This might sound corny and all, but I’ll never forget you.”

“Why do you say that like you’ll never see me again?” she asked, looking hurt. He blinked stupidly at her and then flushed.

“Well… I mean… Isn’t it dangerous for you to swim up in the canal? You know, getting kidnapped by humans and sold off to a circus and all that?”

“Yeah, but I don’t care.” He reeled in her utter disregard for her safety. She gave him a roguish smile that was ridiculously cute on her round face. “I’ll come back tomorrow!” Hanta made a mental check of his plans to ensure that an excursion to the channel was indeed feasible before nodding excitedly.

“Yeah! But be careful,” he grimaced. She giggled coquettishly and fluttered her eyelashes at him.

“It’s sweet that you’re worried about me.”

“Well, I am a gentleman,” he huffed, puffing out his chest and closing his eyes with a self-possessed smirk. Ochako took advantage of his lapse in security, and the next thing he knew, she had her lips pressed up against his cheek. All his mental processes screeched to a jarring halt, and he just gawked open-mouthed at her with a brainless “Uhhhhhh…” rumbling in his throat. Ochako giggled at his bashful response and shot him another flirty smile.

“See you around. And thanks again!” Before he could think of anything intelligent to say, she dove off the levee into the water. He tried to scramble to his feet. He only succeeded in tumbling back into the water again, this time with his phone in his pocket. His headphones just barely avoided suffering water damage, and he wrenched his phone out of his pocket to hold it aloft, praying that it was true that it was waterproof. He just barely caught a glimpse of Ochako’s bright pink tail swaying underneath the surface of the glittering black water before it faded into the shadows.

“See ya,” he called softly. Though it was impossible, he still fancied that she heard him.

Groaning, he climbed back up the slope of the levee to the flat sidewalk. He shook himself out like a shaggy dog and wrung as much as the water as he could from his clothes, then placed the headphones snugly over his ears. His phone was thankfully working just fine. He started his music back up and began swaying to the beat a little, then took off in a jog down the path leading home.

“Even if we gotta risk it all right now, oh-! I know you're scared of the unknown! You don't wanna be alone! Da da dun dunna dun dun dun… You’re my sunflowwwwer…”

When his mother inquired what the big smile on his face was for, he merely replied that his Saturday night hadn’t been a wasted one.

DISCLAIMER: The rights to “Sunflower” belong to Post Malone.

Enjoy this oneshot? Feel free to peruse my Table of Contents!

Tag List: @mhafandomman @simplybakugou @sadistiks

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peach4cherryplease · 4 years

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Free Like Rain

Authors note: unedited because I don’t want to.

A fic of what Peach is feeling told by the feeling of Roman sanders for his friend Remus

Wattpad here

Roman sat in the vehicle at a red light. It was raining cats and dogs outside, practically flooding the streets making every pothole a huge puddle.

He was going over to Remus’s house. They are to hang out and watch netflix and just chill. No not the sexual stuff, even though Roman truly wishes it was. But it’s not.

The music played loudly in his vehicle. So loud that a normal person would complain about possibly loosing their hearing. But not roman. No he was listing to what remus likes to listen to. Remus’s music style. It was so different from his own yet some how the same.

He watched as the rain splattered against his roof. And all he could think about was remus.

He wanted remus.

Sexually? Yes.

As a friend? Yes

He wanted to touch remus. He wanted to hold his hand.

He wanted to kiss his lips.

He wanted to hold remus. He wanted- no! Needed to keep remus safe.

And there was nothing in his life that could ever make him feel this way.

Was he crazy? Maybe. He's only met remus 6 months ago, but it felt like they have always been together. As if they have grown up together. As if they were the same person.

The light turned green and roman pressed on the gas.

He shouldn't be speeding. But there was nearly no one on the road. The music mixed with the rain.

Roman closed his eyes for a second. Not too long because remember he is driving.

He wanted to get high. No he doesn't. He wouldn't do a single drug in his life if its not prescribed. But remus has gotten high. Remus gets high all the time. He sometimes smells like straight weed. Thats the closest to getting high roman will ever get.

But what was he feeling right now? Right now he felt high. High off of emotion? Maybe.

Remus felt like a drug to roman.

Roman was most definitely crazy.

He pulled up in front of remus’s house. He grabbed his phone and ran to the door.

His legs felt weak. He was so close. So close to seeing remus again. He needed this.

He rang the door bell.

Remus was amazing. He was cool. He was what people called edgy. And most people back in highschool thought that remus was a weirdo. That kid with problems. Someone who wasnt completely there. But remus was a lot more than what people where giving him. Roman knew this.

Roman knew remus was amazing.

The door opened and there standing in front of him was a half naked remus.

“Yo” he was greeted. Roman walked in, kicking off his wet shoes and followed remus down to the basement.

“We should watch this netflix series called bonding. It seems interesting” remus says. Roman nods his head in agreement, not trusting his own mouth to work correctly.

Remus popped a fry into his mouth. “Are you ok?” he asked.

“Yeah, im good” roman replied. He was not ‘good’. His heart was betraying him, going 1000 miles an hour. He just wanted to touch remus, but he had no reason to at the moment. He wanted to be one with remus. He just …. He needed help.

The show started and roman wasnt really watching. Instead he was gaing secret glances at the other 19 year old.

Remus paused the show.

“Ok, whats up. Talk now” remus demanded. This caused romans breath to hitch.

God he loved remus so much. He was so…. Roman couldnt find the words to describe what he wanted. Remus was just so… yes.

He was everything and anything roman ever needed or wanted.

“Theres nothing up” roman lied. Remus didnt buy a single part of it. He looked roman right in the eye, or at least tried to. Roman looked away quickly.

Meeting remus’s eyes? Fuck no. he couldnt do it.

“Roman?” remus asks. His name falling from the others lips, thats all roman wanted.

“Y-yeah?”

“Is there something you want to tell me?”

There was silence. It felt so deafening to his ears. He couldnt do this. Nope. roman jumped up. “Sorry. Ive gotta-” roman started as he fumbled his way up the steps. Trying to find his way to the exist of the house. To get out of there. He couldnt breathe. It wasnt a bad couldnt breathe like he was trapped in a airplane that was crashing, but instead a couldnt breathe that hurt but also he wanted and enjoyed. Point is though, he couldnt breathe and he needed out now.

“Roman” remus called after him but roman was already up the steps and sticking his feet back into his shoes and out the door.

“Roman” remus called again. He stopped roman outside. It was still raining and he was still half naked. He didnt even bother to put on his shoes. He was bare footed in the rain as he reached for romans arm pulling him around aggressively. “Please dont leave, i like you. Youre the only one who understands me”

Roman stared at remus. He was surprised. Remus. His green and white hair lights mixed in the strains of dark brown. Soaking wet from the rain. The rain running down his fair face. His pink.. Puckered lips. Remus was just so hot.

But his words. His words are what surprised roman the most. “I-” roman starts unsure of what to say. He couldnt breathe.

Remus was touching him. He was asking him to stay. He liked him. He liked him! “I like you too” roman says.

“Then why are you leaving? I dont want you to leave. Please dont leave me like everyone else”

And the realizing thought came crashing back in on romans heart. This is why. He cant be in love with remus. Remus saw him as a friend. Remus was attached to him, his best friend, because everyone else has left. They all left violently, making remus wake up in a sweaty mess and endless tears. Roman couldnt do this to remus. He had to be his friend. He couldnt be more than his friend. He couldnt protect remus in the lovers romantic way but instead as a friend. And it hurt. It really did. He wanted MORE than just as friends. But he couldnt do anything about it now.

“Please dont” roman says. And remus’s face drops.

“Youre leaving?” remus asks.

“No i mean… “ roman takes a deep breathe. His lungs getting the oxygen needed. “Im not going to leave you remus. Not now not ever” roman says.

“Then whats wrong?”

Roman didnt know how to answer.

Everything is what is wrong!’ he wanted to scream. But he couldnt.

He wanted to lean down and kiss remus. He wanted to be one with him. So fucking bad.

He shook his head. “Nothing is wrong” he says. Tears swelling in his eyes. “Go back inside before you get sick” he was pulling his arm from remus’s hand.

“Roman! Please!”

“What? What do you want remus? I just want to go home” he says.

“Please i cant- i font want to be alone tonight. My thoughts.” remus says a bit softer. And if roman wasnt use to how remus speaks then he probably wouldnt have heard him but he did. "please just stay the night. roman?"

roman stud in the rain. he looked at everything but remus. he wanted to sink into the ground, going to hell would be more pleasurable than aching for something he couldnt have. but he couldnt leave remus. not after he practically begged him to stay. he couldnt do it to him. so instead he nodded his head.

"ill stay the night" roman says. his words numb to his own ears. remus eyes grew wide.

"really? you're actually staying?"

"yes"

remus grabbed romans hand and pulled him inside.

they were touching again. something that roman wanted. remember? he wanted this. but why does he hate it? why does he hate being around remus? he loved remus's smell of weed and musk but he also hated it. he hated how sexy remus looked as he ran his fingers through his hair because they both got drenched. he hated how remus was so comfortable around him that he stripped while in the kitchen. roman needed out. he couldnt....

he just wanted remus.

"here" remus handed roman a towel and fresh clothes. "roman. I don't know what wrong, but i hope youre ok. and i want you to know that I'm here for you" remus says pulling roman into a hug. his body dry and warm, holding on to a wet clothed roman.

"I'm fine" roman said out loud. he looked straight ahead of him. Out the window of the kitchen to the rain that poured from the sky. rain that was free to do as it pleased. something, roman couldnt do. at least not with remus.

1490 WORDS

Im going to honest with you, idk what i wrote. This is based off of true feelings. If you're confused, dont worry im confused too.

#remrom #remus sanders angst #pinning #weed mention #abandonment #peach4cherryplease work

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baepsaetan · 4 years

Text

Banner by @thebannershop

Summary: In a futuristic age where a person can be coded and inserted into a new body, the rich can live forever. Born to a wealthy family, Jin expects to live life at a lofty and uncaring height. His expectations go awry when his body is murdered and a small gang steals his ‘stack’ and resleeves him in a criminal. Thrust into a gritty, neon world far below his life as an immortal, where death can be Real, Jin will discover truths that challenge his perceptions and make him wonder what - if anything - immortality is worth.

Chapters: pt. 1, pt. 2, pt. 3, pt. 4, pt.5, pt. 6, pt. 7

Genre: Altered Carbon Fusion, Science Fiction/Futuristic, Slow Burn, Smut, Angst, Murder Mystery

Warnings: Shifting PoVs (primarily Jin), minor character death, abuse, torture, gangs, drug addiction, drug use, references to depression, body dysphoria, animal death, swearing, smut in future chapters

Length: 7.4k

The gang he’s been kidnapped by apparently doesn’t own – or at least use – a car, not even a terrain-exclusive one, and they set off on foot from the little apartment complex the men live in. He doesn’t know what time it is, and the sky’s too clouded to give much of an indication, but it’s too light to be night. Mid-afternoon, maybe? There are a fair few people out, and they wind through a series of side streets, cutting by buildings that are tall but also sagging, as if the weight of keeping themselves and their hundreds of thousands of inhabitants upright for half a century or so is becoming too much. Jin considers running, or calling for help, but Jungkook had none-too-subtly shown him the pistol he’s carrying before they’d left, and he hasn’t put it away, either. Besides, when they break through the side roads into what seems to be a main street, Seokjin has other things to think about.

He’s lived in Triptych all his life, but it might be more accurate to say he’s lived in Glass Harbour, instead. The neighbourhood – built in the ocean a short way from Triptych’s shoreline – is of course isolated from the rest of the city, but Seokjin has never realized just how removed he’s been, too. He’s been outside of Glass Harbour plenty of times – even been to the Curve, where they clearly are, given the general disrepair and the lack of multileveled streets – but never without at least several guards and a friend or two, and never really on the streets, either. His family owns several hovercars that simply coast up to whatever place he wants to go; walking the pavement is for the poor.

Triptych is a sprawling city of towering steel and glass buildings, shining pathways of cable and artificial stone arching across various levels, letting citizens walk in the sky as they move through their lives. Far younger than the Bay Area, it is a city of technological advancement and drive, of lights and steel and laws written by a Meth chequebook.

The Curve is an exception to that rule. In the early days of its inception, Triptych had been built on what was essentially two hills, with a deep cleft between the pair. That inconvenience was offset by the location – close to the shore, and, more important for the three Meth families who founded the city, perfectly situated next to a wide ocean shelf on which they could begin to build their Glass Harbour. As the city grew, all soaring heights and chrome exteriors, the gap between the two hills was overwhelmed by the buildings going up on all sides. A deep dip in the urban landscape, it received less sunlight and fresh air than neighbouring districts, and so was forgotten by the Meths who poured money into construction and maintenance.

In a city devoted to worshipping the future, the Curve is a neighbourhood left in the past. There are no networks of raised walkways to direct people through the area. Everyone too poor to move elsewhere operates on one level: the ground.

And there are apparently plenty of those people. The trek through the narrow, pitted roads, Namjoon ahead and Jungkook behind, has revealed more citizens than Jin was even aware lived in Triptych. They have to push through several crowds, hassled people in impatient groups shuffling outside a building or at a transit stop, waiting for things and headed for places he can’t conceive. Even though it’s raining, a miserable shower that sinks straight through his sweater and makes things worse, almost no one has an umbrella, or even a hood. They just accept the rain.

In the same passive way, they accept the haze smearing across neon-bright signs set up far above their heads, the pollution distorting ads for any number of cheap looking products, most of which Seokjin can’t guess the purpose of. Everyone walks quickly, eyes down or on their companions, and accepts – or ignores, it is hard to see a difference – the constant noise of the advertisements. The disembodied voices fall down from the signs and the smog like the conversations of chain-smoking angels, never quite fully understood, too distorted to catch.

“Get a… Won’t regret the…”

“…seat in the back and…”

“…like you wouldn’t believe.”

“Buy now!”

The noise and lights and people crash over Seokjin with a weight that feels more physical than mental, and he guesses these people can’t even afford neural implants or ONIs. That must be why all of the ads are out in the open instead of transmitting into the ocular displays of specific consumers, targeted based on purchasing history and tendencies. He’s only experienced op ads once – no business would dare bother a Meth without permission, and he’d just tried it for fun, at Taehyung’s suggestion – but even that hectic mess of visual heckling had been less overwhelming than the blaring sounds and sights assaulting him now.

And then there’s the sheer struggle of getting where they need to be. Jin actually finds himself grateful for Namjoon. The pink haired man seems to have no issue cutting through the crowds, and, deliberately or otherwise, usually clears enough space for Jin to get through in the process. A few times it isn’t quite enough, and, unused to the broad-shouldered sleeve, Jin jostles against a passerby or two – with irritated responses – but without Namjoon, he probably would have drowned trying to get just a few steps, let alone miles.

When they finally slow, approaching the mouth of an alley off the main street, Jin’s feet are aching. The once white sneakers they gave him have seen better days, and they’re even worse now than when he put them on more than an hour ago; it feels like the three of them walked through enough trash and mud to build a small mountain on the way here, and his shoes reflect that. Namjoon and Jungkook had been oblivious, but he’d spent most of the trip trying (and failing) to navigate puddles, wrappers, cigarette butts and things he couldn’t identify and didn’t want to.

That, coupled with Jungkook almost literally breathing down his neck the entire time, gun in hand, and snickering whenever Jin slipped or winced or hesitated, has put him in a mood that could only charitably be called bad.

There’s also the whole being kidnapped and forced to return to the spot of his death thing.

“Will you stop that?” he demands when a foot knocks painfully against his heel for the umpteenth time, whipping around to glare at the (presumably) younger man. Jungkook puffs out his cheeks and smiles, a small overbite becoming evident with the little grin, and the innocent expression is infuriating.

No Meth would ever leave a defect like an overbite alone. So far as Seokjin is concerned, it screams poverty. And this drudge had the nerve to kick him! Repeatedly! And grin about it!

If the irritation boiling under his skin is any indication, he’s probably turning an unattractive shade of red, but before Seokjin can make what might be described as a mistake and take a swing at Jungkook, Namjoon intervenes. “Leave him alone, Kookie,” he orders. “Go watch the entrance, make sure no one’s going to start anything.”

Jin is dismally certain that the chances of that are low. He’d tried making eye contact with anyone even remotely respectable in appearance on their way here, some half-baked notion of escape in his head, but very few people even looked at him. Those that did were quick to look away, and he hadn’t been able to tell if that was the fault of the intimidating sleeve he’d been stuck in, or Jungkook looming over his shoulder and scowling, or something else altogether. Regardless, the small number of passersby who happen to glance into the alley all suddenly remember important engagements elsewhere and rush off, leaving Jin stranded.

Better to just bide his time. Or something that sounds similarly calm and planned and definitely not freaking out.

“So,” he says, looking around the alley, and falls silent. It’s certainly not a glamorous spot to die in, or even breathe in. Jin literally can’t imagine why he would have been here. There’s dirt and garbage on the ground, like a carpet of very dubious design that releases an odor he suspects hints at the more disgusting uses this alley has been put to. A bunch of graffiti is scrawled on the walls, senseless black and red scribbles splattered across the bricks like blood and ichor. Someone even rigged up a holographic bit of disruption, a horrifyingly grotesque man, rail thin and warped, who flickers into being (and scares the hell out of Jin) when they get close enough to activate its sensors. The image is deteriorating, pixels missing here and there, and the whole figure wavers in and out of existence erratically. However, that doesn’t stop the holographic from going through a series of obscene gestures, the least of which is giving viewers the finger.

Namjoon is staring at the wavering vandalism. “Do you know,” he asks suddenly, “how hard those are to make?”

“Ah…” The random question takes Jin off guard, and besides, graphics have never been one of his interests.

“It’s hard. Not if you have a computer program to do it all for you, but the program would cost too much for an individual to own.” His heavy eyes flick to Jin and then back to the figure. “Most individuals. So, someone built that, piece by piece, in some kind of limited process, and they did a decent job. It looks good.”

“Good,” Seokjin repeats doubtfully as he stares at the holographic, wondering if there’s something he’s missing about the distorted piece. Or maybe Namjoon’s just a nutcase.

“Not the subject, obviously,” snorts the nutcase in question. “But the skill is there. Good rendering, skin tones… The facial expressions are on point, too. Took time, took effort, took knowledge… and it’s sitting out here, in some random alleyway, just to fuck with whatever police were here to investigate your murder. See, the mechanism is latched in place? The police didn’t even bother to get rid of it, and since they’re not around anymore, it’s not getting seen by anyone.”

This doesn’t exactly feel like small talk, but if Namjoon is trying to make a point, it’s joining the advertisements prattling above Jin’s head, lost in the haze. He rolls his shoulders, impatient, and moves away from the holographic. A few seconds later it dies away. “Look, I got killed here and I don’t care about the quality of some stupid vandalism. You dragged me to this place, now tell me what’s next.”

Taking that with a mouth that twists a little, Namjoon pivots, points to a spot on the ground. It is conspicuously less filthy than any other spot. “You were found around there. This alley is a dead end, so the guy who killed you was probably close to the entrance when he did it… unless he was supposed to meet with you or set up an ambush or something. Just… try to picture it all. See if anything comes back.”

Compliant, if not exactly confident, Jin looks around more carefully, willing himself to ignore the unpleasantness and stench and focus on the specifics instead. He trails his fingers over the cinder blocks with only a slight grimace for what his touch smears through, studies each line and scuff in the grime at his feet. There are no windows opening up onto this alley, just featureless walls rising up on either side, blank and disinterested in the little drama taking place between them.

"When did I get shot?" he asks.

"From the police files we, uh, liberated, around two in the morning."

So, it was dark when it happened. If they're close to Ringwanderung – Jin can't be sure, he hasn't seen the building so far and he doesn't remember it's exact location from the last visit he can remember – the roads probably weren't deserted. People would have heard him if he screamed. But did he scream?

The rasp of the ground is rough against his fingertips, and when he pulls them away, they're blackened with dirt. Just a bit of dirt, no blood, even though this is the spot he died in. The police apparently did a good job cleaning up; if his faulty memories are at all accurate, he bled like his heart was trying to water the dry ground. But what else is there? Night time...

He's starting to feel strange again. Disconnected, although this time it's not the sleeve that he's floating away from. No, this time the body stays with him as he detaches from the present, forcing his mind into the treacherous, bleak path of the shadowed past. There's nothing there that's solid. It's disintegrated even more than the vandalism Namjoon was so intrigued by. He has – feelings. Impressions. Maybe-might-if-could-be's that float through his head and come apart when he tries to grab them. Words lost on the tip of his tongue.

He didn't scream. Jin is suddenly certain of that. He didn't scream for help, because the man – threatened something. Threatened someone? Someone – Jin loses it. But the man – in his mind, the man is the holographic, twisted and broken and ominous as he looms up in the darkness, with no solid features to nail in place. He veers in and out of focus, and his words are as intangible as his features. Something about – about wanting, about plans collapsing, about frustration and fear, about defiance, about no no no no you can't–

With a gasp, Seokjin shoves himself up from his crouch, staggers into the wall and stays there, needing the uncaring surface to keep him upright. His chest is aching, fear closing ghostly fingers around his throat, the sensation a faded pressure. This time Namjoon doesn't try to help, but neither does he rush Jin or demand an update. That makes it – easier – to get his breathing under control, but it does nothing to help the simmering pressure bubbling under his skin. He's clenching his jaw, he realizes numbly after a moment, and can't seem to get himself to relax as dissatisfaction upbraids his self-assurance.

All of that, and he still has – nothing. Absolutely nothing. A bunch of gibberish, even less useful than a holographic placed in the middle of nowhere.

He hits his fist against the wall he’s leaning against, more of a tap than a punch, but Namjoon’s eyebrows lift at the aggravated display. “I’m guessing that means you can’t remember anything important?”

“I’m trying,” he pants. “But this is just – garbage and more garbage. I can’t put anything together.”

“Tell me a bit about it.”

“What’s there to tell? I – I got threatened by the guy, I think, and he wanted something. I don’t know if I gave it to him.” Jin coughs, trying to clear a throat that’s gone dry. “Just to be clear, that’s all maybes. I don’t – I can’t tell if it’s real or not.”

“What did he want?”

It’s not purposeful – or at least, Jin’s pretty sure it’s not – but there’s something extremely aggravating about the other man’s persistence. “Yah! Are you deaf? I told you, I don’t know!”

Namjoon is silent for a moment, a muscle ticking in his jaw, before he turns away. "So, we're at more than one dead end," he comments, and though Jin catches an attempt at a smile at the corner of his mouth, he sounds dispirited. Not angry. Just… tired. Jin is surprised and relieved that his outburst hadn’t elicited a violent retaliation, but there’s something dimly reproachful keeping his throat tight as he follows the other man to the end of the alley. When Jungkook looks over inquiringly, Namjoon shakes his head.

"Let's go inside the Ring and see if there's anything we can pick up there." Passing a hand over his face, for a moment the pink-haired man doesn't follow his own command, just stands unmoving on the sidewalk. It lasts for all of two seconds, but it still makes discomfort sink seething hooks into Jin, somewhere low in his stomach. Obviously Namjoon is struggling to hold himself together, and that doesn't seem to speak well for Jin's immediate future. Or for any of their futures, actually. When he glances at Jungkook, the boy is biting at his lip and watching his leader from the corner of his eye, presumably just as concerned, albeit for entirely different reasons.

Dropping his hand, Namjoon gives himself a little shake. As though they were the ones dawdling, his voice sharpens as he snaps, "Let's go."

True to his capturers' words, the Ring is just a few buildings down, though the street curves sharply upward and had made it difficult to spot the sign from further down the way. The sign isn’t garish, which is surprising given how many eyesores Jin has seen on this street. Three neon rings surrounded by a fourth, all of them differing shades of blue, with Ringwanderung shot through them in a dark blue approaching black. The sign probably looks quite beautiful at night. The Ring itself is a squat building of modern black and grey angles, shorter by two or three floors than the ones on either side of it, but it's also wider than either of them. If Jin remembers correctly, it has several underground floors, too, where most of the drug dens and prostitute rooms are. Above ground, funny enough, was for above ground deals, like dancing, hanging out and eating, drinking alcohol and using some of the milder intoxicants available. Very PG 13.

There aren't all that many people frequenting the club when they enter the Ring, including security. That's not entirely a surprise, given the time, and Jin pauses just inside the entrance, letting his eyes adjust to the slightly dimmer setting while they scour the red and black couches scattered across the room. He's half-hoping he'll see a familiar face, someone to run to and beg for help – several of his friends, particularly Taehyung, like to come here, enjoying the establishment’s slight edges. Jin’s come to realize those are pretty laughable. What’s edgy about a building complete with a complement of security guards?

Although, now that he thinks about it... his friends might be wearing familiar faces, but he isn't. What would they do if some random stranger came up to them and started ranting about needing help?

Not react quickly enough to save him from being shot by Jungkook or Namjoon, Jin's pretty sure of that. Even Taehyung, with his special empathy implants, would probably take too long.

Both of his escorts are tenser in this closed setting, anyways. Somehow Jungkook manages to inch even closer to him than when they were walking, and Namjoon doesn't let the same amount of space grow between them as he leads the way through the lounge, deeper into the club. "Keep your head down," he mutters to Jin. "I don't want someone recognizing the sleeve."

Jin stops dead and hisses, “What do you mean, someone recognizing the sleeve?” Seconds later, as Namjoon regards him tight-lipped and silent, a horrified revelation stumbles into his mind. “You – I’m in – You put me in someone’s body illegally? Someone who lives here?”

“Now’s not the time to get into the details, Seokjin,” Namjoon says from between clenched teeth.

“Not the time!” His voice leaps like it’s trying to high-five the ceiling. “Where is – who is – how –” It hadn’t even remotely occurred to him that they might have put him in a sleeve with an owner who wasn’t either dead or locked away or had moved on from this sleeve. He’d just – Meths took their sleeves from others if they took a fancy to one, sure, but that was an exception, not the rule. Most of them were lab-created, or, if biologically based and from parents, at least genetically enhanced. The point being that they were new, and not… He’d known this was a used sleeve, the impulses proved that, but he hadn’t thought that the previous user might still be around! Or their friends!

Namjoon must see the alarm taking over Jin and tilting precariously towards a full-blown meltdown, because he steps closers, grabs Jin’s arm. “Relax, okay? I promise, we’ll fill you in on everything, but not right now.”

He stares wildly into Namjoon’s dark eyes, and they feel like locked doors with bright OPEN signs above them. A lie and a disappointment. “Just tell me. Are they dead? The person who had this sleeve… Did you kill them?”

The fingers wrapped around Seokjin’s arm tighten to the point of pain, but the other man doesn’t look away. Doesn’t hesitate when he says, “No. They’re not dead. Even if they deserve to be. We’ll talk about the rest later.”

Seokjin is released and his captor turns away, leaving a throbbing ache in Jin’s arm and a colder hurt in his chest. He doesn’t know if Namjoon is lying to get him to go along with this. Is that why this body is so bruised and battered? Because whoever had worn it before ‘deserved’ it?

“Like I said,” Namjoon tacks on, voice cool, “just keep your head down. Don’t look at anyone for too long. I don’t even think he went here that often, only a few times.” He starts to move away.

"A few times is a few times too many! Maybe you should have thought of that before?" Jin gripes, unmoving, sweat pouring down his back and making his shirt stick to his skin uncomfortably. The wary looks he darts at the club inhabitants don’t reveal anyone particularly interested, even despite his outburst, but he feels like a target’s been put on his back. "This face isn't exactly indiscrete. It practically begs for attention. You should have grabbed me a hat or something."

Jungkook shoves him in the back, the gun's barrel pressing a painful indent into his body, but that doesn't stop Jin from seeing the way Namjoon grimaces, his head falling, accepting the blame as yet another heavy burden.

The dance area is even emptier than the lounge, with only a few groups of people standing here and there, drinks in hand. The small cluster of booths off to the side are completely empty. A trio of girls are swaying slowly in the middle of the floor. They can't be dancing to the music – there's a quiet but fast electro-pop song playing in the background – and he can only assume by the relaxed way they move that they've been sampling some of the wares that the Ring offers. There's a bar at the back of the room that might sell such wares, a long counter with a bunch of stools manned by a sole crewman. He's not exactly the friendliest looking person Jin's ever seen, with a bristling black beard and eyebrows so thick they could have crawled down his chin and formed another beard. He’s also giving them a once over.

Apparently failing to notice those alarming traits, Namjoon heads straight for the counter. "Arven," he says warmly.

“Namjoon!” the bartender calls back, just as warmly. “If it isn’t the bulletproof boy. I didn’t think I’d see you again so soon.” When Jin moves to get closer, interested in spite of himself, Jungkook grabs his sweater, pulls him back with a warning look.

“They’re not talking about shit that concerns you, Meth,” Jungkook says. “Just some business deals. How ‘bout you just stand there and look good until they’re done? I bet you’re good at that.” The acerbic words sound a bit awkward, like the kid is trying them out for the first time, and after Jin stares at him for a few seconds, Jungkook flushes and looks away.

Jin mumbles, “I am good at looking good,” and yanks his sweater out of the other's grasp. Still uncomfortable, he scans the room, observation skipping over several people before he freezes. One of the girls on the dance floor, a red head in a floral green summer dress, is watching him, her gaze glassy, and he smiles nervously before looking away.

“Uh, Jungkook?” he whispers. “I think that girl recognizes me.”

“No, she doesn’t know…” The strangled way his guard’s words die might have been funny, if the girl wasn’t making her way over.

“What do I do!?”

“Get her to go away!”

“How?”

Jungkook doesn’t come up with anything before the girl is in hearing range, and a quick look at his wide, panicked eyes makes Jin suspect it would have taken awhile, anyways.

"Hey, Siwoo," the pale girl breathes in an uncomfortably familiar way when she halts in front of them. Her eyes trail across his face, noting the cuts and bruises, but she makes no comment. Is it the norm for this sleeve, or just not something you talk about in public? "It’s so weird to run into you now."

Jin casts a pleading look at Jungkook, but the young man just edges closer, hand under his coat and definitely cradling his gun. Seokjin doesn’t dare turn around enough to see if Namjoon has noticed their interaction, but surely he won’t be shot? If he can just fumble around and pretend to be who he’s not? And if he can’t? Is he – or the girl – going to be killed just because he can’t act like a thug? The unbidden thought sets his teeth on edge, and Jin tries to pull his face into something tough and removed.

"Uh, hey," he says, wondering if she's high enough to miss any discrepancies in his mannerisms. Her expression is spacey enough to give him hope. "I had something to pick up nearby, and I, uh, figured this place had a nice ring to it, you know? Hahaha." Her delicate brows furrow, button nose scrunching, and he thinks that maybe Siwoo doesn't use puns too often. Or maybe it was the way his laugh had spiked seventy octaves, nerves punting it up like a pro-kicker over a goalpost.

Before Jin can devolve into panic too much more, the perplexed expression dissolves, replaced by a knowing smile. "You picked up some of the new stuff from Kali, huh? Bet it's got you going." She steps closer, looking back at her friends suggestively. "If you shared some with us, I bet we could really keep you going, Siwoo."

"Ahaha..." His cheeks flaming red, Jin wonders if spontaneously combusting would destroy his stack, or just this sleeve. He also wonders what kind of guy Siwoo is, that girls are willing to make that kind of suggestion, and so boldly, too. The thought does nothing for his embarrassment. "I, uh, can't. Not this time. I’m meeting with, uh…"

A stroke of genius hits, sweeping away most of the mortification. Namjoon said that whoever this body belonged too, he deserved to be dead. Who else could that be, than one of the gang members targeting Namjoon’s group? If that were true… If this girl knows Siwoo, then maybe she knows something about that, too. And if he can find it out…

Jin slaps his forehead, thickens his voice further like he’s seriously intoxicated. “Damn… You know the one. He’s the guy who…” Jin leans closer, pitches his voice lower. “Well, you heard about that Meth that got murdered the other night? It’s the guy who offed him.”

She jerks back, alarmed even in her haze, and gives Jungkook a wary once over. Her voice lowers to a hiss. “Keep your voice down, Siwoo. Fuck, you’ve had too much if you’re talking about David. ‘Sides, that’s your guys’ business, not mine.”

“Yeah, yeah, David, sorry.” He tries to wave an airy hand, but it’s shaking too hard, so he runs it through his hair instead. The motion doesn’t do much to soothe his racing thoughts. “This shit I’m trying is just, uh, really heavy.” She nods slowly, but Jin doesn’t think she’s quite convinced. He tries a different tactic. “Actually, honestly, I’m just kind of pissed off. I heard David got a bunch of creds or something from getting that guy, and he isn’t sharing it with me. But I still gotta grab shit for him?”

As he hoped, the promise of gossip eases her a little, even as a confused frown slopes her mouth. “I heard it was a lot, too. Something big or something, everyone up top was freaking out. Someone said Rafa smiled when he heard. It’s weird he wouldn’t share, when I heard you’re the one who helped him out.” Jungkook moves, a sudden twitch, and she eyes him again. Jin could have kicked him in the shin. Abruptly losing interest, the girl shrugs. “Like I said, it’s not my business. Besides, you never introduced me to your… friend?” Jin stiffly nods. “Who is he? Have I seen you before?” That to Jungkook directly, and with her attention diverted, Jin is free to look at his guard, too.

He hadn’t realized it before, too engrossed in the pretence, but Jungkook might very well be having a heart attack. The kid is shaking and sweating, pink staining every visible patch of skin, and his head is ducked so low his chin might as well be fused to his throat. Jungkook stutters something that’s completely incomprehensible, before clearing his throat. In a very small voice, he says, “Probably. You probably saw me. I – I’ve been here before.”

Such a novel experience as his captor floundering should really be enjoyed, and Jin is spitefully ready to sit back and let Jungkook continue to struggle. It seems no more than justice.

Unfortunately, impatient or too drugged to hold on to a train of thought, the girl shrugs again, not even interested enough to get a name. “Alright. Anyways, Siwoo, are you going to the Meth party? I’ve never been to one and I hear it's going to be wild! Some of the other girls were invited last week, but since that Meth got messed up, not many of you guys are coming here to throw around party invitations. So far none of you assholes have asked me to go. Plus I doubt any Meths are gonna be sending out invites, either."

The girl is definitely working another angle, and Jin blinks rapidly, trying to keep up with the information. "The party? Uh, I haven't decided yet. It's... when is it again?"

"Christ, Siwoo, maybe you should lay off the stuff for awhile. I heard everyone from your group is invited. It's, what, a few months from now? Remember? If you feel like going, you should hit me up; I want a pass."

"A pass?"

"Duh. Not like the Meths are gonna let just anyone stroll into Glass Harbour, especially not at a party like that." The redhead rolls her eyes. “Can’t have people like us dragging in mud, right? I want to –” One of the girls still on the dancefloor calls out a name, Natasha, and she glances back. Her friends make beckoning gestures. Natasha waves at them and looks ruefully at Jin. “My friends are calling. I’ll see you later, okay? Anytime. Hope stuff works out with you and David… And seriously, let me know if you’re going? Or if you just want to hang out…” She trails away without another look at either of them.

Beside him, Jungkook inhales violently. Within a few seconds Namjoon arrives at their side, face calm but eyes demanding as they turn to Jungkook. The brown-haired man hurriedly says, “I think it’s fine. She’s a friend or something, not someone that knows this asshole is missing.”

“And Seokjin didn’t…” Try to clue her in, Jin assumes Namjoon is asking. He lifts his chin, outraged by the question.

“No,” Jungkook replies, “nothing like that. Actually, he – I think he pretty much fooled her.” His tone could not have been more grudging if he’d made a concerted effort, though before Jin can smile at the faint praise, Jungkook cuts that pretty short. “She was so high I think a pole with a face stuck on it might have fooled her, though.”

“Hey! I’ll have you know that while Jungkook was imitating the pole he just mentioned, I was finding out things! A lot of help you were, by the way,” Jin adds with a sour look at Jungkook. Yeah, he definitely prefers the kid flushing in embarrassment instead of wearing a smug grin. At least the former is cute instead of insufferable.

Namjoon forestalls anything either of them might have added. “You can tell me about it when we leave. I talked to Arven, mostly business, but I asked him about the murder, too.” As Jin begins to frown at that information, he continues. “Not about you specifically, just in an indirect way. He didn’t know much about it. Said something about an unusual amount of Meths coming here, and not just thirteenth sons and daughters, either, but even a few heads of houses.”

He looks so excited by the news that Jin feels a little bad to let him down. “That’s not that weird. There are trends, right? Ringwanderung has been gathering popularity for awhile now; it’s not odd that some of the heavy weights would eventually stop by. It’ll be a thing for a bit – maybe a while longer than usual, since I got, uh, since I died – and they’ll move on to other things.”

The way Namjoon’s shoulders slump is distracting enough for Jin to ignore Jungkook’s comment about flighty bastards. Hands hovering and waving awkwardly, Seokjin says, “Well, it might be important. Maybe it’s not a coincidence that I got hurt just when they started coming here.” It’s definitely a coincidence, so far as he’s concerned, but it’s nice to see the gang leader take a deep breath and straighten a little.

“Okay. Well – we’ll figure it out. I’m guessing being here hasn’t struck anything in your memory?”

Jin looks around the Ring. He remembers it well enough, but just from night and weekend sprees, hazy and splotched with drugs and alcohol. There’s nothing immediate about the memories, nothing that says he’s about to stumble onto a massive revelation. Hesitantly, wanting to give it his best try, he spends a few minutes wandering around, his two captors tailing him, but by the time they circle back to the dancefloor, he hasn’t found anything. He doesn’t really want to go downstairs, either, not with this company. After a few more silent seconds of observation, he shakes his head.

His companion sighs, but less heavily than the last time. “It’s time for us to go, then. This was a long shot, anyways, and the less time you’re in the open, the better.” When he gestures, Jin precedes him out of the dance area, leaving the pop music behind, with Jungkook trailing them both.

They enter into the lounge again, soft lights a distinct change from the darker illumination of the dancefloor, the private conversations a pleasant background noise. Jin tunes them out; he’s attempting to calculate what else he has to offer, since this trip has been essentially a bust. Was the Meth party significant? Who was hosting it? He can’t remember being invited to one recently, but that could be his amnesia in general, or maybe he just wasn’t friends or acquaintances with the host. The latter was admittedly much less likely – there weren’t all that many Meths, especially ones influential enough to host parties that normies could be invited to – but if the whole gang was invited, that had to be important, right? Only, what could it mean? What…

“Ah, we’re gonna find something tonight! I can feel it!”

“Sir, it’s barely the evening and we just got here. Besides, we’ve been here so many times in the last few days. What makes today different?”

“It’s a feeling! I’m absolutely positive someone here knows something.”

“…sir, you’ve tried already… Why don’t we just go home…?”

Jin’s concentrating so hard that it takes him a moment to realize that he knows both of the voices coming from a cluster of couches not far from them. When he gawks in that direction, he definitely recognizes the tousled head of dark brown hair just visible above the chair’s back.

A surge of relief hits him, thunderous comfort resonating through his nerves, so powerful that he stops dead and feels tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. Without conscious decision, the name bursts from him, as natural as his own. “Taehyung!”

The gun that’s suddenly jammed against his spine, hard enough to make his mouth tighten in pain, is expected. After all, even as the word had left his lips, he’d regretted it, had wanted to pull it back and give himself time to think instead of showing his hand so early. He’d expected the consequences.

But he doesn’t expect the glacier cold voice that issues from behind him to belong to Namjoon.

“Put your head down, now,” demands the voice he hardly recognizes, and even as Taehyung stands up from the couch and turns their way, Seokjin complies, sets his stinging eyes on the red carpet at their feet. Namjoon snatches his arm, bodily forces him to sidestep away, and Jungkook casually paces in front of them, blocking Tae’s line of sight. “You say anything, you even breathe wrong, and you die. So does your friend,” Namjoon says quietly, his perfect enunciation of each word somehow more frightening than if he’d been shouting.

“What is it, sir?” asks Taehyung’s companion, and Jin knows it’s Drayton, the Kim family’s personal driver. Probably here to drag the man home on his father’s orders, but roped into whatever TaeTae is doing.

When Taehyung replies, he sounds miffed. “I thought I heard my name.”

“Really? I don’t think I…”

You did, Seokjin wants to scream, and he wants to cry too, because God, he’s been so alone, and Taehyung is right there. But a new terror is puncturing his lungs, making it hard to breathe, and this jagged fear has nothing to do with the pistol pressing into his back. It has to do with Taehyung’s curious, clever eyes, and the way he sees things that sometimes he shouldn’t, and the way he wants to help when he shouldn’t, too.

If Namjoon had been just a little slower – if Jin had been just a little louder – his friend would have seen him, maybe even recognized him. And Jin would have had just enough time to see something like bewildered joy bloom across Taehyung’s face before Taehyung, one of the best people he knows, was shot to death, and who cared if it was just a sleeve death? Jin is walking proof that the experience is a horrible one. And the possibility hadn’t even occurred to him until after the fact.

The thought makes him nauseous, literally nauseous, and Namjoon practically has to drag him through the lounge and outside. The air’s still stifling despite being outdoors, and when Seokjin looks up all he can see is buildings and grey haze. No sky to speak of. Yet somehow the rush of people is still present, going through their day as if they don’t have an ashen weight over their heads. It’s smothering and does nothing for the frenetic pounding in his chest or the queasiness in Jin’s stomach.

A harsh shove by Namjoon sets him into a stumbling walk, the gun falling away with his captors hemming him in on either side. After a few blocks, the pink-haired man asks tersely, “Do you think we’re being followed?”

Jungkook says, “I haven’t seen anyone. No… I don’t think so.” There’s a beat of silence between the three of them that’s so profound it almost blocks out the sounds of street traffic, the noisy chatter of the people they’re flowing through. Jungkook breaks it. “We shouldn’t have brought him. Or we should have made sure we had control of him. We shouldn’t –”

“I know, Jungkook. I know.”

Silence again, deep and miserable and difficult to walk in. Jin doesn’t know what to do, what to say. The constant fear that’s been lapping at his feet or swamping over his head is proving too much; his lips and fingertips are tingling, but Seokjin is numb to everything else. His feet slog through a sticky puddle of someone’s discarded drink without pause, and the clang of his foot hitting the mostly empty can doesn’t even make him glance down. It’s hard enough to just keep his legs moving.

They cover several more streets before Jungkook says, small and unhappy, “Sorry, hyung. I should have kept a closer watch, anyways. I got… distracted.”

“…Nah. S’not your fault. Just bad luck or something. Maybe we’re cursed.” It’s a joke that falls so flat it’s almost 2D, and when Jin’s eyes drift over to Namjoon’s tight face, the man doesn’t really look like he’s joking, anyways.

They’re off the main road now, passing through an industrial zone with cars lining both sides of the street, but few people are in sight among the clusters of squat, stained buildings. Jungkook kicks at the chain link fence they’re walking next to, making it rattle. “It’s not bad luck. It’s him. Why’d you have to go do something stupid like that, huh?” he abruptly demands of Jin.

Jin, grateful to be more or less ignored until now, hesitates to answer. Jungkook’s question isn’t even that mean, more frustrated than anything, but Seokjin can’t tear his gaze from the cracked pavement they’re walking over. Truth is, he’s been wondering the same thing himself. Had he really almost gotten Taehyung killed? All for – what? A second of relief that he wasn’t the only one in this horrible situation? He’d already concluded that no one could help, at least not quickly enough, but he’d called for his friend despite that.

What does that make him?

Once again, Namjoon intercedes on his behalf. Sort of. “It doesn’t matter now, Kookie. We got out without anyone important catching on. All’s well that ends well. A fairy-tale finish.” The bitterness is absolutely impossible to miss by the end, but when Jin risks a look, Namjoon isn’t directing the vitriol towards him. He’s wearing an indrawn expression, fine brows caving together, and Jin doesn’t think it’s the encounter with Taehyung that has him so upset. Or at least, that’s not the only thing.

Namjoon catches him watching, however, and his brows draw down even more. “Jungkook’s right, though. It was stupid. What did you think would happen?”

He waits to feel the sharp prick of defensiveness, but it doesn’t come. “I… I didn’t really think, it just… came out.”

The ice that was in Namjoon’s tone before has crept into his eyes when he says, “Next time – if there’s a next time – you have to think. Because I know this situation sucks, but I’m not risking my crew for a Meth who puts his mouth before his head again. Next time…”

“I get shot. I die. Yeah, I get it.” And he does. He really kind of does. So much so that it does nothing to the leaden mass sunk into every atom of his body.

The tight hollowness in his throat is only growing, a gaping emptiness that’s threatening to climb into his head and plummet into his chest. There’s regret, sure, regret for saying anything, regret for not saying enough, regret that he’s here at all, but the fear is a wrung-out towel, strangled and nearly dry. All Jin wants is to be somewhere else. It’s hard to look away from both Jungkook and Namjoon, since they’re on either side, so once again his gaze finds the ground.

Which is why Jin completely misses the woman, dressed in dark clothes with a black face mask, who suddenly steps out from behind one of the cars ahead of them. There’s a gun clutched in her hand. He misses the way she lifts up the weapon and aims – right at Jin.

He doesn’t miss the crack of the gun going off, though.

#namjin #namjin fanfic #my fanfic #namjoon x seokjin #member x member #seokjin #namjoon

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my-whumpy-little-heart · 4 years

Note

Hey! May I request a tiny drabble in which the whumpee gets whumped in their own house . ( whumper being there is optional) .

Well, anon, you said tiny drabble. It, uh, didn’t exactly work out that way, but I hope you like it anyway 😅 Played around with some new characters I may end up writing more with, but probably not any time soon.

Steven clicked up his windshield wipers to the highest setting, their erratic swiping doing next to nothing to ward off the rain pounding against his beat up old SUV. Visibility was next to none in the dark, rainy night, and wished, not for the first time that week, that he’d gotten that office job just five minutes from his apartment.

He detached a hand from its white knuckled grip on the steering wheel and latched on to his phone instead, dialing his roommate’s number and desperately hoping they’d pick up. One ring passed, then two rings, then…

“Steven?”

“Lou! Hi,” he said, the corner of his mouth quirking up at the familiar voice.

“Hey, everything going alright? It’s raining cats and dogs out there,” Lou’s voice tipped into a lilting higher range like it always did when they were concerned, and Steven found himself smiling a little more openly. He let his tense shoulders relax a little, and released the chokehold he had on the steering wheel’s flaking leather.

“Tell me about it. It’s really hard to see where I’m going and it’s… I’m just paranoid, I guess,” he laughed, but it was still tight and forced.

“…you want me to stay on the line with you?”

“Yeah,” Steven answered immediately, and cursed himself for how weak he was being. He’d driven in rougher conditions than this so many times before. Lou was supposed to be the one with the trauma and nervousness and he was supposed to be strong and protective, so why did it feel like those roles flip flopped so often?

They made pleasant, slow conversation for almost twenty minutes before Steven finally reached the exit. The worst of it was over now, and his roommate could hear the relief in his voice.

“Finally make it to Cedarview?” they asked.

“Mmhm, I’m probably about ten minutes out now.”

“Good, good, I-” Lou stopped themself abruptly, almost like the phone connection had cut out. Steven thought it really had for a second and checked it quickly, but the flashing screen said his friend was still on the line.

“Um, Lou? You there?” For a few seconds there was no response.

“…Steven, look, I’m…” Their voice was low, any conversational tone stripped down to a near whisper. “I think- shit-!” The last word was a pained squeak that cut off into full silence, and after a few more seconds Steven checked his phone again to find his roommate really was off the line this time.

Maybe their phone had shut down from low power. Maybe cell service went out at the complex again. Maybe they got another call. Maybe their thumb slipped to the red button on accident, and they were about to call back right now. Maybe he should call back first. Maybe, maybe, maybe…

But the last second of the call repeating over and over again in his head kept Steven’s foot heavy on the pedal, speeding at fifty miles per hour down rain slicked suburban streets and guided only by blurred street lights that shone like fallen stars. His hands ached, tight around the steering wheel once again, but he couldn’t bring himself to relax.

He knew he was just going to get home to see Lou finally having found a charging cord to plug in their phone, and then they would laugh at their ignorance and watch Monty Python and the Holy Grail for the third time that week.

But until then, everything was sharpened by adrenaline and smeared by water, all swirling into a world of grayscale almost within his reach. Nothing felt real and he had to battle his own instincts just to stay on the road.

Steven was jittering in his nervousness by the time he reached their apartment complex, and he nearly ripped his keys out of the ignition in his haste. Rain pounded down as soon as he opened the door, soaking him within seconds and never relenting. Lights illuminated puddles and potholes in a reflective glow, their light yellows splashing into dull, crumbling asphalt and that lit his path to the door.

He jammed his ID into the scanner, not waiting for it to unlock before pulling insistently at the door handle. The light finally flashed green, and he nearly tripped over himself when he sprinted across the ground floor and slid to a stop in front of their apartment. Fluttering fingers were already flicking through keys, finding the right one and jamming it into the lock.

But when he wiggled the doorknob in a test, it was already unlocked.

Lou knew he was coming home. So they’d left the door unlocked for him, so he wouldn’t worry.

Lou was always freaking out about security. They didn’t just leave the door unlocked.

Trembling, he stepped over the threshold and closed the door behind him, careful to lock it behind him. Nothing looked amiss at first.

“Lou? I’m home!” he shouted, a little louder than intended.

As Steven stepped through the hallway to the TV room, he heard crackling and saw a fire burning in their fireplace. It had been chilly outside earlier in the day, but not that cold. Maybe Lou knew he’d need to dry off from the rain when he got home.

“Steven, is that… is that you?” Their voice finally echoed back, wobbling and cracking under a false composure. “I’m… I’m in the- in the bedroom, please-”

Shit. He ran immediately. Lou was having an episode again; he knew he should have tried to call back, his poor roommate had probably been sitting in the bed and crying since he hung up the phone…

He rounded the corner, not even noticing how his wet shoes were leaving footprints on the carpet, and ran in to see Lou doubled over and sobbing silently into the bedsheets.

“Lou, hey, it’s okay: he’s not here,” Steven knelt on the bed beside him, hands hovering over his friend’s shaking body. “You’re in your apartment on our bed, I’m here with you, and we made it out. Can you look at me, Lou?”

Haunted, cloudy eyes turned up at him, lost and confused and numb. He made eye contact, but there was nothing behind them except a quiet, steady stream of tears with no end in sight.

“That’s it, that’s it Lou. You’re real, right here, right now. Can I touch you so you know that?” A small nod, and Steven settled his hand lightly on their shoulder, shaking with repressed sobs. “Thank you. Can you look around and tell me a few things you see?”

They raised their eyes past him, fixed over his shoulder. Blank eyes went wide with terror.

“I see… him. I see him, I- sir…”

“He’s not here, remember? We made a deal so that you’ll be safe here. He’s not your boss anymore, and he can’t control you.” He smoothed a hand over Lou’s cheek, contact that usually chased the hallucinations away, but they didn’t move except to shake their head slightly and stare dimly ahead. “Is there anything else you can see?”

“Sir… sir, please… d-don’t…” Steven’s words had gone in one ear and out the other, straight through the tangled wires of Lou’s brain. He sighed, swallowed nervously, and changed his approach.

“Can you tell me where you see him, Lou? Where is he right now?” They paused, then raised a shaking finger to point where they had been staring, near the bookcase in the corner of their room.

Slowly, Steven turned to face the empty space and prove to Lou that it wasn’t real. His eyes scanned over striped walls until he focused on exactly what they had seen.

And he was staring right down the sharp silver blade of a knife.

“…what?” A whisper of breath came out before his heart stopped, he couldn’t breathe, and he froze under the knife of Ryker Schultz. He stood tall over both of them, looking just the same as he did six months ago. Six months ago when they’d made a deal, a truce, and even then he’d thought it was too late for Lou anyway. They ran, comforted only by the fact they would never see that disgusting man again, and yet here he was.

The tip of the metal came forward and pressed its cool edge against the end of Steven’s nose, a flick and a warm pinprick of flaring pain against his dulled senses.

Steven jerked back at the sensation, then lunged forward with his fist swinging in a furious arc under the knife. A hand cinched around his wrist, the world spun, and he was staring back at Lou, an arm around his neck, terror in his eyes, and a blade pressing into his throat.

“Lou, run! Run, run fucking RUN-!” The arm cinched tight around his windpipe and he choked on a panicked breath as his friend sat completely still on the bed, only moving to sob anew as the knife slid over Steven’s jaw smearing a thin line of blood up his face. His lips trembled, open but unable to draw air. Lou didn’t dare run; they couldn’t defy their employer. Someone in the back of their mind screamed and yelled, ‘former employer!’ and ‘help him!’, but they were too busy following the rules to pay attention.

“Say another word and I slit your throat,” Ryker’s deep voice mumbled in Steven’s ear, stubble scraping over short cropped hair as the chokehold tightened, only releasing when the man in his arms nodded and kicked out desperately for air. He gasped shallowly at the sudden influx of air, adrenaline, and fear nearly forcing him to hyperventilate. Even when he got his breathing under control, he didn’t dare speak.

“Louis,” Ryker said, and Lou’s face snapped up. Obedient. Practiced. Conditioned. Steven felt fury simmering under his fear. “You know why I’m here. Enlighten your friend.”

“Yes, sir…” they said tightly, “I- I’m sorry, this is all my fault St-”

“Did I tell you to apologize?” he cut in, and Lou froze.

“No, you didn’t… sir,” they cast their eyes down in shame. Ryker’s blade tipped up Steven’s chin and sliced quickly along the underside of his chin. He whimpered at the flash of disfomfort before blood started dripping and staining his white dress shirt in red.

“Tell him what you did wrong, or he takes more than just the punishment you’re already due.” He shook the man for emphasis.

“Yessir, I’m sorry, sir. Steven, I’ve been, uh, researching Mr. Schultz, sir, and… breaking into- er, hacking into, um, confidential files. Just to see if there was anyone who took- who’s in my position. I wanted to save them. That… broke the terms of our agreement, but I don’t know how he found out or found us to, um, to carry out the punishment…” they whispered the last words, regret weighing heavily on their shoulders.

“That’s right. While you’re at it, how about you indicate who exactly is taking that punishment?” Shining, watery eyes stared up at Ryker in a silent plea. In response, the knife flashed and pressed into Steven’s shoulder until Lou started to talk again.

“Steven is, um, taking my punishment… and that’s because I can’t- I can’t be trusted to learn this lesson if… if I pass out during it.” At that, Steven cringed. He’d heard of Ryker’s punishments before. Hell, he’d seen some of them in action and their effects, in the short and long term. He only realized he’d started to squirm desperately against the hold on him, but it merely tightened and he was choking all over again.

“Good. Louis, you lead the way. I shouldn’t have to warn you of what happens if you try anything stupid.” He watched with a careful eye as Lou pushed themself up onto shaking legs, and pushed Steven after them. “Hands to yourself and stay quiet,” Ryker reminded him, the blade still pressed against his neck.

They paraded silently out of the bedroom, back down the hall, and all the way out to the fireplace, fire still burning strong inside. Steven was led directly in front of it, and he felt as if the floor had fallen out from under him.

Lou stepped forward to grab a poker that, until now, he hadn’t realized was buried halfway into the coals of the fire. The simple rod glowed a sickening red through the middle, lightening into a pale white at the end that made Steven want to bolt at just the sight of it.

Breaths came quick and heavy with terror, but he couldn’t run. He’d tried running from Ryker before, but he knew now that it only amounted to more trouble in the end. But how was he meant to stand still as his best friend approached with a weapon that could probably send him into shock without even touching his skin?

A harsh kick to the back of his knees sent him reeling, immediately collapsing to the floor with the fireplace mere inches from his face. Frantically, Steven scrambled back but was stopped after a mere foot by Ryker’s weight straddling his legs. His shirt was peeled up from his back, rolled up until it was nearly over his head.

“Louis,” his tormentor ordered, and presumably took the poker from them. For a few seconds, there was no further movement.

“Sir? May I- may I comfort him, please?” Lou asked, a hint of desperation in their voice. They couldn’t stand to watch their friend suffer and do nothing to help. Ryker considered it, tapping the cooler part of the poker against his hand thoughtfully.

“…you may, as long as you watch closely. You must understand this is merciful. I could be taking you back for a job interview right now.” Lou shivered at that, and nodded quickly.

“I understand, sir, thank you.” They spun on their heel and crouched beside Steven, turning his head carefully to the side to face them, and dropped their voice to a whisper. “I’m so sorry, this is gonna hurt a lot and-”

Ryker didn’t wait for Lou to finish talking when he brought the poker down the first time, laying a stripe horizontally across the small of his back. It fell heavily, burning as soon as it touched skin and searing through Steven’s body. He went rigid as he screamed, howling when his vision whited out, and when the poker tore away just seconds later and it felt like he’d ripped away all of his skin with it.

He breathed in high keens, hands coming up to clutch at Lou’s legs, nails digging in for traction. They placed a careful hand on his head, tears in their own eyes as they watched him cry.

“Just relax, please, it hurts more when you’re tense: trust me. It’ll be over soon, I promise…”

Ryker pressed the poker in again, laying a line diagonally across the first one and Steven was screaming and screaming all over again, hands clutching at Lou’s pants like his only lifeline and the rest of his body thrashing mindlessly to escape the burning. When the rod came off this time, the scent of burnt flesh wafted through the room and Lou wanted to pass out at the thought of it.

When the poker burned him a third time, Steven was sure he was dying. Everything went blank except for the steady pulsing of agonyagonyagony suffocating him, and it didn’t stop after the awful rod was lifted.

He wasn’t even sure he felt the next one, or if it was just the residual effects from the last. He couldn’t see anything except for the swirling reds and yellows of fire, blurred beyond recognition.

He was sure he was dying.

Next door, their neighbors shook their heads and filled out a noise complaint.

#whump #whumped at home #is that a suitable tag #ambush #ish #surprise party #that's what this is #definitely #burning #uhmm #knives #cuts #blood #caretaker as whumpee #or steven is usually the caretaker but that's more of subtext #past conditioning #lou wasn't really conditioned but something like it i think

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tardis-sapphics · 5 years

Text

so @doctorthasmin sent me a soft!prompt

@doctorthasmin: Okay, here’s the softest prompt I’ve got, proper detailed little head massage for the Doctor after a little whump. I want the description to give me a ASMR contact high it’s so tingly cute!

so, here, here’s a troubled navy ship crew from ~1700s and a well-deserved head massage, in ‘i wish you lived like you’re made of glass’ . the title is taken from 5am by amber run, which you might want to listen to whilst reading this piece. i’d personally suggest listening to hounds by ry x.

tw: mention of period-specific racism, period-specific sexism

Moments of violence are self-absorbed.

The present has no desire to listen to the quieter moments, unless they are already brimming with a horrible anticipation. Attention paid to these reminders of being alive become in some way detrimental to the very existence of them. Those reminders are refused agency, no longer allowed to exist as themselves. Everything must become a correlation, if not a cause, to the terrible tension; failing that, the present must attribute it to pathetic fallacy. Little things are no longer allowed to be themselves, but a whisper of what is to come. A warning, not in its intention, but prescribed to it, forbidden to anything else.

All of the quiet things, the little things: the creak of wood, fine wood from the docks of Liverpool but still pressured by the intensity of the sea. It forgot dryness as soon as it set off from land. The cough of a soldier, hurrying up to the imminent end of the moment; a hurrying up of the soldier’s moment. These are fake menances, ascribed by the desperation hanging in salty air as thick as the fog that stalks them.

Raindrops, in most other moments, arrive tender. Cool grace on cheeks; the splash perfectly round, perfectly crowned, in self-same puddles. The sound of it a sigh, a blessing on Mother Nature’s children. The clouds hum to them: we give you life. They have turned their backs on moderation, now, and their deluge is immovable and frightening. All fires blow out, all burning sensation eliminated – except for the one the moment needs. That terrible anticipation.

But then, all moments of violence are self-absorbed that way.

Cruelty thrives in atmospheres tended to by the cold of heart. Drowned by rain they no longer know the meaning of it, their uniforms ratty and falling apart, they have deserted human kindness for its inability to turn up. Decorum has been long hammered out of these men – but for the fear drilled into them by their officers, they would mutiny. All that exists to them now is the destination, to be reached across miles and miles of heavy emptiness.

Seagulls cry. Rats squeal in corridors and bite on gangrenous toes. Light stays elusive. Trapped in the roar of the storm, the exotic lands of tomorrow seems to never arrive. A dream faded, life narrows down to maintaining the functions of the ship; the groan and creak of every man and his job; the paltry, soggy food; and the persistent smell of dead shipmates. Every man is sick to death of sailing. Every man is sick to death of men. Every man is sick to death, eventually. For some, it cannot come quick enough.

The intrusion is welcome at first. Four people, arriving in the middle of a storm! Two men, one old – and sure to die quick – and one sturdy young black man. A good servant to the Captain, perhaps, and a boost of energy for the soldiers. But the bigger surprise – two women! An exotic delight, the headstrong nature of the woman untamed; and a strange, eccentric lady – a devil to catch. The challenge breathes new life into the boys, tired of themselves and each other; some of the soldiers thank God for the appearance of these beautiful creatures.

The runaways are strange, from distant lands with improper clothes yet recognisably English; out of place and out of time, and decidedly out of manners. Whatever their reason for boarding so impossibly, they are not at all what the Navy soldiers require.

Novelty wears off easily, like drying paint caught out in the rain. Obscure explanations and fiery tempers unbefitting to custom strike matches in the minds of despairing men plagued by tedium. Neither transience nor return are an option, not in such stormy waters – at least, by the strangers’ directive. On a strange ship in stormy seas, there is nowhere to go but down.

The last strike that ignites the bonfire is the devil-woman’s trespass into the Captain’s quarters. Charm and mystery are not enough to save her. Fire spreads in the hearts of angry men. These are traitors to the Crown, with the audacity to steal from the British Navy’s finest ships.

A standard punishment for a runaway thief would be too slow. But the men have not had fun in so long. What are a few kicks to a woman sentenced to die? Power soothes and satisfies more than the sharp lick of alcohol; it dizzies a man more soundly too. The others, to be afterwards put to work, must watch their friend plunge to the freezing below.

The rain soaks their foreign clothes to a limpness, rubbing at the rusty shackles clamped over their wrists. Their captors cough over the strangers’ shoulders – mouths open, rattling in rib cages where hearts once warmed their chests. The weak hacking becomes a drumbeat for the execution. No peace is given to the silence.

Everything devoured by a greedy anticipation. Hearts in throats, they watch on in terror – refusing to acknowledge finality. At the same time, they are scared of it. They are alive, but at what cost? Desperation and fear swirl in the wet fog, the lock of eyes wide, pleading with God not to murder the Doctor like this – not by the hand of heartless soldiers no better than pirates.

She goes under.

Too many moments later, the pulsing manifestation of the TARDIS around them. Soldiers scream witchcraft and desert their captives in order to escape, their footprints landing alternately on metal floor and sodden wooden planks. Safe in their world, they must watch on as the TARDIS retreats to the safety of the Time Vortex.

Horror and rage subside like calm waters at the sight of the Doctor propped up at the console, her sonic screwdriver in one hand and the treasure in another. She is beaten, a patchwork of blood colours, dripping wet – but faithfully alive.

She has preserved the last of her energy only to free them of their shackles. Then consciousness abandons her. She is taken to bed in Yaz’s arms.

Rain returns to itself, on planets far away, and the deep breaths of quiet moments do not tremble with the knowledge of inevitability. In amongst the knick-knacks of the Doctor’s bedroom, her coat hung up to dry on the back of the door, Yaz has situated herself at the foot of the bed. She is the sole overseer, having been the first to shower and warm up. Now she sits alone, watching the Doctor rest.

Her sight makes journeys on the Doctor’s physicality, coming back to the same cuts and bruises scattered along her body to see the tender skin lighter, stronger. The healing process happening in real time, right before Yaz’s eyes. With so much work happening, peaceful sleep must be an illusion. Yet the drama of the day is not marked by restlessness, either. It manifests in the image of her; and in the slight creases between the brows.

Yaz has moved closer to the Doctor’s head. Her palms have rested on the curve of her face for so long she has forgotten time itself. Her fingers have deigned to smooth the frown lines away, without success. But it doesn’t matter. The Doctor is here. Alive and healing and successful.

She wonders what they’re going to do with the alien quad-photon fuse-reactor.

An hour more, and the Doctor wakes. She looks gaunt; still, she has vastly improved. But for the yellow and deep pinks smattered across the canvas of her body, there would be no other evidence of their near-miss. It does not seep through in her countenance, though in Yaz’s it does; the hug she gives the Doctor is rushed into, and deep – but not tight.

‘We thought you’d drowned!’ Yaz gasps.

The Doctor chuckles. ‘Me? Nah, never.’

The moment manifests. A suppressed yawn and a reluctance to let go entirely are the first clues. Then there is the hum of air around them, no longer only itself. Breaths amplify themselves. Soft cotton moves against itself and hints its depths, warmed by the sleeping Doctor.

‘I should get the others,’ Yaz murmurs.

The Doctor keeps a grip on Yaz’s arm. The moment is a sweet comfort. ‘Not yet,’ she pleads. ‘Just for now, Yaz. It’s – it’s nice to have you alone.’

‘Okay,’ Yaz says, because it is nice to be alone with her.

The moment has manifested as a them moment, a time they glimpse only in snatches, and its prolonging brings their gravities to fold onto another, to situate and settle. The conversation starts calmly, and drifts between currents with no landing in mind. The air is warm and the flying slow. They wrap themselves up in it, the soaring known to them after their first conversation, the first tumble out of the nest. How smooth it sails now, on the streams of familiarity.

Mentions of the fuse-reactor are interspersed throughout, but never examined, never prodded. It is contentment enough to breathe the same spaces, occupy few worries. They can come later. They always come later.

Wrapped up in it, Yaz barely notices her arms move, doesn’t register the decision. But they move, despite no expressed permission. All she goes on is the imprint of a feeling, a possibility of existence formed in the same way a footprint is pressed into sand.

Words continue. Yaz’s fingers thread through fine blonde strands falling away from the back of the Doctor’s skull. Reaching further, where she knows blonde will fade into brown at the roots, they push forward until the soft round ends of her fingertips bump into solid scalp. A low sound emanates from somewhere in the Doctor’s throat. An amalgamation of instinctive emotions.

Yaz never once falters in the point she is trying to articulate out loud, even as she continues comforting the Doctor, slowly, slowly, with the head massage. Her fingertips are soft and flat on the Doctor’s head as they stretch out. The spaces between them widen, curling around the ears, then traverse to the dip of her slender neck. A shiver. Heat trapped amongst hair strands dissipates as her fingertips push forward, leaving trails of cool comfort in their wake.

Up close to the top of the Doctor’s skull, Yaz’s fingers bend in on themselves, scratching lightly in lieu of massaging. The Doctor hums again, and her head lolls back. She is melting under it, the remnant tension easing out of lightly bruised shoulders. Yaz smiles.

Her hands move round, reaching the temples and massaging there. If she looks close enough, she can see the minute hairs on the back of the Doctor’s neck stand up to attention. In synchronised circles, she brings her hands to the middle and round, working the same pattern, to the back of her head. They trail down to the slope of her neck once more, and the Doctor breaks out into a shiver again.

Yaz wants to laugh at that, but sound got lost in the descended quiet. She believes it best to leave it there. Her hands slide down from the back of the Doctor’s neck to her shoulders, then down again until they are close enough to her own body to return.

Deprived of touch, the Doctor mewls. But she is half-asleep already, her eyes closed, and still healing. So she settles back down onto her pillows, pulling the duvet up to her chin. Without thought, she grabs onto Yaz’s hand. In slumber, she slackens, and tender pink skin lashed on her cheek lightens into cream.

Yaz watches her, and thinks of sunbeams amongst thick clouds. Neither holy nor a sign, just beautiful in themselves.

And she is absorbed by it.

#thasmin #thasmin prompts #fic: more of the universe #doctor who #doctor who fanfiction #thasmin fanfiction #thirteenth doctor #yasmin khan #team tardis #ryan sinclair #graham o'brien #thasmin fanfic #whump #whumptober2019

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shootybangbang · 4 years

Text

[Talking Bird] Ch 15: In which a literal slow burn occurs

[Ao3 Link]

Before long, the forest gives way to the rolling plains of the Heartlands. Its white cliffs jut from the earth like masses of eroded bone, their pale spires gleaming between sheets of prairie rain. Below them the yellow grasses lay rippling, the long stalks flattening beneath each new sweep of wind. And above, with all the vastness of an approaching Leviathan, the indigo-bellied storm clouds miles away, lit up from beneath with thin white forks of lightning.

It feels as though you’ve been riding for hours already, so protracted has every painful minute spent through this endless downpour been.

Like the baptism of some cynical god, the rain has washed clean the last remnants of violence from your skin and clothes. Your shirt and trousers are plastered to your body like a second skin, clinging cold and heavy with water, and the chill of it already has you shivering hard, teeth chattering as you ride slumped forward, gripping the saddle horn with both hands to keep your balance. It’s an uncomfortable position, but your only other alternative is to lean backwards, against the man behind you — and frankly, you’d rather fall off the horse.

(Though it’s generous, you suppose, that he’s allowed you the faculty of your hands at all.)

More pressingly, the cut across your upper arm is beginning to present itself as a real problem. It asserts itself as a dull but constant ache that doubly renews itself with any sudden movement or exertion. Earlier, when Arthur pulled you by the arm to help you into the saddle, the shock of pain that followed had been so intense that you’d nearly choked.

But the discomfort offers a welcome reprieve from the burden of guilt. After all, it’s hard to ruminate on your own damnation under this trifecta of misery: cold, wet, wounded. You glance behind your shoulder, and turn your attention from the dead to the living.

Well. Arthur looks like shit.

The leather of his clothes and his wide brimmed hat have kept him somewhat drier in comparison, but his eyes are red with fatigue, his posture that of a man half-asleep in the saddle. He seems to stir as you continue to stare. “What?” he says, irritated but too exhausted to conjure up any real ire.

“Just wanted to give you a quick reminder that you’re not gonna get any money outta this if I get sick and die.”

“Ain’t no point in carrying dead weight,” he growls. “So if you’re gonna die that easy, do us both a favor and keel over now.”

So he’s alert enough to still be needlessly aggressive. That’s good.

“You planning on riding the whole night through?”

“Nah.” Arthur points towards a rock outcropping about half a mile out. “There’s a ledge over yonder that I’ve camped under before. Gonna wait the storm out there.”

———

Soon after, he reins Boadicea in beside a thin grove of cottonwood trees bordering the road. You open your mouth to ask what he’s doing, but he answers before you can get the words out.

“Kindling,” he says.

“But it’s wet,” you protest.

He ignores you and strips off a few of the dead lower branches of the trees, breaking a large bough in the process that showers him with a sudden spill of rainwater. Arthur ties the gathered bundle to the horse’s back, an area which only hours before, you’d been stowed much in the same manner.

———

The overhang itself yawns like a dark gash at the foot of the butte. Arthur dismounts to lead Boadicea inwards, and as he guides the horse beneath the rock ledge you have the distinct sensation of being swallowed by the earth itself.

Arthut rummages through the saddlebag and pulls out something that, as your eyes adjust to the dimness of the overhang, you recognize to be a flint. He unhooks the unused lantern from the saddle, and in the dark you see a sudden array of sparks, bright as topaz, as the oil wick behind the glass alights, then catches.

A sea of orange light floods the overhang, casting long and lurid shadows against the rock walls. Arthur sets the lantern down carefully against a small recess in the weathered stone, then straightens his back and turns towards you.

“There’s an oilcloth in there,” he says, gesturing towards the saddlebag. “See if you can find it.”

Your wet clothes weigh down your limbs like a leaden coat as you grope through the jumble of items. Your fingers make out the ridged metal of a can, the smooth face of a pocketwatch, a few assorted pencils of varying lengths… and finally, a small bundle wrapped in a square of oilcloth that you pull out from the mess the same way a man might draw a fish from a river.

“This?”

“Yeah, that’s the one. Toss it here — got it.”

Arthur unwraps the cloth, then frowns. “Tinder’s damp,” he says.

“So no fire, then.”

“I didn’t say that.” He jerks his thumb towards the back corner of the shelter. “Get outta the way for a minute.”

You’re so exhausted that you practically fall off the horse when you dismount, landing with footing so unsteady that you have to catch the wall with your hand to keep from falling. Then you stagger to the cold stone wall, lean your back against it, and sink down until you can hug your knees to your chest.

Arthur unloads the bundle of wet branches from Boadicea’s backside and lets them fall clattering to the ground. He crouches down and picks up a piece of wood about the width of your wrist, then pulls his knife from its sheath. When you hear that familiar slither of metal against leather, you look up at him sharply, eyes wide - but he meets you with a steady, evenhanded gaze.

“Watch me,” he says, slipping the blade along the lateral edge of the branch. He splits it lengthwise to expose the core beneath the bark, then scrapes the knife against the pale, ragged edge, shaving off long, thin curls of wood that fall at his feet like snow.

“Wet wood won’t burn,” he explains. “But the inside’s dry. Cut it thin, like this, and we’ve got tinder.”

Arthur sheathes the knife and tosses it at your side, scabbard and all. “I’m gonna get some more wood to feed the fire,” he says, then points at the pile of kindling. “So make yourself useful in the meantime.”

You stare at him, incredulous. “Are you stupid?”

“… ‘scuse me?”

“I tried to kill you earlier and you’re giving me a knife?”

“I got enough faith in your incompetence to not be too worried. And besides…” He taps the holstered pistol at his hip.

You press your lips into a flat line and glare at the ground. “Fair enough.”

Boadicea seems reluctant to step back into the downpour. She tosses her head and snorts when Arthur takes the reins in hand, but he speaks to her in a gentle murmur, with words too quiet for you to make out, then pulls a withered peach from his satchel.

“Good girl,” he says in an affectionate tone, feeding her by hand. “We’ll be back soon enough.”

Your stomach makes an obscene gurgling noise. Hunger beats out pride, and you grimace as you ask, “Can I also get fed?”

“You really think you deserve food after what you put me through today?”

Fortune favors the bold , you think to yourself. Yet another one of Feng’s much loved aphorisms. “Yeah. You’re still alive, aren’t you?”

Something resembling a smile quirks at the edge of his lips. “Get some of those sticks carved up. Then we’ll talk.”

He walks out from the rock shelter and into the rain, with Boadicea trotting faithfully beside him.

———

You’ve always been good at peeling apples.

The owner of the brothel where you’d been born had been fond of them, and as a kid you’d quickly learned to cut away the skin in a single, graceful red spiral. Doing so made it easier to scavenge for later, when you’d dig through the kitchen scraps to retrieve the discarded skin and core to gnaw on in secret.

Carving wood, you find, is not a dissimilar process. The same basic principles apply: angle the blade and gauge the resistance of the material to be shaved, then press down and slide the knife through.

Still, your first attempts are laughable at best. With fingers stiff and clumsy from cold, and an arm that aches persistently with rippling bites of pain, you struggle to gouge out anything more significant than a series of shallow pockmarks. The blade of the knife either deflects or bites too deep, cutting irregular chunks of wood that fall at your feet like dense breadcrumbs.

But the work warms your hands and brings blood circulating back beneath your skin. The jerky, unsteady cuts begin to melt into a steady, deliberate motion that takes all of your concentration to maintain. And soon the rhythmic chk chk of the knife with every downwards swipe becomes a wooden staccato, the constancy of it blurring the rain, the chill, the events of the day from your mind. Only this, the smooth burled handle of the knife in your fingers and the steadily growing pile of wood shavings.

“Having fun?”

You jump so hard that your thumb slips against the dull edge of the knife and you nearly cut yourself. “Jesus Christ , don’t do that to — my god man, did you just crawl out of a lake?”

“May as well have. Storm’s gettin’ close.”

He and Boadicea are both so soaked that the water drips from them in a constant stream, strewing a series of small puddles behind them as they make their way back beneath the ledge. Arthur takes off his hat and jacket, then hastily wipes his hands across the grass in an attempt to dry them.

You watch as he gathers the newly-made tinder into a circle, then stacks a few sticks of kindling around it in a cone-like fashion. His first attempts with the flint result in nothing but an impotent shower of sparks. But on the fifth try the tinder catches, producing a fledgling flame that shivers against the wind from the approaching storm.

It glows orange-white, pale and wavering. He cups his hand to it and blows, and from your vantage point, it looks as though he’s breathing life into it, like some sort of modern day Prometheus. Then, with a sudden blaze of light and warmth, the fire spreads to the cone of kindling, licking at the wood with a warm constancy.

“Finally,” Arthur sighs. He staggers back and all but collapses against the stone wall of the outcrop.

Seeing him like this — wrung out and bedraggled and just as exhausted as you are — sparks in you a reluctant sort of camaraderie. In the isolation of the overhang, both huddled close to the fire in wet clothes, it’s not hard to imagine him as just another sodden refugee seeking shelter from the storm.

Outside, the wind picks up and the fire flickers in its wake, flattening and twisting and casting a nervous ebb and flow of uncertain light against the cliff face. The chill of it settles deep, exacerbated by the cold, damp cloth clinging to your skin, and you curl into yourself, folding all four limbs in close as your body will allow.

Arthur clears his throat. He shifts uncomfortably in his own soaked clothes and won’t meet your eyes when you glance in his direction.

“Look,” he says. “I don’t like it anymore’n you do, but we’re both gonna get pneumonia if we don’t get outta these wet clothes.”

#arthur morgan #arthur morgan/reader #arthur morgan/oc #rdr2 #red dead redemption #fic #my work #talking bird #man this is long and poorly edited but i couldn't stand sitting on it any longer

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merrickwood · 5 years

Text

whenever i’m alone with you

who: merrick wood & @ethjenkins when: monday, september 2nd, late night what: merrick & ethan have a date night

The rain starting to come in from the tropical storms off the coast had picked up dramatically, but for once it was welcomed. While most hated the rain - preferring the sun and heat of the Georgia sun - Merrick loved it. Dancing in it, jumping in puddles, running in it. And while it could be dangerous, she loved taking long drives through the rain, watching the lightening show everything inside the car, hearing the vibrations of the thunder surrounding them.

And for once, it was a juxtaposition of her mood. Because Merrick was settled. Happy. Things were heading in the right direction, and while there was still grief to contend with - seeing Armstrong where Whitehouse should be, Whitehouse where Brock should be, it still threw her for a loop, like a punch to the gut or when you felt like you were about to fall down the stairs when you’d reached the top already - Merrick was content. No more secrets, no more lies - she didn’t have to hide her love for Ethan anymore, didn’t need to fight for her love for Logan. They both loved her, and she loved both of them, and while the weekend had been a constant back and forth for her, she was happy in whoevers arms she was.

It was Ethan she promised her Labor Day night to; they’d made plans for him to pick her up after his shift, and while she kissed Logan goodbye, leaving him with Holly and her hangover, she threw on her rain boots and ran to the car.

There was already a slushie in the cupholder for her, a pack of Twizzlers as promised and a glance at the backseat told her he’d taken her joke about a blanket far too seriously - not only were there blankets ( plural, three of them at least ) but there was also a pillow, and Merrick’s laugh echoed around the small space before she tugged him close for a kiss, smiling brilliantly at him as he smiled back at her.

“You’re an idiot,” she reminded him, settling back down in her seat and flipping through the case of mix CDs she always left in the pocket of the passenger side. “I just meant that it was cold and rainy and we could cuddle under a blanket. I promise, your car isn’t uncomfortable.”

“I wanted to make sure,” he replied just as easily, his hand on the back of her seat as he pulled backwards out of her driveway, Merrick slipping a rainy day mix she hadn’t listened to in awhile into the CD player as he headed out of town.

They didn’t talk much, just let the music and the soothing sound of the rain beating on the car guide them, Merrick’s head on Ethan’s shoulder as he drove, her voice quiet as she sang along, his hand on her thigh when he could afford to. There was never any need for directions - sometimes they drove in circles, sometimes there was a destination in mind, sometimes they just drove until they were across state lines and watching the sun rise in Florida or Alabama. Once they’d made it all the way to the opposite edge of Georgia, putting their toes in the sand as they watched the sun come up over the Atlantic, their fingers barely brushing together as they sat in wonderment together.

It was crazy to think how much they had been holding back even a few weeks ago.

“I love you,” she murmured, pressing a lazy kiss to his throat, and his fingers flexed into her thigh, Merrick smirking in response as he tried to keep his eyes on the road. She wouldn’t distract him too much - it would be too dangerous - but she pressed a more deliberate kiss against his jaw, nipping a bit and giggling as he told her quietly not to distract him. “But I like distracting you,” she replied, her hand reaching under the hem of his hoodie, scratching his bare skin underneath. “Maybe it’s time we pull over.”

“It’s another two miles til a rest stop,” he told her, his eyes darting between her and the road in front of them, his tongue licking his lips and she dipped her hand a little lower, fingers teasing the waist of his jeans as she took his earlobe between her teeth.

“I don’t know if I can wait that long,” she purred, and he laughed, though it came out a little strangled as her fingers undid the button on his jeans, tugging at the zipper. He shifted, trying to make himself more comfortable and it gave her more room to palm at him, feeling him start to react to her ministrations as she worked his skin between her teeth, leaving a mark against his neck. Dark, vibrant against his pale skin, her mouth sucking against his throat like she would somewhere else if she was able. But it was dangerous enough, her fingers wrapping around his cock as best they could, and Ethan’s foot slipped off the gas pedal, the car slowing down as she pulled his attention to her.

“Merrick,” he warned, but she just pressed a chaste kiss against the corner of his lips, quieting him as she continued to stroke him, pulling him free enough to take a firmer hold of his dick, her fist loose enough to bring him attention without giving him what he really wanted.

“Just get us there.”

He managed, just barely, the roadside stop deserted even as the rain came down around them harder, but it just meant that their view would be better obstructed, and he didn’t take more than a second to crawl into the backseat, tugging her with him as soon as the car was stopped.

And he immediately made her pay for what she’d done, his hand up her shirt, fingers twisting her nipple, making her groan and rock against him, his kiss intoxicating with the sound of quiet music and rain pounding against the windows around them. It was as if they were the only people in the universe, and with his hand slipping up her skirt, she felt like maybe she could be - just him and her, the lone survivors in some quiet world.

She’d purposefully forgotten her underwear, and his moan into her mouth made her coat his fingers with herself as he crawled into her, two fingers at a time to stretch her open.

“I missed you,” she told him, and he pumped inside of her slowly, as agonizing for her as her slack grip had been for him.

“If you had told me you were this prepared, I would have stopped sooner.”

“Where’s the fun in that?”

He let out a small laugh, but she took his fingers out, holding them to her lips and licking the taste of herself off of him, watching his eyes burn even darker, his dick practically throbbing in her free hand as she held onto him. She didn’t want to bother with more foreplay, not at the moment - she just wanted to feel like she did when he was inside of her: complete.

Her legs straddled his thighs as she angled them together, sinking down around him with a low hiss; he sank down further in the seat, trying to help her have the best angle and it was much more shallow than she normally preferred, but it made for hot, quick strokes just begging for more. Her fingers dug into his shoulders, his hoodie still on while her shirt was shoved above her shoulders, his mouth lavishing over her chest, teeth scraping against sensitive skin, lips pursing around her nipples, his hands on her hips helping guide her onto him again and again.

It was much more erratic than they were usually, but it was good, and it was comfortable and when she felt herself tumbling over, she closed her eyes, breathing out his name as if it was the only thing that could save her. He managed to last just long enough to draw another orgasm out of her, his thumb on her clit as he thrust into her, his lips catching hers in an open kiss, teeth and tongues and eyelashes brushing against each other. When he spilled into her, Merrick felt herself contract tighter, pulling him in as deep as she could just to have one more moment - mine - taking him in as completely as he could get before they sat there, panting and breathless.

“You’re a trouble maker,” he groaned when they managed to find their voices, Merrick grinning widely as she pulled herself off of him, just enough to crawl next to him instead, curling into a ball and letting him grab a blanket for them to cover themselves with.

“What can I say,” she shrugged, letting his arm wind around her, a yawn seeping into her from her early morning, “you wouldn’t have me any other way.”

“No,” he mused, fingers brushing through her hair as they settled down to relax for a bit before returning home. “I guess I really wouldn’t.”

Her satisfied hum of agreement was all she could give in response; contentment and sleepiness settling in her bones, rapidly lulling her into the comfort of a nap in his arms.

#para #sp #cherryethan #whenever i'm alone with you #ej

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radiojamming · 6 years

Note

Hi I need more soft Jacob in my life. Jacob who doesn't know how to flirt. Jacob who is extra and gives rad speeches but doesn't know where to put his hands when someone kisses him the first time. Jacob who gets grumpy at feelings of affection but secretly loves being loved. Anyway thanks for attending my TED Talk.

YESSSSS

shoutout to @mademoisellegush for reaffirming the beautiful mental image of jacob and the deputy being a pair of raccoons eating spaghetti out of a dumpster

- - -

The first time they kiss is… memorable.

It’s memorable because both of them are filthy; Rook is covered in mud and pine needles like some backwoods attempt at tarring and feathering. Jacob has someone’s blood on him, although Rook can’t quite figure out who it belongs to. He wears a very fashionable impression of arterial spray across his face and neck, and there are four bloody finger prints on his neck from where someone apparently tried (and failed, very miserably) to choke him out.

All those Hallmark movies that extol the virtues of kissing in the rain are bullshit, because it’s raining so hard that Rook has very real worries about mudslides. Her boots are sloshing with every step, and Jacob approaches her like a drunken sasquatch, his footing heavy and unsure. Rook doesn’t run into his arms, because first of all, she can’t run for shit in this weather, and second, if she attempted to jump into Jacob’s arms, she’d probably just knock both of them over and they’d both get concussed.

So, instead, she drops a very eloquent and romantic, “The fuck do you want?”

Jacob huffs like an asthmatic grizzly, and she has to remind herself that even though he’s at some peak physical fitness, he’s closer to fifty than thirty.

He doesn’t answer until he gets close enough to her that she can see the rain making little clear creases in the blood on his face. His nose is red, because it’s stupidly cold, and he reaches up to wipe at it with his wrist. He has a pretty good-sized split in his lip, too, and she thinks that one might be her fault.

In short, if this is her version of Mr. Darcy, she’s apparently scraped the bottom of the bargain bin.

Finally, in a voice like sandpaper on a cactus, he grinds out, “I have run four fucking miles after you.” Then, he grunts, stepping over a tree root, yanking hard on his left leg when his boot sinks an inch too deep in a mud puddle, before he’s finally right in front of her.

No matter what, he’s still terrifying in his own way. Yes, he looks like someone tried to drown him, and Rook thinks that he might be exhausted enough that if she did decide to pounce on him, he probably wouldn’t get back up for while. However, he’s still Jacob Seed, all six-foot-whatever, built like a stack of cinder blocks. This man has killed people with his bare hands. Judging by the blood on his face, he just did it again within the past few hours.

And before Rook can ask him why he bothered to chase her down, he does the opposite of everything she thinks he’ll do and goes in to kiss her.

He sucks at it.

His hands are unsure, so he puts them on her shoulders until apparently he judges that it isn’t quite right. They move to her waist, then her hips, and then he seems to think they don’t belong anywhere yet, so they hang useless at his sides. As for his actual kissing, she tries to give him a pass in that both of them are soaked to the proverbial bone. His lips are freezing, and she thinks his nose is still running.

Granted, she is kissing him back, because it’s already been a weird day (week? month? lifetime?) and making out with one of the Seeds just seems like the topping on the eldritch cupcake that her life is turning out to be. Her hands are on his face, feeling the strange texture of his scars, thumbs swiping at some dead person’s blood. She tries to ignore the fact that he goes still at weird times, and then bites her at the next moment. Tries is the operative word, because at some point, the white flag has to go up.

She takes the collar of his uniform jacket and gently tugs it back.

He looks at her, his stupidly pretty eyes just as bright as always. She’s close enough to see that, yes, his nose is still running. He works his jaw like he isn’t sure if he used it right, and part of her wants to say that he might want to put some WD-40 on it.

Instead, she just gives him some kind of grin (maybe a little constipated) and pats his face like he’s a delightfully stupid dog.

He doesn’t say anything. No apologies for kissing like a deceased pufferfish. No questions about if she thought he kissed like one. His silence is heavy and thoughtful, which reminds her of sullen guys in the drunk tank back at the sheriff’s office.

“So,” she says.

He grunts.

“I’ll, uh–” She clears her throat, her left hand still curled into his jacket. Then, she makes a little strained noise that seems equal parts distress and delight. She stands up on her toes and presses a kiss against his (still very bloody) cheek, before letting go of him. “See you around?”

Another grunt. Then a slow nod. He might be turning red, but that might also be blood and rainwater.

- - -

Jacob seems to take their first kiss as an unspoken challenge. Rook deliberately doesn’t bring it up again, because it seems to gnaw at Jacob more that she acts like it never happened. Their radio calls are still dry exchanges of military and psychological metaphors on his side, and vague insults and retorts on hers. Honestly, she could probably just announce, “Hey! Jacob Seed made out with me in the woods and he sucked at it!” over the radio and the whole conflict might be over quicker. However, she thinks better of it, because he’s still a sniper and she doesn’t want to give him a reason to practice his aim on her. The Whitetail Mountains are still terrifying enough as it is.

Their normal banter goes on for about a week, until suddenly Jacob changes his tone.

Of all the people Rook could be travelling with at the time, it’s Adelaide. Most of their hikes through the woods are full of a one-sided conversation full of things like comparing Jacob to a side of beef, wondering if he has a six-pack, hoping that maybe he’s so in tune with nature that he bathes in the river, and taking estimates on how big his rifle is.

Halfway through a hike around Cedar Lake, Adelaide pauses and looks at the sky in thought, like someone is going to skywrite the exact statistics of Jacob’s genitalia.

“You think he’s got a chode or–”

“Addie!” Rook hisses, and even checks to make sure she hasn’t accidentally keyed her radio. If Jacob overheard them, Rook might just have to drown herself in the lake out of mortification.

Adelaide shrugs. “It’s an honest question, honey! The man’s built like a Mack truck. You see his boot size lately?”

Yes, Rook thinks. Except he was losing them in the mud and I didn’t get much of a chance to check them out because he was trying to bite my lips off.

“No,” Rook mumbles.

“Mmm, that’s a shame. Big man like him? I mean, he might be compensating, but I’m gonna be optimistic.” She holds up her hands like she’s about to give the measurements for a prize trout, but before she can make her estimates, Rook’s radio chirps.

“Deputy.” Jacob’s voice hisses through the speaker, low and breathy as usual. It makes both Rook and Adelaide jump, but probably for very different reasons. “You’ve been keeping a low profile lately. I was starting to wonder if I should be worried.”

Rook doesn’t immediately grab her radio, even though Adelaide’s eyes are wide and her grin is halfway to predator. She frantically points at the mic clipped to Rook’s belt. “Answer him!” she stage-whispers, as though he can hear her.

With deliberately slow movements, Rook unclips the mic and tugs it close to her mouth before pressing her fingers down on the key. “No reason to be worried, Jacob,” she says, trying her best to sound casual. “I’m just as destructive as usual.”

There’s a long pause; long enough for Rook to think that maybe he signed off. The only thing she hears is static and the sound of a pair of ducks quacking happily nearby. Then, “Good to know,” Jacob says, although it comes out like a low growl. “You know, Deputy, if you ever get bored of playing out in the woods and making a mess, you could always come back home. I promise I’d make it exciting.”

Rook nearly drops the radio, and Adelaide doesn’t even hold back a surprised, “Hot damn!”

“Uh, I’ll pass,” Rook manages to reply, even though Adelaide is about two seconds from whacking her in the shoulder out of sheer excitement.

“Mm. We’ll see how long that lasts.”

The radio goes dead before Rook can even try to reply, and she’s left in shocked silence for only a few seconds before Adelaide crows in something like victory.

“Oh my god, honey! If that ain’t the sound of a guy rockin’ a hard-on, then I don’t know dicks worth a damn.”

Rook tries to protest, but her tongue has about half a dozen false starts before she just shrugs miserably and clips the mic back in place.

Because honestly, she can’t tell if Jacob’s trying to flirt with her, or if he wants to ventilate her.

- - -

Rook thinks Jacob might be trying to pay her back for the split lip, because he’s certainly biting at her like that’s the reason.

It’s their third attempt at kissing. The second attempt was three days after the fateful radio call (and those three days were full of Adelaide’s plentiful Jacob-themed innuendos), when Rook accidentally got a Bliss arrow to the thigh after she snuck up on a Hunter, and Jacob was the one to scrape her off the ground. Her memories of that are a little vague and probably more pleasant than it actually was, because all she can recall is a sparkly Jacob calling her clumsy, yanking the arrow out of her leg, and then kissing her.

Maybe kissing her. That might have just been the Bliss.

So the third kiss might be the second-and-a-half. And the second-and-a-half or third kiss is just about as refined and lovely as the first, because Jacob has her up against an equipment shed near the dam, one leg between her knees, and his goddamn wolf teeth doing a number to her lips.

Even so, she can’t help but kiss him back, clinging onto his jacket like a burr. Because by this point, after all the weird threats that might have been flirts, and the one or possibly two bizarre kisses that had far more blood involved than a normal relationship should have, she actually does like Jacob. She likes the way he leans into her like a cat when she runs her hands through his hair and gently scrapes his scalp, and she can’t help but imagine how much of a human radiator he would be under a few blankets.

And apparently he likes her. At least, Rook thinks he does. It’s hard to tell when he kisses like a dog gnawing on a rawhide, but she believes he’s not doing it to blow off steam. Honestly, that would be risking a lot against the rest of his family. She decides to pull a (much more innocent) Adelaide and assume the best.

She gently pushes him back, both of them breathing hard, his hands a painful grip at the sides of her thighs. Rook thinks her lip must look like it hand a chance encounter with a meat grinder, but she smiles sheepishly regardless.

“I used to have a policy of not kissing on the first date,” she says, smoothing out a crease in his collar. “I don’t think I planned on kissing before I even went on a date at all.”

One eyebrow goes up, and it makes Jacob look very skeptical. “You want to go on a date?”

She laughs. “I mean, it’s a little limited around here. Like wine and dine me while we watch Sharky roast some Angels on an open fire?”

At first, Rook thinks Jacob might take her seriously, because he seems exactly the type of person to try to make a romantic outing out of watching people get slow-roasted. Then again, she doesn’t think the patrons of the Spread Eagle would take too well to Jacob Seed calling in reservations. They’d probably end up having to pull a Lady and the Tramp and eat spaghetti behind a dumpster.

Then, Rook sees a smile start to form on his face, as slow as a sunrise.

He doesn’t answer, but he does kiss her again.

It isn’t any better than the first one and a half times, but Rook enjoys it all the same.

#far cry 5 #jacob seed #prompt fill #junior deputy #jacob seed/deputy #this was so much fun to write i can't even believe

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shadowsof-thenight · 6 years

Text

Blood on her hands: Chapter 4

Inspired by prompt

Wrote the final chapter first (prompt is in there) and wanted to post only that, but decided it needed it’s back story.

Summary :

When Sophia met Steve, everything seemed to fall into place. They just matched. They laughed, they talked for hours. But when tragedy strikes, everything seems to fall apart. Will they get through it together?

Words: 1750

Warnings: Angst, Violence

Masterlist

Story Masterlist

Previous Chapter

When Steve found her, something had changed.

That much was clear, as soon as he looked into her eyes. The colour of her eyes had changed into this vibrant blue, that he had never seen before. Like a deep dark ocean that had a fire beneath them, which was slowly taking over. Devouring the waters.

Sophia was strapped to a table and he hurried to get her lose. Her whole body was shaking. She felt cold too the touch. Too cold. He could smell the fear on her. What had they done to her?

Bruises covered her body, her skin was far too pale and her hair drenched in sweat. Needle marks on upper her arms showed they had injected her, but there was nothing in the room. He had no idea what they had put in her. And with the fights going on in the compound at this point, he was certain evidence would be lost forever.

“Sophia, I'm here,” He whispered, “ I'm here to take you home. You're safe now” he said and pulled her up from the table and wrapped his arms around her.

“Steve!”Sophia exclaimed, as if only now registering that he was there, “I'm scared” she said and pulled him closer to her as tears streamed down her face.

“I'm here now” Steve said and hugged her tight.

“They did something to me” Sophia whispered and looked up to him with fear in those strange vibrant blue eyes.

“We will figure it out. Let's just get out of here” He said and directed her towards the door he had used to enter the room. As soon as the door opened, sound came at them from all ends. Sophia felt it pounding through her head and lost her footing. Luckily Steve was there to catch her before she fell to the ground.

Outside the room they were greeted by Natasha, who looked at Sophia with a hint of surprise before her face became unreadable again.

“We need to move” Natasha said and signalled for Steve and Sophia to go ahead of her. She would protect their backs.

Steve kept an arm around Sophia as he moved her through the corridor at a quick pace. Sophia tried to match his stride, but he was quite fast and she was just so tired. She struggled but kept moving, until Steve stopped her at the end of the corridor. He pushed her behind him and glanced around the corner.

She slumped against the wall. Her exhaustion was pulling at her. Trying to get her to surrender to it and just close her eyes. Perhaps a second would be enough, her body seemed to tell her. Sophia kept telling herself to stay awake, but she knew it was really only a matter of time before her body would stop cooperating.

“This hallway is clear,” the voice of Clint interrupted her thoughts, she looked to see the familiar face walking towards them. Steve turned back to Sophia, he saw the exhaustion on her face and with a simple look at Natasha and Clint, he picked her up. Clint walked in front of them and Natasha kept up the rear.

Sophia was glad to be off her feet and leaned into Steve. She could feel her eyes dropping and she fought to keep them open. She couldn't sleep until they were safely out of the compound.

The next corridor led them outside and Sophia was blinded by a huge light that flashed the bridge they were nearing. She could see the quinjet in the distant, about a mile away from the bridge and she felt relieved. It would not be long now. She could almost close her eyes. Freedom was close and she could almost touch it.

That was when they were attacked and Steve quickly put her on the ground. Sophia could feel a new burst of adrenaline coursing through her veins and this gave a little strength to keep standing. She didn't expect she could ask much more of herself, but standing on her own was a good thing.

She leaned on the handrail, they lined the bridge and slowly let Natasha inch her forward while Clint and Steve fought off their attackers.

As soon as they had crossed the bridge, Natasha told her to hide somewhere along the tree line and joined in on the fighting. Their path to the quinjet had been blocked by their attackers on one side and a massive body of water on the other side. Sophia looked around and saw she had been held in a compound by a dam. She looked at the dark body of water and wondered if she really saw rings of movement in them or if she was just imagining those. Rings you get when a drop of water falls into a puddle or something. That's what it looked like.

Sophia quickly ducked into some bushed and tried to find herself a good hiding place amongst them. She could feel her mind unravel as panic took over. She could see Steve fighting several attackers. Natasha by his side. She could not see anybody else, but they had followed them outside she was sure of it. Sophia wasn't trained to fight, she didn't know what to do. Even if she had not been this exhausted, she would have been of no use to them. Her abduction had showed her that much.

As she hunched underneath one of the larger shrubs at the treeline, rain started falling down on them. Softly at first, but quickly it was pouring. The drops of water fell down on her and the liquid seemed to speak to her. She could detect every small vibration that her surroundings brought to the water. She didn't know why, but assumed it was something they had done to her. Panic rose once again from the pit of stomach and it took all her will power to sit silently under the cover of plants.

Her surprise was so big, however, that she took her eye of her surroundings and just watched the droplets on her hand dance around. Something in her core seemed to dance along to the rhythm of the rain.

She was distracted by this feeling and didn't notice the men that were sneaking up on her, until the grabbed her and started pulling her back towards the compound. One of the men had quickly covered her mouth with tape, so she could not scream to alert Steve. The rhythm in her core sped up and she needed to scream, it hurt. She could feel her insides turning and starting to boil. She wasn't sure what was happening, fear gripping at her.

Just as she was on the bridge towards the compound, located in the dam, she felt a surge go through her. It felt like some sort of release. The pain ebbed away and for a second she let the relief come over her.

Sophia tried to look around to what was happening. The pain had been excruciating, but the release of the pain without her doing anything, scared her half to death. She was alerted by screams from below and looked over the edge of the bridge to see the dam giving way to the water it was keeping in place. The lower parts of the compound were quickly being flushed with water.

Sophia could almost feel the water rising beneath her, as if she was connected to it. Quickly she realised that this must have been her doing.

Try as she might, she tried to pull the water back, but she couldn't. She had no control over this massive body of water at this point and it scared her even more. Around her the rain seemed to pelt down harder and the men holding her, quickly let go. The rain was pelting down on them, slashing at them. They looked at her with fear and confusion. Sophia wasn't sure what to do now. Her whole body felt in turmoil and she couldn't find a way to control it. Panic surged through her and her mind was in chaos.

The men that had been holding her started running towards land, Sophia quickly followed. She needed to get away from the water that was overtaking the compound. The compound was quickly overrun by the water and fearful screams filled the air as Sophia just tried to land as quickly as she could. Again she ran for the tree line and dropped down on the ground as soon as she felt she was at a safe distance from the dam.

“I did this” Sophia whispered as she looked at her hands. Rain was pouring down on her and she cried as she tried to keep her hands from shaking.

“Babe!” Steve screamed as he came closer, dropping down next to her. He moved to wrap her in his arms but Sophia quickly moved away from him. She crawled on hands and feet as quick as she could.

“Don't touch me” she screamed, her voice thick with panic.

“Sophia, please” Steve pleaded with her.

“I did this” she whispered again.

“What do you mean?” he asked and looked at Natasha to see if she could make sense of this.

“I did this” Sophia just repeated and Natasha gasped.

“They did something to you..”Natasha recalled the words Sophia had spoken earlier.

“What are you talking about?” Steve asked irritably.

“They probably took her through terrigenesis or enhanced her in some other way” Natasha explain and Steve looked back at Sophia wide eyed.

“I killed all those people” Sophia whispered as sobs overtook her. Steve moved closer to Sophia and softly took her hand.

“This is not your fault” Steve whispered. When Sophia didn't pull back from him, he moved closer and wrapped her in his arms.

“Let me take you to the tower. We will take care of you” Steve whispered in her ear and Sophia was too numb by now to object. Shock had taken over her senses and all she could do was look at her hands. Those hands had killed at least a two dozen people, even though she still did not understand just how it worked.

“We will figure this out”Steve tried to reassure her as he scooped her up from the ground and carried her to the quinjet at a jogging pace.

Next Chapter

#Blood on her hands #MCUfanfiction #Steve Rogers Fanfiction #Captain America fanfiction #SteveXOC #Marvel

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piecesofscully · 6 years

Text

The After

JUNE, 2002 7 MILES EAST OF CARLIN, IOWA

Scully tugs at the hood of her jacket, pulling it forward to shield her face from the onslaught of rain that falls from the hazy gray sky. The rural two-lane road before her barely glistens as she walks down the center, and the only sound she hears is her own footfall, the soles of her boots sloshing through the puddles. The soaked tendrils around her face sway heavily with each step she takes, swinging back and forth like auburn pendulums keeping time.

It’s serene moments like this that she finds herself longing for all of the color that the world used to offer, the vibrant shades of green that would line the horizon at the beginning of summer. After all of the vegetation had finally withered to mush and succumbed to the incessant rain, survivors were left with a bleak perspective. The once bold scenery that was loud with life had fallen mute, luscious trees were stripped bare, grassy fields melted into swamp lands.

Just under two years ago civilization dwindled down to its most basic level, any sort of advancement had ceased, and society had fallen to its knees. After Richter Scale topping earthquakes shook the country and coastal states were broken free, tsunamis that stood hundreds of feet tall towered over sea level and rushed the new shorelines, flooding miles and miles inland. The enormous waves swallowed from the entire state of Maine down to what little of Florida was still attached, from the northern part of Washington through the shards that remained of Oregon and Nevada. Rumor has it that the state of California and the majority of Oregon are the Northern Pacific Ocean’s city of Atlantis.

In just a matter of a few days, a country of fifty states was downsized, cut nearly in half. Roughly thirty states remain. Once the tsunamis had subsided, it had started to rain and has continued every day for the last two years. What some would call a flood, the survivors call The Wash. The orientation of the phrase is unknown, but it spread like wildfire through the the settlements.

As the power grid shut down-- submerging the country into darkness-- the government fell with it, and a new law arose. The law of survival. Some call what happened Mother Nature’s fury, her retribution for global warming. Others call it an act of God.

Scully doesn’t call it anything.

Instead, she focuses on the task at hand, and right now her priority is finding shelter, a place to keep dry throughout the night. Through the steady drizzle she flits her eyes across her surroundings every few minutes, searching, pushing herself forward towards wherever she will call home until morning.

She doesn’t allow her mind to wander to the world Before, to the loved ones that probably perished, drowning in the apocalyptic tidal wave. She ignores the thoughts of her mother, of her brothers and their families, replacing the memory of their voices with the dull roar of the storm that unleashes its wrath around her.

Still, it seems that regardless of what she’s doing or how strong her focus is, there is always one person who’s still able to break through. Mulder.

The treeline parts just as she rounds a curve in the road, and something catches her eye. She pulls her hand from her pocket and shields her eyes as she tips her head upwards, spotting a single-wide mobile home a few hundred feet ahead of her. Even from a distance and in the rapidly falling darkness, she is able to see that the roof is damaged, the far end of it sagging. Most dwellings that she’s come across, whether they be abandoned or occupied, look roughly the same-- in such dire need of maintenance that they’re nearly uninhabitable.

The closer she gets, the more the trailer reveals itself to her. Naked tree trunks that surround the dwelling jut out from the muddy earth, their branches reaching towards the sky as if hoping to puncture bits of sunlight from the thick layer of clouds. Random panels of aluminum siding hang haphazardly, exposing rotting wood underneath, and utter darkness swells behind the broken windows. She feels a smile tweak at the corners of her mouth. Darkness means unoccupied, and unoccupied means innocuous solitude. Unphased by its disintegrating appearance, she pushes through the door.

The scent of mold hangs feather-light in the air as she crosses the threshold, a musty odor she’s become accustomed to and has learned to expect. Scully makes quick work of checking the trailer for another nightly squatter or evidence of their possible return, with her flashlight in one hand and knife in the other. She tiptoes across the floor, shifting her weight with caution from one ball of her foot to the other, hoping to avoid weakened floorboards that would announce her presence.

Each of the two bedrooms appear the same, unoccupied and forgotten, whispers of a previous life left behind in sodden furniture and belongings. Mold claims the bathroom, stretching across the walls like an abstract painting as rain falls freely from a hole in the ceiling, cascading below into the blackened tub that was once a pristine white.

As she turns to exit, she catches a glimpse of her reflection in the mirror, and it causes her to pause. Rarely is she afforded a moment of vanity, and it’s even more rare that she takes advantage when the opportunity presents itself, but tonight she’s unable to pull her gaze away. The angle of the flashlight throws jagged shadows across her face, hiding her features beneath a mask of gauntness.

She leans forward and looks closer, her fingertips tracing just below the icy blue eyes peering back at her, and whispers, “Lacrimal bone, maxilla, zygomatic bone.”

The tip of her index finger taps between her eyebrows. “Frontal bone,” she whispers, then drags her finger down the bridge of her slender nose, “nasal bone, septal cartilage.”

“Infraorbital foramen, zygomatic bone,” she finishes as she runs her fingers across high, protruding cheekbones that would have been coveted Before. Allowing her hood to fall down to her shoulders, she searches for any trace of the woman she knew in the person who stares back at her with curious wonder.

With a shallow sigh, she pulls away. Perhaps in another time, another life, she supposes she could be considered beautiful, but now all she sees is a woman with a determination to persevere. An acquaintance to look at, but a survivor at heart.

“Dana-” she says, and her voice cracks, weak from disuse. She clears her throat and begins again. “Dana Katherine Scully. Medical doctor and Special Agent with the Federal Bureau of Investigation. Badge number JTTO 331613. Partner, daughter, sister, aunt, friend, and -”

The word ‘lover’ is lost under a sharp clap of thunder, its rumble rolling down the walls around her, pulling her moment of indulgence with it. Without another look to the mirror, she exits the bathroom and collects the pile of tattered blankets and sheets she’d spotted earlier, taking them with her to the kitchen. It takes only a few moments to create a makeshift bed in the corner of cupboards, a nest of fabric that promises warmth and dryness for the remainder of the night.

She peels off her outer layers of clothing and hangs them around the kitchen, then settles in the center of her blankets and pulls her boots and socks from her feet. It hadn’t been The Wash that had claimed the boots’ previous owner’s life, instead it was multiple stab wounds to her abdomen. When Scully had stumbled across her lifeless body in the outskirts of Dayton, Ohio, the woman's blood had already grown faint, the rain diluting it from a vibrant crimson to a pretty pink, staining her sweater and jacket like a watercolor painting. The hiking boots on her feet, however, were intact, and to Scully’s luck, just her size.

Scully stifles a groan as she stretches her toes and rolls her ankles, flexing out the miles of walking, her thumbs massaging away the dampness that seeps deep into the bones.

“Shit,” she utters as her flashlight flickers, then the room goes dark. Her fingers work quickly to unzip her backpack, digging out the battery operated camping lantern, and with a flick of the switch, the kitchen is illuminated under an eerie bluish glow. She pulls other items from the sack and places them on the floor before her, taking inventory.

A can of fruit cocktail, her dinner for the night. Two cans of albacore tuna, two full bottles of water, a half eaten package of trail mix. She shakes the three boxes of matches, and sets them next to a relatively clean pair of socks, and her last prepackaged moist towelette. Three full bottles of Vitamin D, the majority of a broken shoelace, 5 AA batteries, a hunting knife, and a journal, and her backpack is empty.

She frowns at the sight before her. Other than the batteries and the matches, she doesn’t have much she’s willing to part with for a trade, a crucial exchange for food that is in her near future. Antibiotics, chapstick, and batteries of any size are the After’s currency, cash and credit cards now useless. She’s aware that other woman will resort to using their bodies to barter for simple items of survival, selling their time to the highest bidder for whatever the buyer is willing to pay, but the chains of sorrow tighten around her heart at the thought of someone else touching her the way Mulder had Before. A small part of her understands the desperation, but she’d rather go hungry and succumb to the elements.

Her gaze falls on the chest of her jacket that’s dripping dry a few feet away, her eyes zeroing in on the area where a picture is tucked safely in the interior pocket, a captured moment that she carries with her everywhere she goes. She has it memorized, every line of his face, the length of his nose, the subtle pout of his bottom lip. Nights when she’s at her weakest, when she’s overcome with loneliness, she will allow herself to look at it.

“Not tonight,” she tells herself before dry swallowing a Vitamin D capsule, then proceeds to stuff the items spread before her back into her sack, and tucks it behind her back. The ratty blanket scratches at her bare arms as she pulls it to her chin and closes her eyes, the light from the lantern creating shadows that dance along the back of her eyelids. She tries not to imagine that he’s lying behind her and forces herself to focus on the sound of the rain on the roof.

It’s been two years since she’s seen him, two long years that she’s been searching for him in every town she comes across on her journey northwest. She can certainly push through one more night.

>>>Next Chapter>>>

#The After #my writing #msr fanfic #txf fanfic #work in progress

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sceawere · 6 years

Text

understanding | luca changretta

sequel to ‘risk’

Matteo was at the steps of the hotel to meet your car, opening your door for you as it pulled up.

“Guess I missed my chance, huh?” he joked, helping you out. You laughed and gave him a sympathetic smile.

“Don’t worry, Matty boy. With gentlemanly manners like that, you’ll be snapped up soon enough” he frowned at your words, but laughed still.

“Don’t ever call me that again” he said, turning to climb the steps up to the imposing doorway. You followed up, heels clacking on the damp stone.

“What’cha gonna do about it, huh, tough guy?” you knocked his shoulder as he opened the door for you and nearly missed the eyeroll he gave you, only catching it because you gave a dramatic turn. You smiled as he shook his head, looking over your shoulder as you stepped backwards into the lobby.

“I remember the first time you came here, you were like a little mouse” he pinched his fingers together in front of him “now you’re sounding your mouth off like that”

“I threatened to pull your friends eyes out” you reminded him, and he shrugged.

“Yeah, but you were very polite about it. You asked him nicely, like a lady” he looked down at you with a slight smirk and you returned it.

“Well, I am, as I was then, incredibly nervous” you sighed, shifting your weight from foot to foot, rolling on your toes slightly in the plush carpeting beneath you both.

“Don’t be” he lifted an arm for you to take, hooking your elbow through his “Boss is a good man. He won’t bite”

You tilted your head at the lilt in his tone, the smirk that grew. Another sigh as you both turned was quickly replaced by a sharp intake of breath and a noise of complaint from Matteo as you shoved him back into an alcove.

“Woah, sweetheart- “

“Shit, fuck, and shitty fuck” you whispered out a trail of curses, dipping your head to rest on his lapel.

“Ok…what’s- “

“Those men work for Tommy – well, with Tommy, sort of, kind of. Everyone works for Tommy really, I guess” you whispered to him, leaning back to peer around a well-placed plant that formed a veil between you and them. They were stood together in a group of five or six men, some you recognised, some you didn’t.

You were dipped back, as though you were dancing, when Matteo leaned forward to take a peek as well. You turned your head to him, frowning, and trying to catch his eye. When he did see you, he shrugged, and you sighed. You pushed him back, gripping the lapels of his coat, and swinging you both round to switch places so he could look at the men better. You frowned, patting his chest, as he eyed up the situation.

“Is that a gun?” you whispered.

“Course it’s a gun” he tutted, throwing a look your way.

“My head was right there!” you protested, and he rolled his eyes.

“The safety’s on, what you take me for? Just because you lot are living out in the wild west, doesn’t mean- “

He turned quickly as they turned as a group, one of the men pointing up at a portrait on the wall next to the alcove.

“How many of them have I got to shoot?” Matteo asked, the two of you keeping eye to eye, trying to look like young lovers having a moment, rather than members of rival factions trying to hide behind a potted plant.

“None of them!” you whispered back, outraged. You made sure to exaggerate each word, your face screwed up.

“Any of them go running back to Tommy, and- “

“When I said they worked for him, I meant for the company. Like that guy- “you nodded to one of the older men “runs a frickin’ paint company for goodness sake. He gave me a lecture on the history of tint chemistry one time, he’s not shooting up anyone”

You sighed, looking over at the door as rain started to patter against the glass. You hoped it wouldn’t bother the men, and that they’d leave soon enough, so you could scurry up the stairs and hide in shame for the rest of the night.

“They’re legit business men, ok? I’m not even sure they know Tommy’s Tommy. I mean, they must know, I guess. But you know, whether they understand, whether they care, I don’t… know what I’m even trying to explain. Regardless- “you re-adjusted your grip on his lapels “I go to the galas and stuff sometimes, Tommy gets bored of trying to act all proper and respectable, and the executives sometimes need a pretty face to open up their contracts, so…they’ll recognise me. Is all. And all it takes is them dropping a ‘oh, I saw you at the hotel!’ in front of Tommy and we’re done”

“Well, we can’t stand in the shrubbery all night” he snarked, and you scowled up at him.

“Is there a side-entrance? Can we go up the service stairs or something?”

“No, the kitchens and deliveries are at the back”

“Then let’s go that way”

“Did you hear me? There’s no side-entrance. It’s a 3 miles round trip through town and back to get to that door from the outside”

“I think you’re exaggerating slightly” you droned, and he flicked a brow at you.

“We specifically picked a place with as few easily-accessible external doors as possible, you get me?”

You sighed, leaning back against the wall.

“Well, there has to be another way around this. We can’t stand in the shrubbery all night” you agreed.

“What the hell happened to you” Luca asked of Matteo as he shepherded you into the room. You were both dripping wet, Matteo wrestling his coat off and lifting his arms as he looked down at his spoiled suit.

“Blinders in the lobby. We had to go back out and around the back way to avoid being seen. Only problem is, the only way to get in the back entrance is to circle the whole block, and go down an alley to the service entrance” he motioned the route with his hands, movements frantic with frustration, as you abandoned all hope of saving your outfit and toed your shoes off and kicked them away with a huff “could have sailed our way straight up to that window, the amount of water falling out there. Probably would’ve been quicker, how the hell do they not have a shorter way to-”

Both men’s eye turned to you as you let out a noise of frustration, flapping your arms that were stuck in the wet fabric of the sleeves. Finally, they gave way and your coat slumped to the floor. You sighed heavily again, shifting your weight onto one hip as Luca looked you over. Your shoes were strewn a metre away, your coat crumpled on the floor. The hem of your silky dress was splashed with mud and dripping onto the fancy carpet below your bare feet. Your hair was soaked through, probably tatty from where you’d squeezed the curls of their excess water. You gave another deep sigh as Matteo smirked and dipped his head to keep his laughter to himself.

“I look like a drowned rat” you complained.

“Prettiest one I’ve ever seen” Luca replied, a light smile on his face as he stepped over to you. You frowned up at him, pouting as you looked down at your ruined outfit, and contrasted it with his pristine suit.

“I looked like a girl from the pictures” you explained, disappointment heavy in your tone.

“I know you did” he laid a hand on your hair as you sulked, leaning around him when you heard one of Matteo’s soft chuckles.

“I take back everything I said about you being a gentleman!” he raised his hands in defence, smile still wide into his cheeks. He kept his arms up in surrender as he walked over to the door, scooping up his own damp coat on his way.

“Enjoy your dinner!” he said, pulling the door shut behind him.

You took a deep breathe, swinging your head back to Luca, who was smiling softly as he looked you over again.

“Don’t” you whispered.

“I didn’t say anything” he motioned across his lips “not a word”

He turned and made his way through the room to another door, and by the tiles you saw on the wall, you assumed it was a bathroom. You looked down, pinching the fabric at your thighs to lightly lift the hem of your skirt away from your ankles, tutting at the state of it. This carpet was far too nice to be dripping puddle water all over, and you looked around for somewhere else to stand.

“Here” Luca returned, holding a towel outstretched to you. You dropped your grip and took it from him, dabbing it over your face, and patting it over the ends of your hair.

“I can’t…” you looked down at the sodden fabric “this dress is done”

You avoided his gaze, eyes to the ends of your hair, and then your arms as you patted them off too.

“Well, I don’t have any pretty dresses lying around…” you looked up to him, and he smiled at your unimpressed expression “but I should have a shirt or two around here somewhere you can borrow”

You bit your lip, dropping the towel to your waist. Your hands were bundled up in the fabric, and they fidgeted with it, the warmth returning to your fingers. You looked down at your dress again, trying to work out how much coverage you’d get. Luca was tall, but not that tall, and you were going to be walking around his hotel room with a significant amount of leg showing. You thought back to all Polly’s lectures on respectability before your dates when you were younger and huffed a little.

Luca was already over by the wardrobe, pulling out a shirt and slipping it off the hanger for you. You ran an eye over the room quickly, looking for a blanket or a sheet or something. The only ones to be found were spread on the bed and so when Luca turned back around he found you staring at the covers intently, trying to work out what to do with yourself. He looked from the bed, to you, shirt still hooked over one finger. You cleared your throat, and tip toed your way across to him, trying to avoid as much contact with the floor as possible.

“Thank you” you whispered as you took the dry fabric from him, hobbling your way over to the bathroom with your skirt bunched in one hand. Once inside, you lay your head onto the tiles softly, rocking your forehead over the cool surface.

“This is a fucking disaster” you whispered to yourself, before laying the shirt over the counter and slipping out of your dress.

Luca was crouched before the big fireplace in the antechamber when you stepped back out. You hovered in the doorway, a hand on either side of the woodwork and one foot on the tile, the other on the carpet. You frowned as you watched his shoulders roll. You tilted your head, trying to confirm what he was doing, when he turned back to grab a pack of matches perched on the edge of the coffee table. He caught sight of you, smile pulling onto your face as his eyes ran down your body, straight to your legs.

“Be…a gentleman” you reminded him, and his smile grew, looking down to the matches in his hand.

You dropped your hands to your sides and stepped out into the room. You reached over to grip the blanket topping the bed, dragging it with you as you stepped back.

A flicker in the corner of your eye drew your gaze. He’d lit the fireplace in the bedroom as well, and the warmth spilled out in to the room, losing its reach eventually as you progressed towards him. He flicked a look up to you as the first match failed to light and he threw it into the grate, reaching back into the packet with an irritated hiss.

“Why’d you look so surprised?” he asked, striking the match and dipping his knee back into the carpet when it flew into life. He brought it to the grate, carefully inspecting the fledgling flames as you crawled onto the sofa, pulling the blanket over your now bare knees.

You’d draped your stockings over the edge of the bath to dry, umming and aahing over whether to hide them somewhere for five minutes before you realised it was ridiculous and left them where they were.

“I don’t know, I thought you’d get someone in to do that for you, I guess”

He straightened his spine as the fire came to life properly, throwing the box back onto the table. He stood, taking the short steps over to you, and reaching for a bottle on the side table next to you. He towered over you like this, and you bent your neck back to keep eyes on him as he poured himself a glass.

“You want one?” he motioned with the bottle, and you shook your head.

“I could go for a tea, if you’re doing one?” you lifted your elbow to rest on the sofa back, resting your head on your fist “though I suppose there’s no kettle up here, is there, so…”

“No, but there’s a phone, and a big kitchen downstairs. And since you asked so nicely, I’ll go through the monumental effort of ringing down and requesting one, how about that?” he took a quick drink, before moving towards the desk.

“Thank you” you replied after him, leaning forward on the sofa to watch him go. Your hands fell to your lap, tracing the intricate embroidery on the cover, as you listened to him ring down.

“They’ll be up in a minute” he explained, coming back to sit at your side. He took another drink, looping one arm over the sofa back, and perching the glass on his knee. He traced eyes over you again, his expression softening.

“What?” you almost whispered, trying to work him out.

“Cosy” he replied, and you burst out laughing, bending back into your knees slightly. He smiled across at you as you straightened back up, settling your back against the chair as you adjusted your legs, so you could turn to face him a little better. You dragged the blanket back over your feet, tucking it around your ankles.

“I didn’t take you for the ‘quiet night in’ kind of type” you joked, and he gave a little shrug.

“I can be domestic” he replied, taking another drink.

“Yeah, lighting fires in a marble fireplace- “you motioned behind you and reached to tip the bottle into view a little better “drinking stuff I can’t pronounce that probably costs more than most people’s monthly wage”

You turned back to him.

“Lounging about your hotel suite in a fancy suit while you contemplate your empire, you’re a real salt of the earth guy, huh?” you rested your elbow up on the edge of the sofa back, close enough that you could feel the heat of his arm through the cotton, and tilted your temple to your fist.

“That what you’re looking for? Nice, honest Joe”

You shrugged, casting as eye back down to the blanket.

“I’m here looking like a wash up and you’re Mr Fancy over there. I might not feel so out of place”

You watched the tip of his tongue as he rolled it over the edge of his teeth, before lifting his arm over your head as he reached to place his glass on the coffee table. He set about undoing the buttons on his waistcoat, draping it over the armrest.

You furrowed your brow, still smiling apprehensively as he looked to you, loosening his collar, and beginning to roll up his sleeves. When he was done he settled back and motioned to himself. You laughed, shaking your head.

“Yeah, you look terrible now. Almost unrecognisable. A shadow of the man you were before”

“Anything for you, doll” he replied, draining his glass. Your eyes followed him as he returned the now empty glass to the coffee table, before settling back, and bringing his eyes to yours.

“What did you tell Tommy about where you were going?” he asked, fingers drumming a beat where they lay on the back of the sofa.

You sighed, and adjusted in the seat.

“That I was going to see an old friend from school – it’s kind of a regular event at the moment, I figured routine would make him less suspicious. She’s getting married in a couple of weeks and they’re moving away after, so we’ve been meeting up and…you know, having fun together while we can. Making memories”

“Running wild?” he joked, and you rolled your eyes with a smile.

“I’ll have you know that when you’re not around, I’m entirely respectable” he raised his brows, and you tilted your head, daring him to disagree “you’re a bad influence, Mr Changretta”

“I’ve been a perfect gentleman” he argued, and you nodded sarcastically “I have!”

There was a knock at the door, and he shouted for them to enter. You’d forgot about the tea and now worried about being seen by the staff. Luca had managed to work someone into Tommy’s house without him realising, and the thought that Tommy could do the same suddenly hit you.

You raised your hand, fingers fidgeting with your lip, and obscuring part of your face. You flicked your hair back, hoping to obscure its length and were glad that the water had darkened the strands. Hopefully in the dim light of the room (with just the fires and the lamps lit) you wouldn’t be entirely recognisable, just in case.

“Thank you” he said as the maid left. He reached forward, pausing when he looked back over his shoulder, and found you looking nervous.

“It’s her job to be discreet” he reminded you, and you moved your eyes from the doorway to him.

“I’m not worried about gossip, I’m about worried about whether she only draws one pay check, or if I should be advising Polly to pack a bag and make herself scarce right about now” you whispered back. He shook his head, smiling to himself,

“I picked this place because it was clean. I checked everyone out, don’t worry”

“Did you- “you stalled as he leaned back, resting his arm on the back of the sofa, and leaning into you.

“My men know every face, every résumé– they know the names of every guests in every room. We picked this place because it was clean, don’t worry” he reassured, and you took a deep breath, nodding slowly.

“This is my day job” he continues, calling back to your words when you first met “and you’re adorable when you blush”

“Are you going to feed me or not? I was promised a dinner, and I’m so hungry I’m about to eat that table, so- “

He stood from the sofa, and made his way towards the door before you could finish your protest.

“Stop!” you implored through your laugh. You and Luca had moved to the floor before the fireplace as it started to rain heavily outside once again, finishing your desserts in it’s warm glow. He was leant back against a chair, one leg outstretched, the other bent so he could drape his arm over it lazily, swilling his glass lightly in the flickering light.

“I’m not doing anything” he motioned to himself with his free hand, taking another sip with a smirk.

“You’re staring, and it’s putting me off”

“I’m looking at a beautiful woman, what- “

“You’re looking at a woman who is trying to eat her body weight in whipped cream in peace, so avert thy eyes, mister” you took another scoop from the posh crystal bowl and filled your mouth, letting the spoon drop back with a clatter.

You lifted the bowl and put it back on the table with the rest of the plates and trays, adjusting your blanket skirt around you as you shuffled closer to the warm glow.

“Stop” you whispered again, catching Luca smiling into the fire.

“I’m not-I did what you asked, what more do you want from me?” he asked, purposefully not looking in your direction as he addressed you.

You licked the cream off the edge of your thumb, eyeing his glass. You reached forward, picking it out of his hand. He turned his head to his hand, then to yours, then to you, as you eyed its contents.

“What is this? Whisky? I don’t like whisky” you said, before taking a drink. You grimaced, you still didn’t like whisky, and handed it back to him. He was shaking his head with a smile as you wiped your mouth with your thumb again.

“What do you like?”

“Vodka” you replied quickly. He looked surprised but impressed, moving his glass to the floor next to him. He let it clink against the marble.

“Every time I think I understand you, you surprise me”

“Maybe you’re underestimating me then” you replied, and he nodded.

“Maybe”

You sat without speaking, enjoying the quiet together for a while. The fireplace hummed and cracked, the rain jotting against the windows in spatters and flows, soft then beating, then dying away again. It was dark out by now, the season bringing the night in fast, but the vast curtains remained open. It put a glow into the room, the cool light melding into the warmth expelled by the fire.

“Maybe we’re underestimating each other” you said, after so long a silence you thought the frown on Luca’s face was from him forgetting what had been said.

“Why’s that?” he asked, and you nodded towards the flames.

“I thought you’d be all fancy big boss, but you light your own fires” you explained, and he laughed, shaking his head, having supposed you were about to make a grand revelation. He picked up the glass, ready to take the last sip.

“I usually have the maids do it” he deferred, and you perked up, mouthing an ‘ah!’ “but- “

He pointed to you with the hand holding the glass, pulling it away from his lips at the last second.

“I wanted to impress the lady, so…”

“You made a fine job of it” you agreed.

“You can thank my grandfather for that. He used to take me camping” he explained, and you burst out laughing. He gave a look of mock outrage, and you threw a hand over your mouth.

“Sorry” you whispered, still laughing regardless “Sorry, I’m just imagining little Luca in his short pants, in the forest- “

You broke for laughter again, as he shook his head.

“It’s a sight!”

“I wasn’t always the auspicious man you see before you” he joked.

“No, I can believe that” you teased, rolling your lips between your teeth. He stared you down.

“What did you think I’d be?” he asked. You thought on it for a moment, moving to free your legs from the blanket and stretch them out towards the fire. You made sure to pull the blanket up around your hips and thighs, keeping the edge of the shirt covered.

“I thought maybe you were…” you stalled, looking up at him “uhh…maybe…”

You squinted, trying to come up with the right words.

“Using me to get to Tommy” you said lightly, grimacing slightly. His face dropped and became serious and you moved to fill the silence before he did.

“You enjoy winding me up and calling the office and…” you bobbed your head about “you know, the secret notes, the teasing. I thought maybe at some point you were going to turn around and let Tommy know and…throw it in his face. ‘I got one of your girls’, you know?”

He reached across and picked a toothpick off the table, rolling it around in his mouth. You supressed the pull of your lips – for all the teasing he gave you about nervous habits, he had his own little tell.

“You think I’d do that?” he drawled, avoiding your eyes.

“Of course I did. You know I should. I didn’t know you. I knew a vague image of who you could be. Tell me you don’t think I was justified” you challenged lightly, and he quirked a brow, nodding towards you. Still considering the flames, rather than you.

“You still think that?” he asked.

“No. Well, a part of me. Little niggling voice in the back of my head, but I think that’s mostly Tommy’s influence, actually. I got the idea from somewhere” you whispered the last part, thinking back to when he’d thrown those words at Polly before “Being careful is kind of my thing, I don’t know if you’ve noticed”

A smirk pulled over his face slowly, and he gave a slow blink to look towards you.

“I trust you” you told him, sincere “I think you tease me because you like it, not because you’re trying to achieve anything. You like seeing me worked up, knowing you can affect me like that. You like that it works you up a little bit too”

It was time for a smirk of your own. He pulled the pick from his mouth as you lifted onto your knees, pulling the blanket behind you as you made towards him. He straightened his other leg, eyes rolling over you as you settled a knee either side of his lap. You dropped the blanket and settled a hand on either side of his chest, rolling your head so you were posed over his, hair falling in a curtain between you and the fire. It cast flickering shadows over his eyes, but you could still see them ablaze as you lowered and traced your lips to his.

You lingered for a few moments, waiting until his breath deepened, before you pushed up and rested back against his legs. You let out a light sigh, smiling nervously at him. He reached across for his glass, remembered it was empty, and dropped it down with a ring. You rolled your lips between your teeth, watching him with a sense of pride at having knocked him off balance. He gave his own little sigh, before reaching up a hand and tangling his fingers into your damp hair.

“Just when I think I understand you, you surprise me”

#peaky blinders #peaky blinders fic #peaky blinders imagine #|writing #luca changretta

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mindymusejottings · 7 years

Text

My Name is Ghost -Part 3

Prologue, 1, 2

Chapter Three

I must have stood in the forest for hours trying to gain enough courage to go back and get my things. Somewhere in the back of my mind I knew it was dumb to go back. I knew I should just leave it there and start over, but that was everything I owned. Everything. I didn’t want for much. I didn’t need much. It would be so easy to turn around and disappear into the woods, never looking back. But it wasn’t at the same time. I could leave all of it behind except for two things: the picture of my family and Roxi’s collar. Those were priceless. They were what kept me rooted to my spot along the treeline watching the quiet school for any sign of movement. There wasn’t any, but that didn’t mean much to me. Not when I saw the nine men turn into puffs of smoke and vanish.

They could teleport. Not even I could do that and I could do a great many things. Not a sound had been made when they disappeared. It was disconcerting. If I did venture back into that building I would be putting myself in harms way. Vampires. I had heard of them, but never encountered one of their kind before. At least not until now. The few other Supers I had met along the way were pleasant enough. The wolves were pretty spread out, but I knew a few of the packs in the area. Even the sirens a few towns over weren’t terrible and they initially wanted to drown me for stumbling across them feeding.

“It’s okay,” I told myself, standing a little straighter and smoothing my clammy hands over my thighs. “It’s okay. In and out. That’s it. In and out. You’ll be fine.”

Famous last words, right?

The closer I crept to the building the more tension seemed to build up in the air surrounding it. I knew there was bloodbath inside and I knew I would have to walk past it. Those poor people. What an awful way to go. There were thousands upon thousands of ways to die, but death by vampire seemed unusually cruel. I stopped just in front of the main doors, staring at the large oak fixtures. Once upon a time those doors would have been bright apple red, but now they were faded, dull, with paint chipping. Those bodies inside were exactly the same. Just a few hours before they had been alive, full of hopes and dreams, and now they lay on the floor in pieces. No one would find them here, at least not for a long, long time. By then their skin will have decayed and given way to the bones that lay underneath. Scavengers will have capitalized on the free meal and maybe, just maybe, there might be something left to identify them by...as long as the ghouls in the next city over or the trolls that lived on the edge of town didn’t find them first. There was also a coven of witches that lived nearby who were known to ground up bones and harvest the organs of the recently departed for their brews and potions. These kids had no idea the world they lived in. They didn’t stand a chance.

Inside the entrance hall, everything was eerily quiet. Nothing stirred. The only noise was from the rain pelting the building, the rumbling of thunder overhead, and the wind that howled viciously, winding and screaming through the empty halls. The young man’s body was still laying in the middle of the floor, though now there was a puddle of dark blood haloing his face, mouth and eyes still open wide with fear that would never go away. I swallowed thickly, skirting the edges and clamoring up the stairs as quickly, yet quietly as I could. This was the worst. This place had been my home for a while now and for the first time in months I didn’t feel safe. The walls seemed like they were closing in on me, trying to suffocate me. All the dark corners I knew so well suddenly felt foreign and foreboding. Every dark classroom held a possible threat. In my long life, the last time I felt this on edge, this terrified, was when the dorms burned to the ground with me in it.

The hall leading to my room was empty. I could even see the door from where I stood peeking around the corner. My stomach churned anxiously as I tried to will my legs forward. I just had to get in there, gather my things, and vanish into the night. It sounded simple enough and it was simple. I had done it so many times, but that lingering feeling in my gut wouldn’t go away. Sucking in a deep breath, I slip around the corner fully and trot halfway down to where my door was located. I phased through the wall and came to a full stop on the other side. Everything looked normal enough. My tent was still standing, my blankets neatly folded on my pillow. Even the picture of my family that sat on top of my closed suitcase was still exactly where I left it. Encouraged, I didn’t waste any more time, quickly flitting around the room and packing as hurriedly as I could without fumbling. I was tempted to leave the tent behind. It was cumbersome and time consuming to take it apart, but the alternative was having to give myself the five finger discount at some sporting goods store. I never liked stealing, even when I had a supernatural advantage.

I was halfway done with dismantling it when his voice invaded my space. “So this is where you sleep. Seems cosy.” I jumped in surprise, leaping to my feet and whipping around to face the intruder. It was the same vampire from earlier. His cat like lips were curled into a disarmingly serene smile, as though he didn’t have a care in the world. Perhaps he didn;t. I didn’t particularly want to find out.

“What do you want?” I snapped.

“Me?” he questioned flippantly, a faux expression of surprise on his face. “I just want to talk.” I scoffed. Of course he just wants to talk. He just wants to talk and I want a pony named Harold. I watched him warily as he slowly walked around the room gazing at everything like he was in a damn museum. The closer he got to me, the more I edged to the right. My suitcase, fully packed and ready to go, was only a few steps away. If I could get to it I would be in the clear. I didn’t particularly enjoy phasing through floors, but I would make an exception.

“What exactly do you want to talk about?” I asked. The man hummed, but didn’t turn around. Instead he stopped by the windows, elbows propped on the ledge, and gazed up at the nearly black sky. Ordinarily I might have been mesmerised by how handsome he looked. I’m immortal, not dead. But that didn’t change the fact that there were in fact dead people two floors below us, people he helped brutally kill.

“You saw something that you shouldn’t have,” he replied finally, eyes still watching the sky through the rain soaked glass.

My suitcase was right there. Right there. Three more steps. “I won’t say anything, I promise.”

Step. “Is that so?”

“Yes.” Step.

“Hmm,” he hummed again, cocking his head to the side just as a flash of lightning filled the room with a burst of light. Thunder echoed a few heartbeats later. This time when I stepped to the side, my foot softly tapped the upright case. My heart was hammering in my chest. I was sure he could hear it, but I hoped he took for anxiousness because of his presence and not because I was about to attempt escape. “My leader wants me to kill you, know you. He doesn’t like loose ends.” His voice dipped at the end, practically a growl. Goosebumps erupted over my skin. I figured as much. If there was one thing that remained true of all the Supers I had met over the years, it was their need for secrecy. If someone threatened to expose them, they died. I wasn’t around for many of the incidents, but once you know what you’re looking for, articles in the papers or on the news networks suddenly made a lot more sense. That and I had been told by a few Supers themselves. It wasn’t a threat against my life at the time, more of a general warning about the less civilized groups who didn’t care if you were human or Super--you meddled, you died.

“Well,” I cleared my throat uncertainly. The vampire turned his towards me slowly, sharp eyes piercing me. “Let’s not and say we did, yeah?” With that I snatched the suitcase off the ground and plummeted through floor and directly through the second floor. The landing was jarring and I stumbled forward slightly, ramming my hip into the corner of a desk. Usually I did one floor at a time, but I didn’t want to give that guy the chance to pop up next to me. Bolting forward, I passed through the wall dividing the classroom from the outside and ran as fast as I could for the tree line. There were train tracks three miles south of my location. The trains that ran through town were pretty regular. Even if there wasn’t a train passing through right at this moment, there would be soon. I just had to keep a low profile-keep out of sight- and I would catch the next one out of town.

I must have slipped three or four times in my haste, but I didn’t let go of my suitcase and I didn’t slow down in the slightest. I didn’t even look behind me. There was no way I could. I didn’t want to know how close he was to me. I didn’t want to glance back and realize he was toying with me. Vampires. Never again. I would never again be curious about them. I would never again wonder what it would be like to meet one. There was a city by the coast where the worst Supers were dragons. From what I heard vampires and dragons don’t get along and because of how powerful dragons were, no vampires set foot there. Maybe before tonight I might have thought it was unfortunate, but now I was praying to whoever was listening that I could catch a train to that city. I’d take dragons over vampires, definitely.

Something brushed against my back causing a startled cry to leave my lips as I twisted around, only to be met by nothing. The thudding of my pulse in my ears was deafening. My hair stuck to my face as I whipped back around. The forest loomed over me ominously in all directions as I pressed forward, shoving branches out of my way. Somewhere in the back of my mind I knew I could just phase my way through the whole forest and not have to worry about being whipped in the face by low hanging branches, or have my clothes tugged at by the shrubbery. I knew, but I was so terrified I couldn’t focus. All my mind could do was race at the speed of light, images of the train and the tracks, of maps, the coast, and the city that held my salvation. My mind cursed the wind that screamed like those poor people had as they were shredded into pieces. I cursed the rain that soaked me to the bone and made the ground as slippery as soap. I cursed me and my stupidity most of all. I should have just left everything behind. I should have ran upstairs the second those men showed up. I should have left the tent. A scoff leaves my trembling lips as I belatedly realize the tent had been abandoned anyway. Those precious minutes I could have used to put distance between me and the vampires I wasted on that contraption that argued with me on a good day. What an idiot I was for not listening to my gut! It had yet to steer me wrong.

A monstrous flash of lightning blinded me for a second, causing me to stumble to a halt, hand over my eyes and a frightened whine sounding through the air. Then I blinked and there he was, standing barely a foot away from me with a wicked grin on his face.

“You didn’t actually think that would work, did you?” he purred, eyes dangerously dark.

All my hope fled me in that moment, like a feather caught in a breeze that would never cease. So much for never seeing another vampire again.

Never say never, I guess.

��JN��

Here’s the next part! Thank you to everyone who has messaged me about this so far! Thank you, thank you, thank you! I’m enjoying writing this and your support really means a lot! Enjoy!

#chen scenarios #exo scenarios #kpop scenarios #chen scenario #jongdae scenarios #chen #exo #jongdae

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dear-chaton · 7 years

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We Fly By Street Signs ~ II. Champagne;

Archive of Our Own Chapters; 1 2

I updated on time on ao3 I swear, but anyways please enjoy the second installment of We Fly By Street Signs

Or the one where Chloé is a bitch who ruins everything as always

II. Champagne; 2065

It was the typical party scene that she despised. There was a reason Marinette hadn’t gone to a party since secondary school and it was that everyone acted like they were obsessed with sex. Which in some ways, they were.

Young adults, she swore under her breath, were fucking rabbits.

Still, Marinette elbowed her way inside, and after a few minutes finally found some breathing room in the kitchen. It was still littered with people and too many to count beer cans but this she could live with. It wasn't much different than a night in with Nino. She would be fine.

Until she heard the tale tail sound of heels clacking on the tile. Marinette only knew one who wore heels everywhere and she mentally prepared herself.

Chloé Bourgeois, the biggest bitch that Marinette had the unfortunate luck of knowing since primary school. The beach blonde walked in like she had the total reign of the party, which was false since Marinette knew that Kim had decided to throw the party this time. Still, seeing the same woman who bullied her throughout her childhood, made Marinette see red.

A hand grabbed her arm suddenly, pulling her back before she could do anything.

The callouses alone should have been a dead giveaway, but Marinette didn't want to face a disappointed Nino on any occasion. She allowed herself to be led away from the scene, only looking back once to see the blonde smirking at her triumphantly. As if Chloé knew what almost went down. And that made Marinette even more furious than before.

❝It's not worth it Mari,❞ Nino muttered under his breath. He pulled her along until they were surely out of Chloé's sight. Alya was there, cheering on some guys playing beer pong, and handed Marinette a beer. She pouted, opening it with practiced ease and watched as Alya challenged the winners, dragging Nino along with her. As Marinette chuckled softly, her phone buzzed with an unknown number popping up on the screen.

❝Walking up the steps now, where are you?❞ She briefly wondered if it was originally Alya's text to her friend but then again, Nino had said how much he hated to make Alya wait for him.

❝Hey, Mari!❞ Nino was grinning wildly at her, while Alya creamed the other party goers, he waved her over and snatched the phone out of her hand.

❝Hey!❞

❝Yes, Adrien is here!❞ And with that, the DJ ran off, and a ball was shoved at her.

❝I hope you're good at this,❞ Alya sunk another ball on the other team's side. Marinette cracked her knuckles, grinning like a madwoman, oh she was the queen.

And when they eventually won, Alya swore that she was never playing with Nino again.

❝Look I like Nino, he's a great guy but he has jack shit hand-eye coordination.❞ Marinette agreed, knowing that this was somehow going to come back and bite her in the butt for not properly wing womaning for Nino.

❝By the way, where is Nino?❞ She asked, craning her head in an attempt to see him over the crowd. Marinette had always been a shortie since primary school so it was no surprise she couldn't see him.

❝He mentioned something about a friend coming around, but I thought he meant you.❞ Before either of them could answer, a loud laugh boomed through the room, Marinette could recognize that laugh from a mile away. Nino walked in with his arm around some guy's neck, gesturing wildly as he told a story.

The guy was cute enough, Marinette just hoped it wasn't one those blind dates where Nino would shove a guy at her while he ran off with Alya. It wouldn't be the first time it happened.

❝Oh, wait I totally have to introduce you!❞ She heard before the duo came their way.

❝Ladies, this is Adrien. He doesn't get out much.❞ This Adrien guy shoved Nino's arm off of his shoulder, laughing and eventually shaking Alya's hand. When it came to Marinette however, time seemed to freeze as a shriek was heard. Marinette barely had enough time to brace herself as Chloé, wherever the devil had spawned from, rushed between them and hugged Adrien.

❝Adrikins, I didn't know you would be here.❞ She purred, glaring at Marinette from the corner of her eye. Marinette caught the hint that she wasn't wanted and stomped off. A shuffle of feet meant that Nino had followed her, probably to prevent her from punch a wall or something like that.

❝That little bitch.❞ She heard Nino murmur but didn't stop until they made it outside. The air was crisp and clear, much better than the smell of sex and alcohol from inside. Marinette took in a deep breath, counting to five. She held her breath for about seven seconds and let out the breath slowly as she counted to nine.

When her mind cleared and she no longer felt the need to punch something, Marinette opened her eyes and turned to Nino. He was calmly staring up at the sky, twiddling his thumbs.

❝Do you want to head back?❞ He asked softly.

❝Not really, you can go on back.❞

❝Oh shit Alya,❞ Nino glanced back at the house while Marinette cooed at his actions.

❝Well, you never really had much of a legacy to stand on anyways,❞ It took Nino a moment to register her words but when he did, he shoved her playfully away from him.

❝I'm disowning you, Mari.❞ He groaned as she giggled.

❝C'mon you have to admit that was a good one.❞

❝You're almost as bad as Adrien,❞

❝Question,❞ Marinette slid down to the grass, laying back and watching the stars move around in the sky.

❝Answer,❞

❝Were you going to set me up with him?❞ Nino started laughing, almost hysterically. She really didn't know what was so funny, so waited as he caught his breath.

❝Well in a way, yeah but he saw a couple of your races and like I know he wanted to talk to you about some of them. He's just a giant fanboy.❞

❝A fanboy that knows Chloé.❞

❝Once again, not my fault Kim has the biggest crush on her and only invites her to impress her.❞ So in silence, they sat until Alya came outside, looking absolutely disgusted.

❝Bless you, two for dealing with that monstrosity for as long as you have.❞ Nino chuckled as she took a seat on his lap, intertwining their fingers as Marinette gagged.

❝Gross. PDA, I didn't sign up for this, I want out.❞ Nino blew her a kiss which she deflected as if she could. The couple starts talking about something that Marinette almost immediately tunes out for watching the sky. Taking a deep breath again, her mind wanders off.

The Adrien guy looked familiar, though Marinette had never seen him around the racetrack before. And quite frankly, she didn't want to inquire about him if he knew Chloé then he must be bad news. He was probably just like every person Chloé knew; rich, famous and so stuck up she could choke.

❝Mari, we're heading inside if you wanted to come.❞ Nino leaned over her and extended a hand which she gladly took.

The three of them walked back inside, thunder crashed and rain began to drop from the sky.

❝Shit, I forgot my umbrella in the car.❞ Alya cursed, and Nino covered her with his leather jacket. One look from her best friend and she knew she had to let him take the car to drive Alya home. But that didn't mean she had to like it.

❝I swear to god if you're not back in an hour I will kick you out of the apartment.❞ Nino gave her a sly salute, guiding Alya to the car as it began to downpour.

❝I'll be back!❞ He shouted, and Marinette watched on as the maroon car drove out of sight. She sighed, taking a seat on the porch and started a timer. Lord knows she would never let Nino live it down if he was late. She sat there for a total of twenty minutes before a voice startled her out of her thoughts.

❝Funny seeing you here.❞ Marinette didn't jump, she most certainly didn't yelp, all she would admit to doing was whip around and glare at the sound until she was face to face with Adrien.

❝Funny indeed.❞ Marinette wasn't sure if her glare was put across well enough until the blond hesitated in taking a seat next to her, favoring to stand next to the banister instead.

❝So um I never got your name back there.❞

❝I don't really converse with people who talk to Chloé❞ And she should have felt bad, she wasn't a horrible person normally but Chloé riled her up too much.

❝Ah right,❞ He shuffled from one foot to another, avoiding her stare. ❝I would assume she bullied you in school, correct me if I'm wrong.❞

❝You're not...❞

❝My apologies she can be a bit, ah what's the word,❞

❝Conceited, cold-hearted, a literal pain in the ass.❞

❝Yeah, that.❞ A strike of lightning comes down, startling the both of them in favor of watching the light flicker across the sky. Nino had been gone for thirty minutes.

❝Anyways, I just wanted to apologize for her.❞

❝Oh, so you think it's perfectly alright now?❞ Adrien stared at her, mouth opened wide and a slight flush on his cheeks if the porch lighting was anything to go by.

❝Look I know you're trying to make peace with me for whatever reason, but you also don't know me.❞ She didn't care if it was raining cats and dogs, she needed to get away from this place and just scream out into the abyss.

❝You can't go out in the storm like that,❞ He gestured to her shorts and a tank top, gaze lingering on her midsection far too long for her comfort.

❝Watch me,❞ Her phone buzzed in her back pocket, knowing full well it was Nino and hoped he was on his way soon.

❝You are fucking insane, at least take an umbrella so you don't catch a cold.❞ Adrien pulled one from behind him, opening it in front of her and waited for her to take it. Still, despite her attitude, he was gentle and kind.

It kind of made her sick, so she quickly grabbed the handle and took off from the porch.

❝You're welcome!❞ Adrien called, voice almost drowning out in the rain. She was about to call back when a car honked and she recognized the bad paint job on Nino's car. Marinette sprinted or tried to with massive puddles everywhere she ran, diving into Nino's car as he peeled away from the driveway. She tucked the umbrella into itself and tossed it in the back, not before noticing a double AA embroidered on the top. She pointedly ignored the stare Nino gave her as she pulled out her phone.

There was a text from Nino and one missed called from her mom, which she mentally promised to call her in the morning. But right now she had a mission to do.

She opened google on her phone while Nino rapped softly to the music playing in the background.

Adrien A, she typed in and watched as the results flooded in. One by one, they said the same thing and Marinette had half the mind to bang her head on the dashboard.

❝Nino?❞

❝Hmm?❞

❝Why didn't you tell me it was Adrien Agreste, son of my favorite fashion designer you were about to introduce me to?❞

Nino gulped, eyes locked on the road, and hands almost going white from how hard he was gripping the steering wheel.

❝He said he wanted to be introduced to like any other guy, he didn't want a label put on him before you had a chance to talk. Why?❞

❝Nothing, I was just wondering about something.❞ And if they drove in silence for the rest of the ride, that wasn't necessarily Marinette's fault at all.

#miraculous-ladybug #ml au #drag racing au #modern au #college au #marinette dupain cheng #nino lahiffe #alya cesaire #adrien agreste #fluff and angst #fic: we fly by street signs #Fic: wfbss #kiwi talks shit #kiwi writes like shit #lol nah

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