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wizkiddx · 3 years

Text

3 hearts broken

I did an angst thing again oops also not proof read double oops

summary: an argument between you and tom, except it takes him hurting someone else for you to loose it

warnings: alot of swearing (im British sorry not sorry) idk anything else except commitment issues?

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It was an argument you and your boyfriend regularly had. In fact, it was the only argument the two of you ever had. And especially recently, one that Tom seemed to want to have every day. It didn’t matter where you were on set; in the rental home; out for dinner. Or like now… in the airport lounge.

You were sitting across from each other in a semi-private booth. Tom in his joggers and a burgundy hoodie, you in your black leggings and an oversized tee that actually belonged to your boyfriend. The rest of the place was almost deserted, given the late-night time of the flight. It was probably why Tom felt so comfortable bringing up this touchy subject in a public place.

You were both way past overtired too, owing to the end of a gruelling shoot. All you wanted was to get back to London and get into your own bed. Without an unnecessary fight with Tom.

Unfortunately for you, when you had naively said those exact words, Tom’s overtired brain skipped straight to it being a personal attack.

“I don’t see why you can’t commit to moving in Y/n! We practically live together for filming anyway so-“

“I love you Tom, more than I could ever express. I just… I can’t do this yet. I need… more-“

“More time, I know.” He grumbled, already standing and slinging his duffel bag over his shoulder - as the flight’s gate was announced by the intercom. Had he not already turned his back and started heading along the hallway, you would’ve tried to protest and calm him down. But thanks to his urgency to get away from you… all you could do was sigh. Slumping back against the seat before hauling yourself up and grabbing the bags - that he had helped you with on the way in.

No doubt this would be a long flight.

That it was. Tom had been maturely giving you the silent treatment at the gate, as you were boarding, and finding you seats. You were both in first class, so you had adjacent little pods with a little partition in the middle. It’s standard position was to be lowered however, before you’d even been able to settle into your window seat, Tom had already switched to button to have it slowly slide up.

Real fucking mature.

Thinking he just needed some time to cool off, you rolled your eyes but let him be. Even though you were such a frequent flier, you were terrible at getting any sleep on them. Tom knew this, knew how much you disliked the idea of being hurtling through the air in a tin can. Usually, he’d be holding your hand, entertaining you by watching a movie and providing a shit commentary over the top. Sometimes, when you were both as exhausted as right now, he’d even slide into your chair, having you perch on top of him so you could fall asleep listening to his heartbeat in his chest. Now though? He refused to acknowledge your existence.

Tom never had such issues flying, he was like a switch that could just choose to fall asleep at any and every point. Which is perhaps why it shocked you to see him still wide awake, staring angrily at the corner of his pod when you went to the loo, hours later. Thinking it was time for a peace offering, on the return to your seat you made eye contact and began to smile softly at him. However, that plan lasted for all of two seconds, since as soon as he realised you had seen him staring, Tom instantly shut his eyes - playing asleep.

He really was being particularly stubborn tonight.

By the time the plane landed, he’d still refused to say anything - and it was starting to really piss you off too. You’d tried to be mature, tried to offer the metaphorical olive branch and he had quite literally thrown it back in your face. So by the time you were being escorted off the plane (first because you were first class), you hung back from your boyfriend, wanting to have your own space.

Which was exactly why you didn’t want to give up your own apartment yet!

The two of you walked across the bridge into the terminal with a good 8 metres between each other. Tom didn’t bother to turn round and check on you, taking purposeful steps as though he wanted to get away.

Thankfully the terminal was quiet, probably due to the ungodly hour in the morning you’d landed at. The halls echoed only with your and Toms footsteps, the echo exaggerating just how far away you felt from him at this point. Still, Tom hadn’t acknowledged your existence, or anyone elses for that matter - the pair of you almost got to baggage reclaim before seeing any other humans.

And that is where it all went wrong.

It was typical, an otherwise empty airport except for you, Tom and a family with 2 girls. 2 teenage girls. 2 teen girls whose eyes widened to almost comical levels at the sight of your boyfriend. You’d seen them from a mile away, but from Tom’s reaction to them - he clearly hadn’t.

In fact, you were such a distance away you couldn’t exactly hear the exchange. But what you saw, had your heart in your mouth.

The girls ran over from the seats their whole family were sitting in, squealing at Tom with that overcited little jump you’d seen so often. Instead of Tom turning to them and entertaining them with small talk and a photo or two - he did the opposite. If anything, he quickened his cadence, looked as though he waved the girls off without muttering two words.

And maybe there was a reason. Maybe they had shouted something really rude at him - but fuck, the chances were slim. One looked ten, and one looked a couple of years older - as you approached, you saw the dejected and shocked faces melt into ones of intense disappointment. The eldest turned and hugged the younger, whose chest appeared to be shaking in a way that meant only one thing. Tom had made her cry.

Just as both the mother and father stood up to rush to the girls, you matched their hurried steps - getting their first.

“Hi, excuse me… “

You felt really awkward but knew you had to do something for these poor girls. And quite possibly for Toms career too. “Are you guys okay?” It took a second or two, but the girls clearly both recognised you too (thank god), throwing nervous looks at each other.

“Are yo-you Y/n?” The younger one asked, bright eyes glazed in tears which broke your heart to see.

“Yeh-yeh I am, what are your names?” You knelt, smiling warmly at the girls, who seemed to chirp up a bit.

“I’m Tima” The eldest spoke first before nudging the other to speak. You waited patiently till the little girl had wiped her eyes before replying.

“I’m Azara.”

“Wow, you’ve both got very beautiful names. Where are you both headin-“

“Can I ask you a question!?” Litte Azara burst out, interrupting you, but in the cutest and sweetest way. You just laughed and said of course, as she twiddled with her thumbs nervously.

“How big is the biggest T-rex?” Her little eyes were so curious and you had to suppress a giggle, seeing how serious it was.

Of course, the T-Rexs in Jurassic world (one of your movies) were all CGI. But Azara didn’t have to know that.

“Oh, they are bigger thanthan the tallest trees you’ve ever seen!”

You carried on your little chat with the girls for five or so minutes, laughing with them and exchanging soft nods with their parents too - who seemed appreciative of your time. Eventually, though, it was the dad who pulled time on the exchange, signalling that the girls had taken up enough of your time. As you stood up, Tima spoke up - after being relatively withdrawn from the conversation.

“You’re friends with Tom Holland right?” You nodded, subconsciously biting your lip to see what she would say. “Can you tell him sorry for bothering him, it’s just Azara was excited, we only wanted to say hi.”

Yeh, there was absolutely no way these incredibly sweet girls did anything to Tom. He was just being a knob.

“Hey, it’s not your fault at all. We’ve just had a really, really long flight, and he’s in a bit of a mood at me - I’m so sorry that he let it out on you.”

That explanation seemed to satisfy Tima with a nod, and with some final hugs you bid the girls both farewell. By this point, the rest of your plane had caught up along the corridors, so it was busier, and you had to fight against the small crowd to get through the airport as quickly as possible. Because you were seething with rage for Tom and could not wait to tell him exactly what those poor girls thought of him.

Unsurprisingly Tom had chosen not to wait for you in the airport at all, instead already hiding inside the blacked-out windows of the 4x4 waiting at the collection point. You marched up to that car angry to the point you thought the whole airport would notice. Yanking the door so hard you were surprised you did no damage to it, you threw your bags in - momentarily ignoring the sight of Tom huddled into a corner, staring at his phone with AirPods in.

But once you slammed the door shut and the driver started the car, you let yourself go.

“Who the fuck do you think you are!”

“Y/n can we just leave it for- “

“You made 2 girls cry!!! You were so self-absorbed in your temper tantrum that you made 2 teenage girls cry. You proud of yourself?”

This time he did look at you, eyes wide and confused - clearly not understanding. So you continued - laying it out for him.

“Those two girls you waved off because you were so busy running away from me? Well the youngest one cried and then the eldest didn’t speak and when she did it was only to ask me to apologise to you. You’re a fucking dickhead!”

“I didn’t mean-“

“Oh god, that makes it all better. You didn’t mean to make them cry on purpose, so it’s fine! God if you’d only said I’d-“

“Fuck off Y/n you’re not being fair, cut the sarcasm.”

“I’m not being fair?!? Because I’m the bad person in this situation, right? I just saved you from a very, very bad headline tomorrow morning because you were too busy giving me the silent treatment.”

“Yeah, well, your the one who doesn’t seem to give a damn about me!”

You scoffed hard at his words, air trapped in your throat that now felt completely stuck. How could he say that? How could he even think that?

As much as you hated showing it, you felt your eyes well up with tears. Because who the fuck did he think he was.

“Now that, that is so unfair. You know exactly my history and why I don’t want to move in yet AND you know just how much I fucking love you. So don’t you dare.”

“You're not convincing anyone.” He spoke quieter, but the venom behind his tone was still there. As the first tear escaped over your bottom lashes, you knocked on the partition to the driver and asked him, in no uncertain terms, to pull over.

“Congrats Tom. That’s three women you’ve broken the hearts of in 20 minutes. Must be some sort of a record.”

And with that you slammed the door shut, abandoned on the side of the road somewhere within Heathrow.

?a part 2? idk where id go from here aha

tagging: @lovehollandy12 @hollandlover19 @thefernandasantana @hunnybunimdun @hallecarey1@cedricdiggorysimpp @msmimimerton @hollandfanficlove @pandaxnienke @crossyourpeter @thegirlwiththeimpala

#tom x reader #tom holland fic #tomholland #tom holland #tom holland x reader #tom holland fluff #tom holland angst #famous!reader #tom holland x famous!reader #tom holland x actress!reader

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thekingslover · 3 years

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Jetski For Sale (Lokius fic)

He stops riding the jetski.

He keeps it on the small trailer at the end of his driveway beside his modest split-level home and covers it with a blue tarp.

Every morning, in his brown button-up pajamas and a bathrobe, he walks to the end of the driveway and collects the morning paper. He’s careful to hold his coffee mug steady as he leans down, but he always manages to spill a drop or two. His slippers are covered in tiny coffee spots.

He tucks the newspaper under his arm and turns back toward his house. He left the television on; through the window, the screen flashes with the bright white letters, Breaking News! Two houses down, his neighbor is already out mowing the lawn. Further away, a dog barks.

Though he lives alone, it’s a perfect life. Everything’s simple. His mortgage is affordable. His brown sedan is paid off. And the jetski...

He doesn’t remember buying it. He always wanted one, dreamed of it. He had a savings set aside for someday. Yet... his savings is still there, and he still has this jetski.

He looks at it now, at the way it bulges under the tarp. A shame to leave it like that. He should take it out again. But the last time he did that...

Shaking his head, he walks back to the house. He drinks his coffee and reads his newspaper. He goes to work, comes home, goes to sleep, and does it all again the next day.

“Something’s different about you,” his sister says on the phone, their weekly call. “You sound different.”

“Same old me.” He’s good at keeping back his feelings and pushing forward the cheer.

She knows, though. Older sisters always seem to. “Are you sure you haven’t been seeing anyone lately?”

This sends him laughing. “A secret boyfriend? Come on, you have quite an imagination on you.”

“Laugh all you want,” she says, stern. She’s not backing down, though her voice does soften as she adds, “It’s only that you... Well, you sound... heartbroken.”

“That’s...” He should deny it. He hasn’t dated anyone in a good long while, but, well, now that she mentions it... He’s had his heart broken before, long ago, and it felt a little something like this. Like something crucial is suddenly missing. Like you spent so much time learning someone and adapting to them, shaping whole parts of your life around them, and then they are just... gone.

There’s a person-sized hole in his life now, but he can’t quite remember their shape.

No, that can’t be.

“That’s crazy,” he says, thinking, maybe I’m crazy.

“Why don’t you come visit us for a while?” she says. “The kids would love to see you.”

“Yeah,” he says, shaky. “Yeah, maybe that’s a good idea. Tell them I love them. Love you too.” Then he hangs up.

That night, he lays on his back in bed and stares at the ceiling, afraid to look to his right. He used to sleep sprawled across the entire width of the bed, a true bachelor enjoying his bachelorhood. When did he start picking one side?

He turns over, facing away from the barren expanse of the rest of the mattress, but the bookshelf offers little comfort. Most of his books are about history, biographies on interesting characters from the past. There’s a couple of jetski magazines wedged in, too. But what catches his eye... He remembers buying it, knows he did, the morning after watching a documentary on the perception of time and space. The documentarian had written a book. The Mobius Strip.

Frowning, he doesn’t find any sleep that night, no matter how many long minutes he closes his eyes, or how many sheep he tries to count in his head.

Mobius.

It’s a mathematical theory. Not a name. But it wedges between his ribs and stays buried behind them.

He’s not even a maths guy! But he can’t shake it. It feels heavy, too important.

He tosses and turns. He reaches out to the other side of the bed, realizes its empty, and snaps upright, dread overtaking him for one sharp moment before he remembers that its supposed to be empty.

This is normal. This is his perfect little life.

He flops back into bed and runs a hand down his face. Maybe he should go visit his sister, before he fully loses his mind.

His hands shake the next morning when he walks out to get the newspaper at the end of the driveway. Half his coffee spills when he leans to pick it up, but its fine. Maybe he should give up coffee entirely. Maybe too much caffeine is his problem.

He doesn’t know what’s wrong with him.

Turning towards the house, he spots the jetski, there under the blue tarp. The mysterious jetski that he doesn’t remember buying. The one, when he’s out on it, he sits too far forward, like he’s making space for someone behind him. But there’s no one there. There’s never anyone there.

The jetski, he decides, was the start of his problems. Maybe if he... If he...

Storming back into the house, he leaves what’s left of his coffee in the sink and the newspaper forgotten on the counter, and hurries into the office. He rips off a long sheet of dot matrix printer paper. Biting off the cap of his pen, he scribbles on it in large block letters, all caps, FOR SALE.

Back in the driveway, he removes the chocks from behind the wheels of the trailer, and flips off the tarp. He wheels the trailer and the jetski to the end of the driveway, right up against the road.

He must look like a mad man, out there in his brown button-up pajamas and coffee-stained slippers. The neighbor’s mowing the lawn. The dog’s barking further away. Everything’s perfect in this perfect little neighborhood, this perfect little life. But he feels like he is going insane.

He slaps the for sale sign on the front of the jetski, and starts back for the house. The sooner that thing is out of his life... Maybe... Maybe things would go back to normal.

His heart pangs in a way he doesn’t understand. Heartache. So much heartache. Why?

Does he even want normal?

But if not that, then what? What is he missing?

He’s at his front door, hand on the doorknob, when someone politely coughs behind him. He pauses a moment, there’s no way someone is there... But when he glances over his shoulder - yeah. Someone’s behind him, only a few feet away.

Not just someone. The most gorgeous person he has ever seen, wearing a sleek black suit and a pair of sunglasses. Long dark hair is slicked back and pushed behind their ears.

He should probably feel self-conscious, standing there in his brown pajamas in front of this god of a person - probably a model - but he doesn’t. Strangely, he feels more at ease now than he has in weeks. His whole body relaxes like he finally exhaled a held breath.

But that doesn’t make sense. They’ve never met. He would remember.

He would never forget a face like that.

“Hello,” the person says, and the word tremors slightly.

“Hello.” It tremors when he says it too.

There’s no car on the road. No bicycle on the sidewalk. However this person got here, it’s like they dropped down from the sky.

The person clears their throat. “You’re selling the jetski?”

“You...” He blinks. He knew jetskis were popular - hell, they are the best - but he hadn’t expected an offer before he even got his pants on. “Yeah. You interested?”

“Yes, I...” They drop their head a moment, taking their time to think. When they lift their head again, their shoulders lift too, like they are preparing for a battle.

He supposes negotiations can be seen as a battle, but he can’t bring himself to match the person’s pose. He’s ready to give up the jetski for free at this point. Whatever gets it gone.

The person asks, “What’s wrong with it?”

“Nothing’s wrong with it. It runs like a dream.”

“Then why get rid of it?”

His heart hurts, so he laughs through the pain. It’s silly, but he can’t help feel his sister was right. This person wouldn’t know either way, so he finds himself telling them, “I’m heartbroken.”

The person goes very still. Their mouth opens and they take in a shaky, noisy breath. When they say, “What?” the word is bone dry and crumbling.

“It’s something we did together... I think.” He’s making it up, but it feels right. So he keeps talking. “And now. Well. It kinda reminds me of... I’m pretty sure I forgot a lot of things, but I can’t forget that. There’s supposed to be someone else. And I can’t... I can’t...”

He’s not making any sense, but the person is hanging on every single word.

“Anyway,” he says. “I’ll let it go cheap. Too many memories... or... I don’t know, feelings?” He sighs. “Just make me an offer, okay? I have to get ready for work.”

He wants nothing more than to keep this beautiful person on his doorstep, but... well, life isn’t always about getting what you want. This person wants a jetski, he has one. A transaction will occur, and this person will move forward like he never existed.

He’ll be left behind again.

Again?

Now, he’s the one to stand a little straighter. “Do you ever get deja vu?”

“Deja vu?”

“You know, where you feel like you’ve lived an exact moment already, once before. I’ve been reading this book about mobius strips and...” There’s that pang again, in his chest. A subtle ache that is swelling. He wants to ignore it, like he always has, but he’s finding he can’t really anymore. “Don’t you think that’d be a cool name? Mobius. Mobius M. Mobius.” He laughs, and it hurts. It hurts.

The person doesn’t laugh. Instead, they take a small step back. “I shouldn’t have come here.”

His laughter dies quickly. It wasn’t real anyway. “You don’t want the jetski?”

“I do,” the person says with naked longing. “More than anything.”

“Then its yours.” He shrugs. “You know, it kinda feels like it was already yours? Like, maybe its just been waiting around for you to show up and claim it.”

The person shakes their head. “It’s better off without me. It finally has a chance to... to... live the way you - it deserves...”

“I mean, that’s a nice thought. But in practice... wouldn’t it be better for jetskis to decide for themselves the kind of lives they want? Whose to say that their life before was all that great? Because let me tell you, this perfect little normal life I’m living? Kinda sucks.” He doesn’t really understand what he’s saying, but the words still fall out of him, like ripping a scab off an old wound and all the blood starts running again.

The person takes another step back, but this time, he follows, taking a step forward. Somehow, it feels crucial that he not let this person leave him behind again.

There, another again. What is he not remembering?

“There’s something terribly wrong with all this,” he says. “I’m forgetting something important, but whatever it is - whoever - I don’t think I can be happy without them. Not really. Not in any way that matters.”

“Mobius...” the person says, soft, under their breath. Stronger, “You don’t know what you’re saying.”

And the dam breaks.

“I know exactly what I’m saying, Loki.” The name, that name. How could he forget that name?

The person - Loki - exhales again, watery this time.

“Maybe if we never met, this would be enough. Maybe it was once. But not anymore. Never again. Not since you. And not even your little mind hocus pocus could change that.”

Mobius takes another step forward. This time, Loki does not move back. They stay just as they are and let Mobius close the distance. Mobius lifts his hands to Loki’s face and slowly removes those sunglasses. Loki’s eyes have always been the most expressive - the easiest to read. No wonder they would try to hide them. Because now they shine with sorrow and regret and... love. So much love.

And that, Mobius knows, is exactly what he’s been looking for when he reaches out to the empty space beside him on the bed. When he sits in his kitchen and stares at the pulled-out chair across the table. When he rides his jetski and turns, ready to laugh with the missing person behind him.

“I’m not angry,” Mobius says, tossing the sunglasses aside. He takes one of Loki’s hands in his. Loki grips hard onto his fingers. “I understand why you did it. It’s kind of flattering really, to know you’d give up your own happiness to try to give me mine. But there was a very big problem with this latest Loki scheme.”

“What’s that?” Loki asks in a whisper.

Mobius gives them a smile. The first real one since they parted. “You’re unforgettable.”

Loki laughs once, a burst, like they’ve been holding something in and now its escaping. The hard lines of their face smooth out. And they look less like a frightened, broken shadow and more like themselves, god of mischief, with a small but growing smirk. “Of course. I suppose I should have considered that.”

“Big flaw. Ruined the whole thing, to be honest.”

Loki leans closer. “I hate to admit to fault, but I fear there was a second issue that I had not considered.”

“Oh, yeah? What’s that?”

“Your absolute stubbornness.”

“Stubborn? Me? You should look in the mirror, pal.”

Loki closes their eyes a moment. Mobius studies the planes of their perfect face, and wonders how, in all the infinite timelines, he ever forgot it.

“Loki,” Mobius says. “Do me a favor, though, huh? Don’t do this again. I... uh, well. It wasn’t the most fun for me.”

“Me, either.” Loki presses their forehead to Mobius’s. “I regretted every moment, but I... The TVA stole you from your life. I wanted to -”

“I know, I get it. I’m not mad. But communication is key to a relationship, yeah? So maybe next time you want to do a grand gesture of love for me, we should talk about it first?”

Loki leans back. They blink. But it’s not the love that trips them up, it’s, “Relationship?”

Mobius runs his hands along Loki’s arms, up to the shoulders and back down to the elbows. “Yeah. I mean, we’re partners, right?”

“Partners.” Loki doesn’t say the word with disgust, more... intrigue.

“Boyfriends?” Mobius tries.

“Boyfriends.” Loki frowns at that one.

“Lovers?”

Loki’s eyes are bright and full of wonder. How they could look at Mobius, someone so normal, like that... well. Loki makes Mobius feel like a god himself, no wonder he couldn’t go back to his old life.

“Lovers,” Loki says and kisses Mobius. Mobius smiles against their lips. Lovers, it is, then.

Kiss turns to kisses, and they linger. It’s right, so right that it further amplifies how wrong everything else was before. Mobius belongs here. Right here. With Loki. Forever, if possible.

When they break, they both laugh, and it’s light and true this time, for both of them.

“Hey, Loki,” Mobius says. “Want to buy a jetski?”

Loki pulls an annoyed face, but its all an act - Mobius sees right through it, and Loki’s not trying that hard to hide it. “I believe I’m the one who acquired that jetski for you. You have no right to sell it.”

“It was a gift,” Mobius says.

“It remains a gift. One I insist you keep.”

“Alright, alright,” Mobius laughs and Loki kisses him at the corner of his smile. “But only if you promise to keep me.”

“Oh, dear Mobius.” Loki brings their mouth to Mobius’s ear. “I hope you appreciated this display of selflessness, because I will not be repeating it.”

“Good.”

“I am a selfish god.”

“Uh, huh.”

Loki’s arms grip tightly around Mobius’s waist. “And from here to eternity, I will be keeping what’s mine.”

The last remaining knots in Mobius’s chest untangle. “And the jetski.”

“And the jetski,” Loki says and kisses him again.

#lokius #loki x mobius #post-canon #established relationship........ >.>#mobius pov ////#hey its another one of those loki enchants mobius to forget him and sends him back to his old life fics #angst with a happy ending #mcu ts ///////////#i wrote something else

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yuta-nakamots · 3 years

Text

crush - n.jm

Pairing - Jaemin x Reader

Genre - High School!AU, Fluff, Angst

Warnings - None (if you feel that I should add a warning please lmk)

Summary - Na Jaemin was the boy who had protected you from bullies, let you copy his homework, shared his snacks with you, and practically doted on you like a mother. It would only make sense for you to develop a crush on him though not all loves are meant to last, especially when your overbearing feelings crush themselves.

Word Count - 5.3k

A/N - Bolded phrases are song lyrics taken from Crush by Tessa Violet.

Taglist - @ukiyoneo @badwithten @yasmini24 @luvlyjaemin @jimjamjaemin @loeygotospacenow

Written for the Summertime Tunes Collab hosted by @mismatchmark and @croissanct. Also part of the NeoWinter Festival hosted by @czennienet.

Song: Crush by Tessa Violet. Color - Pink.

“I swear the answer for the last question was the Mandela effect,” you exclaimed, “you know, the one where you think you remember something but it’s totally different?”

Jaemin’s infectious laugh filled the interior of the car. “No no no, I think you’re mistaken,” he wagged a finger at you without taking his eyes off the road, “the question wasn’t asking about the memory of an individual, it was asking about the memory of a group, like a large mass of witnesses to a crime.”

A cold wave of despair hit you when you realized that you utterly screwed up on the largest question on your first exam of senior year. It was such an easy question yet you carelessly answered it, just wanting to go home as soon as the bell rang. That and getting to be with Jaemin, whom you’ve been crushing on since sophomore year.

You and Jaemin actually hadn’t become friends on your own terms. The two of you first met as freshmen and had to work on a group project in history together and that’s when you got his number. You didn’t talk to him for the rest of the year though. Then in sophomore year, again, you had the luck of being with him for a project, though this time it was just the two of you and it was for chemistry instead.

“Ooh, let’s do an experiment with salt,” Jaemin suggested as you gave him a questioning look, “it’s part of my nickname.”

“What? Salt? People call you salt?” You were utterly at a loss for words.

He shook his head, “no, didn’t you know? My nickname is Nana, from Na Jaemin...like N-A? Salt? Get it?”

You let out a slight wheeze when you understood what he was getting at. “Yeah, okay, we can do one with salt as long as it’s not too complicated.”

He had chosen to do an experiment on finding what method of food preservation kept produce fresh the longest, and salt was one of them. Your classmates ended up choosing your project as the most creative since they were all amused by the way Jaemin had placed pictures of himself around the section of the presentation board relating to the effectiveness of the salt treatment.

Ever since then, whenever there was a project in any of the classes you shared with Jaemin, he’d always gravitate towards you and ask you to be his partner. Eventually, after being assigned a large physics project, the two of you were deciding whose house to do the experiment at, and after sharing addresses, both of you realized that you lived only two blocks away from each other.

Just to keep things safe, it was agreed that the experiment would be done at Jaemin’s house under the supervision of his older brother who majored in something in the science field and volunteered to look after you guys and make sure no one died. The walks to his house weren’t awkward, in fact, they were quite fun and interesting considering how talkative Jaemin was. Even after your project was completed, he’d continue walking with you since your house was on the way to his.

In junior year, the two of you drifted apart as you both found your own friend groups and started hanging out with them more but in senior year, Jaemin pulled you both back together when he called you in the morning to ask if you’d like a ride to school.

“I mean, yeah sure I guess.” You had responded as you finished packing your bag. What you expected was for him to pull up in the passenger seat of his brother’s black car, the loud J-Rock music vibrating the frame of it. What you didn’t expect was for Jaemin to be the one driving the car, his older brother nowhere in sight. “Y-you can drive?!”

“Yeah, got my license over summer.” He replied nonchalantly, taking a bite of a small sandwich wrapped in Starbucks napkins. “My brother graduated early and went to Japan for grad school so he said I can use his car once I get licensed. Pretty cool, right?”

When you finally looked at him after getting into the passenger seat, you realized just how much he was starting to change. You had noticed his voice getting lower and the way his shoulders seemed to be broader but now even his face seemed to be slightly sharper and more mature. “Hey, answer me,” he said, interrupting your trance, “just because my brother’s gone doesn’t mean you can give me those sad eyes because you had a crush on him and didn’t get the chance to tell him.”

“I do not have a crush on your brother,” you began as Jaemin drove you to school, “that’s so gross, he’s like a whole five years older than me.”

“Mmhmm, I literally heard you tell June that you liked him.”

“I didn’t, I swear.” The truth is, the day he had heard you, you were telling your friend June about your crush on Jaemin before your shared trigonometry class and he had just so happened to come into the classroom early that day and overheard the tail end of it where his name was mentioned. June had covered it up by saying that you had a crush on his older brother, which you went along with since you didn’t want Jaemin to know that it was actually him that you were talking about. Hopefully one day you’d get to tell him this story and laugh about how childish you were, but for now, you kept to yourself.

From that day on, Jaemin made sure to take you to school and back once the day was over, insisting that it only makes sense since your houses are so close to each other. It’s not like you were really complaining though because it meant more time for you to be with him.

A week before homecoming, Jaemin came to pick you up in the morning as usual, his car slick from the morning dew that was on the roads. He waved at you as you came down your driveway, unlocking the door for you. “How’s my princess doing on this fine morning?” He asks once you open the door and place your bag inside.

“Tired.” You state plainly. “Nearly slept through my alarm.”

“Would you like some coffee?” He looks down at his coffee that blends in with the black coloring of the console and seats. You make a face of disgust at him, scrunching up your nose and mocking the action of vomiting. “Alright, okay, I get it.” He laughs out as you buckle yourself in.

After you were comfortably seated in Jaemin’s car, there was a calming silence as he pulled away from the curb and navigated his way out of your neighborhood. The silence was only broken when he stopped under a fresh red light, prepared to wait for a bit. “So the homecoming dance is coming up,” you let out a short hum to acknowledge him while scrolling through social media, “do you have someone that you’re planning on going with?”

You shook your head, “I have someone in mind but I don’t know if they’d want to go with me.”

“Oh, who is it?” Jaemin asks as the light turns green, signaling for him to make the pass through the intersection.

“It’s you.” Turning to look at him, you see his eyebrows furrowed and his lips pursed together. “Would you like to go with me to the homecoming dance?” The mere seconds it took him to respond to your question felt like hours but you didn’t mind, not when he looked so handsome and relaxed in the driver’s seat, one hand on the wheel, the other resting on the center console.

You make it difficult to not overthink

His hesitation was evident but eventually, he replied, “sure, I’ll go with you.”

The dress you wore was a pretty shade of pink, one that complemented your skin tone nicely and Jaemin wore a matching pink button-down shirt paired with black ripped jeans which you were sure he stole from his brother’s closet. Your friends nicely complimented your outfits and asked when the two of you would be official, at which both of you replied “it’s not like that” or “I don’t like them that way” or some other variation of it.

June looked at you knowingly from the other side of the table every time that happened, knowing how badly you hoped for his words to be only a front he was putting up and that maybe, just maybe, he thought of you as more than a friend. But the little hope you had was put to rest when Yunhee, one of the girls from his friend group, came by and pulled him away, telling him that Jeno, his best friend, wanted to take group pictures together.

Jaemin didn’t return to the table until the winner of the homecoming spirit trophy was about to be announced. He shared a look of excitement with you as both of you did a drumroll on the table before Haechan, the student body president yelled out, “the seniors, class of 2018, are the winners of this year’s homecoming spirit trophy!” Jaemin jumped out of his seat and hugged you out of joy before running off to celebrate with the rest of his friends at their table.

Again, he did not return until the lights were dimmed and the music volume was raised. “Would you like to dance, m’lady?” He asked as he held his hand out for you to take. The rest of your friends let out giggles at the gesture and cooed when you placed your hand in his and followed him to the dance floor.

He let go of your hand as the two of you faced each other and started moving to the beat of ‘Let’s Fall in Love for the Night’ while mouthing the words to each other. With every line mouthed, you felt your heart swell for Jaemin because it was as if this song were written for the two of you.

“You look absolutely beautiful tonight.” He told you as the song slowed down.

“I can say the same for you too.” Your eyes met him as you smiled at him.

His smile mirrored yours with the same playful affection. “Then why don’t you?”

You weren’t even given the chance to do so when Yunhee appeared once again, placing a hand on his shoulder and turning him in the direction of where the other nominees for homecoming court were gathering. “They’re announcing the winners, come on,” she informed him as she began pulling him away, “you look good tonight though, you too, y/n, I guess.”

Yunhee had always been playing some sick passive-aggressive game with you and you never understood why. Jaemin encouraged you to just brush it off every time it happened, but you simply couldn’t, not when it has continued for three years now. You were about to open your mouth and say something back to her but you held yourself back, not wanting to sour the mood for everyone else.

Without Jaemin dancing with you and not knowing if the rest of your friends were on the dance floor, you returned to your table just as Haechan stepped out to announce the winners of the homecoming court. June came to sit next to you, occupying Jaemin’s seat as you laughed at the way her makeup was slightly smudged from when she accidentally rubbed her eye. “I’m glad I can still make you laugh.” She said as she gave you a sad smile, already having you like an open book.

The two of you became engrossed in a conversation about how hard it was to do your hair and makeup earlier, effectively drowning out the naming and cheers for the winners of the court until one name was able to make your heart stop. “Na Jaemin.” You turned around in your seat to see as Jaemin was crowned homecoming king and went to stand alongside Yunhee, who smiled at him as she donned a similar crown, making her his queen.

June took you home that night, leaving behind her own date for you as you struggled to hold back your tears, seeing Jaemin dance with another girl. “It’s just for homecoming, he probably doesn’t even like her that much.” June reassured while rubbing your back. You wanted so badly to believe her but there was just something inside you that wouldn’t allow you to do so.

Homecoming passed quickly, though not quickly enough for your liking, and as much as you were glad to put some distance between that night, you weren’t as glad to be swamped with work again. You were supposed to be thinking about how Pavlov experimented with classical conditioning yet you were the one feeling classically conditioned to think about Jaemin.

He occupied your mind whenever you weren’t extremely focused on something. Everything you thought about brought you back to him. Even now, you debated on whether it would be a good idea or not to classically train him to like you.

I can’t focus on what needs to get done

Your phone buzzed from its spot on your desk, plucking you from your experimental daydream, only to send you on a rollercoaster as you read the notification on your screen.

nana > y/n

7:31pm: wanna go get food with me?

y/n > nana

7:31pm: right now?

nana > y/n

7:31pm: yeah

y/n > nana

7:31pm: sure, i’ll be ready in a bit

nana > y/n

7:32pm: thank god cuz i’m outside already

You figured your psychology notes could wait for a bit, especially when the reason was Jaemin. With finals coming up soon and the impending doom of graduation and college, you wanted to make the most of every moment you had with him, even if it was nights spent getting McDonald’s and eating it at an elementary school playground, seated side by side at the top of the slide while looking at the stars.

“I wonder why people say ‘shooting stars’ and ‘falling like the stars’ because they can’t do both, right?” Jaemin pondered through a mouthful of french fries.

“Stars don’t fall, silly.” You remarked, truly questioning how he had such good grades in his classes yet didn’t seem to know such trivial things.

He continued staring up at the night sky before responding. “Well if they did, I think I’d be one of them.”

You looked at him, entertaining his wonderings while sipping some Sprite. “Oh? Now, why is that?”

“Because I think I’ve fallen for you.”

Your mouth opened ever so slightly out of shock and you felt as if you were frozen when he took the drink out of your hands, placing it gently behind the two of you before putting a hand on your jaw, holding your steady as he gave you your first kiss.

When he pulled away, you were still having trouble processing what just happened and left him hanging, but in a few seconds you had one hand on his shoulder, the other on his cheek as you pulled him in to kiss him for real this time. Jaemin let out a noise of surprise though he quickly recovered and his lips began moving with the shape of yours.

You immediately felt insecure from how confident he seemed, thinking that he probably already had prior experience, so you pulled away, not wanting to embarrass yourself if he thought you were a bad kisser. Both of you pulled away, slightly out of breath.

“Was I your first kiss?” He asked. You nodded in response, looking anywhere but at him. “Good, because you were mine.” Your eyebrows raised in shock and you turned to him, only for his lips to meet yours once again.

And I’m just tryna play it cool now

The two of you stayed at the playground for what could have easily been another hour talking about your futures and kissing each other. It was then that the two of you found a common college on both of your lists of possible schools and agreed to go there if both of you got in. When Jaemin dropped you off later that night, he sent you off with one last kiss and a smile, reminding you to study for your psychology final next week.

The in-class reviews for the said exam could’ve easily been thrown out the window for you since all you did was stare at Jaemin from the other side of the room. June asked you and your friends something about mental maps but the only mental map you were creating was that of the house you’d live in with Jaemin someday.

But I could be your crush...throw you for a rush

Even during the final exam itself, you couldn’t help but glance over at him and think about how handsome he was. It was only when one of your friends sneezed and Jaemin looked over to say ‘bless you’ that you averted your eyes back to the papers in front of you, not wanting him to catch you in your daydreams.

And I’m pretending you ain’t on my mind

But with the wrapping up of your classes and all the finals being taken, it also signaled the end of the semester and the start of winter break, which Jaemin would be spending in Japan visiting his older brother. When he left, it felt like he took a piece of you with him. He was always on your mind and you practically glued to your phone, anxiously waiting for a message from him. To be fair, he did promise to update you at least once a day on all the fun things he did.

Hoping you’d text me

You were the first like and comment on all of his social media updates, unashamedly. The most recent being a video of him and his older brother having a snowball fight at the ski resort they were visiting.

In the video, Jaemin threw a snowball at his brother who let out a yell in surprise, his dyed-blue hair now covered in white. “Hey! Come back here!” He yelled as he knelt to the ground, gathering his own snowball to throw back at Jaemin.

Jaemin ran away to a small stack of snowballs, giggling as he grabbed another one and launched it again at his brother, only angering him further. “How about you respect your elders, huh?” His brother shouted as he threw his first snowball at Jaemin, which would’ve hit him square in the face if he didn’t turn around as fast as he did.

“No headshots, you bully!” He pouted, rubbing the spot the snowball hit, just to be hit twice more by his brother. “Hey, I’m injured!”

“Now you know how I feel playing PUBG with you, kid.” His brother shot back.

na.jaemin0813 - he put up a good fight but i think i won

ynn0018 - you definitely did. I miss you tho :’( come home soon pls

You checked the post again when he replied to your comment and read through some of the other comments, feeling jealous when you see that he also replied to the other girls who left messages though you quickly eased yourself when you say that he gave you the longest response with the most emojis.

na.jaemin0813 > ynn0018 - i miss you too 😘😘 i’ll be back sooner than you know it <3

Jaemin stayed true to his word, texting you every day, and making sure you weren’t too bored without him. He filmed his own short little vlogs and sent them to you throughout the day and did a longer video at the end of the day as he got ready for bed. You’d watch them whenever you got bored or thought of him and the days didn’t seem all that long without him physically there with you.

When Jaemin returned from Japan and the break ended, the two of you were the closest you’ve ever been. You did nearly everything together like eating lunch, studying for tests, even facetiming each other while doing homework though neither of you really spoke much.

Thanks to Jaemin being so overprepared and not wanting to live in his brother’s shadows, his early application to colleges motivated you to do the same and within the first month of the year, both of you had acceptance letters to the school where you could chase your dreams together and not have to risk doing a long-distance relationship. If fate and soulmates truly existed, you knew this would be it.

The third quarter of the school year goes by quickly, the rest of your friends receiving their acceptance letters after you and slowly announcing their future schools and plans after graduation. Things felt like they were falling into place, just the way they should be and you thought you could never be happier.

During spring break, you and Jaemin even took your senior portraits together at the local botanical garden, the sunset behind the flowers turning the sky a fiery shade of pink. “I want to see more of these sunsets with you,” Jaemin admits after you both decide you’re satisfied with how the pictures came out, “Japan has these same types of sunsets and I wish you were there to see them with me.”

“Let’s go then,” you tell him, excited as you imagine the sight of you and him traveling the world and watching many more beautiful sunsets, “after we graduate, let’s go to Japan, just the two of us. We can visit your brother too and he can even be our tour guide.”

You’re my permanent vacation

From then on, both of you vowed to ‘grow up’ a little more to show your parents that you could be trusted to travel on your own. One of the biggest things you set out to do was to get your license, which of course Jaemin is initially against but eventually comes to terms with and becomes your biggest supporter, letting your drive the two of you to school and home on days when traffic wasn’t too heavy. Of course, you couldn’t get your license in just a few months but you told yourself you’d get it as soon as you were able to.

At school, prom was drawing nearer which meant promposals were happening left and right. Jaemin hadn’t said anything about going to prom together yet or if he was going at all so you thought it would be nice to turn the tables and do something nice for him since he was the one always driving you places, buying you food, giving you gifts, and just, in general, being the best ‘boyfriend’ you could ask for.

You told June about your plans but she surprisingly warned you against it. “Wait, why shouldn’t I do this? I thought you wanted me to get with Jaemin?” You question, taken aback at how quickly your best friend seemed to have turned on you.

“I do, but I think maybe you should wait a bit.” She reasoned.

“He hasn’t said anything yet though, or even mentioned the word ‘prom’ to me, so I don’t think he’s planning on going.”

“He must have a reason, like what if he doesn’t-”

“Yeah, that’s why I’m trying to get him to go. Because if I ask him, then for sure he’ll say yes, right?” You interrupt.

June pauses. “Well, yeah, he’d probably say yes, but like, keep in mind that you guys aren’t even official so there’s no guarantee.”

You roll your eyes at her. “Whatever. I thought you were supposed to be my best friend and support me no matter what.”

“Y/n, no, that’s not what I meant-”

“Save it, I don’t want to hear it.”

You stuck your ground and went home that day, ready to think up a cheesy pick-up line and design a poster asking Jaemin to prom. The day after that, you put the first part of your plan into motion and created the poster, drawing out your message in big, bold lettering and coloring them pink.

‘If I were a star, I’d be a falling star because I’ve fallen for you. Prom?’

You waited until Thursday to buy a bouquet of flowers after school, telling Jaemin that you needed to pick something up from the store and he could just drop you off there. You also told him that your parents were cool with letting you drive one of their cars so you didn’t need a ride to school on Friday morning. The second of which was harder to convince him of, but you did it nonetheless.

And I’m not tryna be with you now

You came to school, rushing to store the flowers and poster in your locker so that Jaemin doesn’t see them. The adrenaline doesn’t leave your body until after the first period ends, your mind already overwhelmed from being a TA and having to deal with freshmen for an hour.

When you arrive at your psychology class, you excitedly tell June about your plans for the day and how you were going to ask Jaemin to prom after school gets out, which she makes a face at. “Okay, now tell me, what is going on with you and your aversion to me asking Jaemin to prom?”

“Look, I’m not against it,” she began, her eyes drifting off to somewhere else, “it’s just that…”

“What, June, what could it possibly be?” You spit, getting angry at how your own best friend didn’t want to see you happy.

Her eyes snapped back to your face. “You know what? If you’re so intent on doing it, fine. I won’t stop you. I told you that I support you and Jaemin together so I don’t get why you’re so upset.”

Just as you were about to fire back, Jaemin walked through the door with Jeno so you quickly changed your expression to smile at him before muttering to June “I’m going to ask him to prom and prove that whatever you’re hiding from me is wrong.”

The next two periods seemed to drag by, you just wanted the day to go faster so you could finally do what you’ve been waiting for. During lunch you went to your usual spot, shaded underneath a tree by the cafeteria, pulling out your homework as you wait for Jaemin when you suddenly hear a commotion happening on the other side of the building.

Out of curiosity, you stood up and walked over just enough to get a glimpse of what was happening in the large ring of students. There were two people. Jaemin and Yunhee. You watched as Jaemin held open his own poster asking Yunhee to prom and you see her nod her head before pulling him in for a hug.

Any hope you previously had was crushed.

You didn’t feel like doing anything productive for the rest of the day. Instead of staying under the protection of the large tree, you packed up your belongings and went to your last class of the day, waiting for lunch to end. It was a study hall anyway so you figured you might as well get a head start at being unproductive for an hour.

Scrolling through social media didn’t help your cause in the slightest. Jaemin’s promposal was everywhere. But he and Yunhee posted about it, everyone who had recorded the event posted it on their stories, comments were flying left and right and it was all too much.

When you got home that day, you turned off your phone for the first time since god knows when and set to working on all your assignments just to keep your mind off of him. Even the mention of his name seemed taboo now. Once you deemed that enough schoolwork had been done, you went about cleaning your room and pulled up a ‘summertime tunes’ playlist on youtube to keep your mind occupied though it seemed like the world was against you today when ‘Crush’ started playing.

Maybe if I’m busy it could keep me from you

You shut Jaemin out of your life, blocking his number and his social media accounts. Legally, you could not get your license yet so you settled for having your parents take you to school. In class you sat as far away from him as possible and ditched your lunch spot, instead opting to spend lunch sitting in your next class and you were glad that your teachers didn’t mind you intruding on their break and if they did, they were kind enough to allow you to stay.

Exactly one month after that mistake of a day, you went to prom with your group of friends after patching up your relationship with June, though there was no undoing your harsh words the same way there was no undoing your purchase of the pink prom dress thinking that you’d be going with Jaemin as your date.

Whenever you looked down, you were disgusted by the color, wanting to rip it off of you and never have anything to do with anything pink ever again. Your friends accused you of being a downer the whole night, but you couldn’t help it when you knew Jaemin was probably having the time of his life with Yunhee at their table, Jeno right at his side with his own date.

“Come on, cheer up a bit, you still have us.” June kindly told you.

“I know, it’s just,” you put your head in your hands, careful of your makeup, “this is not the way I dreamt of things going.”

June shook her head. “Well, some dreams are better left as dreams. Just wait, Jaemin will get his karma, I promise you.”

“It better come soon because I’m getting sick of seeing them together.” You nodded over to where he was dancing with Yunhee. You didn’t dare look at them, not wanting to see his stupidly handsome face and his dumb smile or the way she blushed at his compliments and the way her pink nails matched his pink tie.

You left the hotel ballroom that night vowing to yourself that you’d never speak to Na Jaemin again. Your friends fully supported you on this endeavor and your group became the tightest you’ve ever been even if it was only for the last month of your high school career. Graduation came and went, the special night was spent having your own mini party at one of your friends’ house after the ceremony and you might have even had a bit to drink.

Summer felt like an odd daydream of sorts though you were immensely grateful for the break since it allowed you to not have to see Jaemin’s face almost every day of the week. Both of you acted as if the other person didn’t exist and you hoped to keep it that way for a long time. Even when you saw him out of the corner of your eye at freshmen orientation on your college campus, you reminded yourself of the promise you made on prom night.

“Y/n, hey!” He called out to you, walking in your direction.

You looked over at him, giving him a slight smile before turning away and walking off to sit with some of the other people you met earlier while doing some of the icebreaker activities.

Sorry

Some crushes are better kept a crush.

246 notes · View notes

mostlycompetentwriter · 4 years

Text

TMT One-Shot

F/M Pairing: Y/N x 3racha (Stray Kids)

Word Count: 8K

Genre: High School AU

Warnings: Lots of smut and language; mentions of alcohol

Summary: Y/N is the shy, awkward girl who can’t talk to boys while doing her best to exist as a shadow throughout her high school life. Her two brothers, Minho and Felix, are the complete opposite. Minho is the cool, suave music addict who wants to be in his own band one day, while Felix is the stereotypical popular kid whose best friend, Han Jisung, tirelessly trails after his friend’s older sister. However, despite their differences, the three siblings share a very close relationship and Y/N considers them to be her only real friends.

One day, Minho brings home two classmates from his community college and Y/N realizes, for the very first time, that the sweet taste of desire is highly addictive.

When my mother died, I was only 10-years-old. She slipped away like a ghost, quietly and without notice, and I was left feeling broken on the inside. If I was a therapist, unlike the contemptuous older woman who always spoke to me with a condescending tone, I’d likely attribute the traumatic event to the person I started to become.

Instead of bouncing back from her death like my brothers Minho and Felix, I started to feel sad all the time. Accordingly, I lost many of the friends I met in Elementary school because I chose to sit quietly in my classes when I didn't feel like talking to anyone else. Likewise, I also declined their invitations to visit their houses or ride with their parents to the movie theaters. Actually, I exchanged those friendships for the solitude of my bedroom at home where I usually spent the evening staring vacantly at the ceiling while trying not to cry anymore.

Yeah, I guess it was kinda my fault.

Overtime, my status evolved from the kind, amiable Y/N who everyone at school admired, to the sullen and despondent weird girl who sometimes spoke to imaginary friends. I spent recesses inside with my teachers, helping them clean the whiteboard. During lunch, I sat alone with my school tray and thought about how my mother used to pack my lunches for me because I complained about the mystery meatloaf....Oh, right, thinking about my mother inevitably made me feel sad again and sometimes I cried at school in front of my classmates.

Needless to say, my youth wasn’t exactly as voracious as my peers...or even my brothers for that matter. Actually, Minho and Felix were perfectly normal because they mourned our mother’s death for several months before inexplicably moving on as if it had never happened. Thereafter, Minho developed a passion for music and my father allowed him to take guitar and piano lessons after school. Felix started to play sports and he was quite good at baseball despite his smaller stature. Likewise, in between classes, I heard my classmates frequently gossiping about my brothers: mysterious and alluring Minho who all the older girls adored, and popular and beloved Felix who was the envy of our classmates.

I didn’t mind being considered an outsider in comparison to my brothers because they still treated me like a friend. In fact, my brothers and I were extremely close, especially after our mother’s death. Despite my introverted tendencies, Minho and Felix often went out of their way to include me in their activities. For example, Minho liked to offer his demos as background music for the raunchier parties in our town and he always begged me to come along and hear his new songs. My older brother was so incredibly talented that I rarely refused his offers, finding myself sitting next to Felix in the backseat of Minho’s car while we drove across town to the wealthier districts. I would spend the rest of the night hanging around my brothers while listening to Minho sing about everything from his ex-girlfriends to the pot he liked to smoke with some of the younger guys.

In any case, I could always count on my brothers to liven my spirits, which might explain why I was so uncomfortable when Minho graduated and applied for University. It wasn’t necessarily a bad thing because Minho was only driving thirty minutes everyday to attend his classes and he still lived at home. But it still felt like an unwanted change, and I wasn’t sure how to cope with my brother’s sudden desire to build a studio in the basement of our childhood home while he brought new classmates to fawn over his equipment.

Thankfully, I managed to avoid the unfamiliar faces, and I started spending more time with Felix. Unfortunately, spending time with Felix inevitably forced me to endure the endless pandering from some of his more unsavory acquaintances. For example, when I wanted to play video games one afternoon, I knocked twice on Felix’s door only to find myself in the company of someone who was decidedly the complete opposite of my brother. His name was Han Jisung, and he was Felix’s best friend. “Y/N,” he said quietly, sheepishly attempting to fix the mop on top of his head. “How are you?”

“Fine,” I said, glancing over Jisung’s shoulder. “Where’s Felix?”

“Bathroom,” Jisung said, pointing at the door.

I groaned. “Are you busy?”

“We’re never too busy for you,” Jisung smirked, but he always flirted with me shamelessly as if he didn’t care that I was Felix’s older sister.

I ignored Jisung when I walked into Felix’s bedroom, finding a relatively clean spot on his bed to wait for his return. In the meantime, Jisung lingered by the doorway, watching me with those ridiculous dark eyes. “I heard Minho made another demo.”

“He’s always making demos,” I replied, wondering why Felix was determined to take his time for once.

“Yeah, but he’s really proud of this one.”

“Minho thinks he’s a genius,” I said. “If you were to ask him, then every song he made would be a masterpiece.”

“Well, he’s the reason why I've started to pursue music.”

“You?” I scoffed, finding the idea of Jisung as a creator of anything other than enormous messes on the kitchen counter to be nothing short of hilarious. “Jisung, you can’t even finish your math homework.”

“That’s not true!” Jisung protested. “It’s just not that interesting, and I like music so it shouldn’t be a problem.”

“You’ll find something else to like in a few months,” I said, watching as he frowned with that ridiculous pout he always wore when he wasn’t getting his way.

“Yeah? Well, when my first mixtape comes out,” Jisung grumbled.

“I’ll be the first one asking for an autograph,” I teased him, rolling my eyes when he sat next to me and held up his pinky finger.

“Promise?”

“Fine,” I sighed before trying to move further away from Jisung.

He didn’t allow the space for very long, sliding right up against me without any traces of his previous frustrations. “Y/N,” Jisung said, hand reaching out for my shoulder. “There’s a party this Friday.”

“I’m not in the mood for a party,” I said. “I have a lot of homework this weekend, and-”

“Actually, Minho invited us,” Felix interrupted, and I didn’t even realize that my brother had returned. I was also surprised to see Minho behind him, stretching his arms above his head like he had forgotten to sleep again last night.

“You’re going too?” I asked Minho.

“It’s Chan’s party,” Minho explained. “He’s playing some of my demo tracks.”

“Bang Chan,” I repeated, narrowing my eyes because I had heard my brother mention that name dozens of times. Actually, if I didn’t know any better, then I would think Minho had some kind of infatuation with his new college friend.

“I think Minho is in love,” Felix teased, dodging Minho’s playful swing before he joined Jisung and I on the edge of his bed.

“He’s just a friend from one of my lectures,” Minho said.

“Minho also thinks he’s a genius,” Felix whispered to me, but it was loud enough for our brother to overhear.

“You like him too,” Minho protested.

“Felix met him?”

“Last week,” Felix beamed. “Minho and I ran into him on the way to get coffee. Your lazy ass was still asleep at 12:00.”

“Shut up,” I grumbled. “I stayed up late to finish an essay.”

“College will kick your ass, Y/N,” Minho said. “If you can’t survive high school literature...”

“I get it,” I groaned. “I don’t want another lecture.”

“Good, but you’re still coming to the party because I want you to meet Chan and hear your brother’s masterpiece.”

“Please stop calling your mixtape a masterpiece.”

“I’ll consider it,” Minho smirked, “as long as I see you at Chan’s house this Friday.”

“This is considered blackmail, Minho,” I sighed. “But fine, I’ll need the time and address, please.”

I stood on the porch in the frigid cold wearing a party dress that might’ve been overkill, and I had a desire to return to my house because nobody was answering the door. Actually, when I really thought about it, this complex was too nice for a college student, unless Chan had discovered Blackbeard’s treasure or something. I snorted at my own joke, waiting impatiently for someone to let me inside because my brothers weren’t responding to my text messages.

The music sounded faint from behind the door, which made me wonder if Minho had given me the wrong address. It wouldn’t be the first time that my brother gave me some kind of misinformation, but I thought he really wanted me to come tonight and hear his music. “Hello!” I yelled, banging my fist against the door. “Minho? I’m leaving in exactly ten seconds if nobody lets me inside!”

I started the countdown in my head, jumping up and down to warm my muscles, when a sudden expulsion of heat relieved the tension slowly numbing my fingers. “There you are,” Felix said with a drunken smile.

“Isn’t too early for you to be plastered?”

Felix giggled. “They’re playing Minho’s music next.”

“Well, let me inside you asshole,” I said, pushing my way into the house because my brother had clearly forgotten that it was basically snowing outside.

“What do you think?” Felix asked. “It’s pretty nice.”

“I can’t see anything,” I complained, narrowing my eyes since it was difficult to notice the details when the house was packed wall to wall with intoxicated college students. The lights were also dimmed, which meant that walking was an unnecessary chore as Felix took my hand and brought me into the kitchen where he promised Minho was waiting.

At least he wasn’t fully incapable.

“Y/N,” Minho grinned, tossing an arm around my shoulder as he pulled me closer, allowing me to smell the nasty liquor on his breath.

“Drunk at your mixtape reveal party?”

Minho laughed. “I haven’t had much.”

“Felix has,” I said, grimacing when I spotted my younger brother bouncing from person to person with an unmaintainable energy.

“Let him have fun,” Minho said. “I’m keeping an eye on him.”

“Whatever, but he’s your responsibility in the morning when he’s suffering from a hangover.”

“I’ll handle it,” Minho reassured me. “Anyway, there’s someone I want you to meet.”

“Oh?”

“Chan! Get your ass over here!”

“What a good friend you are,” I remarked, and I was fully prepared to tease my brother further until I realized that Minho was waving down one of the most attractive men I had ever seen.

Chan was absolutely gorgeous, appearing nothing short of debauched under the low-hanging lights of the kitchen. Neatly styled blonde-hair parted down the middle, and bright blue eyes that held the stars inside an endless sea of black. “Are you guys having fun?” he asked with an accent that I couldn’t place.

“The place is fucking awesome, man,” Minho said, wrapping an arm around Chan’s shoulders as he nodded in my direction. “This is my sister,” Minho said with a proud smile.

“Hello,” I said, cringing at my tone.

“Y/N,” Chan smiled, and I decided that nobody could ever say my name again with such a sexy tenor.

“You have a lovely home,” I said, swallowing hard when Chan leaned in closer.

“Minho talks about you a lot,” Chan said with a smirk. “Do you want something to drink?”

I nodded without thinking, keeping my eyes trained on his beautiful visage as a beer slipped into my hand. “Pace yourself,” Minho warned me, but I ignored him as I swallowed down the bile-tasting liquid.

“I like her,” Chan nodded, looking at me seductively from over the top of his bottle.

“She’s a bit uptight,” Minho chuckled, and I glared at him because this was not the time to embarrass me. “Are my songs playing next?”

“I’ll make sure everything is ready,” Chan said, giving me one last lingering look.

“Let’s find a good place to hear everything,” Minho suggested, and I followed my brother with thoughts and fantasies consumed by Bang Chan.

Minho’s mixtape was really good, and I begrudgingly congratulated my brother and even allowed him to tell everyone that it was, in fact, a masterpiece. However, while my brother was distracted by a group of younger fan-girls, I slipped away to try and find somewhere peaceful to recover from my headache. It had developed sometime between the pounding bass line of “BEWARE” and the aggressive tone of “Boxer.”

I paused next to the foyer where there were considerably less people. In fact, only one student lingered next to the open window, and I leaned against the wall as I closed my eyes against the distinct ringing in my ears. Next time, I would wear earplugs when Minho forced me to stand at the speakers.

“You’re not going to pass out, right?”

I blinked several times as the room swam into focus. “I’ll probably make it.”

“There’s a bathroom upstairs,” the rough voice continued, and I finally addressed the hooded figure standing at the window. I realized that he was smoking, holding the bud of the cigarette outside so that the ashes collected somewhere on the porch. “I’m Changbin,” he smirked.

“Oh,” I cleared my throat. “Do you mind if I share the window?”

He shrugged, tossing his hood back so that I could see the way his black hair fell flat against his head. “Sure.”

I carefully felt my way along the wall until the generous cold breeze was hitting my flushed skin. “Thank god,” I groaned, practically forcing my head outside.

“Drink too much?”

“A combination of that and the music.”

“I heard a rumor that the beer was definitely spiked,” he said, dark eyes looking me over. “You’re obviously new here.”

“I’m with my brother,” I offered cautiously in response to his sudden advances.

“Do I know him?”

“Lee Minho.”

Changbin’s eyes widened. “We’re in the same music composition lecture. I thought he mentioned you in class.”

“He invited me,” I continued, but I didn’t understand why I felt the need to justify myself to him.

“I bet he did,” Changbin nodded. “Why would he hide you from us?”

I shivered. “I’m sure he’ll be back soon.”

“Is that right?” he asked before cornering me against the wall with a hungry gaze. “You hear the song playing?”

I nodded. “It’s loud.”

Changbin chuckled. “I made it.”

I nodded again because that certainly explained the explicit lyrics. “It’s...interesting?”

“Yeah?” Changbin purred. “Do you like it?”

“I do,” I gasped, feeling one of his hands grab me around the waist.

His lips brushed against mine, soft and sensual, while he inhaled deeply. “Y/N, is this your first party?”

“No,” I whispered because it suddenly felt like we were the only two people left in the room.

“I just assumed,” he said. “From the way you’re reacting.”

“W-what?”

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say that you wanted to go someplace else with me,” Changin said.

I was completely baffled by his assumption, searching for the right words, but they never came. However, the distinct sound of someone clearing their throat forced us apart, and I was surprised to see Chan standing so close. “I guess you’ve met Minho’s little sister,” Chan said and I hated how immature the introduction sounded.

“She made sure to tell me,” Changbin smirked. “I can’t believe we haven’t met before.”

“He’s looking for her,” Chan continued, and I was confused by the hostility in his tone. “You probably shouldn’t do anything.”

“Wasn’t gonna,” Changbin retorted, planting one of his hands next to my head. “She’s feeling sick. Tell Minho I can take her home.”

“He won’t like that.”

“Oh? Is anyone else sober?”

Chan was quiet for a moment, eyes darting between the two of us. “Wait here.”

“What a good host,” Changbin snarked, but Chan was already walking away and I was starting to feel the effects of my alcoholic consumption darken the edges of my vision.

My brother was nothing short of incoherent, swaying back against Chan as he tried to give me a stern look. “Y/N, I hope you didn’t drink too much.”

“Really?” I snorted. “Isn’t that hypocritical?”

Of course, my admonishment had no effect on Minho. “Chan said that you were feeling sick.”

“It’s just a headache,” I said, although my churning stomach seemed to suggest otherwise.

“I thought I could take Y/N home,” Changbin interrupted. “I guess she could use some fresher air.”

“Sure,” Minho nodded, eyes glassy. “I don’t mind.”

Minho was readily willing to entrust his sister into the care of someone she had just met, and that’s when I knew that he couldn’t be trusted to take me anywhere. “Is that what you want?” Chan asked.

I shrugged because it might be nice to finally escape the endless drumming of Chan’s intricate sound system. “I might be saving myself some trouble.”

“I need more cigarettes,” Changbin said. “I’m running low and I know there’s a store near Minho’s house.

I frowned, but figured that Minho had brought Changbin over to our house before during that brief phase at the start of his college semester when I saw a new face in the basement every week. “I think that’s a good idea.”

“As long as you behave,” Chan warned him quietly, but I never had the opportunity to question him before Changbin was forcing us both outside onto the main porch where the snow was starting to build along the sidewalks.

“This way,” Changbin said, resting one of his hands against my lower back as he guided us down the street.

Changbin’s car was a very old model and the paint was starting to peel from the doors. He helped me inside slowly, reaching for my seat-belt before I slapped his hands out of the way because I could manage to do that by myself. He chuckled at my glare. “Comfortable?”

I nodded in response and waited for him to turn on the ignition before I was savoring the accompanying blast of heat even though it smelled distinctly of ashes. “Minho’s little sister,” Changbin said, eyes focused on the road in front of him. “Are you feeling better?”

“Yeah,” I replied because the growing distance between us and Chan’s party music was actually nice. “I guess the music gave me a headache.”

“That’s how Chan likes it,” Changbin said. “He’s gotten at least a dozen noise complaints from this past month alone.”

“How many parties does he have!”

Changbin smirked. “He likes to keep his house full.”

“It might’ve been too much tonight,” I said, leaning my head against the cold window. “I’ve never seen so many people.”

“Exams,” Changbin said. “When college students feel stressed, they like to get shitfaced.”

“But you’re not drunk.”

“Who said that I was stressed?”

His tone was strangely flirtatious, especially when he looked at me. “You didn’t have to help me, you know?”

“I know, but it was my window we were sharing,” Changbin said. “You looked like you were seconds away from crashing.”

“I can take care of myself,” I replied, even though it was rather harsh to criticize someone who was currently neglecting the speed limit to take my home as quickly as possible. “When did you meet Minho?”

“A few weeks ago,” Changbin said. “We worked on a project together.”

“I guess you’ve already been to my house.”

“Yeah, but I sure as hell don’t remember seeing you.”

“I don’t really like to socialize with most of my brother’s friends.”

“Well, that explains a lot,” Changbin said, briefly glancing at me. “Are you that type? The unattainable girl next door?”

“I just don’t like people,” I grumbled, but Changbin seemed to think it was funny, laughing at my expense while reaching down to turn on the radio despite the fact that music had caused my headache in the first place.

Of course, I didn’t want to be that type, so I endured his self-promotion, listening to his gravelly voice suspend the entire car into some kind of hip-hip haven. He talked his way through the introductions of every song on his mixtapes, bragging about his compositions and arrangements. “It’s all about authenticity,” he explained when we finally pulled into my driveway.

“Is that so?” I sighed, frowning when I realized Felix had forgotten to turn on the front porch light.

“I guess I should wait until you’re inside,” Changbin chuckled.

“Thanks,” I said, reaching out for the door handle.

“Woah! Baby, where are you going?” Changbin asked, and I quickly returned my hands to my lap. “Are you trying to get away from me?”

“No,” I shook my head, breathing heavily when he reached for my thigh.

“You probably don’t hear this a lot,” Changbin continued. “But you’re really sexy.”

I startled at his words. “Thank you?”

“I mean it, Y/N,” he continued, fingers inching along my thigh like it was free real estate. “Thank god you wanted to share my window.”

I shook my head rapidly when he turned off the ignition, navigating the waistband of his panties to drag his hand against my sensitive core. “What are you doing?” I whispered.

“I’m trying to make you feel good,” he said. “Do you want me to?”

I nodded this time, waiting with my fists balled against the leather seats while he penetrated the soft walls of my core, moving in and out slowly to help me adjust to his fingers. I tried to relax, dropping my shoulders and controlling the way I was panting in desperation for more of the addicting feeling he was creating in my lower abdomen. It all felt entirely scandalous, feeling the way his fingers dragged across my insides, curling against the most responsive parts and watching me with an intensity that I could barely tolerate. I was moaning for him, calling his name softly because he was starting to increase his movements, and I focused on the way his wrist reappeared from underneath my skirt before losing itself in a sea of denim fabric.

“It’s wet,” he remarked, and the sounds of his penetration were growing louder, intermingling with my rapid breaths and the dark tone of his voice. “I can feel it.”

I knew what he meant because my entire body was pulsing in time to the pace in which he played with me. It was like I was his personal experiment, testing how I reacted to certain touches, especially when he crooked his fingers and a moan would displace the temporary quiet. “Changbin,” I whined, reaching for his arm because everything was starting to feel overwhelming.

“I got you,” he said. “You’ve been so good for me, Y/N, I’m not gonna stop until you cum.”

I orgasmed at his filthy words, falling down from the place he sent me and into a deep headspace. He pulled his fingers back, holding them up so that I could clearly see the evidence of my release in the faint light from the street lamp outside. “You didn’t expect that,” Changbin said calmly, reaching for a tissue from the backseat while I tried to figure out what just happened. “I don’t really care who your brother is,” he continued, moving in close. “I think we should fuck next time.”

“Changbin,” I said, “if Minho finds out-”

“Why are you always worried about him?”

“He’s my brother!”

“Oh? Well, in that case, since you want to be good for your older brother,” Changbin smirked. “I guess I’ll have to find a different way to see you again.”

The next morning, I took a shower because I could still feel traces of Changbin’s touches between my thighs. The water was hot, fogging up the mirrors and making it difficult to breathe. It was necessary because I could function better when I re-emerged with fresh clothes and a sudden hunger for those little chocolate muffins my mom bought at the store.

I walked downstairs, noticing Felix and Jisung both sitting at the counter while they talked over their breakfast. Felix noticed me first, watching as I grabbed a leftover pastry from the fridge before leaning back against the cabinets. “Did you have fun last night?” he asked.

I narrowed my eyes, but then I realized that his question was innocent because he definitely didn’t know about Changbin. “It was nice.”

“What are you doing today?”

“I don’t know,” I shrugged. “I haven’t made plans.”

“You can hang out with me and Jisung today,” Felix suggested. “We’re just going for coffee.”

Jisung met my gaze from over the table and he quickly looked away as if he wasn’t expecting the contact. “Yeah,” I nodded. “I could use some coffee.”

It wasn’t often that I accompanied Felix and Jisung when they decided to actually leave the house and my brother’s massive collection of video games. Felix was never the problem, but I could only endure so much of Jisung’s flirtations before I inevitably made another pointless vow to try and ignore him. It was an impossible promise to keep since Felix was practically glued to his hip, and I can’t remember the last time Jisung actually spent the night at his own home.

However, coffee was nice and the taste was bile so it sat heavy on my tongue and provided a good distraction, even if that meant listening to my brother and Felix talk about the party. “I met Chan,” Jisung said. “He was really cool.”

Felix nodded, eyeing his coffee with obvious distaste. “Minho seems to like him.”

“He introduced me to his partner, Changbin,” Jisung continued and I fidgeted nervously at the mention of his name. “Apparently, they do a lot of work together.”

“I’ve heard their stuff,” Felix said, finally pushing away his coffee cup in exchange for his orange juice. “I think they’re really talented.”

“It’s like you’re meeting real professionals,” Jisung gushed and I rolled my eyes. “I let them listen to one of my demos,” Jisung chuckled. “I think they want to work together.”

“Really?” Felix gasped. “That’s amazing!”

“I guess they need another partner,” I remarked, shivering when I thought about my encounter with Changbin from the previous evening.

“You can always come with me to the studio tomorrow,” Jisung said. “If you want.”

The idea of being alone with Jisung wasn’t exactly high on my list of priorities. “I don’t know...”

“Changbin will be there too,” Jisung added. “Minho said he really thought you were cool at the party.”

“I bet he did,” I grumbled.

“Why are you inviting her instead of your best friend?” Felix pouted.

“You said you needed to work on a project,” Jisung reminded him. “Actually, you made me swear to keep away distractions!”

“Alright, fine,” Felix sighed. “You’re right, but that doesn’t mean that I’m okay with it.”

Jisung ignored my brother’s sullen expression. “Y/N? Do you want to come?”

“I guess,” I said, and I had no idea what possessed me to agree with his request until it was too late.

The next morning, I met Jisung outside of the address he had sent to my phone with several rather inappropriate emojis. I made sure to scold him for the messages, but he was far too excited, ignoring my complaints when he started talking about the new project he was working on with Chan and Changbin. “Come on,” he said, holding open the door as I walked inside the tiny lobby of the simple two-story building. “We’re on the top floor,” Jisung smirked as if that was something to brag about considering the condition of the worn-down warehouse they were using as a studio.

However, I knew that he was excited, so I feigned a smile as he continued talking about the building’s intricate history while we walked up the staircase to pause outside of a studio room. “Is this it?” I asked.

He nodded, reaching for the door handle. “They should be inside.”

True to his word, Chan and Changbin were standing together in front of a large computer monitor, turning around when they heard me and Jisung enter the room together. “There you are,” Chan said, but his gaze was strangely focused on me.

“We have some stuff for you to hear,” Changbin said, stretching his arms above his head. “I need some coffee first.”

“There’s a gas station down the road,” Jisung said. “I’ll go with you?”

Changbin looked at me for a moment before agreeing to Jisung’s proposal. “We’ll have plenty of time to work when we get back.”

“You’re in for a surprise, Jisung,” Chan said. “Actually, while the two of you are gone, maybe Y/N could look at some of the tracks?”

“Really?” I asked, surprised that he would be so willing to share, but he was already dragging me down into the desk chair, pulling me closer to the monitor.

“You can take you time and browse,” he said, joining Jisung and Changbin at the door.

They started talking about something else, but I was too busy admiring the vast number of tracks listened in sequential order on Chan’s computer. Despite how I might feel about Changbin, it was impossible to deny that their work was impressive, spreading across years of effort. It felt like I was being allowed an intimate glimpse of the artists who were growing more popular everyday.

“Try to be back in twenty minutes,” Chan said, and I watched Jisung and Changbin leave together, whispering in low tones while Chan shut the door behind them. “Your music is really good,” I said, scrolling through the library of his songs. It only made him that much more appealing when I could see the evidence of his passion.

“Are we going to stop playing games, Y/N?”

I frowned at his question, turning around in the chair. “What do you mean?”

Chan smirked, and I realized that it wasn’t playful. “Do you have any idea how fucking gorgeous you are?” he asked.

“Chan...” I trailed off, frozen in place while he slowly leered in my direction, taking several, meaningful steps before he was bracing himself on either side of the desk behind me.

“Changbin told me about what happened in the car.”

I swallowed hard. “W-what?”

“Is that all it takes? A couple of fingers to satisfy you?”

“Chan, I don’t understand,” I tried, gasping when he picked me up out of the chair, legs wrapping around his waist automatically before he sat me down on the desk.

“Do you want it again?” Chan asked, running his hands alongside my waist before crawling his finger across the bare skin of my thighs, disregarding the thin barrier of my skirt. I felt him press the palm of his hand against my wet heat, fingers testing the edges of my panties. “I can make you feel good.”

The sensation was too much, and I found myself nodding without really thinking about the consequences. “Please.”

His fingers were suddenly penetrating my delicate walls, sliding in and out at a vicious pace that left me aching for something more. “Tell me, Y/N,” Chan demanded, using his thumb to circle my throbbing clitoris. “How does it feel?”

“I want it, Chan,” I moaned, bracing my hands against his firm chest as he continued to pleasure me. Unlike Changbin, I could tell that Chan was determined to make me cum as soon as possible, twisting his hand and jamming his fingers like he was aiming to make me lose my mind. I practically fell against him crying, riding out the waves of my high, while he ignored my whimpers when everything was suddenly feeling overstimulated.

“Come here,” he said, pulling out his fingers before falling against his chair and patting his thighs.

My legs were shaking when Chan helped me onto his lap and I moaned when his fingers crooked against my walls again. “Do you want my cock?” he asked and I nodded viciously, sending strands of my hair flying in all directions. “What a good girl,” he snarled, ripping his fingers away and leaving me whining around the empty space he left behind.

“Chan,” I groaned, resting my head against his shoulder while I watched him make a show out of undoing the belt around his waist, unzipping his skinny jeans before shoving the material down his thighs. His erection strained the silky material of his boxer shorts, and I was practically salivating.

He reached down to rub himself through his shorts, outlining his cock in a way that made me realize that I wasn’t going to leave this studio without an obvious limp. “Y/N,” he said. “Take off your skirt for me.”

I whined, but obeyed him instantly, bracing one hand against his shoulder while the other practically ripped the fine material of the pretty skirt down my legs and into the studio floor. Chan’s eyes darkened, grabbing my waist between his hands to grind the front of my soaked panties against his erection. “Please,” I cried, wanting nothing more than to take matters into my own hands, but Chan’s grip was impossible to break.

“I’m going to fuck this little pussy,” Chan growled. “Can you last long enough for me to come inside?”

“Yes,” I whined, stuttering around a broken sob when he pulled his cock into the studio light, stretching my panties to the side before sinking deep inside my pulsing heat.

“That’s right,” Chan said, eyes closed. “You feel so good.”

“Chan,” I moaned, eye widening when the stretch felt impossible, like he was splitting me open even when common sense told me that it was just my body accommodating to his cock.

His hips slammed into mine, and I could barely reciprocate when he easily overpowered my attempts to meet him somewhere between our bodies. Instead, he took control and I let him have it because he knew exactly what to do before sending me over the edge again, ignoring my cries when he continued to chase his own high, grunting against my ear when he came inside.

“Y/N,” he sighed, keeping me in place despite the fact that his cock was completely flaccid. “Such a good girl.”

I was incoherent and incapable of offering a response in return. Instead, I buried my face into the side of his neck, smelling the scent of his cologne mixed with sweat and the sex polluting the air around us. His body was firm and warm, and I closed my eyes because everything felt like an incredibly lucid dream.

I was still exhausted from the previous afternoon, unable to walk much further than from my bedroom to the living room before the painful reminder of my unexpected session with Chan started to ache between my legs. There was a movie playing on the television, but I was only somewhat focused on the lazy plot and characters. Instead, I was thinking about my interactions with Chan and Changbin, wondering if the two men were playing some sort of mind game with me.

I only managed to tear myself away from those thoughts when I saw Minho as he walked down the stairs with Felix and Jisung talking about something to do with a sports competition. “There you are!” Felix exclaimed. “We were just talking about your visit to the studio with Jisung.”

“I heard you got a tour,” Minho said. “That was nice of them.”

“Yeah,” I agree because there was a lot more to talk about besides the tour of the dilapidated studio.

“I haven’t had a chance to visit,” Minho said. “But they said I could record my new demo there.”

“Another one!” Felix gasped, looking at my brother with wide eyes. “You’re a fucking genius, man.”

“Oh, I know,” Minho smirked. “Actually, I can show you before my first lecture,” Minho said, starting in the direction of his bedroom.

Jisung watched Felix trail behind Minho before he joined me on the couch. “What did you think of the studio?”

I swallowed hard. “It was fine.”

“I think it’s really nice,” Jisung said. “Chan said something making us a permanent trio! He even gave us a name and everything!”

“Oh?”

“3racha,” Jisung giggled. “It’s like a pun-”

“Yeah, I get it,” I sighed impatiently. “I’m trying to watch the movie.”

Jisung was undeterred by the sharp comment, and he buried himself further into the cushions before turning his attention back to the screen.

“Our first show is tomorrow, Y/N,” Jisung giggled, and I finally turned to look at him. “I hope you can watch?”

“Where?”

“It’s a club somewhere downtown. I can send you the address? I know that Chan and Changbin were both insisting that you come.”

“I’m sure they were,” I grumbled, but Jisung was more interested in talking about his contributions to the album.

“It would mean a lot to me,” he managed after thoroughly explaining their newest concept. “You don’t even have to stay for the whole show.”

“I don’t know...”

“Minho and Felix are coming!” he quickly added, and I wondered if he knew that I would feel more comfortable with my brothers around.

“Okay,” I finally relented, groaning when he started jumping up and down on the couch like an overzealous puppy.

I rode to the club with Minho and Felix who were excitedly chattering about the impending concert while I looked out the window despondently. It felt like a huge risk to show up to the concert considering the recent events concerning my meetings with Chan and Changbin. However, I didn’t want my brothers to be suspicious, so I reluctantly followed them inside where we squeezed together around one of the tables in the middle of an enormous crowd.

The atmosphere was euphoric, draped in a haze of alcohol and the flashing neon lights decorating the stage. It was actually quite civil considering the fact that we were moments away from listening to loud music full of pounding bass and fast rapping. I was half-way convinced that the other guests had no idea what they were actually getting themselves into by coming here tonight.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” an annoucement blared overheard, “please welcome, 3racha!”

The audience started clapping while a familiar melody began softly playing, and the fans around me started to cheer for the three shadowy figures who had suddenly walked onto the stage. “Let’s go!” Chan shouted, beginning his verse of the song which I now recognized as one of the tracks they had played for me at the studio. They were all wearing black, matching the tone and vibe of their music, playing through each track with an infectious energy. However, I was still unnerved because I noticed that they all managed to look at me at some point, even though the crowd, and I was starting to feel hot all over my entire body.

“They’re really good,” Felix remarked, and I nodded in return even though I was finding the table much more interesting.

“Thank you, 3racha!” an overhead announcement said and the audience were rising to their feet in synchrony to offer the artists a round of applause for their stage.

“Jisung sounded amazing!” Felix said as if he couldn’t resist the opportunity to brag about his friend.

“Maybe we can meet them backstage,” Minho suggested, and I halfheartedly protested when my brothers forced me to accompany them.

Subsequently, Minho forced Felix and I to wait by the stage for his friends because he was convinced that I really didn’t have an important project to complete before tomorrow. “You never do anything last minute, Y/N,” he said, smiling when he spotted Chan’s messy hair from the middle of the crowd.

“Hey!” Chan greeted him, accepting Minho’s failed attempt at a cool handshake. Changbin and Jisung followed him, and I couldn’t help but notice how the youngest had started to stumble on his feet.

“You guys did great,” Minho said, talking extensively about his favorite performance while a sudden bombardment of alcohol hit my senses.

I instantly recoiled, covering my nose when the smell grew stronger. “How much did you drink, Jisung?”

“Not much,” the younger boy slurred, and I noticed that his eyes were distant.

“I’ll grab us more drinks,” Changbin said, giving me a familiar dark look before disappearing into the surrounding crowd.

“He’ll be fine,” Felix said, tossing an arm around Jisung’s shoulder. “You deserve to celebrate tonight, man!”

I tugged on Minho’s sleeve to catch his attention, unwittingly drawing Chan’s gaze at the same time. “I think he’s drunk.”

Minho sighed, ready to launch into one of his world-famous lectures, when he was interrupted by the DJ onstage who confronted Chan. “Hey! We couldn’t find you after the show.”

Chan rolled his eyes. “I was out here the entire time.”

“Well, you need to pick up your CD backstage,” the DJ said. “The owners will throw it out tomorrow.”

“I’ll be right there,” Chan grumbled while glaring at the DJ.

“Now,” the man growled and Chan quietly excused himself with a brittle tone. Meanwhile, I had to help Felix with Jisung because his friend was starting to sway dangerously back and forth.

“He needs to go home,” I sighed, watching as Jisung leaned more of his weight against a much smaller Felix.

“I’d take him, but I already had two beers,” Minho said, looking at Felix expectantly.

“Me!” Felix whined. “But I want to stay.”

“He’s your friend,” I glowered.

“Alright,” Minho groaned. “Y/N, you haven’t had anything to drink and you’re way more responsible than Felix.”

It was easy to meet Minho’s stern gaze since this was the perfect opportunity to finally leave the club. “Fine, I’ll take Jisung home.”

“Then it’s settled,” he agreed, tossing me his spare set of car keys. “Take him to our place.”

“Okay,” I said, groaning when Felix helped Jisung wrap his arms around my shoulders and waist. The additional weight was burdensome, and I cursed Jisung under my breath as I helped him through the club to where the bouncer waited at the exit. “I’ll never let you forget this,” I hissed, waiting for the bouncer to open the door while I took one last look over my shoulder to check on my brothers. Instead, I found myself looking directly into Changbin’s dark eyes as he waited by the bar, a familiar smirk making him appear even more dangerous. I shivered in response before I slowly shuffled to the car with Jisung practically breathing down my neck.

When I finally managed to accompany Jisung inside my house, I unceremoniously deposited him on the couch, ignoring the way he groaned in complaint. “I’ll find you some medicine,” I said, searching through one of the side tables.

“It hurts,” Jisung whined, and I rolled my eyes after shoving a bottle of Aspirin in his direction.

“Remember that when you decide to be stupid again.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, dropping two pills into his hand before swallowing them eagerly.

I grimaced as I sat down next to him. “When did you start drinking?”

“Before the show,” Jisung said. “Changbin said it would help take the edge off.”

“Yeah? Do me a favor and don’t listen to him anymore,” I said, frowning when Jisung curled closer to my side. “What are you doing?”

“Tired,” he said, looking up at me with a smile. “You look beautiful.”

I scoffed, trying to push him away, but alcohol apparently made him bolder because he was suddenly twisting one leg around my hip to hold himself in place. “Jisung, you need to stop,” I said, gasping when he brought his lips against mine, kissing me with skill and a surprising amount of tongue. “We can’t do this!”

“Please,” Jisung whined, grinding his hips against my legs. “Just one night, Y/N?”

“Your drunk,” I said, which was only one of a dozen problems with the scenarios currently playing out right in front of my very eyes.

“I’m sober,” Jisung promised, frantically chasing my lips with eager kisses.

It was nothing short of desire, the way he was looking at me, while I watched our clothes end up in a pile around the couch as Jisung fumbled with the condom before I helped him roll it onto his erection. He groaned at the contact, and I moved my hand up and down his cock a few more times before directing him between my legs. Jisung slid inside with a messy exhale, and his arms trembled as they supported his body looming over mine with his delicate frame.

It was a pleasant contradiction because Chan’s thrusts had been nothing short of confident while Jisung’s inexperience showed in the frantic way his hips stuttered against mine. He tried to move faster, losing his previous rhythm, and his cock fell all the way out, erection sliding between my thighs instead. He whined pathetically, rutting against my legs for several moments before he re-adjusted himself deep inside. “Y/N,” he moaned.

“It’s okay,” I told him, petting my fingers along the crown of his head. “You’re doing so good.”

“I like you so much,” Jisung replied earnestly and my heart ached at his words.

He looked unbelievably sinful, eclipsing my body against his as I felt the fabric of the couch against my skin. The friction was delicious, and I focused on the way his cock felt, thrusts growing more and more assured as he finally found a way to please us both, thumb brushing across my clitoris. He was still kissing me, tongue moving across mine deliberately, and I was breathing harshly as I fought to control the rising heat building in my abdomen. It was an intense build-up to an orgasm that I could’ve never anticipated since Jisung was always Felix’s friend who I usually avoided. The same Jisung whose endless flirtations usually annoyed me, but something had changed the moment I looked into his eyes and saw the lust and desire coming together to create an intoxicating mixture.

It was suddenly impossible to ignore the way he made me feel and I felt him come deep inside with a stuttered moan. His hips moved harshly against mine, and I chased my release with a sensual grind of my hips until I was throwing my head back with a cry, groaning when his lips found the sensitive skin of my neck. “Jisung,” I murmured, watching him through a haze of darkness as he rolled over next to me with a moan.

I studied the way Jisung’s hair fanned out across the cushions, making him look angelic beneath the influence of the moon’s light breaking the barrier of the curtains. It made me feel guilty, realizing that I had finally returned Jisung’s feelings only after my tumultuous affairs with Changbin and Chan. In fact, I was nothing more than the very girls I often mocked when they threw themselves at the most popular boys in school. I swallowed hard at the realization. “What have I done?”

#stray kids #stray kids fanfic #skz #skz fanfic #seo changbin fanfic #bang chan fanfic #han jisung fanfic #stray kids smut #stray kids imagines #stray kids scenarios #skz smut #changbin smut #han jisung smut #bang chan smut

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greenninjagal-blog · 3 years

Text

Let Me Hear You Scream pt2

Ready for more spooky vibes? If you missed the first part you can find it [here!]

Summary: Upon waking up in a forest he doesn't recognize, Roman vs a Bear Trap goes almost exactly how you would think it goes.

Words: 6374

TW: Bear traps, blood, violence,

Read on Ao3 || My General Writing Masterlist

Roman has always had an unusually high pain tolerance. He had to, being twin brothers with Remus and all that. The sheer amount of danger the two of them got into as kids delegated that if he was anything less than completely indestructible, he’d be dead the next time Remus started a conversation with “I bet you won’t…”

He remembers that summer when Remus dared him to ride his bike down the concrete stairs, and he remembers how the wheels pitched him forward and his helmet cracked on the sidewalk, his knee skidded on the concrete, and his arm went snap with pain so white hot that Roman actually thought that the whole thing had popped right off his body entirely.

He remembers lying on the ground so shocked that he couldn’t even breathe, much less cry, and he remembers Remus laughing in the background, “I didn’t think you were going to actually do it! Oh shit, Ro? Roman! ROMAN!”

He remembers it so clearly.

“REMUS!” Roman shrieks into the forest, with tears rolling down his cheeks. “THIS ISN’T FUNNY, YOU FUCKER!”

His ankle burns. He can’t feel his toes, he can’t feel his ankle, he can’t feel anything, but there’s blood all over his hands and he can’t look down in case he faints.

His hands are trembling as they blindly work over whatever the fuck he stepped on. He can feel the slushie that he last ate, swirling in his stomach, boiling and bubbling until he feels it corroding his back molars. His fingers fumble around the… the metal teeth, oh god he’s going to vomit. His ankle screams in pain when his fingers prod too close to his actual limb. His ears echo with the painful awful SNAP of the jaw mechanism like its seared right into his soul.

“Remus,” He sobs, “I’m going to fucking kill you--”

Because there was a line here; Yeah, Remus dared him into a prank war with one of his stupid “I bet you wont, you prissy goody two shoes…” and Roman poured glitter into Remus’s laundry once, then Remus replaced Roman’s toothpaste with mayo, then Roman put white hair dye in Remus’s shampoo, and Remus swore he would get some type of revenge, even though he loved that look so much that he kept a stupid white streak in his hair. At least Roman thought he did-- He did, right?

Remus wasn’t the type to keep it to himself if he was upset. Neither of them were: Roman had perfected the art of loud sighs and dramatic monologues into a microphone and Remus had set things on fire to make people pay attention.

He didn’t-- wouldn’t--

He wouldn’t drag Roman into the middle of nowhere and make him walk into a bear trap for hair dye that would come out in another few weeks.

((Wouldn’t he?))

Everyone said Remus was insane, through whispered rumors and gossip that dissipated the moment that Roman walked into the room. Roman hadn’t ever seen the insanity himself; he grew up with Remus chasing squirrels in the park and diving into dumpsters for cool treasures and it was normal. Remus had always found humor in strange and weird things and as they had grown up those things had become less real and more abstract and Roman still didn’t think it meant that Remus would do this.

The forest is dense around him, stupid, dark; Roman isn’t sure he could recognize it even if he had a map in front of him, but then again Remus was always the more environmentally aware person of the two of them. He doesn’t know where Remus went the fuck off to either-- he’s brain is fuzzy at everything more than a few seconds ago when he blinked opened his eyes and took one step forward into a metal death trap, but he… he thought Remus had been right beside him, so close that… that…. His head is singing with pain and the backs of his eyes are melting.

“Hey!” A voice calls out and Roman flinches so hard that the metal spikes dig into his ankle and his scream strangles him.

Roman blinks back his tears just in time to see a figure stumble right out the thickets nearby, with the grace of a new born fucking dear. Roman swears in every language he knows and then some he doesn’t as the person scrambles back to their feet and zeroes in on him with an expression that Roman usually associates with the memory of his science teacher right before she demonstrated how to break a frog's ribcage for their dissection.

“No,” Roman says, “No, back off--”

He tries to scoot back and agony shoots up his leg so bright and violent that his vision whites out.

“Don’t move,” the person says, holding up their palms up suddenly to show they were unarmed or something. Roman isn’t sure what that’s supposed to do when he knows that Remus himself has never needed a weapon to be a lunatic. “I’m going to try to help.”

“Do not fucking come near me,” Roman snarls. “Who are you? One of Remus’s fucking little friends--”

“I assure you I don’t know a Remus, but you are in pain and believe I am qualified to help.”

“Fuck off!”

Roman swears that the pain is getting to his head, meddling with his thoughts like alcohol except not fun and Roman would not suggest anyone repeat this experience. The stranger-- Remus’s friend or whatever-- is staring at him with a patient impatience: like his mother waiting for him to finish his story before she runs off to answer a call on her work phone. They’re older than Roman, by a year or two, with sharp cheekbones and back framed glasses of a stereotypical nerd but a height that makes it hard to even imagine anyone looking down on them. Their eyes are colder than ice, and frost wafts off their breath. They’ve got a sweater vest on, with a tie, and converse dotted with glow in the dark paint in the shape of space nebulas.

Between his teary eye lashes Roman thinks that this guy looks incredibly tame for someone who associates with Remus and he fights the urge to vomit.

Is his leg supposed to be feeling cold?

Oh god, was he going to lose his foot? His breath swells up in his lungs, like a balloon pressing against his ribs. He wouldn’t be able to walk without a foot-- He wouldn’t be able to move or leave these woods or get help-- Remus and his psycho friends could easily cut up the rest of his body and let the wolves get him and then at school when someone would ask what happened to that dumbass who used to make dumb jokes on air during the football games, everyone will be like “Who?” and “didn’t Remus used to have an annoying twin? What happened to that guy?” and no one will ever find him because no one would car--

“Please,” The Doctor Who-ever says, in a faux calm tone as Roman nearly swallows his tongue. “I have medical knowledge, and you are clearly in distress.”

Agony races up his leg and Roman whimpers again. He swears he can hear the sound of metal grinding against his ankle bones, biting in deep and forcing the marrow to crack and shatter and explode until it's just a bunch of broken glass-like fragments under his skin. His head feels light and he frantically breathes deeply because he is not going to pass out, he is not going to make it that eas--

He’s cut off by a sudden crashing from behind behind himself: snapping of branches like a wild animal is tearing through them, the crunch of dead leaves steadily getting louder and heavy and deadlier, the swearing that are all tell-tale sounds of Remus crashing directly into someone and both of them eating the dirt as they barrel through the thickets and roll to a stop a few feet away.

Nerdicus jerks back like they were expecting anything less of Remus’s spectacular grand entrance.

Roman bites down on his tongue to stop himself from outright whimpering. Remus, his twin, his mirror image, rolls back to a sitting position like a possessed doll coming to life, untangling his limbs from another crumpled, groaning form that must be some other friend of his, and snapping them back in place because what are limbs to a maniac like him? The setting sun paints him in an eerie light and Roman’s skin itches with equal parts rage and terror at him, for dragging them out there, for putting out bear traps, for doing all this as pay back for a stupid little prank in a prank war he fucking started--

Remus’s laughter is obnoxious as always and Roman tries not to flinch at the sound of it alone, holding back a white wash of fear with just his force of will.

His other friend is another person that Roman hasn’t seen before-- not that he spends a lot of time getting to know the faces of the delinquents that his brother hangs out with. They’ve got on black jeans and a black T-shirt with one of those reversible sequin designs in the shape of a skull. Their blond hair dances in the last dregs of the evening, even as they pull a leaf from their bangs and yanks their dirty yellow beanie back over their head.

“Holy shit!” Remus says, spitting out dirt from his mouth. “Is that a bear trap?”

“Remus!” Roman whimpers with a tight throat. “This isn’t funny!”

“Au contraire! I left you alone for like five seconds and now you’re in a bear trap!” There’s a glint in Remus’s eyes and Roman recognizes it from those times when Remus climbed too high in the trees back at home, when he stared at a growing flame of a match too long, when he reached across the console and yanked on the steering wheel, screaming Roman’s name--

Roman brain pulses to the point where he can feel it knock against his skull and that hurts almost as much as ankle and he swears he sees stars on the backs of his eyelids and he does not want those to be the last stars he ever sees.

Remus swoops towards him and Roman flinches back, nearly screaming when his leg jostles.

“Chill out, Prince Charmless,” his twin says, rolling his eyes. “I’m gonna get it off. What’s your range of movement?”

“Do not come any closer to me, you asshole!”

“You can’t get that thing off yourself,” Remus says.

“And whose fault is that?” Roman snaps.

Remus freezes, tilting his head slightly to the side. His rat's nest of hair creates an unearthly silhouette as he looks down at Roman, something straight out his Halloween horror films, and Roman bares his teeth in warning. He’s not thinking about how Remus’s foot can stomp down on his injured, trapped leg, he’s not thinking about how there’s no one around for miles, he’s not thinking about how there’s nothing and no one to stop him from straight out fratricide--

“Why am I suddenly getting the feeling you think I know what the flying fuck is going on here?” Remus asks.

“Don’t you?”

“No!” Remus says, delightedly, happily, cheerfully and his voice makes some distant bird caw. “I thought you snapped and took me to the woods to kill me yourself! This is much more boring now that I know I haven’t managed to break your last shreds of sanity.”

“Why would I--”

“This is ridiculous,” Glasses McGee cuts in sharply, adjusting said glasses with their index finger. “We need to remove your foot from that trap now.” They look at Remus and the other person. “Are either of you knowledgeable about the mechanics of bear traps?”

Remus throws two thumbs up, and Roman remembers vaguely a rant from a year or two ago about unethical bear hunting and steel jaw traps and how animals would step in and then lay there for days suffering as their mangled limb held them captive regardless of them trying to chew it off for freedom and oh god he’s going to be sick--

“Roman,” Remus says somewhere beyond the screaming in his head. “Oh shit.” It sounds like he’s far away and distant, or maybe underwater and Roman is drowning. He can’t seem to breathe anymore, like the teeth biting into his ankles had wrapped around his chest and was slowly crushing him.

People are moving around him, faint voices talking and then suddenly burning blinding white hot pain that shoots all the way up to the back of his eyes.

He screams and bites down only to find there’s something in his mouth-- fibers and the unmistakable taste of wool and Roman nearly gags on it. He blinks back the foggy pain and finds that he’s leaning on Remus and Webster Dick-tionary is pressing a multicolored sweatshirt to his leg delicately with the bear trap fully closed a few feet away, tethered to the ground with a heavy metal chain coated in a red paint that makes Roman’s vision sway all over again. The slushie claws back up his throat and he gags.

There’s someone new standing just behind the nerd: a very pretty person in a pretty skirt and headphones with cat ears on them around his neck. The splash of freckles and the round glasses makes them look a bit younger than the rest of them, but that could also be Roman’s brain twisting things around the moment that they wince in sympathy as the nerd prods part of his ankle.

They’re magnificent, Roman decides with a dizzying certainty. They’re the sun in the middle of this dark and dreadful forest, the stars in the night sky, the lighthouse in the storm guiding Roman back from complete devastation with just those shiny eyes behind cracked lens.

The other person, the one in the black skull shirt, Sid from Toy Story come to life, is standing just behind him and Remus, looking on distastefully from a good distance away. It takes Roman a moment to realize he’s biting down on the guy’s beanie, and gross. He spits it out at the same time as the nerd presses too close to where the trap had caught him.

“Son of a Witch!” He hisses. “A dragon witch, a fucking---”

“Oh, boo,” Remus says. “He’s alive.”

“He was not in any immediate danger of dying,” Space Case says firmly. “And isn’t he your brother?”

“Looks like someone is an only child,” Remus says. The person in black reaches out and snatches back his beanie, his entire face curling into some disgusted expression as they hold the part with Roman’s saliva away from themself.

“Wonderful,” they say in deadpan and stuff the beanie in their back pocket.

Roman blinks, struggling to sit up by himself. He scrubs his face trying to get rid of his tears, and buries that boiling humiliation being the center of attention like this. Of course, he has to be grievously injured for anyone to care about him, for anyone to take a moment to look at him, for anything--

Remus lets him go, stretching up and yawning like nothing about this is weird or strange or scary to him.

Part of Roman is reassured by that. Like, of course Remus isn’t terrified out of his mind; what is there to be scared of when he’s the most terrifying thing in a 100 mile radius? When he handcuffed himself to the doors of the city history museum to protest its demolishment even though the wrecking ball was right there, when he wore a mini skirt to school to protest the dress code even though he’d been beat up for less before, when he marched into the Governor’s office when he was refused a meeting about the rescinding of the pollution standards in the the county and laughed in the face of the armed guards that told him to leave.

Remus had an endless supply of guts and determination and Roman had wished for so long that his reckless bravery could be contained, controlled and banished, but now it kinda felt like Remus slipping a familiar jacket over Roman’s shoulders and telling him to relax.

Google.com-- Roman is seriously running out of names for them-- leans in and tears the new holes in Roman’s jeans further-- Roman grimaces at the thought of having to buy another pair to make up for this, but the nerd expertly uses the excess fabric to tie up his wound with a professional precision.

“Alright, Doc Oct,” Remus says while they work. “What is the diagnosis? Amputation? Do I need a body bag?”

“I just said that he was not in danger of dying,” they say, finishing the knot which only causes Roman to grunt a little bit. “And my name is Logan, if you must know. I am not a full medical doctor by any means, but I believe that he will recover fully; the trap broke skin and there will likely be a nasty amount of bruising deep in the muscle tissue, but he will recover in a few weeks of rest. It will probably be best to keep weight off your foot as much as possible.”

“See, drama queen?” Remus says to Roman, shoving his shoulder. “You’re fine.”

Roman gives him double middle fingers for his trouble and tries not to shake too hard with relief. He stares down at his leg, forcing a steady breath through his lungs and out his nose, and wonders with a dizzying amazement how his leg was not only in one piece but recoverable, after all the pain. He isn’t sure that it’s not just the placebo effect of someone saying that everything’s going to be okay, but he wiggles his toes and swears that the pain only wracks his limb moderately this time.

Even closed, the bear trap looked menacingly at them: Roman’s blood on the jaws that were curled into a ghoulish grin, just waiting for someone to get close enough to open and bite down on. He’s not sure how Remus and the Doctor Doolittle-- Logan-- managed to get it off him.

Logan turns and offers the sweater to the person in the skirt. “Ah, sorry, I’m afraid the blood has…”

Roman sucks in another breath at the sight of it: the bright splotchy blobs of red that bled through the pastel tye dye design that would likely never come out and eternally remain a reminder of how Roman put his foot directly in a bear trap like an idiot-- What would he have done if there was no one around? Died? His own stupidity had ruined such a nice piece of clothing and--

“It’s okay!” The angel says with a somewhat cartoonish voice. Roman blinks in surprise at the sweetness of it, tasting sugar even as the words hold over the air. He swears he can envision their I’s dotted with hearts; a soft and kind tone despite the fact that Roman had ruined their sweater. “I’m much more relieved he’s going to be okay!”

“Let’s not get too excited,” Doctor Doom says, causing Roman to stiffen and Remus to glance back curiously towards them. They’re turned away from the rest of the mismatched, miscellaneous group, looking into the trees with a gaze that makes Roman’s stomach roll over and not in any way that is even remotely good.

“What?”

They glance back at them with an expression something that Roman can only call shifty. Like a snake before it strikes, they’re poised on the balls of their feet, coiled with the power to move at a seconds decision. Untrustable, Undependable, Unkind-- and Roman squares his shoulders just to prove to himself that there isn’t actually a dagger point about to plunge into his back.

The person’s voice is silky smooth, but Roman can’t find it in himself to be jealous when the meaning of the next words hit. “I don’t suppose any of you remember just exactly how we came to be here, do you?”

The woods echo with a strange emptiness, like the trees themselves are holding their breaths. The silence is eerie-- Roman’s never been a forest this quiet. He’s never been anywhere this quiet. The hairs on the back of his neck raise up.

Logan and the shining, shimmering, lovely vision share a look and the former shrugs, occupying their hands with tying their sweater around their waist.

“It’s fuzzy,” they admit, thoughtfully. “I was leaving my dorm...and then…” They grimace, which is downright awful to witness: Roman doesn't think anyone deserves to look so uncomfortable, and certainly not a beauty like them. “...then I was here.”

Logan makes a sour face like he managed to misplace a decimal twenty seven steps back in his math equations. “I was uncharacteristically late to class, but I seem to have some form of amnesia surrounding the hours since then as well; It was just past two.”

Dr. Facilier-turned-teenager turns to Roman, their eyes asking a question they already know the answer to. And part of Roman wants to snarl at them, tell them to knock it off with the creepy aura and better-than-you-expression, explain to them exactly how they ended up all here together because there’s a logical, causal explanation.

But Remus is already laughing. “Oh come on! We were…. What were we doing again?” Remus freezes for a moment, some of the smile leaving his face. “Ro? Where were we…?”

Remus is dressed in another one of his ripped T-shirts, the Save the Turtles one that he wore to that protest a few months ago and when he volunteered to clean up beaches for the weekend. His sleeves are ripped off to show off the endangered Tiger tattoo on his shoulder up to his neck, and his jeans are the recycled ones that he bought second hand and begged Roman to repair rather than buy a new pair and “give his money to the capitalists that are trying to kill us all”.

In comparison, Roman is wearing his letterman jacket, with his name engraved on it that he got for being the announcer for the football team three years in a row. He’s wearing his announcer uniform too-- his hair is styled and his colors are coordinated to the white and red of their school, but Remus never comes to the football games anymore.

Or well, he’s not allowed to come to the games anymore after he stole the tuba from the band players and charged into the field during the game back in their freshman year.

Still he-- remembers… he thinks he remembers... They were in the car together, Remus needed to go somewhere and Roman had to drop him off and then speed off to the game, right? Remus' feet were up on his dashboard, mud flaking off into his freshly cleaned car, his air fresheners weren’t working, they were fighting over the radio, Remus’s hand reached out, latching on to the wheel and a scream--

“Fuck,” Remus says, rubbing the side of his head like Roman had slapped him. “Did you crash our car out here?”

“Me?” Roman says, incredulously.

“Yeah!” Remus says. “Did you get brain damage in the crash too? Are your brains going to fall out? You were the one driving, dumbass.”

“You grabbed my steering wheel!”

Remus snorts. “What? No, I didn’t?”

“Yes you did!”

“No way!”

“Yes way!”

“I wouldn’t get anything out of--”

“Boys!” Skeletar says, clapping to get their attention. “Less arguing, more answering the question.”

Remus looks at Roman and Roman glares right back because he did not crash the car. Between the two of them Remus was more likely to crash a car-- proven from how he totaled their green Ford Fiesta nine months ago and now even around the pounding headache he can still remember the feeling of surprise as Remus’s sporadic movement jumbled through his own, the yank that caused him to lose control, the-- the--

He doesn’t remember what happened after that, but he knows that then Roman had opened his eyes out here, taken a step forward, and nearly lost his foot to a bear trap.

“This is getting us nowhere,” Logan says. “Even if perhaps you happened to have a car around here, that does not explain how the rest of us came to be here. And likely from the events that you are describing the car is not in functional condition-- although I’m unsure how your persons would have come out of such a thing without a few visible injuries…”

“I didn’t crash the car,” Roman says firmly.

“Oh, like you didn’t step into a bear trap?” Remus asks innocently antagonistically.

“Why are there bear traps out here anyway!” Roman hisses. “Isn’t bear hunting or whatever illeg--”

Roman almost doesn’t hear it: it starts so softly and then it raises in pitch and suddenly it's ringing in the air like cracks in the fragile glass silence. He feels his breath disappear right out of his chest, his body tensing and everyone jerks towards the direction the sound comes from, like they’re expecting to see something out there.

Roman remembers hearing people yell at Remus to get out of the way of the wrecking ball, remembers hearing the teachers snap at him to go change into his gym clothes, remembers the armed guard spitting on Remus’s face, his own shouts turning to something just above an animalistic growl when he told Remus to knock it off, you’re making me look bad.

And still he doesn’t remember hearing anything sound so horrified. So desperate. So despondent.

It is the noise that causes Roman to break out in goosebumps, electricity dancing along his skin causing all of his hairs to raise, and himself to find it suddenly very hard to swallow. Roman is scrambling back before he can remember that his foot should not be moving and he bumps into Logan as he does.

It cuts off short and disappears like someone took a pair of scissors to the sound itself, snipping the scream for help away before it reaches the end.

And Roman doesn’t think anyone is breathing anymore. His heart pounds in his chest, waiting for the rest of it.

The trees cast shadows so deep and dark that not even the moonlight will touch them. Somehow without Roman noticing, the temperature had dropped until the air feels like frostbite licking his exposed skin. Roman doesn’t dare move another inch-- doesn’t like the idea of what might happen if he reminds the rest of the world that time is still passing.

“I…” the person in the skull T-shirt says, in a very low, strangled tone. “I don’t think bears are what's being hunted.”

“No,” Roman says, “No.”

“Oh god, I’m gonna be sick,” the person in the skirt says.

“No!” Roman says, throwing out his arms before his thoughts can catch up. “This is not--”

“We need to leave,” Logan says, face pale. “Now.”

“I think I saw a gate,” Remus said, no hint of his unhinged grin. He thumbs the direction that he and Kaa came from. “I pulled the switch but it didn’t open. I thought about climbing but there are no holds and barbed wire around the top--”

“It’s likely lacking a power source then,” Logan says steadily calm and Roman feels like he’s losing his whole goddamned mind. “Let me take a look at--”

“We are not being hunted right now!” Roman blurts out.

The others stare at him for a solid, endless second and Roman’s stomach threatens to crawl up his throat. He waits for them to agree with him, waits for them to laugh and call it a joke, waits for Remus to tell him he’s so easy to scare, come on Ro, did you really think there was a murderer in these woods? This is grade school level effort!

Roman gets the feeling that he’s going to be waiting a very long time.

“Guys,” Roman says, slightly more wobbly than he means it to, slightly more softer than he means it to, slightly more terrified than he means it to. “We aren’t being hunted for sport, right?”

Because-- Because he’s seen horror movies. And he remembers once how Remus poured a bag of popcorn over his head and said that if they were ever in that situation, he’d leave Roman to rot, maybe even toss him to the killer himself, laugh as Roman screamed and begged and cried.

He doesn’t look at his foot. He doesn’t look at his foot and think about how he can’t run. He doesn't look at his foot and realize that they’re going to leave him behind and no one will ever know what happened to him and no one will care--

Remus is suddenly right in front of him, offering a hand right into Romans face. Roman blinks back the burning tears on his cheeks and looks at the limb with a trembling lip.

“Come on,” Remus says. “You’re a little bitch when you ruin your mascara, Ro.”

And Roman tries to articulate the billions of insults he has in his brain, but all that comes out is a whimper as Remus latches on to his wrist and pulls him to his feet. He stumbles the moment that he tries to put weight on his foot, flickers of pain echoing in his brain although it's not nearly as bad as he was expecting. Remus pulls Roman over his shoulder with his injured leg raised between them and all of his weight on Remus’s shoulders.

“I’m not leaving you behind, dumbass,” Remus says.

((Why wouldn’t he?))

“We need to help them,” the person in the skirt, the good and just and wonderful person in a skirt, says suddenly.

“I don’t think they need our help,” Hans Gruber-minus-the-German-accent says. “In fact, I don’t think they need anything, anymore.”

“How could you say that?!”

“Easily,” they respond, shortly.

The person in the skirt is shaking, Roman realizes. They’re shaking and hugging themself and they look slightly green in the face.

“I came from over there,” they say from behind trembling hands. “I-- I didn’t hear anyone else over there but they must have been there and I-- I can’t--”

“They’re dead,” Dr. Jerkyll says clinically, like a surgeon with a knife. “Us rushing towards that area is only going to get us attacked next. And I don’t know about you, but I don’t want to die, thank you very much.”

“We can’t leave them!” The other argues.

The person in the skull shirt steps towards the other and grabs their upper arm to spin them back to the direction the scream came from. Then with a derisive and terrible sneer, they shove. The cutie in the skirt stumbles forward, nearly face planting on the uneven ground.

“Then you go help them,” they say, with streaks of faint and awful moonlight painting them in a pale halo. They wave back to Logan, Remus and Roman, and Roman feels very much like he doesn’t want to be included in this group all of a sudden. “Don’t drag the rest of us into it.”

“Hey, don’t be a dick!” Roman says, stepping forward and hissing when he places a slight weight on his foot. “What if it were you out there?”

They scoff. “Me? I would never let myself get caught by a psycho murderer in the woods. But if I did, the last thing I would want is my valiant savior to come charging to my rescue and then get slaughtered right beside me like an idiot!”

“I’ll keep that in mind, you slimy snake,” Roman says.

“I bet you will, Hiccup,” they shoot back. “The gate is this way. Try not to step in another bear trap, won’t you?”

“Damn!” Remus says, “You’re a bitch! What’s your opinion on plastic in the sea?”

Roman slaps Remus’s arm and gives him a glare because really? Right now? They’re in the woods, someone just screamed and probably got murdered, they don’t know how to get out, Roman’s injured, and Remus is doing one of his weird flirting attempts.

Great.

The person in the skull shirt at least looks slightly thrown by the question, narrowing their eyes and shaking their head as they turn away as if they can brush off the rest of the group. “The sea turtles are dying.” They say blandly, without a hint of actual emotion. “Oh no. Next time I see one I will give my condolences about it’s mother.”

Remus’s mouth pops open for a retort that Roman knows is going to be bad, but before he can get the words out, there’s a loud sound of cracking branches from behind them. Remus drags Roman back from the area, planting himself in front of Roman like some kind of human shield and Roman wobbles, without anything to put his injured leg on.

“Jesus Christ!” A new voice screams, as they trip over a thicket and fall into the clearing.

They move like a blur; barely more than a shadow with the ungodly amount of black they’re wearing. Roman can make out a pale face, dark bangs and terrified eyes, before the scramble back in the ground leaving… leaving smears of deep red on the ground in front of them. Their flashlight goes flying off to Logan’s feet, but they don’t seem to care as much about that as moving away from whatever is behind them.

The air tastes like metal, like copper, and Roman swears the world sways under him. His heartbeat blares in his ears almost louder than the newcomer’s hysterical sobs.

There’s a thud. And another.

And the trees themselves seem to shake and draw from the shadow that takes form. It peels away from the others, massive, hulking and distorted in all the wrong ways: at some point it must have been human, Roman thinks hysterically. It has two legs and two arms and a torso and a head, but it's elongated towering over even Logan at his ridiculous height. Its skin is covered in soot and dirt, layers upon layers to the point where Roman almost thought that it was wearing some kind of leather armor. It has rubber overalls on, strapped...strapped to its body with metal hooks that catch the thin moonlight peeking out of its bulging bare shoulders in a way that looks…looks self mutilated. The patchy ugly skin is healed around the metal, molded to it, absorbing it. In one hand is a cleaver, cobbled together from various metals with an unfinished touch and dripping scarlet all the way down the handle to its massive hands. Roman thinks that with one hand it could easily crush one of their skulls.

But worse than that, than the blood, than the stench coming from the thing, than the bloodlust that's echoing out of it: worse than all that is the mask welded to its face. A pale white skin that nearly glows in the darkness, framed with jagged sharp edges of bladed teeth in a terror inducing smile. Soulless orbs exist where eyes might have once been: now there are empty voids without a human behind them.

In a slow, almost robotic motion, it raises the cleaver in its hand. Blood rolls down the handle onto it’s hand and Roman watches the bulb of red drip down into the grass right between the newcomer’s sneakers.

Oh, Roman thinks suddenly very clearly without any room for a single doubt, This is what death looks like.

“NO!” The person in the skirt screams and suddenly they shove forward and throw themselves in front of the swing of the cleaver. Roman isn’t sure who screams louder at that: him, the person in the skirt, or the person on the ground bleeding out.

His brain is on fire, every atom in him is screaming so loud that he can’t hear his thoughts. His own breath flees his lungs with abandon that Roman’s brain somehow hadn’t gotten because instead of running away he’s running towards the monster. His blood boils in his veins and he pushes through Remus with the sort of reckless abandonment of sanity he never would have thought he’d ever make.

His vision locks onto the kid on the ground and his fingers latch on their left shoulder and he hauls them back.

The air next to his ear whistles as the cleaver misses them by centimeters and the person in the skirt screams as they fall to the side, and specks of something wet and warm and sticky flings through the air like its a water fountain; Roman feels it splatter across his face and his brain heart thuds in his chest.

Remus appears on his other side, grabbing Roman’s hostage by their other arm and they both pull them to their feet, ignoring the way they scream in pain. Their torso drips ruby into the dead grass at their feet and Roman-- Roman--

The hulking monster in front of them gives his cleaver a shake and drags it over its own arm to wipe away the blood, like it's nothing more than a hindrance. It turns its entire body towards the person in the skirt, the gorgeous selfless angel of a person that Roman hasn’t gotten the name of-- of someone he isn't going to get the same of because the abomination raises the cleaver again.

Roman screams because he does not want to watch someone die, please he doesn’t want to be in this nightmare anymore, wake up wake up wakeup--

There’s a brilliant white light that explodes at the last second. Roman himself jerks away from it, but that’s nothing compared to the inhuman howl that the creature makes as it stumbles back to the edge of the forest, covering its beady eyes with its massive hands.

Logan flicks the flashlight off and grabs the person in the skirt by their uninjured arm and looks back at them only briefly with an air of finality.

“RUN!” He says.

And Roman does.

#dbd au #sanders sides #roman sanders #remus sanders #logan sanders #Janus sanders #patton sanders #virgil sanders #tw: violence #dead by daylight #Roman is incredibly unlucky #I ran out of nicknames #But heyyyy Virgil's alive!#isn't that great guys? :D #I am trying horror for the first time

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emachinescat · 3 years

Text

Wind + Water - Tree in the Road

A MacGyver Fan-Fiction

by @emachinescat

@febuwhump day 12 / alt. 5 - hostage situation

Summary: AU of 2x21. The bank robbers make their escape with Mac, but this time there isn’t a tree in the road to slow them down. The rest of the team arrive at the marina just in time to see the robbers procuring a boat - and they have every intention of taking their hostage with them.

Characters: Mac, Jack, Riley, Bozer, Matty, the robbers from 2x21 (apparently their names are Booth, Pike, Dean and Ash)

Words: 4,129

Note: The Spanish is a mixture of my own adventure learning the language (I’m getting there) and a more advanced translator than Google. Hopefully there aren’t any mistakes, if so - I apologize to any Spanish speakers.

Keep reading here, or on AO3!

If you enjoy, please consider liking, commenting, or re-blogging, and you can follow me for more content like this! :)

“So, for the record, this wasn’t part of the deal,” Angus MacGyver informed his captors testily as he carefully steered the stolen Chevrolet down the narrow, debris strewn backroad toward San Juan Marina and Boat Rentals. Even though his eyes were on the road, he kept the gun pointed at him in his peripheral vision. He felt the eyes of the four bank robbers on him, so he continued, very aware that no appeal to logic or conscience that he made at this point would have any effect, largely because these men had depleted stores of both. Plus, they were desperate. “I said I’d get you out with the money if you left all the hostages behind,” he continued, then added pointedly, “All including me.”

One of the three robbers in the backseat, Pike, leaned forward to give their hostage a hearty slap on the back, which sent waves of agony shooting through his battered body. Mac’s sides, stomach, and back felt every kick and weighted punch, and his mouth tasted like blood. “Guess you shoulda been more specific,” he taunted, and Mac glanced back long enough to see the amusement on the man’s face.

“Honestly,” said the leader – his followers had called him Booth – “After giving us a glimpse of what you’re capable of, you really think we’d just let you go?” His tone made it clear that it wouldn’t have mattered if Mac had drawn out and made them sign an extensive contract expressly stating that he was to be left behind with the other hostages, nothing about his predicament would have changed. He’d gotten them out of a seemingly impossible situation, he’d made himself a valuable asset, and if there was one thing Mac understood about desperate people, it was that once they had something they saw as an advantage, they would never let it go.

The realization left a distinctly sour feeling in Mac’s stomach. He’d been seen and used as a tool before – in the army, he was a bomb defuser; for Phoenix, he was a kind of real-life troubleshooter. But even in the army, he’d still been a person whose life mattered. And now, he knew he was valued for so much more than just his skill set by his friends.

Here, though, with these four men who looked at him with a kind of contemptuous greed in their eyes, he was nothing but a tool, something to be used to their advantage, over and over, until his usefulness had run out, and then he would be discarded like a broken drill bit. To Booth, Pike, and the others, Mac was less than human, and it made him feel dirty and used and caused his chest to tighten anxiously despite his cool demeanor. He knew he had to find a way to get away, and soon. Otherwise, one of two equally unfortunate things was going to happen to him: Either he would be used to bargain their way off the island and then, as soon as they were safely away, he’d be shot and tossed overboard, or they would decide to keep and use him, and his life would become a living hell. Neither option was a possibility that Mac was willing to entertain, so he would keep his eyes out for the first chance of escape.

Noting once again the scattering of wreckage in and lining the road, Mac found himself hoping for a large piece of debris – perhaps a fallen tree or power line – would end up in their path. If they ended up having to get out of the car for any reason, that might give him the chance to plan an escape. Until then, with the five of them in such close quarters, with all but Mac armed, it was too risky to try anything. He’d wait for his opportunity, and then make his move.

***

Mac’s opportunity for escape never came, and as he reluctantly directed the vehicle into the marina, the knot it his stomach had imploded into a cavernous pit. Real tendrils of fear radiated through him, and a furious sense of injustice made his knuckles white and his fingers cramp from the grip he maintained on the steering wheel. Normally when he was out in the field and in a risky situation, he’d end up finding what he needed to make an escape or at the very least to put a significant hitch in the bad guy’s plan. It was something he’d come to take for granted, he realized, this bit of luck, that he always had something to work with. This time, he hadn’t been asking for much – just a piece of debris, a block in the road, on an island ravaged by a natural disaster! Something should have stood in their way. The statistical probability of the road being blocked at some point in the twenty-minute drive – especially considering the situation in Puerto Rico – was incredibly high. He’d counted on that blockage.

And while there had been a couple of branches scattered in their path, none were large enough to hold them up for long at all, and at no point had Mac been allowed out of the car. In the back of his mind, he remembered what Matty had said to him when she had first taken over. She didn’t want to be there when Mac’s luck ran out. He’d been quick to assure her that it wasn’t luck, that he was good at what he did, but now he had his doubts. If he wasn’t given anything to work with at all, how was he supposed to do what he was so good at?

Still, Angus MacGyver had never been one to give up, and he continued to keep his eyes peeled for anything at all he might be able to use to his advantage. Even if he couldn’t escape here and now, he would find a way to survive and get back to his friends. He always did.

“Stop here.”

Mac did as he was told, putting the car in park and waiting for further instructions. The gun was still trained on him, and he knew that none of his other captors would hesitate to put a bullet in him from behind if he made one move they didn’t like. “Dean, grab the kid,” Booth snapped, and the youngest of the robbers, the one who had been gearing up to kill all of the hostages and who couldn’t be any older than Mac himself, got out of the car, went around to Mac’s door, pulled the hostage out of the seat and shoved him forward. Mac forced himself not to fight back, because Dean’s gun was now pressed into the small of his back, and his voice was deadly as he ordered, “Move.”

The marina was fairly deserted, which would have been odd any other time, but it was midday and most people were either already out on the water or further inland, helping with cleanup and rebuilding. The only person in sight was the young woman working boat rentals. She had an open, kind face with eyes that had seen their fair share of suffering – it was a look Mac had seen in Carlos’s more vulnerable moments, and in the eyes of everyone he’d met while on the island.

“Hola,” she greeted, a bit flustered at the new arrivals. “¿Te puedo ayudar?” Mac thought that she probably didn’t see a lot of business nowadays. Tourists were the ones who rented boats more often than not – the locals usually had their own – and tourism had plummeted since the hurricane. Mac noticed that the bank robbers had hidden their weapons, other than the one at Mac’s back, and to the girl it must have looked like Mac and Dean were just walking close together, side by side. Maybe she thought they were a couple. Mac made sure his face was neutral, not wanting to give anything away and put this poor girl in danger. If only the marina had been deserted, with no one else in the crosshairs!

“Do I look like I speak Spanish?” Booth snapped impatiently.

The girl blinked, eyes wide, taken aback by the rudeness. “I – I’m sorry,” she stammered in heavily accented English. Mac’s heart went out to her even as he felt his revulsion for his captors grow. It literally would have expended the same amount of energy to treat the girl with an ounce of respect. These men were assholes just because they could be.

“We need a boat,” Booth ordered briskly. “Now.”

“Bien – ah, okay.” She looked scared that her accidental slip was going to get her yelled at again. “Our skippers are not on site at the moment, and most of our boats are being repaired. We do have one –”

“We’ll take it,” Booth growled, and the girl flinched back at the harshness of his tone. Tears forming in her eyes, she glanced around briefly at the other men in the party, her eyes landing on Mac last. He offered her a sympathetic half-smile, knowing that the girl – Mia, her name tag said – was probably having her worst day on the job yet. At least she didn’t know the true colors of the difficult customers she was dealing with.

As if worried Mac was trying to tip Mia off, Dean tightened his grip on Mac’s arm and rammed the barrel of the gun painfully into his back. Mac didn’t react other than to break eye contact with their hostess, who abruptly got back to her task. “Do you have a boating license that I can see?” Her dark eyes plainly showed she was afraid of the answer – afraid of what would happen if they did not have the proper documentation and she had to tell them no.

“I don’t have a damn license,” Booth answered, impatience rising with his voice.

“Lo siento – I’m sorry, you can’t rent a boat without a skipper if you don’t have a license.” At the fury on her tormentors’ faces, her eyes darted desperately to Mac, as if she had sensed he wasn’t like the others and would step out and ask his friends to give it a rest. Not wanting to risk her life, Mac felt guilt rise in him as he pointedly avoided her gaze. Her voice thick with emotion, she regrouped and offered, “But I can call and have someone here within the hour to take you out.”

Booth lost his temper completely. Slamming his fist down on the counter, he leaned over the cowering girl and hissed in a deadly tone that brooked no argument, “You will get us a boat now.” Mia stood frozen in shock, and Booth glanced back over his shoulder at his three men and their hostage. Collectively, they came to a silent agreement – obviously, the subtle approach wasn’t working, and they were running out of time. With deft movement, so seamless it could have been rehearsed, Dean let go of Mac’s arm and shoved him into Booth, who twisted his greedy, filthy hand in Mac’s hair for the second time that day. Mac grunted in pain as his head was yanked back and stilled his instinctive struggling as the sun-warmed barrel of Booth’s gun found the left carotid artery in Mac’s neck. “If you don’t,” Booth added grimly, “I’m going to kill him right before your eyes.”

Mia’s eyes darted to Mac’s once more and he saw the barely controlled terror just beneath the surface. She hesitated, and the gun jabbed deeper into Mac’s neck as the safety clicked off, and Mac fought the urge to squeeze his eyes shut as his heart jumped into overdrive. “You’ll be scrubbing his blood off this dock for the next year,” Booth promised, “and you’ll never get it off your pretty little hands.”

Mac thought for a terrifying moment that Mia was going to pass out or break down, as she swayed slightly on the spot, but then she steeled herself, an inner strength that Mac was proud to see flowing into her. She straightened her spine, offered a small, scared smile that was probably meant to be reassuring at Mac, and nodded curtly. “Okay,” she said in a thin voice, and it barely shook, though her hand did as she reached for a set of keys hanging on the wall behind her. “Just… don’t hurt him, please.”

As she slowly moved away from the wooden counter and motioned for the men to follow her along the dock to their new vessel, Booth yanked Mac’s head back fiercely and whispered, “I knew you would come in handy in some way,” and then shoved Mac forward, finally releasing his hair – Mac’s scalp ached and his neck had already developed a painful stiffness from being twisted back in such an uncomfortable position. The gun moved to the back of Mac’s head. The safety remained off.

Everything moved far too quickly after that. It seemed that no time had passed until Mac was being forced onto the deck of a small craft barely big enough for the five of them. Mac graciously offered to stay behind, and received a crack to the back of the head with the pistol butt in response. At some point, one of the robbers – Ash, Mac thought his name was – had stepped in and tied Mac’s hands behind his back with sturdy nautical rope. Mac hadn’t had a single opportunity to attempt escape throughout the whole process, as not only was Booth’s gun still at the base of his neck, but Pike’s own weapon was on the helpless Mia who stood on the dock, tears streaming down her face as she watched the men prepare to leave with their hostage. Mac knew that if he even thought about doing something stupid, she would be killed without a second thought.

And then many things happened at once – a battered orange car swerved into the parking lot, the sound of screaming sirens not far behind. Mac couldn’t help but grin when he saw who jumped out: his team, Riley, Bozer, and Jack – who had death in his eyes. Mac had seen that look many times before. Someone had threatened his partner. Mac didn’t envy Booth and his goons once Jack Wyatt Dalton got his hands on them.

Jack already had his own gun drawn as he raced onto the dock. His boots thunked hollowly against the boards as he sprinted for the boat, keen sights already on the bastard who had his paws on his kid.

But Booth had all the power here, with Mac in his clutches, and he knew it. And with the innocent civilian being held at gunpoint, he’d doubly covered his ass. Mac’s hope at seeing his team faltered when he realized that Jack’s being here really didn’t change a thing. It would just make this so much worse, because Jack would be forced to watch as Mac was taken, and when he could finally chase after them, it would probably be too late. As if to solidify this knowledge, Mac felt Booth’s hand twine in his hair, again – what was it with this guy and Mac’s hair, anyway? – and the gun was back beneath his jaw, Mac could feel the artery rapidly pulsing against the unyielding metal.

“You make one more step, and Boy Wonder here dies,” Booth shouted right in Mac’s ear. Mac locked eyes with Jack, who stuttered obediently to a stop, Riley and Bozer following suit. Even now, Mac knew that his partner was desperately searching for any opening, any shot he could take to save his friend.

“I’d put that gun down, if I were you,” Ash called out.

Jack glared at him, unrelenting. “Who invited Papa Smurf to the party?” he joked, but Mac clearly saw the anxiety in every line on his face.

A shot rang out. Mia screamed. A smoking hole had appeared inches from her feet: The bullet had buried itself into the planks. “He said,” Booth repeated, “put down your gun.” He punctuated his words with a brutal yank of Mac’s hair. “Next time, I put a bullet in your friend. No more warnings.”

Loathing poured off of Jack in waves, but he did as he was told and lowered the weapon, though he didn’t put it down. The sirens drew nearer, and Mac knew his captors were going to have to make their move before the police arrived, or things would get even messier. “Ash, start the damn boat,” Booth ordered.

The man did as he was told, inserting the key, and the engine spluttered, coughed, and fell silent. He tried again. Nothing.

“What the hell, man?” Dean barked, an edge of panic creeping into his voice.

“I’m trying!” Ash shot back, making another attempt to start the motor.

For a split second, Mac felt Booth twist behind him, trying to get a look at what was going on, and in that moment, Pike was distracted as well. Just one look away from their hostages was all that Mac and Jack needed – maybe the universe was looking out for them, after all. While Booth was distracted, both his grip on Mac and on the gun momentarily slackened, and Mac inched over and made himself as small as possible to give Jack a better shot at the man behind him. The gun was far too close to his face for Mac to lash out himself; now was a time to stand aside and let Jack do what he did best.

In the span of five seconds, Jack brought his gun back up and shot both Pike and Booth in quick succession. He hit Pike first in the gun hand, and the man toppled over the side of the boat, howling in agony. Booth’s bullet too had been perfectly timed and aimed – it hit him in the side of the head as he turned back around to deal with his hostage. He dropped, the gun clattering from his hand, dead before he hit the ground. It had been a tight shot, and quite the gamble considering the gun that had still been at Mac’s throat, but Jack had timed it perfectly, and Mac never doubted him once.

***

The next half hour was a blur of police sirens – “‘Bout time you got here,” Jack griped testily – painful but welcome hugs from his friends, and a collective promise of painkillers, a four-way lecture, a hasty debrief, and much-needed rest, in that exact order, on their flight to their next op.

Jack had been livid, insisting that Mac needed more than on-the-go treatment, but Matty was firm – this op couldn’t wait. Her fierce eyes did soften when she got a good look at the state that her agent was in, though, and assured him that he was getting a thorough check by medical the second they got home. Until then, she ordered, with no room for argument, he was to rest and recuperate, and so help her God, if he purposefully threw himself into this kind of mess again.... She didn’t actually finish her threat, which made it all the scarier, and Mac had promised to be good on the next mission. (Nobody really believed him, though.)

Secretly, though, he was glad that he would get a chance to rest on the flight, because every single bruise, cut, ache, and pain called out, vying for his attention. A cursory check by Jack and a frazzled EMT revealed that though no ribs were broken, he had severe bruising along his back, sides, and torso. Booth had chipped a tooth when he’d kicked Mac in the mouth, and Mac did not look forward to spending some quality time with the dentist when he got home. And there was a nasty, bloody welt on the back of his head from where he’d been pistol-whipped.

Added to that, his entire body, from his scalp to the tips of his toes ached with a bone-deep weariness that came from the physical abuse and stress of his time as a hostage. As Jack had reminded him on more than one occasion when Mac had tried to brush similar experiences off, just because it wasn’t his first rodeo, it didn’t make it any less traumatic for his mind or his body – he was still human, after all. Now, Mac found himself reluctantly agreeing – emotionally, mentally, and physically, he felt in that moment every single thing that had been done to him from the second he’d snuck into that bank.

As usual, though, Mac filed away everything he was feeling to deal with – or even more appealingly, to not deal with – later.

While Matty finalized the details of their flight, Mac tied up a few loose ends of his own. First, he called Carlos and spoke to him for a few moments, reassuring his friend that he was really okay and getting the same reassurances in return. Mac wanted to see Carlos and his family one more time before they took off, but Carlos was just now being released from the hospital, and the Phoenix team was on a very tight schedule. He did promise to come back and visit soon, and was able to reveal the exciting news that Matty was sending another team in their place, to continue to help with rebuilding.

Next, Mac made his way over to Mia, who was sitting on the edge of an ambulance, her sandaled feet dangling off the side and a bottle of water cradled in her hands. “Hola,” Mac greeted, and she offered him a small smile. Mac realized that she was even younger than he’d thought – she couldn’t be more than eighteen or nineteen years old. “I’m, uh, really sorry about everything,” he stammered, feeling that his words were thoroughly inadequate.

“You have nothing to apologize for!” she exclaimed, dark eyebrows furrowing over kind hazel eyes.

Mac didn’t agree – as always, that incessant feeling that he could have done more reared its ugly head – but he changed the subject anyway, because Riley and Bozer were approaching, and he knew his time was running short. “Quiero darte las gracias.” It was important to him that he thanked her in her own language, after the way Booth had treated it. She deserved better.

She tilted her head, dark brown ponytail swinging with the motion, but a soft smile touched her lips at his fluent but accented Spanish. “¿Para qué?”

Unable to call the exact words to mind in Spanish, courtesy, he knew, of the light concussion he almost certainly had, he switched back to English apologetically, but Mia didn’t seem to mind at all. “That was a risky play,” he admitted, “giving them the keys to a boat that didn’t work. But it was brilliant – and it bought my friend enough time to take control of the situation. Great job thinking ahead. You saved my life.”

A brilliant blush colored her cheeks at Mac’s praise.

***

Twenty minutes and a couple of painkillers later, Mac found himself curled up in his seat on the Phoenix jet waiting for the inevitable lecture to start. He know it had been a stupid and dangerous risk, sneaking into the bank and making himself a hostage. But he knew that his actions had saved lives, and he would make the same choice if anything like it happened again.

Jack dropped down into the seat beside him. “You look like hell, brother,” he observed. Jack Dalton didn’t sugar coat anything.

“Yeah, well,” Mac admitted, too tired to put up his normal unaffected front. “Feel like it too.”

The lines around Jack’s eyes deepened. “The kids are already settling in for the flight,” he said. “Get some sleep?”

“I thought you guys had a lecture all primed and ready,” Mac muttered, already feeling his eyelids dragging themselves down. He was exhausted, from everything he’d been through, the pain, and the drugs.

“Aaah,” Jack waved his hand dismissively. “What’s the point of lecturin’ you if you’re too strung out to actually hear what we’re trying to drill into that big brain of yours?”

Mac quirked a half-smile. “Or you could just skip the lecture all together. You know that you would’ve done the exact same thing in my shoes.”

Jack shrugged. “Maybe, but tryin’ to get you to look after yourself has become a kind of bonding thing for the rest of us. And it’s fun seeing you squirm.”

Mac groaned. “You know I never listen.”

A long-suffering sigh. “And that’s why my hair’s going gray, hoss.”

Letting his eyes fall shut, Mac couldn’t help but squeeze in one last, murmured jab. “No, it’s definitely an age thing.”

Mac didn’t hear Jack’s indigent retort, or the quiet cackling of Riley and Bozer from the seats behind.

He was already asleep.

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growntolovesecrecyfic · 3 years

Text

Grown to Love Secrecy - Chapter Two (Petekey)

Can be read here.

Summary: Mikey Way hates Oscar Wilde but Pete Wentz convinces him to read The Picture of Dorian Gray.

Chapter Two: Walking on Fire

Pete spent a lot of summers in cramped vans, and hotel rooms with sweaty dudes and expensive musical instruments and this summer is no different. The slight homoerotic tension between Pete and almost every dude he’s ever met is strong, not that Pete or any of his friends minded.

They all kiss sometimes and most of the time the press pays not mind as it’s not that big of a deal and other times tabloids have him and his friend kissing on the front cover everywhere with the F-slur painted across in bright red telling the world, “Hey, look! Pete Wentz kisses dudes!”

The tabloids have a lot to say and quite frankly, he doesn’t care anymore. All press is good press, right?

Pete spits into the sink of the Walmart bathroom that other bands from Warped have occupied that morning. Today was Patrick’s day on the bus bathroom.

He rinsed his mouth and stepped aside, letting Andy take the sink for his own routine. He walks over to the wall where Joe is and leans against it. The eggshell-colored wall was cooled against his hot skin after being out in the Dallas heat.

“Hey, man.” Joe greeted Pete to which he responded with a nod, “so any plans for after our set?” Pete thought for a moment, remembering that he did in fact have plans with Mikey tonight. Not that anybody in the band needed to know that.

“No, not that I know of. You?” Pete asked while fiddling with the drawstrings of his clandestine pajama pants. Joe shrugged before responding, “Just regular life on the Warped, you know?”

Pete nods and they exchange some more small talk and soon enough, Andy joins them, and they’re ready to take on Warped.

As they exit the Walmart, they pass families whose kids stare in adoration and parents stare in disgust. It’s not that uncommon for people to recognize them. Fall Out Boy was getting big fast and it did stress them out as they felt the pressures from their record label to push out a new album as soon as possible to keep the momentum going. Warped is their salvation for that summer. No record label, you’re constantly busy doing the thing you love and sometimes you’re in bumfuck nowhere and nobody knows who you are, those are the best kind of places.

After walking out into the parking lot, the trio realize that they’ll need to find some place to eat before their set that morning. They have three hours to kill before practice and without a car and Patrick still on the bus, it is their civic duty to fuel up now and get Patrick something he’ll like, like oatmeal or something.

And later that morning when Pete met a fan who was uncontrollably crying and threw up on his shoes, he could tell that it was going to be a painfully long day.

And he was right. After their set, they met with some fans and he had some run ins with some reporter asking about Jeanae or whatever her name was. He chooses to forget those years in his life. He ignores her texts, fake pregnancy positives and whatever sexual favor she asks of him that day. It’s been pissing him off that entire day and he wanted to let off steam. The only positive that came from that day was Patrick buying him some new underwear for a late birthday gift and his new fuckbuddy, Mikey Way. He promised to meet with him tonight and Mikey told him that the bus was empty. Pete feels that he’ll finally cop a feel tonight.

Laughter and The Smiths fills the My Chemical Romance bus however the guys were nowhere to be found except for a pair of boys at the back of the bus on the floor, “Rusty? Really?” Mikey asked and Pete just responded with grin and nodded enthusiastically.

Mikey shook his head, “Nuh-uh, I don’t believe it one bit. You don’t even look like a Rusty!” Mikey accused.

“Dude trust me! I would have been Rusty Wentz!” Pete cringed a bit at the thought but turned into a fit of laughter after seeing Mikey clutch his stomach and roll over on his side, hand covering his mouth trying to contain his laughter.

After a few minutes, the laughter finally died down. Mikey removing his glasses to wipe his eyes and Pete coughed as he tried to catch his breath before something caught his eye.

“What’s that, Mikeyway?” Pete asked. He points at an object to show to Mikey where it is.

Mikey turns to see where Pete was point at, “Oh, that’s some book that Gerard has been trying to get me to read but never did.” He answers as he gets up and gets it from his bunk. He sits on his bed and goes through the pages, “I have beef with Oscar Wilde.”

Pete chortles at Mikey’s last statement as he sits on the bed next to him, “Yeah? I love him. He’s one of my favorite writers.”

Mikey looks up at older man, furrowing his brows and slowly handing him the book, “Really? Never thought you were the type.”

“To what? Read?” Pete joked.

Mikey was quick to defend himself, “No! I never thought you were into this type of literature. It’s darker and like a horror, I guess? I think that’s why Gerard likes it so much.” He moves closer to Pete, hesitant to lay his head on his shoulder but swallows his doubts and gently place his cheek against his right shoulder.

Pete smiled, eyes moving from the book and on Mikey now, “Do you mind if I read this to you? Maybe I can learn you a thing or two.” His grin was wider now, and Mikey couldn’t help but smile back at him. He loves this. He loves that it’s them. Them alone. And with him.

“Sure. Maybe you can teach me how to love Oscar Wilde at the end of this?” Mikey asks. Pete only laughs, “I can’t teach you to that. It’s up to you if you want to love him. You chose to hate him so why not choose to love him?” Pete asked, his eyes back on the book.

“Well, we can’t choose who we love now, can we?” Mikey asked. It was more of a question for himself rather than Pete. He’s had this struggle within himself for a long time. The first boy he’s ever kissed was his best friend in 8th grade and they haven’t talked since. He’s been quiet about their whole fight and why he came back home with a black eye (and broken heart).

Pete stilled at Mikey’s question then resumed to his reading. He turns to the preface, “Do you wanna start here?” Pete asks Mikey in a whisper. He nods and Pete continues, “The artist is the creator of beautiful things. To reveal art and conceal the artist is art's aim. The critic is he who can translate into another manner or a new material his impression of beautiful things.”

Mikey raises his head from Pete’s shoulder, raising his eyebrows, “Hm, wow. That’s kind of deep?” He readjusts himself, “Do you mind if I put my head on your lap?”

Pete smirks, “I mean… What do you plan on doing down there?”

Mikey didn’t get it immediately but lightly smacks Pete on the arm when he does, “Dude! No! I’m not that type of guy.” He exclaimed, his cheeks and nose turning pink. Pete laughs in response, rubbing his arm.

“I don’t believe that, Mikeyway. I’ve heard the rumors about you.” Pete shook his head and set the book down, placing a hand on Mikey’s thigh.

Mikey froze up a bit. What rumors? Why is his hand there? Why is he feeling so lightheaded? The warm knot in his stomach is forming slowly but surely. That can’t be good, right?

“Uhm, wh-what rumors?” Mikey asked. He’s genuinely confused, being behind Gerard’s shadow for most of his life he didn’t know that people cared enough about him to start rumors about him.

“Oh, you know.” he grinned at Mikey, moving closer to him. He put his other hand on Mikey’s other thigh, moving them both up slowly. Mikey’s breath hitched and Pete took this as a ‘yes’.

Mikey shook his head. He didn’t know.

“The ones about how you’re always willing to fuck after a show and your tight jeans no underwear combo,” Pete stops when his face was inches away from Mikey and whispers, “I just wanna know if it’s true.”

He leans in closer, capturing Mikey’s lips into his own. Mikey let out a small gasp in shock before Pete does so. He didn’t know what to do with himself. Yes, Pete and he kissed before but not like this. He couldn’t.

He moved his head away from Pete and pushed him off.

Pete was confused, Mikey never did that before. He looked at him and tried to read his face, but it was confusing him.

“Uh, did I do something wrong?”

Mikey’s heart was pounding so hard and fast, he didn’t really know what to say. He wanted to kiss Pete but he’s so confused. What rumors? Who’s saying those things? Nothing could leave his mouth. It was all different thoughts racing through his brain that day.

He shakes his head and brings Pete’s mouth back to his again.

10 notes · View notes

callboxkat · 4 years

Text

Infinitesimal (part 54)

Author’s note: This is a very, very long chapter! Don’t overthink why that is. Just enjoy. :)

Warnings: injury and illness, fear, claustrophobia, death mention, imprisonment, fear, fire mention

Word count: 7011

Infinitesimal Masterpost!

...

Reet! Reet! Reet! Reet!

Loan groaned, dragged unwillingly from sleep. He pressed his face further into his pillow even as his hand automatically snapped out to stop the alarm’s blaring. The room fell suddenly silent, leaving Logan alone with his obligation to rise for the day.

Logan peeled open his eyes and shoved back the blankets, shivering at their absence. His gaze drifted to the window, where he could see branches of frost dancing across the glass. The temperature must have dropped overnight, sooner than expected. That was unfortunate, especially since Logan had promised to help salt the sidewalks and parking lot where he worked this morning. The idea had been to get this done before the lot became one sheet of ice. It wasn’t actually even his job; but one of the two people whose job it normally was was taking some time off; and the other person, Ahmed, had bad knees. Logan had felt the need to step up. In Logan’s opinion, Ahmed probably shouldn’t have been doing this sort of work at all.

Logan sat up in bed, stretching and biting back a yawn. He slid his legs over the edge of the bed. The floor was cool against his bare feet.

Still clad in his pajamas, he padded out into the hall, where he paused to increase the temperature on the thermostat by a few degrees. If the apartment felt chilly to him, then the “mouse-men” were sure to be feeling the cold; and Roman was generally a fan of warmer temperatures as well.

With that done, Logan continued getting ready for work. He showered, brushed his teeth, and got dressed, all rather quickly. After that, he stopped by the living room to check on the “mouse-men” (he really did need to ask if there was another term they preferred to be called by—he doubted Roman’s “mouse-man” moniker was what they used to refer to themselves). He went to the doorway, one hand raised to knock, then paused. All three of their guests were lying down; still asleep, from the look of it. Each of them was bundled in blankets, he noticed, Patton and Virgil huddled together beside Emile’s bed. Logan hesitated, then lowered his hand and turned away. He’d just text Roman so that he would know to give them breakfast when he woke up, as well as to offer them additional blankets.

In the kitchen, since he was alone, he put together a simple, quick breakfast of coffee and a bowl of oatmeal, plain other than a dash of cinnamon. He downed both, cleaned the bowl, mug, and spoon, and set out.

…

“Thanks for doing this, kid. You didn’t have to.”

Logan straightened with a huff, his arms wrapped around the heavy bag of sidewalk salt he was clinging to. “I wanted to help. It’s no trouble.”

Ahmed, standing at his side, looked disbelieving. “It’s colder than my ex-wife’s heart out here, and you say it’s no trouble?”

Logan shrugged as best he could as they walked from the supply closet to the front sidewalk. “I was referring more specifically to the time commitment.”

“Well. Trouble or not, I appreciate it.”

“Don’t worry about it. It’s not your fault Marie’s away.”

Ahmed sighed, watching as Logan deposited the bag on the ground beside the other one. He handed Logan one of the plastic cups he used to scoop up the salt, then bent to open the bags. “I just wish we’d gotten this done with before everything froze over.”

“We couldn’t have known. The forecast said it wouldn’t happen until tonight. I do suppose it would have been expedient to do this early, in case of this situation; but it’s too late now.”

“Ah, those blasted weathermen. You’d think with all those fancy do-dads they’ve got nowadays, they could get one weather broadcast right.”

“Well, it all comes down to probability. The probability was higher that this wouldn’t happen today. Unfortunately that didn’t translate into reality.”

“Probability,” Ahmed snorted.

…

Logan took a methodical approach to the work. He did his best to spread the salt as evenly as possible, both to maximize the area to be cleared of ice and to ration the supply of salt. They only had so much, and he knew they needed to make sure it lasted. Ahmed, who was working on the other half of the parking lot, glanced over occasionally, clearly wanting to check on how Logan was doing. Understandable, especially since if Logan did an inadequate job, it would be blamed on Ahmed.

“Hey, Logan,” the other man called when they were about half finished.

Logan paused and straightened, putting his gloved hands in his armpits to keep them warm. “Yes?”

“Try to put more of that stuff where people walk. Less where they don’t. It’ll get kicked around, anyway, and that’s where it’s more important to have less ice. The middle of someone’s car isn’t going to slip. Here, lemme show you what I mean.” Ahmed started over, moving slowly over the center of the lot, which they hadn’t gotten to yet. Logan took a moment to rub his hands together, tugging on his gloves to adjust how they covered his hands. “See, you want to—Woah!”

There was a loud thump, and Logan’s head snapped up in surprise.

Ahmed was on the ground.

Logan gasped and hurried over as fast as he dared, his boots threatening to slip on the ice and send him sprawling as well. That was the last thing they needed. “Ahmed, are you okay?”

The man lifted up one arm as if to wave him off. “Good—I’m good. Just knocked the… wind right out of me.”

Logan reached his side, already looking him over. “Can you stand?”

“Yeah.” He started to sit up, then grimaced. “Think I hurt my knees.”

“How badly?”

Ahmed rubbed at one, looking displeased. “Well, I’d probably know if it wasn’t an icebox out here. Numbs everything, you know.”

“Fair,” Logan conceded. “Let’s get you inside, and we can make sure you’re okay.”

It took some effort, but they got Ahmed back on his feet. The ice and Ahmed’s bad knees did not help the process. Ahmed put one arm around Logan’s shoulders, and he slowly helped the older man across the ice.

“I can finish the rest of the parking lot,” Logan said as they shuffled towards the building. “Don’t worry.”

Ahmed sighed, sounding reluctant but resigned. “Thank you.”

…

Roman woke up to soft music playing from the bedside table. He rolled over onto his back and stretched, sighing audibly. He opened his eyes and lay there for a moment, looking up at the off-white ceiling, before finally reaching for his phone and quieting the alarm.

Normally he would lie in bed awhile longer, checking Instagram and Twitter and such and generally wasting time; but that tradition had been more or less abandoned recently. Now that he and Logan had their little friends (well, he liked to think of the mouse-men as his friends, at least), he was more motivated to get up right away.

He was about to put his phone back on the table when he noticed a pair of unread texts from Logan. He took a second to clear his throat, then flicked the notification with his thumb. The messages had been sent just before he left home, judging by the timestamps.

That Nerd: They haven’t had breakfast yet. Please provide that and ask if they require extra blankets. It’s very cold today.

That Nerd: Also, be sure to wear a coat when you leave. The high today is 28F.

Roman sighed through his nose, annoyed at the cold temperatures, but also amused that Logan felt the need to clarify that he was using Fahrenheit. (Although, he supposed that insisting on using Celsius because most of the world did, despite no one else using it outside the scientific community in their country, was just the sort of thing that Logan might do. Not that he was going to mention that and give his nerd any ideas.)

With that thought, Roman tossed the phone back on the table and rolled out of bed. He got ready for the day, making his work uniform look as stylish as such a thing could. He put on some makeup to complete the look—Just a touch; nothing flashy. Besides, who would want to hide those freckles?

He double checked his look in the mirror, then grabbed a handful of the scrap fabric from his dwindling supply, and went to see the mouse-men.

They were already awake when he arrived, sitting together. They stopped talking and glanced over as Roman approached, but he knocked anyway.

“Hi,” he said, smiling brightly. “How are you three this fine morning?” He didn’t expect a response, so he just continued, “I’m going to get you guys breakfast in a sec, but I wanted to ask, do you need any more blankets? It’s pretty cold out today.”

They looked at each other. Patton shrugged. “We’re okay,” he piped up.

Roman hummed. “Well, just in case—I already have them with me, so I can just put them on the table. If you guys want them, they’ll be there. And if you don’t, that’s fine too,” he added, so that they hopefully didn’t feel obligated to take them.

The mouse-men watched while he approached and put the fabric scraps on the table, a short distance away. He took a couple of steps back.

“Any requests for breakfast?” he asked.

…

Ahmed ended up taking the rest of the day off. His knees were worse for wear, and he and Logan were pretty sure he’d have some bruises on his back the next day. Since the weather wasn’t going to get much better, they’d decided it was for the best. Their boss wouldn’t mind, either, as long as the most important parts of his work got done.

It could have been much worse. Ahmed would likely be sore in the coming days, but he hadn’t broken anything. He’d gotten lucky, if anyone who fell on the ice in a parking lot could be called lucky.

Logan finished the rest of the parking lot and the sidewalk by himself, taking great care with how he walked to avoid an encore of the earlier incident and trying to follow the advice Ahmed had given him about how to place the salt. He was perfectly content to do so, even with the cold and the wind that started to pick up as the sun rose higher in the sky. He was just glad Ahmed would be okay.

…

Work sucked.

Perhaps Roman could have come up with a more eloquent way to describe it; but, well… it was true. Work sucked. It just did. He missed his old manager, and he hated that he had to work at all. He was supposed to be on winter break, wasn’t he? It wasn’t much of a break if he had to work.

It didn’t help his mood that the new manager, Martin, seemed to dislike him. Despite Roman’s protestations, Martin put him outside, bringing in shopping carts. It was a job that might not have been so bad another time of year, but was now almost unenviable. When Roman informed the new manager that he was usually just on a cash register, not outside, the man had just shrugged and said, “Not today,” in a tone that invited no argument.

So, Roman had to work outside for most of the morning, corralling stray shopping carts and bringing them all back inside for ungrateful customers doing last-minute Christmas shopping to snatch with an entitled snap of “about time!” or a sarcastic “thank you”. Or, more often, no acknowledgement at all.

He wished he had brought a scarf too huddle into; but unfortunately, he only had his coat. Roman had thought the scarf was in his car, but he couldn’t find it. He must have left it at home. Perhaps he could have made sure he had it before he came to work; but in his defense, he had been expecting to be working on the cash register—like he did almost every other shift—not outside.

The cold air did no favors for his still-sensitive lungs. It made him cough, and agitated his asthma. He tried stalling each time he went inside, waiting until he needed to grab more carts; but the business of the season meant that he and the other unfortunate employees corralling carts couldn’t delay too long.

Roman took his break earlier than usual that day, hiding out in the break room with a cup of hot chocolate (he would be forever thankful to the coworker who brought in the packets that day; usually they just had cheap coffee and sometimes lemonade). He was a rather out of breath from all the work outside in the cold. Maybe after his break, he told himself, he could sneak off back to a register. Let someone else bring in the shopping carts.

No such luck.

When Roman came out of the break room, there Martin was, arms folded, looking annoyed. And Roman was sent back outside.

…

“You sure about this?” Virgil asked, not for the first time.

Emile laughed, only somewhat strained. “Yeah, V, I’m sure. It’s a little late to turn back, don’cha think?”

“No,” he defended, ducking his head. “It’s not too late until you get hurt. Again.”

They had just gotten Emile out of the box that served as his bed, with the intention of letting him walk around again while the humans were gone. Like before, he was leaning on Patton, Virgil just behind them and holding onto Emile’s splinted tail to keep it from dragging.

Emile fell silent for a second, then said, “I’ll be fine. Don’t worry.”

Virgil gave a disgruntled sound in response.

“I’m sure it’ll be okay, kiddo,” Patton offered. “Everyone’s being careful, aren’t we?”

Virgil shook his head. “Fine, fine. I’m outnumbered. Let’s get this over with.”

They started walking, going just as slowly as they had before. Virgil, using one of the new crutches Emile had given him, had to adjust how he normally walked, which only made him more anxious. The crutches were great, obviously, and let him have a larger range of motion. It was only their newness that added to his anxiety.

(He didn’t want to switch to his old ones, though, and risk making Emile think he didn’t appreciate the hard work his brother had put into such a thoughtful gift.)

They finished the second lap of the table while Virgil was still trapped in his own buzz of anxiety, the same number they had done the last time they had let Emile stretch his legs. When he realized they were back where they had started, Virgil felt some of the tension leave his frame.

“One more,” Emile said.

“What?” Virgil said, immediately tensing again.

“I can do another,” he insisted.

“Only if you’re sure,” Patton said, studying him.

“I don’t think we should risk it,” Virgil argued, frowning.

“Let’s do it,” Emile said, already taking another step. Virgil groaned, but he didn’t complain further.

They were about halfway through this third lap when Emile jerked to a stop.

“You okay?” Patton asked.

“What’s wrong?” Virgil demanded at the same time.

“Fine, just—dizzy, kinda,” Emile said. He squeezed his good eye shut for a second. Patton tightened his grip on him, looking uncertain.

“Okay, we’re done,” Virgil said, inching closer but not letting go of Emile’s tail. “Come on.”

They made to turn back towards Emile’s bed, and the injured little’s knees buckled. Patton squeaked and caught him. Virgil lunged forward, then abruptly stopped himself when it was clear Patton had him; and Virgil couldn’t do much without dropping his tail.

Patton murmured something to Emile. Emile jerkily nodded once, and Patton glanced back at Virgil before saying, “We’re okay. We’ll just take it one step at a time.”

With difficulty, the three littles struggled towards the box that served as Emile’s bed. Patton bore most of Emile’s weight. His legs threatened to give again along the way, making Virgil’s heartrate skyrocket; but they made it back without further incident. The moment when they finally lowered Emile gently back inside couldn’t have come soon enough.

“Sorry,” Emile gasped, letting his head rest against the blankets. “I thought I could do it.”

Virgil shook his head.

“No harm done, right?” Patton said, looking between them.

“There could have been,” Virgil pointed out. “He could have passed out, or fallen and hurt himself even worse—”

“But he didn’t,” Patton argued. “It’s okay. Virge, he’s fine.”

Virgil glared off to one side, at the table.

“Come on, kiddo. Let’s let him rest. It’s okay.”

Virgil put his face in one hand, but he nodded, and let Patton pull him away to sit at Emile’s side, rather than practically on top of him.

“Sorry,” Emile repeated, sounding exhausted.

“It’s fine,” Virgil said into his hand. “Just—don’t do that to me again.”

…

Roman was very glad to finally be home. He just wanted to curl up in bed with a mug of tea and a good movie on his phone. And maybe some candy. He should see if they had any in the cabinet.

As he walked up to the building, he waved to the landlord, who was putting salt on the sidewalk leading up to the door. There had already been salt laid down that morning, but Joan was generally very thorough with that sort of thing. Joan paused to wave back.

“How’s it going?” they asked.

Roman paused to cough into his sleeve. Stupid manager, making him work outside. “Fine,” he said. “How are you?”

“I’m good.” They smiled at him. “Have a good night.”

“You too.”

The single flight of stairs he had to climb to reach the apartment felt like much more work than it had any right to, and Roman was a little out of breath by the time he finally reached the landing. As he dug out his keys, he took the time to clear his throat and paste a smile onto his face before he fumbled the key in the lock and pushed the door open.

“Fear not!” he called brightly. “I have arrived!”

“Hey, Roman,” a voice responded from within. “How was work?”

Roman kicked off his shoes and shrugged off his coat as he walked around the corner. “Work was…”

Logan, sitting at the kitchen table with a book, looked up at him. His head tilted slightly as he took in Roman’s less-than-regal appearance.

Roman’s shoulders slumped. “Work sucked.”

Logan chuckled. “Have a seat,” he offered, nudging one of the other chairs out with his foot.

Roman shoved his keys in his pocket and walked over, sitting down as dramatically as possible, while avoiding making too much noise for the sake of their sensitive guests in the neighboring room. He leaned forward and let his forehead rest on the table, ignoring the fact that he was out of breath again from his own dramatics. “So how was your early-morning shift?” he asked the table.

Logan set down his book, and a muffled thump told Roman that he’d put his elbow on the table, probably resting his head on his hand. “Ahmed fell,” he shared.

Roman glanced up. “He did?”

Logan nodded, keeping his head on his hand. “He’ll be fine. He was relatively unharmed. He slipped while we were salting the parking lot, and he couldn’t catch himself before he fell. He has bad knees, as I’ve probably mentioned before.”

“But he’s okay?”

“Yes. Simply some bruises to his back, and probably to his ego. He took the rest of the day off.”

Roman sighed, putting his head back on the table. He wished he could have taken the day off. Although it was debatable whether that was worth falling on ice. “I got to spend lots of time outside today, too.”

“I thought you were a cashier.”

Roman shrugged. “New guy says otherwise. Had me collecting carts.”

“Hm.” Logan shifted. “Does he know about your asthma?”

“I don’t think so. I didn’t tell him, anyway.” He didn’t go around announcing that he was asthmatic to everyone he met, after all.

“Is it giving you trouble?”

“I’ll be fine,” Roman promised. “It’s just annoying. It’ll be better tomorrow.”

“Still, it might be best to take tomorrow off to be safe. It’s supposed to be just as cold. It’s your last day before the new year, regardless, isn’t it?”

It was. Roman let his shoulders droop. “Probably a good idea,” he mumbled into the wood.

“What was that?”

“I said you had a good idea, you dork,” Roman said, lifting his head to stick his tongue out at his roommate.

Logan smirked lightly, picking up his book. Roman suspected he had heard him the first time, after all.

…

Roman lay on his stomach in bed, his feet kicking back and forth in the air. His phone sat on the comforter in front of him, the contact for the store he worked at already pulled up. He muffled a cough, then hit the call button. And he waited.

It rang. Once. Twice.

“Hello, thank you for calling. This is Martin speaking.”

Just his luck.

“You know, you should say the name of the store when you answer calls,” Roman couldn’t help but advise. “This is Roman, by the way.”

Martin paused. “Oh, Roman…. Sorry, remind me who you are? It’s hard to keep names straight yet.”

It would be especially hard to keep Roman’s name straight, he wanted to say; but he figured that now wasn’t the time for a gay joke. “Roman Reyes. I worked today. Nine to five.”

There was a rustle of papers. “Ah, there you are. Yes. Did you need something?”

“I have to call out sick for tomorrow.”

Martin was silent for a beat. “For tomorrow.”

Roman’s feet stopped swinging at his tone. “…Yeah.”

“How do you know you’re going to be sick tomorrow, exactly?”

Roman supposed that was a fair point, but he still felt indignant at the implied accusation. “I can feel it coming,” he said. “If I go to work tomorrow it’s just going to get worse. I can’t go in.”

More papers rustled. “It says here tomorrow is your last day for the year, anyway.”

“Well… yeah, but—”

“I just don’t see how I can approve a day off because you think you might be sick tomorrow, and you have the next week off; and it says… right here… that you took quite a bit of time off just last week.”

Roman sank into himself.

“So, I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Yep,” Roman said, defeated.

“Great. Have a good night.”

The call ended. Roman groaned, flopping down on the bed.

…

Roman walked into the living room to find Logan fiddling with the DVD player.

“Whatcha doing?” he asked, wincing as one of the words came out rather wheezy.

“Setting up the player,” Logan responded. “Emile and Patton requested more of your show, Avatar: The Last Airbender.”

Roman glanced over at the mouse-men, who were watching him with varying degrees of nervousness, welcome, and wariness.

“You were going to watch it without me?” he pouted, directing the question at his roommate.

“No, of course not,” Logan said, straightening as the intro sequence began to play on the screen. “I had assumed you would return as soon as I finished with this. And I was correct.”

Roman shrugged and went to sit on the sofa.

“Something wrong?” Logan asked, watching him.

“Mr. Manager Man said no,” he sighed. “I have to work tomorrow.”

Logan nodded, looking displeased but not overly surprised. “Well, on the bright side, it is only one day.”

“Yeah. Yay, me.”

Logan sat down beside him and handed him the remote. “Just tell him you have to work inside for your health. It shouldn’t be too bad. There are other employees who can handle the shopping carts.”

Roman nodded, then put a smile on his face. “Well! Moping is overrated.” He looked over at the table where the mouse-men sat, waiting. “Would one of you care to remind me where we left off?”

There was a long, slightly awkward pause, until Patton shifted and said, “The one after… Um, we were about to watch the one with—with the storm.”

“Oooh, that’s a good one,” Roman said, perking up. “So much better than The Great Divide.” Usually he skipped that episode altogether, since it was rather uninspired; but the mouse-men had a right to see all of the episodes. Plus, you could argue that it made The Storm and The Blue Spirit, some of his favorite episodes, look even better.

He hit play, ready to let the Gaang make him forget his troubles for a while.

“Long ago, the four nations lived together in harmony….”

…

Roman paused the show as the credits for The Fortuneteller began, turning to the mouse-men with a serious (although he hoped not frightening) expression.

“So,” he said conspiratorially, “if you guys could bend an element, which one would you pick?”

A beat passed.

“Element?” Virgil asked slowly, watching him warily.

“Yeah! You know, air, water, earth, fire….”

Virgil frowned, glancing at his companions before turning back to Roman. “Fire.”

Roman blinked. “Really?”

“No.”

“Ah.”

“Fire sucks. You’d just burn stuff. Plus, they’re the bad guys. Who wants to be a bad guy?”

“Well, I think bending fire would be pretty neat. Iroh bends it, and he’s not a bad guy, right? And there’s Roku, and Aang’s friend Kuzon—”

“Who probably grew up to join the Fire Nation Army.”

Roman whined at him, then looked at the mouse-man beside him. “What about you, Patster?”

Patton shifted, seeming uncertain. He had a couple of false starts before saying, “I’d… um… air, maybe?” He made a face. “But that would mean I’m dead….”

Roman waved a hand dismissively. “We’re ignoring canon. If you want to be an airbender, you can be an airbender.”

Patton brightened slightly.

“I would like to fly,” Emile admitted, his voice very soft. Roman just caught his words.

“Exactly,” Patton beamed, gratified.

“I think I’d pick fire,” Roman said, earning a snort from Virgil. “What? Think of the possibilities. You’d never need a light again. Plus, it’s the element of passion.”

“And destruction.”

“Well, air could be, too. Tornadoes are a thing. And there’s hurricanes, for water… Earthquakes….”

Virgil looked unimpressed.

“Well, what would you bend, then? And no more sarcastic answers!”

Virgil stared at him for a second, his arms folded. “Water,” he said finally.

“Oh?” Roman said curiously.

“So I could put out your fires.”

“Oh.”

“I think water suits you, Virge,” Patton said. “You could be like Katara!”

“What about you, Pocketwatch?” Roman asked, turning to Logan.

Logan looked mildly surprised. “Me?”

“Yeah! You don’t get out of this just because you’re Mister Serious, mister.”

Logan looked thoughtful. “…Earth,” he settled on.

“You don’t have to pick that just because no one else has,” Roman reminded him.

“I am aware. I simply believe that earth is the most… me, I suppose.”

“Awesome. So we’ve got yours truly, the firebender, an earthbender, two airbenders, and our fire extinguisher over there.”

“Who’d be the avatar?” Patton asked.

“Me, obviously,” said Emile. He gave no explanation.

Roman nodded seriously, then grinned. “Glad we’ve got that settled,” he said, before resuming the show.

…

“Got enough blankets?” Virgil asked, adjusting how a few of them lay over his brother.

“Yep,” Emile answered, tugging one up slightly with his good hand.

Virgil sat back, glancing him over. “Good… What about you, Pat?”

Patton, who was setting up his and Virgil’s bed on the box lid, paused. “We should be good, kiddo,” he answered, looking down at the collection of fabric. Even if they needed more, Roman had brought plenty to choose from.

Virgil joined him, and they lay down together, Patton laying partially on top of Virgil—something that Virgil had insisted he didn’t mind—because of the lack of extra space. It was still strange, sleeping in a human apartment; and Patton knew that this was especially true for Virgil and Emile; but they were getting used to it.

“Good night,” Patton murmured.

“Good night,” two soft voices responded.

Patton closed his eyes, only to open them a moment later, confused.

It was still dark, but Virgil was gone, as were the soft blankets they had been lying under. Patton was alone.

He pushed himself to sit up, then paused at a metallic clinking noise. He looked down at his wrists—or rather, at the heavy metal shackles that covered them. They glinted in the dimness, attached to thick chains that trailed off to either side of him.

“What…”

As if the sound were a cue, the chains suddenly pulled taught, forcing Patton’s arms apart. He was pulled unceremoniously to his feet, and his head brushed a low ceiling.

“No, no, no,” he whimpered, realizing suddenly that he was trapped in a very small space, the wall barely a millimeter away from his face. “No, no, no, no, no.”

He pulled on the chains, the shackles biting harshly into his wrists, to no avail.

“Let me out, let me out, let me out!” he cried, tugging harder and harder. For all they gave, he might as well have not been trying at all.

Distantly, Patton realized he could hear laughter. His cries immediately cut off.

The laughter grew closer. It was high pitched, and sadistic, and horribly familiar. Patton felt cold.

“Marissa,” he whispered, the word barely audible above the buzzing in his ears.

“I want to play,” she announced, her voice suddenly booming. Patton jolted, but the chains held him fast, unyielding.

The floor of his prison vibrated, and Patton swallowed. He wrapped his hands around the chains, trembling, afraid.

The floor vanished.

Patton fell with a shriek, the chains abruptly breaking his fall, leaving him dangling over a roiling, turbulent ocean that stretched as far as he could see in every direction. The sky was black, just as oppressive as the prison before, starless and empty. The only light came from the sea below, which seemed illuminated by an impossible, intrinsic glow. Patton looked up, to where the chains stretched away into eternity. He knew, he just knew, that somewhere far above, Marissa held his fate in her pudgy fists.

The laughter grew louder, and louder, and louder, as the shackles began to creak, and they began to slip from his wrists, and his fingertips ghosted over the chains as they fell away, leaving him to plummet towards the abyss below….

…

Virgil was startled awake by a sudden thrashing at his side, a terrified cry lighting every one of his nerves on fire. He bolted upright just in time to see Patton free himself from the blankets and stumble away, breathing harshly, nearly falling in his haste. Virgil’s chest ached where he had accidentally elbowed him.

Emile stirred with a tired, questioning sound, seeming alarmed.

“Shh, it’s fine,” Virgil murmured, pushing off his own blankets and keeping his eyes fixed on their distressed friend. “Go back to sleep.”

Emile shifted slightly to look towards where Patton had gone as Virgil grabbed his crutches and got up to follow him. Patton had moved away towards the most open area of the table, still flitting about in agitation. Virgil hesitantly approached. “Patton, come here, it’s okay—” He gently took the other’s hands, only for Patton to yank them both away like he’d been burned, nearly taking out Virgil’s crutches from beneath him in the process.

“No, no, no,” he said, holding them close and backing away. He shook his head rapidly.

Virgil held up his hands in surrender. “Okay, okay, that’s fine. I’ll stay right here. Pat, it’s okay. You’re safe.”

Patton took a shaky breath, shaking his head again and backing away another inch. His tail was tucked close to his body, the tip of it flicking back and forth fervently. Normally, after a nightmare, Patton wanted to be held, to be comforted. That was apparently not the case this time.

“Pat, it was just a nightmare. You’re here with me and Em. You’re fine.”

Patton just shook his head again.

Virgil glanced back towards Emile, who he could tell was listening, but who couldn’t watch them from this angle. He lowered his hands and backed up a step or two.

“Patton, let’s just sit down, okay? I’ll stay over here. Let’s just try to relax.” As if to demonstrate, Virgil slowly lowered himself down into a seated position, setting his crutches at either side.

Patton paced for a moment longer, glancing occasionally towards Virgil; but he seemed to be calming down as the seconds passed and it sank in that whatever he had dreamed had not translated into reality.

“Don’t wanna be trapped,” he said quietly, ducking his head.

“Okay.” Virgil said softly. “Not trapped. That’s fine. Nobody’s going to trap you.”

Patton rubbed his wrists, looking down at them. He seemed relieved, like he had expected to find something else there, marring those thin, pale arms.

Virgil waited, trying to be patient, but inwardly seething with anger and worry on Patton’s behalf. Eventually, Patton sat down, too; but he didn’t try to come any closer; and he still seemed ready to spring to his feet at any second, like he might need to escape.

“There you go,” Virgil softly praised.

Patton swallowed, glancing towards Virgil again. Virgil did his best to look supportive.

They sat there for a long time in near silence. It was clear that Patton didn’t want to go back to sleep, and that he was feeling rather claustrophobic; so Virgil stayed away. Still, he wanted Patton to know that he was there for him.

Emile fell asleep before too long, exhausted as he was from his earlier misadventure, but Virgil stayed put even as the hours stretched on.

Finally, just as the dark sky was beginning to lighten, Patton quietly got up and came back over to Virgil, hugging himself. He sat down about an inch away.

“Sorry,” he murmured, not meeting Virgil’s eyes.

“You’ve got nothing to be sorry for,” Virgil reminded him.

…

The next morning, as usual, Logan went to check on the “mouse-men”. He brought their breakfast and another change of bandages for Emile with him.

“Is everything okay?” he asked as he set down the supplies, glancing between the three of them. Something felt amiss. Patton and Virgil were sitting together, as usual; but they both appeared rather exhausted; and Emile seemed… off, as well. Patton seemed to be exhibiting the most atypical behavior of the three.

“It’s fine,” Virgil said immediately, not surprising Logan in the slightest with this response. He immediately sat up straighter, as if challenging Logan to dare disbelieve him.

Logan paused, then nodded to himself. “Well. If you decide you need anything, feel free to let me know. I’ll be in the kitchen for most of the morning, reading.”

“Yeah. Sure. We’ll do that,” Virgil said, in a tone that suggested he had no plans to do any such thing.

“Right.” Logan stepped back. He glanced them over, then cleared his throat quietly. “I trust you remember how to properly change his bandages?”

“We’re not stupid,” Virgil said. “We’ve done it enough times by now.”

“That’s true,” he conceded. “I’ll leave you, then, as long as you’re sure you need nothing else.” He glanced at Patton as he said this.

Patton glanced up, and nodded a couple of times before turning his face away.

Logan licked his lips, promised to return in a half hour for their dishes, and left them alone.

…

Logan reached up to turn on the light over the table. The sun was beginning to go down, and it wouldn’t do to strain his eyes by attempting to read in the dark.

Several more minutes passed, quiet other than the occasional turning of pages, before he heard the front door open.

“Roman,” he greeted, looking up from his book.

“Hi, nerd,” Roman said, coming into view. He kicked off his shoes and shrugged off his jacket, which fell to the floor before he could grab it, taking his scarf with it.

Both of them stared at the fallen garment. Roman made no move to pick it up. He looked back at Logan, sighing. “I’m going to take a nap,” he announced.

Logan nodded, closing his book. “I’ll see you at dinner,” he said. “I found a new curry recipe I want to try.”

Roman nodded and plodded off to his room, and Logan set his book aside. He went to the door, picked up Roman’s discarded coat, scarf, and shoes, and put them in their proper places.

…

Tomorrow was Christmas Eve.

Roman had mixed feelings about this fact.

Christmas had always been his favorite holiday. He had fond memories of childhood Christmases; of racing downstairs with his brother to try to be the first one to open a present; of big, lovingly put together family breakfasts; of afternoons building snowmen; and of evenings watching Christmas movies, eating hand-frosted sugar cookies, and playing with their new toys. When he grew older, Roman had loved the holiday just as much, with the way he got to spend more time with family, and the way their faces would light up on Christmas morning when they opened a gift that he had gotten them (or more often, made). He loved the cookies, the movies, the snow, the hot chocolate, the decorations… so much about it.

But now… things weren’t quite the same. Roman and his family were in a rough patch, and Roman wouldn’t get to celebrate the holiday he way he wanted to. Now, he thought of those past Christmases with a pained, wistful nostalgia. He wouldn’t be spending the holiday with his own family; and Logan, who pretty much was his family by that point, didn’t care much for the holiday. He probably hadn’t even gotten Roman anything. There were the mouse-men, he supposed, but he doubted that they celebrated Christmas. He doubted even more that they would want to celebrate it with him.

Still, here Roman was, hiding presents in an air vent.

This was harder work than it would have normally been, giving the circumstances. Roman was wheezing, although he had thankfully managed to hide this fact from Logan when he got home. Dinner had been more difficult, but Roman had insisted on eating in his room, claiming he was working on something in there.

He was rather resentful of his job, and of Martin in particular, for their role in aggravating his asthma so soon after his recent trouble with it. He had asked repeatedly to be stationed inside, but he had still spent half the day wrangling shopping carts for ungrateful customers. He wanted nothing more than to lie down, catch his breath, and go to sleep, but he wanted to get these gifts properly hidden first. The last thing he needed was for Logan to find them and ruin the surprise. Not that his roommate made a habit of barging into his room uninvited, but he wanted to be extra careful.

The next few moments were a horrible collision of coincidence.

Roman had finished slipping the last present into the vent and was three-quarters of the way through screwing the cover back on. As he went to place the final screw, a bit of dust came free from the top of the vent, probably loosened by one of the gifts, and drifted down just as the air switched on, blowing it right in Roman’s face. Who happened to be in the middle of taking a breath.

Roman choked, rearing back, the screwdriver and screw falling from his hands and landing somewhere behind his desk. He put his hands to his face and batted the dust away, coughing and wheezing.

But instead of getting better as he tried to clear his lungs, things only seemed to grow worse. His chest tightened, and he couldn’t seem to draw enough air in his lungs.

Roman stumbled off of his desk chair and staggered over to the dresser, gasping in short, wheezing breaths. His inhaler—he needed his inhaler.

Roman pulled out the topmost drawer and dug through its contents haphazardly. He couldn’t find it; where was it; it had to be there! He yanked out the drawer further—too far, in his haste—and before he could stop it, the drawer fell to the small rug on the ground, slowed only somewhat as it collided with a cardboard box on the floor. Roman barely jumped away in time to keep the drawer from hitting his feet as its contents were dumped on the floor. He dropped to his knees and started digging through the pile there, trying to find the inhaler.

He couldn’t find it.

Logan, he had to get Logan. Surely that crash had woken him up?

He got to his feet, a dizzy wave washing over him from lack of oxygen.

Roman stumbled, choking, and fell over backwards onto the bed, his head smacking the wall it was pushed up against.

“Lo—” he wheezed, the word coming out as barely more than a whisper. There was no way his roommate would hear that.

His gaze fell on the nightstand and the box there, the one filled with colorful polished stones that he had collected. He reached towards it, dizzy, listing back towards the bed. The short distance seemed, at that moment, insurmountable. At last, his fingers found tremulous purchase on the table, and he shoved at the box with a gasp. It fell with a crash, its contents spilling and rolling across the wooden floor. Roman fell back to the bed, whatever energy he had had spent.

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rustbeltjessie · 4 years

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Diary of an Emotional Masochist, Chapter One: Dignity and Shame

I am an emotional masochist. I’m the kind of person, who, when I’m already going through a bout of nostalgic melancholy, will decide to read old journal entries or look through old photographs. The kind of person who, when it’s three a.m. and I can’t sleep because I’m thinking about what loves have come and gone (to borrow a phrase from Edna St. Vincent Millay), will get up and Google search those loves. I am the kind of woman who, when I’m already sad, will listen to an album that devastates me. I have a long list of albums that it’s almost too painful to listen to, albums that remind me of such specific times in my life that listening to them takes me right back to where I was then. A different person would purge their record collection and iTunes library of such albums, but, like I said – I am an emotional masochist. On lonesome evenings, after a couple glasses of whiskey, nothing sounds better to me than spinning one of those records (or queueing up one of those playlists). This is one of those lonesome-whiskey evenings, so won’t you join me in indulging? We’re listening to Crooked Fingers’ Dignity and Shame.

From the first sparse, haunting notes of “Islero,” I am transported back in time to the summer of 2005. God, that summer. That terrible, wonderful summer. I’d fucked up my life the year before, and I thought that would be the summer I’d fix it, except all I did was fuck it up even more. God, that summer. That March, I moved away from Chicago after living there for five years. I planned on moving to Milwaukee come autumn, to start fresh in a fresh town. In the meantime, I moved back in with my parents. I wasn’t home, much. Nights, after work, I went to one of the two bars in Kenosha where all my sad drunk hoodlum friends hung out. On days off, I walked in the woods – the heat was relentless, and the canopy of trees offered cool green comfort. Or I drove to Chicago to see shows and drink with my friends and try to remember why I’d left; drove to Milwaukee to scope out neighborhoods, sit for hours at the Hi-Fi Cafe, go record and dress shopping. On one of my record shopping expeditions, I bought Dignity and Shame. It was on the Staff Recommendations shelf, and I liked the cover art, so I took it home with me – and it was serendipity, it was exactly the album I needed at the time.

As soon as I got home, I set it spinning on my turntable, and the first track – “Islero” – gave me goosebumps. The second track – “Weary Arms” – made me cry. It had sad cellos and a lonesome cowboy guitar, and Eric Bachmann’s voice was a raspy baritone: Beware of strangers knocking at your door. Old lovers, too. Don’t think for one second they’ve forgotten you. Oh, oh, oh. By the time the final, hidden track played, I’d melted into a puddle of tears and goosebumps on my bedroom floor. The album destroyed me, and it spooked me because so many of the stories sounded like things right out of my life, both from that year and six or so years before it. It was like Eric Bachmann had read my diary and set it to music. I wanted to write him a letter and say: “Get out of my head, god damn it! Get out of my aching heart.” It’s impossible for me to write about Dignity and Shame, or about the summer of 2005, without descending into hyperbole, sentimental poetry, and melodrama. My God, that summer was hyperbole, sentimental poetry, and melodrama. I was still young enough that it was acceptable to feel things that intensely, acceptable to talk about a sunrise over Lake Michigan by saying things like: “When the light shot through the horizon in streaks of peach and gold, it was the most god damn beautiful thing I’d ever seen.” Dear diary, listen to me.

My “Weary Arms” wrapped tight around so many lovers, that summer – four of them, plus a handful of brief flings. Later that year, I lamented that I hadn’t had as many wild love affairs as I’d had in years past, which, yes, says something unflattering about me. And Eric Bachmann sang: You have many enemies, for reasons no one’s certain of.

One night, while I sat at one of the bars and waited for my friends to arrive, a girl approached me. I didn’t know her, but she knew me. She sat down across from me and lambasted me for sleeping with a guy she’d been dating at the time…two years before. She called me a slut, and some worse things. I wanted to buy her a drink, to appease her. I couldn’t understand why she hated me so much. When I slept with that guy, I had no idea he had a girlfriend. So many enemies, so many lovers, but could a jaded girl like me heed an uptempo “Call To Love?” In that song, Eric took the role of a particular one of my lovers, and said: Won’t you hear my heart? I’m transmitting a call to love. On a night when the moon was orange-red and luminous, that lover said: “The moon is the color of your hair.” Another night: “You were born in the wrong era, Jess.” And, though I was a sucker for sentimental poetry, my guard was up. Lara Meyerratken answered for me: Don’t need my heart kicked ‘round the block no more. You may be smooth-talking, daddy, but I’ve heard it all before. I traded gossip with the “Twilight Creeps.” In this sweet-sad song with the bright piano and the shimmering backup vocals, I was both the singer and the sung about. I could have sung it to one of my lovers, should have said to her: Flower, don’t dig so deep so you don’t go anywhere. But the words were also about me: You say someday you’re gonna float away. Take yourself some kind of holiday. I often told my sad drunk hoodlum friends, the twilight creeps, that I needed to get the hell out of town. “If I could just get gone for more than a few days, go somewhere more than a few hours away…there ain’t no use in trying to make me stay.”

My lovers all wanted to make me stay. The flower-girl, I’ll call her Valerie. The one who spoke poetic words to me, I’ll call him Jack. And there was Lon, and Carmine. In different ways, for different reasons, they each wanted me to choose them over all the rest. Even a few of the week-long flings and one-night stands, older punk guys or younger hippie girls, said things to me like: “How did I get so lucky as to meet a girl like you?” Or: “So, are you my girlfriend now?” And when I said no, they called me a heartbreaker. A “Destroyer.” It’s a woebegone cowboy of a tune. Doleful drums, piano that tinkles like ice cubes in a bar glass, and a lap steel guitar – which, as far as I’m concerned, is the aural equivalent of an anti-hero walking off into the sunset. The song is all about how the singer is going to make someone his, and then he’s going to leave them behind. When they called me heartbreaker, I wanted to sing it: Lay down, just let it come, and resign your heart, today, to get blown away. “Valerie,” well, that’s why I’m referring to that lover as Valerie. Much like me, she was a punk rock girl turned heroine of a Tom Waits song (heroine of a Crooked Fingers song). She had thriftstore dresses and jailhouse tattoos and self-inflicted scars. “Valerie,” the song, has a sanguine strut, is a besotted love song, and I thought of Valerie, the girl: Red roses, silk, you in your sleek summer dress. You were light, revelation, oh, I love you the best. But she and I kept our love unspoken. We both had other romantic complications, and only touched each other on long hot nights after too many bottles of wine and too many pills. “Sleep All Summer” was my song for Jack, the young ex-goth whose mouth was pink and pouty like he’d been sucking on a strawberry popsicle. Our love was either all the good songs and kissing ’til our lips were raw, or it was screaming matches and hangover headaches. What bliss is this, and then he’d get attention-starved and whiny, and I’d burn hot and cold and say nasty things, and we’d say: “This is it, we’re through.” But – There ain’t no way we’re gonna find another, the way we sleep all summer. Why won’t you fall back in love with me? And we’d run into each other at the bar, and faster than our friends could say I told you so we’d be tangled up in the backseat of his car or rolling around by the lake, and the whole thing would start all over again. He’d play the martyr, and I’d say: I would change for you, but babe, that doesn’t mean I’m gonna be a better man.

And “Coldways” kill cool lovers. Lon was a folk singer from the north woods. He’d been one of my best friends for years already, and when we started dating I was so tired of complicated, fiery relationships that I mistook comfort for True Love. My heart still hurts when I think of how I hurt him. He wanted me to marry him and I just wanted to be drunk and in love, to listen to “Coldways”’s thrumming, swelling sound. To sing along: Come out, come on, tonight the city’s alive. “Wrecking Ball” has a jaunty, punchdrunk piano, and the piano had been drinking, but so had I. God, I drank so much that summer. On the rare night I spent at home, I holed up in my room, wrote long, sad, tales of people in the legend of my life, and drank blackberry brandy mixed with Sprite. Something like that would taste over-sweet to me now, make me shudder, but maybe the same part of me that craved sentimental poetry also thirsted for sugary drinks. And most nights, I wasn’t at home. Most nights, I changed clothes in my car after work. I swapped my reeking-of-pizza button down shirt and black slacks for one of my vintage dresses. A mint green confection, or a pink and white sundress. Something from the ‘50s, blue with red and white polka dots, or a slinky black number that a ‘30s jazz singer would have worn. And I sat at one of two bars, drank whiskey and Coke, or brandy old-fashioneds, or gin and tonics all night long. I waited for my friends to arrive, and I drank and smoked and entertained myself with one of the items I always had in my bag – a book of poetry by Dorothy Parker or Edna St. Vincent Millay, a deck of Alice In Wonderland tarot cards. And sometimes, someone would find me intriguing. I swear, I wasn’t a Manic Pixie Dream Girl, but… I was a redhead in a retro dress (usually with a strand of fake pearls, too) sitting in a dive bar, smoking pastel-colored cigarettes, reading sonnets and tarot cards. Christ. Often, someone found me intriguing, chatted me up, and I wound up with yet another lover. I was a destroyer, destroying myself with booze and love. I was a wrecking ball. Eric Bachmann, accompanied by that barroom piano, sang: And you laughed and you danced, and it let you feel fine for a while. Hanging out with the kids who you knew soon would fall out of style.

I’ve left two songs out, dear diary. I did it on purpose, because they are the two that hurt the most. They are also the two that heal the most. The kind of songs that make me weep, then tell me to dry my tears. “You Must Build A Fire,” oh, it is one of the saddest songs. It begins with only two guitars (a finger-picked lead and that god damn lap steel again), and Eric’s voice is so plaintive, sounds like it’s about to crack, and he sings: Oh, gracious love, you were so kind to me. You only broke my heart, let my arms and legs stay strong. So I could swim upon the open sea, searching for another love. Floating along aimlessly. I haven’t told you about Carmine, yet. Carmine was a musician who looked like a magician from an old-time carnival. The year before, he’d ruined me in a worse way than any other lover ever had. (As a friend put it, he was one of the ones who fucked me up so bad I was pretty much ruined for anyone else.) He ruined me, but I let him back into my life. That summer, we got together. It was supposed to be closure, but of course it just opened everything up again. He said: “I want to be with you. I want to try again.” I said: “Okay, yes, let’s start over. I want to be with you.” He said: “Only if you break things off with all your other lovers. I want to be your only.” The nerve, giving me an ultimatum like that when he was even more of a notorious libertine than I was. And the song sang: I had someone, a love I thought was true. But sometimes you just get tired, and you must try not to die. And give your love, though no one may receive. You must build a giant fire, for the whole wide world to see. It sounded like that whole heartbroken, hot summer. Oh, where are you, love?

The title track, “Dignity and Shame,” is a piano ballad that told me: To be sure, there ain’t no cure. There could be no one to save you. It is the track I return to over and over, more than any other track on the album. Though my life has calmed down a lot in the decade since that summer, sometimes – that feeling comes, you’ve been here once before. That wicked feeling you don’t want to feel no more. And then, Eric Bachmann (get out my head, god damn it!) sings: You’re not the same as the day that you came. You can choose dignity, or shame.

I choose dignity. I carry my broken heart like a torch in the night. Little keeper of light, burning deep, burning bright in the dark.

[originally appeared in Witchsong in October 2015]

#jessie lynn mcmains #my writing #music #memoir #crooked fingers #dignity and shame #2015 #2005 #love #lovers #heartbreak #panic attacks #drugs #alcohol #lyrics #this is still one of my favorite pieces of music writing i've ever written #and since witchsong has gone dark i thought i'd share it here

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movienotesbyzawmer · 4 years

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October 22: Friday the 13th - The Final Chapter

(previous notes: Friday the 13th Part 3)

I'm on movie number four in this eight movie project, and for the first time I'll be seeing one of these movies that I haven't ever seen before! When I do my watch-a-movie-and-take-notes projects, I generally do them for movies I've already seen before so that it's not too frustrating to simultaneously watch & type. But I'll make an exception for these Friday the 13th movies in light of the fact that they suck.

I remember this being out at my local theater in 1984, when I was 13, and even thinking it might be fun to see it, but I never got around to it.

It really must have been bittersweet for audiences at the time, knowing that this would be the final chapter. Each time they had a positive moment of enjoyment with this movie, they had to remember, "oh, I'm really going to miss this. It shall all be gone. Once the lights come back on, the days of new Friday the 13th movies will never return."

unless

Okay, watching this now for the first time ever.

Again beginning with a rehash. This time however, it's a montage of moments from the first two movies. Wait, now here's some of the third movie. But it's all framed by one of the monologues from the second movie. Much shorter and less of a cheap move than the last two movies did.

The title has a new title-plus-mask image… and then THE FINAL CHAPTER arrives to blow that image up with fire and splody-sounds!

The credits promise the likes of Corey Feldman and Crispin Glover, so that's exciting.

Okay, now it looks like we're at the ranch where the third one took place. They're hauling bodies out of the barn & other buildings. It looks like Jason's body is one of the bodies because hockey mask!

Actually, I think that first shot was a long-ish crane shot. Cinematically ambitious I guess.

We don't know yet what happened to the girl at the end of the last one. It's weird because this scene is at night, but the last movie ended with daytime paramedic activity at the ranch. I'm confused. Please help me. Please tell me that it will all be okay.

One of the covered up bodies has stirred! Jason is probably up to his not-be-dead-after-all tricks!

This scene is about a pair of frisky hospital workers in the "cold room" where there is at least one body, plus a television where the girl "just wants to watch the news". But 80s-style aerobics is what's really on the TV. And she kisses him after all and gets quite flirty, but then takes it all back because he is so insensitive or something. They show the aerobics a lot. It's all pelvic and prurient. Then Jason kills the guy with a bone saw and then goes and finds the girl and kills her with something else because diversity.

Then an abrupt cut to daytime joggers in the woods somewhere!

Now we are learning about the family of the joggers. They live in the country where there is a legend of a psycho, so I guess we're in the Crystal Lake area. The youngest child is Corey Feldman and his personality is "likes video games and wears a monster mask while playing them".

Now we are learning about the kids that rented a house across the street. Crispin Glover and another dude are in a car, talking about a girl and they clearly don't know how to have this kind of conversation, and the writers don't know how to pretend like they do so the other guy does a gag about how an invisible computer told him that CG is bad at sex. It is an unappealing intro to these characters. We even know there are a bunch of other people in the car, way too many honestly, but we don't get to know them. Just the two people who talk like broken robots about a woman.

Just to keep the mood where it ought to be, a hitchhiker they drove past gets impaled by Jason!

CF, a tweenager I should point out, is peeping-tom-ing at the canoodling couple in the rented house, and it is interesting to speculate as to whose idea it was for him to act the way he does when he watches them. He bounces excitedly and slams his head repeatedly into a pillow. Whose idea.

Now there's a skinny dipping scene. They definitely have arrived to the point in the series where they feel it's important to show pretty girls without any clothes.

For some reason, CF and the adult older sister drove to where the skinny dipping was happening, but they bolted when they realized that's what it was. There is ch ch ch ch ch ha ha ha ha ha on them as they have car trouble in the woods as they head home, plus also as two of the swimmers are hanging out. But they both turn out to be fakeouts! No one is dying at all! At least we'll always have the hitchhiker. They can't take that away from us.

The fakeout with the CF subplot is that it was just some handsome man that comes along to help. He says he is this deep in the woods because he is hunting for bear. CF totally calls him out! There's no way he's hunting for bear! No one is just like "it is bear hunting season and I am enjoying some leisurely bear hunting time". CF is no fool.

They decide to take Bear Hunter in as a guest for perhaps the afternoon. Because of the bubble of this movie, CF shows the Bear Hunter his monster toys and Bear Hunter shares in his enthusiasm.

0:37:13 - Now we are choking down this awkward scene where the young people are hanging out in their house trying to deliver dialogue that is not consistent with normal human psychology. The gist is that the men want to be sexual with the women but there are subtle social obstacles.

!!! Crispin Glover really is interesting! His screen presence absolutely towers above the rest of the cast, when he reacts unfavorably to being teased. But seriously all these interactions are so painful.

For our next murder project, we have an inflatable boat made of thin, vulnerable rubber for a person to get stabbed through. It requires assuming that Jason's magic powers allow him to just hide under water, waiting for a naked lady to lie down in the boat at night. This project was completed on time and under budget.

Seriously, the most terrifying scenes in this movie are the ones where the sexually frustrated young adults are hanging out and attempting to use words.

Another death just happened because the boyfriend of the recently-killed naked lady went to check on her, found her dead, then was Jason'd with some implements that I couldn't really understand. Something with a handle shoved into him somehow. It is filmed weirdly and then we just move on to Bear Hunter, camping nearby.

This is a disturbing turn… we're back on the uninteresting young adults, and one of them announces that he has found something very interesting! We see that it is old movie reels. They start watching them. It's old, old film of naked people. They laugh and laugh and laugh. Maybe this is art?

Pretty cool visual with this next death, we just see the shadow of Jason coming at her and killing her with a something. Looks cool as a shadow thing, plus it isn't "those stupid characters talking" which is a HUGE bonus.

We're back to CF's family; Mom saw something that startled her but we don't know what, and CF and Big Sister are… driving home in the car? Where were they, why did they drive somewhere, I forget. Maybe they had to run into town to pick up a packet of it-doesn't-matter-we-just-needed-Mom-to-be-alone.

Just like that, Older Sister went looking for Mom, but ends up taking shelter from the rain in Bear Hunter's tent. Bear Hunter, in a very predictable fakeout, slashes a hole in the tent because what is she doing in there anyway.

But we cut back to the young adults and CG gets a very ugly death! He's all "hey where's the corkscrew" and Jason makes his hand be corkscrewed and makes his face be stabbed!

Then he kills one of the other young adults just right afterward by being outside her second floor bedroom window and pulling her out the window SO HARD. Seriously it must be a hard job coming up with different ways to kill them, give them a break.

Back to Bear Hunter; he's fessing up to his true motive which is to hunt Jason. His story is hard to believe, and Big Sister is taking it in very diplomatically.

The one guy in the group of the young adults who is the biggest asshole is also the one most amused by the old films. We see them a lot, these old films they are watching. It is the silent era's version of soft core porn - women dancing naked. Anyway, the asshole's death happens when he gets the idea to be close to the projector screen, enabling Jason to stab him through it and making it look kind of cool and be a scene that ends with the projector-still-running cadence.

New death - guy is taking a post-coital shower and Jason comes in and shoves his arm through the sliding glass shower door thing and very effectively crushes the guy's head against the wall. Then the girlfriend comes in and discovers him; she runs down to the front door, but she can't open it, she just can't open it, it just won't open, and it ends with somehow Jason axe-killing her through the door from outside. They don't show it very well and no one probably ever clearly explained to anyone how it was supposed to work.

1:09:20 - This is followed immediately by a scene that is also poorly choreographed - Bear Hunter returns with Big Sister but it's a fakeout because for some reason they break the glass of the side door to get in, even though CF is right there. They are all frightened as if they know about deaths happening, even though they don't know about the deaths. It's just that the power has been spotty; that’s why things are urgent, as far as they know.

They decide to investigate the house where the young adults are staying. They are gingerly surveying the living room, and they walk right by where the projector screen murder happened, but they see no evidence of that crime.

1:11:55 - Bear Hunter tells the big sister "you stay right here with Corey". I'm pretty sure that just happened. I think he was referring to CF, whose character is not named Corey and who also is not with them.

In a shocking piece of non-linear storytelling, a dog jumps out a window in slow motion. Art. ART.

Jason kills Bear Hunter right in front of Big Sister, and even though his mission in life has been to hunt Jason, Bear Hunter doesn't even fight him off, he just begs Big Sister to run as Jason pounds on him. Big sister does run, but each of the house's exits has a dead person surprise that's too scary for her to go past so she's stuck inside with Jason!

But CF has heard her screaming and comes across the street to be with her. Oh but wait, I think they are actually now back at their house. I missed how that happened. That chase ends with a moment where she has reason to think she might have killed him by hitting him pretty hard with a cathode ray television set with an approximately 15" screen. But no, he changes back from almost-dead to regular-Jason and chases them around some more.

1:21:45 - They must have felt like their secret weapon for this movie was slo-mo thrown-through-a-window situations because Big Sister ends a portion of being chased by Jason by throwing herself through a window and landing painfully on the ground outside. Jason's all "you won this round Big Sister, but I'll be back. This is not The Final Chapter of this story!"

Everyone seems to have wound up back at the young adults' house, and CF has come up with an ingenious idea - he shaves his head to confuse Jason! Then he and Big Sister stab Jason a lot and it's all very gory and climactic.

The way the movie ends is that Jason's body twitches a little on the ground after they mostly kill him, and CF freaks out and stabs Jason many many, many more times! Cut to later on when Big Sister is in a hospital bed being told it will all be okay by some Caucasian men in white coats. They suggest that CF was pretty crazy for a minute there but that will pass. CF comes to give her a hug… but he looks scary! You guys, look, he looks scary! The big finish is that CF has a sinister look on his face. Cut to credits.

We never saw what happened to the Mom. Or the main girl from Part 3. Also it seems like there were some other young adults that just stopped being in the movie. How dare they.

Okay so I am halfway through this ridiculous project. I have watched four of the eight Friday the 13th movies. I watched them all by myself at my home during the COVID-19 pandemic. These challenging times I tell you.

(next: Friday the 13th - A New Beginning)

#friday the 13th

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dvoz-alternate · 4 years

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Run to You pt. 6

werewolf! Joshua x reader

Warnings: fluff, violence, language, slow burning relationship

AN: OC used in fic only appears a few times, (—–) time lapses and pov changes, italics are thoughts/bonded communication

Summary: Graduating from college you moved to a small forest locked town. You aren’t sure why you decide to come here all you know is that you felt pulled to this place. You have heard rumors about the forest, but your need for adventure takes you deeper.

----------

Previously:

Feeling your phone vibrate in your pocket you pulled out your phone seeing a text.

[Unknown] (6:23 pm) : Hey it’s Joshua!

Smiling down at your phone you decided to reply once you got in your car. Looking up at your reflection in the window you realized you weren’t alone. The figure you behind you raised a fist a swung at the back of your head before you could scream. The impact of the fist sent your head to crack against the driver’s side window. Your body slumped onto the concrete with a car horn blaring, before your vision went black.

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---------- The next day ---------

The pounding in your head is what caused you to wake up from whatever slumber you were in. Squeezing your eyes together you shake your head before finally letting them open slowly. Your back felt stiff. Rolling your head onto your left shoulder you looked above you. Ah, would you look at that I’m tied to a pole… Opening and closing your mouth you tried wetting your sandpaper like tongue. Attempting to adjust your arms you realized that the rope was bound over your forearm and not your wrists. “Damn it…” you coughed.

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---------- The previous night ----------

“That car alarm has been going off for awhile now,” Jun said racking a few of the glasses on the back shelf. “You would think that the owner would’ve turned it off by now right?” Mingyu threw out as he heads to the back room. Joshua kept glancing at his phone on the counter. Earlier it said she was typing and now nothing. Maybe she forgot when she drove home? “Josh, we are just about done here. You want a lift back?” Jun asked tossing his rag in the hamper. “Yeah, actually that’d be great,” Joshua muttered his gaze not leaving his phone. “Dude, you’ve been staring at your phone since you noticed that she started typing. You’re going to give it stage fright,” Jun said as he eyed the older wolf. “It’s been a few hours though, and something just isn’t sitting right,” Joshua said finally prying his eyes to look at Jun. “I told you not to eat Soonyoung’s cooking,” Jun said shaking his head. “No, I didn’t eat the food. This seems bigger,” Joshua said turning to look out the window. “Alright, let's get going,” Mingyu said pulling the key out of his pocket to lock up.

Stepping outside Joshua’s eyes trailed to the truck whose alarm was still going off. As they started to head in the direction of their car in the parking lot the wind picked up. A metallic tang hit his nose making him stopping in his tracks. Joshua’s eyes grew large before sprinting away from his pack members. “Josh! What are you doing?” Jun and Mingyu turned around seeing him run in the opposite direction. When they saw Joshua drop in front of the truck they knew something was wrong and sprinted over.

“(Y/N) in trouble,” the low growl that emanated from Joshua startled the two as he stood up holding something in his hand. The three looked down at what was in Joshua’s hand. It was your phone, now cracked but they could see Joshua’s text on the lock screen. “I think this is more serious than we thought,” Jun said using the flashlight on his phone to look at the truck door.. Mingyu and Joshua looked at Jun noticing that his brown eyes were now and icy blue with a scowl etched onto his face. Looking at the window they saw how red was painted between the large spider web cracks and dripped down the door panel onto the keys that were left hanging from the lock. Two pairs of eyes now a steely gold as they stared at the broken glass. The growling from Joshua grew in volume as his anger rose. “What the hell happened?” The question was left hanging in the air. Joshua’s mind was covered in a haze that he didn’t smell anything other than your blood that stung his nose. Mingyu knew that Joshua’s sense of reason was non-existent at this point. Breathing in deeply, Mingyu’s face morphed from anger to confusion, and then a deep scowl. “We need to get back to the pack. Now.”

The tension in the car ran high with an occasional growl from Joshua in the back seat. “I found her, and lost her in the same day,” his growl turned into a whimper as he pressed his forehead against the cool glass of the window. “Josh, we will find her, but right now we need to discuss this with the rest of the pack. What did you smell when we were by her truck?” Mingyu asked his knuckles white against the steering wheel. “The usual vanilla and peach, but it was tainted with iron,” Joshua growled shooting Mingyu a small glare through the rearview mirror. “Exactly. You didn’t smell the other wolf!” Mingyu snarled in an attempt to get his point across. There was a pause and Jun and Mingyu sensed the Joshua knew the severity of the situation now. “There was another wolf?...” his voice seemed to shrink significantly as he thought of the situation you could be in.

Jun sighed as he heard the soft thud come from Joshua smacking his head against the window. The distress that was rolling off him was overwhelming making Mingyu and Jun feel like they were suffocating.

Joshua spent the rest of the ride in silence looking out the dark window. Looking at his reflection he noticed that they were still gold in color. All the wolf in him wanted to do was jump out of the car and find you, but logically speaking he wouldn’t find you without help. Closing his eyes he just waited for the car ride to end.

----------

As they pulled into the gravel drive, Joshua didn’t hesitate to fling himself out of the car and run inside their cabin. Bursting through the door Joshua’s eyes scanned to see if there was anyone else in the room, and spotted Chan laying on the couch.

“Hey you guys are back,” Chan called lazily turning his head to see the three wolves come in. “Also, why are your eyes showing?” Chan questioned looking at all of them. “Chan,” the growl startled Chan, “get the others. We are having a pack meeting.” Chan rolled off the couch before scrambling away from the upset wolf. “Don’t take it out on him Josh. We will figure this out as a pack, alright?” Mingyu said placing a hand on his shoulder. Dipping his head Joshua sighed, “Yeah… You’re right.”

“What’s so important that this meeting couldn’t wait until the morning?” Seungcheol asked rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Most of the pack had already turned in for the night and were now sitting around the living room. “If this is a fight between you three, and I was woken up for this I’m going to be pissed,” Jihoon growled his eyes flecked with gold. “No, this has to do with Joshua or more specifically his mate,” Jun said folding his arms over his chest. Nine sets of eyes all focused on Joshua. “My mate was abducted by another wolf.”

----------

masterlist

previous I next

#dvoz-alternate #joshua x reader #werewolf joshua #supernatural seventeen #woozi x reader #jeonghan x reader #dk x reader #seungkwan x reader #scoups x reader #mingyu x reader #vernon x reader #hoshi x reader #wonwoo x read #dino x reader #the 8 x reader #jun x reader #svt x reader #seventeen x reader #svt fanfic

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myncisworld-2point0 · 4 years

Link

[NOTE: This article is from 2014.]

According to some people, Mark Harmon is best known to his fans as Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs on CBS’s hit drama series NCIS. Those people are wrong, of course, because he’s always going to be Freddy Shoop, a summer school teacher in over his head in 1987’s appropriately-titled Summer School. Harmon turns the ripe, young age of 63 today, and it’s clearer than ever that this man is in possession of a map that leads to the Fountain of Youth, because Harmon ages with grace, am I right, ladies? In fact, while it’s no wonder why this actor was named People’s Sexiest Man Alive in 1986, it is rather shocking that he never received that accolade again, specifically in 1987, when the most important work of his career was released.

The coke-fueled era of the 1980s in Hollywood was filled with more high school movies about slackers and smartasses than anyone actually needed, especially when it came to featuring students who looked like they were older than the teachers. Summer School was always perhaps the most underrated of the decade’s tributes to slackademics (trademark pending) because what it lacked in the typical star power of, say, a John Hughes film, it more than made up for in creating arguably the most creative collection of “teenage” dipshits than any film of the genre. At the same time, it showed that Harmon, who was probably best known at the time for his role as the HIV-positive Dr. Robert Caldwell on St. Elsewhere, had a strong sense of comedy, while also confirming (along with her debut on Cheers that same year) that Kirstie Alley was much, much more than just a really attractive Vulcan.

youtube

Summer School isn’t just some cult classic that people love to mention whenever someone randomly asks, “Hey, whatever happened to Dean Cameron?” It was actually well-received at the box office, earning $36 million in theaters on what I assume was a budget of a few rolls of nickels and someone’s baseball card collection. Critics, however, were a little more mixed on this mindless comedy, as Roger Ebert gave it one-half star out of four, which sounds a lot better than one star out of eight, so you know what? I’ll take it.

Maybe in the movie business we could coin the term vaporfilm, for movies that zip right through our brains without hitting any memory molecules.

“Summer School” is a movie like that, a comedy so listless, leisurely and unspirited that it was an act of the will for me to care about it, even while I was watching it. This movie has no particular reason for being, other than to supply employment for people whose job possibilities will not be enhanced by it. (Via RogerEbert.com)

Here’s a tip for all of you aspiring film critics out there, courtesy of King Ebert – if you’re watching a movie with a title as lazy as Summer School, and the opening of the film features a school’s teachers trying to haul ass after the bell on the last day of the semester so they don’t get suckered into teaching the titular course, get up and walk out. Leave the movie for those of us who love to watch stupid movies and go to the next theater to watch and analyze La Bamba. Perhaps that’s why the fan reviews of Summer School on Netflix seem to be so glowing, as I only found three that were two stars or less. In fact, here’s the worst of them all:

Nothing but trash. Nothing worth seeing. Degenerate teens in bad need of harsh discipline. It’s depressing to think that so many young people actually enjoy this trash. This movie is immediately available from NF while so many more interesting ones languish in the ‘saved’ section, or in ‘short wait’, ‘long wait’, or ‘very long wait’ status. Just one more nail in the coffin of American culture, or lack thereof.

Thank God Armond White weighed in. The majority of people, myself included, fondly remember Summer School for what it is – a fun, stupid movie that was meant to make us laugh, while perhaps also rubbing our noses in the awesomeness of 80s California if we didn’t live there. But I’ll take this analysis one step further by laying out these 10 very important lessons that I took away from Summer School after watching it this morning, in paying tribute to Harmon, a man who was Kevin Costner before Kevin Costner was Kevin Costner.

Always put sunglasses on your dog.

Fact: 100% of movie posters that have dogs wearing sunglasses on them are movies that I’m willing to at least watch. The movie could be called This Dog Dies from Space AIDS, and I’d still be curious to see why that dog is wearing sunglasses.

Always have an escape plan.

When everybody else is hauling ass from the faculty parking lot at the last second, there’s no reason that you shouldn’t already be packed for your trip to Hawaii. I don’t like to point fingers, but Mr. Shoop’s girlfriend is clearly at fault here. All she had to do was pack the car for him, and he could have jumped in and taken off for the airport. Instead, Kim kicked her man while he was down and not only snatched her ticket to Hawaii from the pocket of his rad flowered shirt, but she also told him to drive her to the airport. I don’t mean to offend anyone who is overprotective of fictional characters, but I hope that Kim was eventually fed to the volcano gods.

Also, let’s consider this a lesson within a lesson – would you walk away from your teaching job right now if someone handed you a winning lottery ticket for $50,000? I say no. Just pass all of the morons while you spend the class time reading up on investment opportunities.

Never be afraid to encourage the creativity of your students.

https://youtu.be/-5Pku48YPFo

The true sign of a teacher’s efforts in a classroom is how far the students are willing to go to show others their appreciation of his work. In Shoop’s case, once he resigned because his students were greedy little pricks, those same students objected to a new teacher taking over the class by staging a gruesome and horrifying murder scene, complete with two of the students wielding chainsaws, declaring themselves psychopaths and thus taking credit for the violence. Of course, I can’t stress this enough, no high school students should ever think about trying to recreate this scene today.

On a side note, and I hate to nitpick true artistic masterpieces, if you’re going to have a severed hand pull a dude’s tongue out of his mouth and slap him with it, it’s really important that he not blink. Damn it, people, we need accuracy.

Being a male teacher in California in 1987 was probably terrifying.

https://youtu.be/farC0cWkpvc

Between Summer School and Revenge of the Nerds II: Nerds in Paradise, 1987 was a huge year for Courtney Thorne-Smith. Hell, both movies came out in the same week in July, when she was just 19 years old and poised to become the next big things in terms of girls that all teen boys wanted to marry. Unfortunately, her movie career never really panned out, as the last live action role she had on the big screen was as Natalie in the Carrot Top hot fart Chairman of the Board. Her TV career was obviously a lot better, but that’s neither here nor there. Having her play a lovelorn surf goddess crushing on Shoop probably lured a lot of guys to the teaching profession, only to have them learn the hard way that prison sucks.

Additionally, there was the foreign exchange student Anna-Maria Mazarelli, who would grow up to win our hearts as Alotta Fagina. Was it standard procedure for foreign exchange students to be shoved into remedial English classes upon arrival? Sure.

It’s important to support fine arts programs.

https://youtu.be/u0kF24ceZMI

When I write about how hilarious it was how Hollywood tried to make us buy that some actors were teenagers when they were clearly at least a decade older, Ken Olandt is really Exhibit A. The guy who played Larry, the sleeping student by day and male stripper by night, was actually 29 when he was portraying a 17-year old, which is pretty hard to pass when very few teenage boys A) look like that and B) are hired to shake their dongs in strip clubs. Still, glaring age gaps and statutory and employment laws aside, it was nice to see that Shoop was so cool about Larry’s awesome after-school job. That is until he was busted by his mom and presumably spent the next decade in therapy.

It’s not lying if the company ripped you off in the first place.

The first time that I ever saw Summer School, I was convinced that the part about writing letters to companies to get free stuff would work every time. I spent a lot of time trying to write letters to the companies that made my favorite toys, so I could convince them that the action figures and especially the vehicles that I couldn’t afford had been broken. But then I realized that I might be called on my BS, and guys in suits might show up to my home demanding to see the broken toys, and then I’d be screwed and sent off to prison for lying. Ultimately, owning Krang’s fortress wasn’t worth a life spent in prison making license plates, which is how TV and movies taught me that license plates were made.

Jail in California looks very scary.

I still don’t know what the guy with the mustache is doing with his hand, but it’s really scary and I don’t want to ever have someone do that to me, so I’ve chosen to lead a life on the straight and narrow. Thank you, Summer School, for teaching us that jail is filled with scary perverts who want to do bad things to shirtless men on roller skates.

No matter the risk, steal your boss’s girlfriend.

https://youtu.be/B7ZTNm5o780

Vice Principal Gills was a pretty big bite in the ass, so we had to cheer for Shoop in pursuit of Robin Bishop, because Shoop was the coolest and his girlfriend had only recently taken off for Hawaii without him. Sure, Robin was kind of stuck up because she questioned the legitimacy of taking students to something as awesome as a petting zoo, which produced adorable moments like this:

And she also wore a denim shirt tucked into a different shade of denim skirt, because it was the 80s, but she had a good heart and she just wanted what was best for all students, even if it meant agreeing to a date with Shoop to get there. Also, Gills looked like a total goober-douche, and there’s no reason he should have been with Robin.

Education can be a compromise.

https://youtu.be/LzdoMQL_jR8

Is Alan Eakien one of the most underrated teen nerds of cinema? I say yes. That kid may have been dumber than rocks compared to his genius brothers, but he negotiated circles around Shoop. In exchange for a slightly-above-half-assed effort from less than half of the original class roster*, Shoop’s couch was set on fire, his goldfish murdered and car wrecked, bookending that whole going to jail for the two D-bags thing. Things could have been considerably worse, too, because Robin could have tried to get him banned from teaching for the rest of his life for allowing a female student to live with him.

But ultimately Shoop sacrificed so much for the sake of helping a few of his students learn some lessons about life, since they didn’t all pass their exams. Is he a good teacher for that or was he just an idiot being taken advantage of by other idiots? Especially idiots who looked like this:

Being an idiot isn’t all that bad, so long as you’re not a total idiot.

https://youtu.be/8fvhchY0UmY

Hey, in the end, some of those kids passed their exams, and the most important of them all was Pam, because that meant she could move on and not try to make it so Shoop returned to jail. This guy went from being just a run-of-the-mill bro’s bro gym teacher to making an impact in the lives of some kids who looked like they were grown adults. Sure, he couldn’t even talk a 17-year old out of stripping, and he allowed some of his students to treat the foreign exchange student like a sex model, but Freddy Shoop probably learned more than anyone.

Also, he totally stole the douchebag Vice Principal’s girlfriend, and Wonder Mutt found Bobby again in the end, so this really was a movie with a beautiful and happy ending.

#Summer School (1987)#Freddy Shoop #Robin Bishop #Mark Harmon #Kirstie Alley

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mlovesstories · 5 years

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You Know What You’re Doing Part 6

Words 3600

@spnbingo square: bed sharing

Warnings: Kidnapping, cussing, physical and mental abuse, arrests, guns, emergency response teams

AN: Not a medical professional over here. Since the whole chapter is rough, I did not indicate any areas to watch out for.

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“Ah!” YN jumped and turned with the baby in her arms, grabbing JJ and pulling her to the older one’s body. “James?” YN beamed. “Hi! Don't do that!” She shoved him jokingly. Noticing that she recognized someone, Jensen ran over to make sure she was alright. The oldest male walked to James and squared up to him. “Stop, Jay! He’s a friend!” YN stood in between the two until Jensen’s shoulders relaxed.

The younger male was not intimidated.

“Hi, nice to meet you, sir. I’m James.” He extended his hand to shake Jensen’s. His tall stature and broad shoulders oozed a quiet confidence. He turned back to YN. “Wait- he’s- we used to watch him on TV! You get to be Jensen Ackles’ foster?! Are you kidding?” James laughed in approval.

“Yep!” YN smiled widely. “He is not that cool though,” She nudged Jensen.

“What?” Jensen put a hand on his chest, feigning hurt. “So, who is this?” He composed himself.

“Oh, I was in the system with YN. She’s like my little sister. I aged out, but we were in the same house for a while,” his expression faltered. Jensen noticed YN’s frightened eyes at his mention of her housing history.

“Well then, it’s nice to meet you, James. We’re going to this taco truck for lunch, would you like to join us?”

“Uh, sure. Could I have a picture with you first? I’m sorry if that’s stupid. We just love your show so much. Right, YN?”

“You’re selling me out!” YN giggled.

“I didn’t know you were THAT big of a fan, YN. Good to know!” Jensen laughed. “Really though, I don’t mind the picture, and you’re more than welcome to join us for lunch, James.”

“I’m only here to take pictures for my photography class, so I don’t need to be anywhere,” he grinned. James handed his camera to YN who did her best to take a photo of them with one hand since Arrow was in her arms.

“Here,” Danneel walked over and took the baby from YN. Danneel walked away from YN while the boys smiled.

“Perfect!” YN squealed.

“I’ve missed you, YN.” James walked back to her to retrieve his camera.

“You too, James.” She gave him a side hug as Arrow said hello from Danneel’s arms.

“Hi, little one.” James waved.

“Come on, I’m hungry,” Jensen motioned for them to follow. James stayed in the back of the group with YN

“Did you see that guy? He looked almost exactly like-“

“Don’t, Jamie.” YN walked faster to catch up to the group.

“I’m just saying it was creepy,” he whispered as they threw walked up behind the family.

After everyone ordered, they sat at a lunch table. YN and James were uptight with the reminders of their previous treatment.

“You guys okay?” Jensen looked over at them, reading their stoic expressions. “Aren’t you glad to see each other?”

“Oh, yes! Just taking it all In, sir. It’s great to see her again. We went through a lot when-“ he stopped as YN sucked in a breath. “Never mind.” James cleared his throat. “I have been keeping up with the show. Are you on hiatus right now?” He looked to Danneel and Jensen.

“Yeah, it’s nice to be home with my four babies,” Jensen winked at YN. She rolled her eyes with a hint of a smile on her lips.

“I’m not a baby!” JJ piped in.

“You’ll always be his baby,” James assured her with a smile.

“He’s right, you know.” Jensen nodded. “Always and forever.”

————

YN and James walked to his car as they said goodbye. Having swapped phone numbers to stay in contact, the two hugged.

“I love you, James.” YN squeeze him tightly. He returned it with picking her up slightly. She chuckled. As he let go, they heard a click.

“Freeze,” a person behind them demanded. They both did as asked. “Get in the car.” A gun was put to James’ head. “You don’t cooperate, he gets hurt,” she growled at YN.

As YN gasped, she saw who was ordering them around.

“Susan?”

“I knew I saw Terry,” James whispered.

“He ain’t here! Is his wife not good enough for you?” The lady returned, talking about herself. “Get in! It’s my turn with you two.” She released the slide on the gun to show her seriousness.

YN screamed. Danneel and Jensen looked over as the two teens were shoved into James’ car with him in the driver’s seat.

“YN!” Jensen ran toward the situation, but it was a lost cause. They were speeding out of the parking lot. “No!” He screamed. “Dee! We need to call 911!” He sprinted back his family and took Arrow out of Danneel’s arms and put her in the stroller so that her hands were free.

“911 Emergency, how can I help you?”

“My daughter and her friend just got kidnapped by a crazy lady! Please send help to 32nd and Southern. It’s at Mountain Top Park!”

“Sir, what did the car look like?”

“Brown sedan. Toyota Corolla, maybe? 2015 model… I think.”

“What did the female look like?”

“Umm, gray, curly hair, mid-fifties, maybe 5’9”, but she had a gun. Please hurry!”

“What was she wearing, sir?”

“Pink shirt and gray shorts, I think. Please just said someone!”

——-

Once the police took witness statements, they put out an Amber Alert for YN and took a missing person’s report for James. The police team set out to look for the pair.

“You need to find her!” Jensen yelled at the cop, realizing the official was in ho hurry.

“Sir, whose fault is it that she went missing, huh? You are her guardian assigned by the state! Nice job, Hollywood!” The police officer gritted his teeth.

“Excuse me? This is not my fault! It doesn’t matter what my job is. Bring her home! Do you watch your fourteen year-old child all the time?” Jensen growled and stood square with the cop. “Because if you do, he or she will never learn to do things on their own!”

“You’re under arrest for interfering with an investigation, Mr. Ackles!” The investigator turned Jensen to face away from him. As the officer was cuffing him, Jensen’s phone rang. It vibrated on the hood of the cop car, so Jensen alerted him of who was calling.

“It’s YN!” He ripped his wrists out of the officer’s grip and picked up the phone. As the officer realized what happened, he tried to restrain him again. “YN, tell me you’re okay.”

“Jensen,” YN whispered. “I’m scared.”

“Okay, we’ll find you. Can you turn your location on? Is James with you?” Jensen tried to stay quiet. The officer froze when he understood what was happening. Jensen motioned for a pen and paper. He wrote down YN’s cell phone number and for the police team to track it.

“Yes, I can. He is here. He got hurt trying to protect me though. I’m in the trunk with him- no!”

Jensen heard scrambling and screaming on YN’s end of the phone call.

“YN!” He yelled. The call ended. “DAMMIT! Stop worrying about me and get my girl back! Now!” Jensen stormed away from the cop toward his family. Danneel looked up. He didn’t tell her much, he wanted to spare her the details. His wife’s shoulders were tense from keeping the other kids calm. “We’ll get her back.”

______

“You little devil child!” Susan screamed at YN. “You thought you could reach out to your new daddy without me knowing? I could hear you from the DRIVER’S SEAT!”

“He needs a hospital! He won’t wake up!” YN climbed out of the trunk while James was unconscious, limp in the small compartment.

“He’s fine. James can’t defend you now, you brat. Come here!” The lady pulled her gun off of her holster. YN stopped in place, scared. “Move!” The next thing she saw was dark walls all around her. Her breathing quickened. As she took in her surroundings, she heard a door from above open. Scampering backward, she pinned herself against a wall, afraid of whoever was coming down the stairs. A body tumbled down and hit the landing, the door slammed shut.

“James!” YN shrieked. “I got you. Wake up, Jamie!” YN crawled to him, realizing her broken ankle was no use. “Hey, Jamie!” She shook him multiple times in quick succession.

“Ugh,” he moaned. “YN? What happ-”

“Shh. You’re okay. Sit up,” she pulled him forward. “Breathe.”

“Are you okay?” James took her into his arms.

“Yeah. I think my ankle is busted, but I’ll be fine. How’s your head?”

“Headache. So bad,” he whispered.

“Okay, let me see you.” James backed away from her. She tilted his head toward the light streaming through a small window. “Looks like a concussion.”

“Great,” he rolled his eyes.

“No, it’s okay. Close your eyes. You’ll feel better.” YN smiled. “Lay down,” she guided him to rest at her side. They both heard rustling at the door of the basement. Susan stomped down the steps.

“Here! Be grateful!” The older women threw a couch bed mattress toward the two people lying on the floor. It landed on top of them. The corner stitching caught YN on the face.

“Ow!” YN pushed the mattress off of herself. She reached for her cheek which was now bleeding.

“That’s what you get for being a skank!”

“Why do you hate me? Huh?” YN screamed at the woman.

“Good night!” Susan took the stairs two at a time before shaking the basement with the closing of the door.

James flattened out the bare mattress onto the floor. “Come on, lay down,” he maneuvered YN’s body trying to not hurt her ankle. She scooted onto the uncomfortable surface with his help. James closed his eyes, fighting to keep them open.

“Rest. Come lay with me.”

“No, I’m fine. You take it. I’ll stand watch-” he curled over, falling asleep. YN tried her best to pull and push him onto the mattress while he slept. She lied next to him, fighting her own tired body.

———-

Jensen walked away from Danneel. He put his head in his hands.

“Jay,” his wife whispered, coming up behind him.

“Go be with the babies.” He couldn’t look at her.

“My parents took the kids. Come on,” she pulled him into her. “It’s not our fault. Don’t let that cop get to you.”

“He’s right.”

“Bullshit. We saw what happened. It’s not our fault. Get that out of your head, and let’s get her home.”

“What happened?”

“Sarah?” Danneel looked over at the woman running toward them.

“Law enforcement alerted me since YN is a ward of the state.” She stopped in front of the couple.

They explained the situation as best as they could recount for Sarah. She tried to hide her emotions, but the caseworker stepped away for a moment to collect herself. As she joined them again, a police officer approached the parents.

“We found her cell phone. On the east side of town.”

“Please tell me It’s not on the way to Second Street and San Jac. Sarah asked, tense.

“A few miles from there, why?” The officer confusedly raised a brow at her.

“Terry and Susan,” Sarah surmised. “That’s right by their house.”

“No. You can’t be serious!” Jensen took his baseball cap off and threw it to the ground. “The guy that hurt her? Kill his ass!” He kicked his hat, sending dirt everywhere. When he looked up, he saw Danneel’s eyes tearing up. His body relaxed and pulled her into his body. “We’ll figure it out.”

“Can you give us the address? We can go check it out,” the investigator asked Sarah.

“Yes,” she took a relieved breath. “Let me call the office and get it for you.” The caseworker stepped away and pulled out her phone. When she got off of the call, Sarah handed a slip of paper to the police officer. He ran toward his team to investigate the address. “Those assholes. I tried to get her out of there, but there was nowhere, I mean NOWHERE for her to go.” Sarah ran a hand over her face. “I- I did everything I could. I even tried to get her placed with me, but-” she took a deep breath.

“Not your fault,” Jensen weakly smiled. “I am going too.”

“No, Mr. Ackles!” Sarah yelled as he started to walk away. “That man- he will- just don’t. Please.”

“I need her to be okay, Sarah,” Danneel chimed in.

Jensen continued toward his car.

“Sir! You need to stay here!” One of the officers caught the conversation. “Stop, or I will detain you!” The man in his black uniform saw Jensen still ignoring him. Two officers chased after the foster dad. As Jensen stormed toward the driver’s side of the vehicle, they pushed him against it, his chest hit the window. The officers pinned him against the door. “I told you to stop!” The original officer used his forearm to make sure Jensen was pinned.. Before he knew what happened, he was in cuffs.

“I need to get her back!” He moved his shoulders to push the officers off.

“Sit down, or I will put you in my car,” the investigator growled. Jensen gritted his teeth and groaned out of frustration, but he followed orders. He plopped onto the dirt parking lot, leaning against the vehicle tire.

“Jay!” Danneel ran over. “What are you doing?” Sarah watched from afar. “I am about to have a mental breakdown, and you get arrested? Really?” Danneel crossed her arms. “Sir, please don’t!” She faced the higher ranking officer. “We just need to get YN back.” She looked back to Jensen. Silent, he hung his head.

“He can stay there until he follows directions,” the investigator answered and walked off.

“Ya know, a lot of the time I feel like an effing single mom, but I have never felt like that more than right now. We may lose her, and you throw a fit like a child?” Danneel sat down next to him while he still had his hands behind his back.

“I’m sorry,” he hung his head again.

“I know,” she sighed. She ran her hands through his hair and kissed his temple. “It’s their job to go get her. You’re an amazing dad, but you would go in there guns’ blazing, and that won’t work,” Danneel said evenly.

“You ready to not run around like a lunatic?” The officer approached the couple after leaving a group conversation. Jensen looked up at him, the sun in his face.

“Yeah,” he solemnly answered.

“Get your feet under you. I’m gonna pull you off the ground.” The man in cuffs did as asked. The cold, metal restraints were taken off of Jensen’s wrists.

“Look, I’m sorry-“ Jensen started.

“I get it, Mr. Ackles. I was out of line. If I was in your shoes, I would have done the same thing.” The officer reached out to shake his hand. “Don’t rub your wrists too much.”

“Have you heard anything from your team?” Danneel spoke up.

“There was a Corolla in the driveway of the house. That’s all I know right now, ma’am.”

————

“Wake up, sleepyheads!” Susan stomped down the basement stairs. The two kidnapped victims turned to face her. YN sat up.

“Why are we here? Where is Terry?”

“Shut up, YN!” James whispered.

“Lets just day that I was a bit jealous of you and him. He liked you. Terry is with the boys for the weekend. It’s my turn with you. James is just collateral damage. Breakfast!” The older woman threw a few strips on bacon on the dirty cement floor. Without another word, she exited the room.

James scooped the food off of the floor, blew the germs away, and handed them all to YN. Knowing he was trying to sacrifice for her, she took half out of his hand and gestures for him to have the rest.

“I thought he was at the park! So how are we getting out of here?” For the first time, they could see more of the room. With it being morning, sunlight rays lit the underground space.

“I know there is a deadbolt on the basement door. And there isn’t anything to help us with that down here.” James sighed. “Umm. Oh! Come here!” He grew excited. “No, wait! I forgot about your ankle. Let me just check something.” The older teen walked over to the small window that came down from the ceiling. It was in the shape of a tiny square, so he jumped up to see through it. “We may be able to get through. I see a latch, but it’s hard to reach. I’m tall, but i ain’t that tall,” James sighed.

“Come pick me up. I can reach it if you give me a piggyback ride” She opened and closed her hands, motioning for him to pick her up off the mattress.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” James’ protective nature showed through.

“You wanna get out of here or no?” YN snapped. “He could come back and find us here! We got this, now pick me up!” She extended her arms again.

“Fine, YN. I’m going to pull you up on your strong foot, and then I’ll put you on my back. Ready?” He crosses the room toward her.

“Yep.” She made sure her strong foot was flat against the concrete. Having lost her shoes in one of the scuffles with Susan, she took her time trying to even put her weight on her bare foot. Keeping her right ankle off the ground, she accepted James’ help to stand up. He made sure she was balanced before he faced away from her to lift her onto his back. “Wait, that’s not high enough. I need to be on your shoulders.”

“It’s too dangerous!” James pressed. “Don’t try to play superhero. You’re already hurt.”

“A broken body is much better than you telling everyone I’m dead! Besides, if I died, Jensen and Danneel would kill me,” she smirked.

“Don’t talk like that,” James groaned. “Fine.” He put her down to regain his balance. Hold onto the side of the steps. I’m going to step under you and lift you up.” He crouched down between her legs and balanced her rear in the back of his neck and shoulders. “1, 2, 3,” He said as he stood up, groaning. As he did, YN’s ankle hit the side of a step.

“Argh,” she bit her hand to hide her cry. Her eyes glistened from tears rolling down her face.

“Sorry, kiddo,” James whispered. “Let’s get out of here.” He walked both of them over to the wall with the small window at the top. YN reached, but couldn’t quite touch the latch. “Let me get closer.” She used her thoughts on his shoulders to reach a longer distance. As her hand touched the latch, they heard a noise.

“What are you-“ Susan swung the door open. Upon realizing what the teenagers were trying to do, she threw a bowl of ingredients for her lunch at them, but she fell down the stairs with a scream. The bowl hit YN in the chest and shattered, but James stabilized her. He didn’t even notice the shards of glass embedded in his own body. YN cried out.

“James Kellam? YN LN?” Over her screams, the two teens heard a man’s voice.

With YN still on his shoulders, he replied, “Yes,” to a tall, distinguishable man in a black uniform.

“Call a bus!” The officer screamed. “I’m going to cuff her, and then you guys can go upstairs, okay?” He looked at James and YN. “I can’t move her, because she has been shot.”

YN stayed quiet. Watching this unfold, she cowered. She was lost in all of the commotion of officers and EMTs everywhere.

“Yes, sir.” James slowly put YN back on the ground. He tried to ignore the yelling and chaos around them. Their captor was being subdued but not moved because of her bullet wound. The oldest teen wrapped his arm under both of YN’s arms, along the length of her waist, noting her now-ripped shirt and lack of concentration. He saw the fright in her eyes, mouth open in shock. “I got you. Look at me,” James’ eyes pulled hers from the scene in front of them. “I’m going to carry you out. Close your eyes. It’s scary, but don't look. I’ll keep you safe,” He soothed. “Jump on my back again.”

YN did as asked. Making sure he could see her eyelids shut, James was cleared by the officer to take YN upstairs. As they exited the house, gurneys met the two of them at the front entrance. Firefighters assisted James in laying YN’s broken body onto the moving contraption. “She got hot with the axe and her ankle is broken.”

As she was taken away, she thought she saw the silhouette of the man she hated the most.

“He-!”

“Sweetie, it’s okay. We’ll take care of you,” a sweet officer spoke to her. “No, I-“ her speech slurred. As she entered the ambulance, an emergency specialist told her that he was administering some medication. YN soon fell asleep.

“You’re coming too, son,” an EMT said calmly. In his role as defender, James forgot that he had suffered a concussion. The sunlight made him look away quickly. “I can tell you have a concussion, maybe some internal bleeding from the looks of your stomach.”

James looked down. His shirt was torn, and he could see that his midsection had swelled.

“You were knocked out and have been running on adrenaline. We need to make sure you are okay.”

With all of the instructions and flurry of activity, James was tired. He couldn’t think for himself anymore, so he followed the directions of the EMT.

“We’ll get you and your friend taken care of, Mr. Kellam.”

Tag List

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#spndeanbingo #mlovesstories #youknowwhatyouredoing #mlovesstoriesseries

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slackersunite-ao3 · 5 years

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Chapters: 10/10 Fandom: Spider-Man - All Media Types, Deadpool - All Media Types Rating: Explicit Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Peter Parker/Wade Wilson Characters: Peter Parker, Wade Wilson, Spider-Man, Deadpool Additional Tags: Fluff, Smut, Sexual Abuse, escort!au, AU, Wade is a sweetheart as always, Escort!Peter, Tagging as Updated, Slow Burn, kind of, rape mention, Angst, Suicide mention, happy endings, original origins, Bottom Wade, Top Peter, Complete, Prostitution Summary: Peter Parker is a prostitute, and Wade is one of his favorite customers. After an unfulfilling night a call from Wade has Peter feeling better than ever before.

Chapter 1

Suddenly his hands were everywhere. Down Peter's body, through his thin, ripped shirt. Then the man's mouth was all over him, and Peter wanted to scream but he couldn't. This, he had to do this. He had done it before, he would do it again. The man was muttering things about how he was a "pretty little bitch" and Peter wanted to run away and curl up in the shower, but he couldn't.

Then just as the man had been using his body just a few seconds ago, the hands turned suddenly rougher. Suddenly more prone to hitting, the mouth that had made it's way all over his skin became suddenly more prone to biting. Peter groaned, and he tried desperately to push away but the man was stronger. Peter could be fine with a little rough sex, a little beyond the limits and lines, but this was something that he couldn't take. The man was suddenly pushing Peter roughly against the wall, even if he was older with his greying hair he was still stronger than Peter whose tired muscles and malnutrition made him the perfect fuck toy. This was the fourth man tonight, and most likely the last. If the man didn't kill him, which he might, Peter would likely pass out right there.

The man threw Peter against the wall, his head banged harshly against the dusty dry wall, and then before he knew it Peter was face to face with the man's dick, and it was choking him, the man's hand pulling at Peter's hair. Peter couldn't breathe, and he tried desperately not to choke to hard. Then the man came all over his face and in his mouth and Peter was let go to fall onto the floor heaving and panting. The man kicked Peter harshly in the ribs, there was no payment.

It took all of Peter's strength to get up, he quickly grabbed his tarnished shirt and wiped his face best he could before he hit the streets again. Not the streets, he would be going to one place and one place only. And that was his dusty, broken apartment, which was terrible all except for the fact that it was empty and peaceful in its own way.

Peter walked the few blocks to his apartment, but before he could get all the way there his battered phone buzzed in his pocket. He flipped it open and read the text, "You free?" It was one of his regulars, a guy that was generous with the cash and easy to please. He was probably one of Peter's favorite customers. The guys he slept with either ranged from okay to extremely crappy, but Wade was just really good as a person. Peter sighed and slumped against a street sign. He needed the money, he hadn't gotten payed for all the lovely bruises he know had, and Wade wasn't too bad. He'd go, Wade might not want to sleep with him because of how fucked out he looked, but who knew maybe it was a hidden kink.

Peter texted back asking for an address, and Wade bless his soul had sent back an address just a block away. Peter trecked the block, his thin ripped clothing doing little to shelter him from the cool night air. The address led to a scarily fancy hotel. Peter didn't think they would let him in, at least not bloody and barely dressed. He texted Wade, "Don't think they'll let me in." And just after he hit send his phone started buzzing dramatically, a call. Peter answered, and Wade's voice on the other line was loud and bright as usual. "HIYA BABY BOY!!"

"Hey Wade," Peter tried his best not to sound as tired as he felt, but the boys tone wasn't lost on Wade.

"OkaY! So as you knoww... I LOVEEE MAKING A SCENE!! Soo... do me a favor and just walkk in through the fAncY ass double doors lIkE you PaYED TO BE THERE! I'll be waiting on the other side." With that Wade hung up, and Peter sighed with a small grin on his face, Wade was one of the only people who could make him smile. Peter jarred himself for whatever scene Wade was going to be making and moved towards the double doors.

It was lucky that the doorman had left for the night, so he was able to get through the doors at least. As soon as he got inside everyone in the lobby's heads turned immediately to him. The gold reflective material on the wall revealed to himself that he looked even worse than he had expected. The people at the reception desk were looking at him wide eyed, "Uhmm excuse me sir? But... do you have a reservation?"

Peter walked over to her, not ready for the scene which was at this point undoubtedly Wade showing up and making everyone look ridiculous when they tried to kick him out. "Yeah, no... I-"

"Okay, yeah well then you need to leave," the man at the counter said eyeing Peter like he was a nasty stain on his new car. At this point, the stain would have been more acceptable. Peter didn't move though and everyone in the lobby especially the old people sitting in the lounge looked extremely offended.

The man behind the counter moved around to stand intimidatingly next to Peter, and woman picked up the phone on the desk. "You need to leave before we call the cops." Peter smiled at the two of them, this would be funny. And right on que his knight in shining leather strolled out of the elevator. Peter couldn't help but burst into a brilliant smile, and Wade mirrored it under his mask.

"PETEY! BABYY!! YOU MADE IT!" Wade yelled throwing his arms up and moving towards Peter. Everyone in the lobby was looking at the ridiculous man in the red mask and the tux, and they didn't know what to do. The desk clerk who had come out from behind the counter straightened his collar, "You-a know this man?"

Wade turned to look at the guy in his green uniform vest, "Yes of course I do, don't you?" With that Wade strung his arm gently around Peter's shoulder, "He's the love of my life." With that Wade placed a soft masked kiss on the side of Peter's head, and by now everyone in the lobby was ready to pass out and the hotel's stock was plummeting. Peter was absolutely giddy with the looks they were getting, and he was just as petty, if not more than Wade. So Peter, knowing that Wade would never without asking first, turned in Wade's grasp and reached up turning Wade's head to face his own and kissed him where his mouth should've been. And then without missing a beat Peter turned back around to the desk clerk, "My boyfriend Wade always picks the nicest hotels doesn't he?"

And now the old people in the lounge were mentally passed out, and the desk clerks jaw had visibly dropped. Wade shrugged, threw a ben franklin on the desk and spun Peter around and walked him to the elevator, "Do me a favor and send up some Champagne!"

Once safely inside the closed elevator both men started laughing like idiots. "Oh mann BABY BOY THEIR FACES WERE BETTER THAN BOMBS!!"

Peter shook his head laughing, "Those old guys were really about to try and pour holy water on us!"

They laughed ridiculously all the way to Wade's room on the 69th floor. Which only made Peter laugh more, "You totally did that on purpose!" Wade looked at Peter, putting a hand on his chest and in mock offense, "Peter how could you doubt I wouldn't?!"

They made it all the way to Wade's room and Peter couldn't believe the sight. He had been to hotels with his Aunt years ago, but even then they were never like this. The room wasn't a room so much as it was a house. It had a living space, an office nook, a hallway and beyond. "Woah," Peter sighed as he stepped into the room, feeling completely in awe and out of place.

Wade smiled taking off his mask, "It's pretty nice isn't it."

"Yeahh," Peter breathed out, still amazed at the beauty of it all. Then Wade stepped closer to Peter and asked him to sit down. Peter hesitated, not wanting to ruin the perfectly nice couch. But Wade insisted, and Peter was likely to get paid so he did.

"Baby boy, what happened to you?" Wade kneeled down next to Peter, his eyes full of unadultered concern. Peter looked away, and suddenly he remembered how much his throat hurt, and he could feel all of the bad cuts and bruises, and suddenly he was tired enough to sleep for an eternity.

"Wade... I understand if you don't want me tonight. I know I look terrible, I'm sorry. I'll leave," Peter moved to get up, but Wade stood in his way. "Petey, you can leave if you want but not before I bandage you up."

"Wade... I can't, that's not your job." But Wade wasn't moving, and Peter was too tired to resist. "Pretty please with a cherry on top?! You never know maybe applying first aid is one of my kinks," Wade winked before he got up to go get the first-aid kit.

The first aid-kit wasn't a first kit at all, it was a heavy duty backpack stuffed to the brim with gauze and alcohol wipes, and suture equipment. Wade emptied all of the contents onto the coffee table. And then he went to the mini kitchen and brought back a warm damp towel. He carefully wiped Peter's face and then down his neck. Soon the towel was red and black and Wade tossed it into the trash, tearing open an alcohol wipe. "This might sting," he whispered as he gently wiped the open wounds on Peter's face. Wade worked that way for what seemed like hours that way. Gently cleaning Peter up, bandaging him in a way that only a medical professional could, and always asking before doing something, and continually explaining what he was doing and why. It was refreshing.

Once he was done, Peter felt about a thousand times better, and Wade sat back on his heels. "Do you know where I get my money from?"

Peter looked at Wade and cocked his eyebrow, "Well... you're a crazy psychotic mercenary, but I think military doctor might fit you a little better." Peter was only quoting the words of the man in front of him. He had described himself that way the first time they had met, months ago.

Wade smiled, "That's exactly right! CRAZY! PSYCHOTIC! FUCKED IN THE HEAD MERCC WITH A MOUTH!" Peter laughed, "I'll believe the merc part, and the mouth part, but not the rest. You're probably one of the sanest people I've met."

Wade let out a low whistle, "Baby boy I think you need to rethink who you're meeting." Peter shut his eyes and put his head in his hands, "Yeah, you're probably right." Wade put a hand on Peter's shoulder, "Yeahh, well being a mercenary and all I'd totally go pro bono for you."

That made Peter laugh, and Peter's laugh made Wade smile. "As lovely as that sounds, I think that's all the charity I can take from you for one night." Peter stood up to leave and Wade let him get all the way to the door before he was standing right before Peter. "Kiss me hard before you go!"

Peter laughed, "Lana would be proud." And he kissed Wade, sweetly, softly, perfectly. When they pulled apart Wade handed Peter a thick sweater and ten bens. Peter looked down at the money, "A kiss doesn't cost 1000 bucks Wade."

Wade kissed Peter's forehead, "You're right," he shoved another three hundred into Peter's hand, "GET HOME SAFE BABY BOY!" And he closed the door on Peter before he could argue.

Peter stood there shocked, staring at the red hoodie and the green cash, it was Christmas! Peter put the sweater on, it was warm and comfortable and it felt safe, and the cash was enough to keep Peter on his feet for a few days. He walked his bandaged, warm, rich ass home and fell asleep content and dreaming of Wade.

Wade had doned his mask again, and followed Peter home. He wanted to make sure that the man got home safely, and after Wade saw Peter collapse onto his bed, the single piece of furniture in his small apartment and fall asleep Wade walked back to the hotel and fell asleep a little upset and dreaming of Peter.

#spideypool #fanfic #black and blue #chapter fic #fanfiction #slackersunite #chapter 1 #black and blue 01

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realmofextremepossibility · 6 years

Text

Verboten

AU | Part 1/3 | PG - NC17

This was originally supposed to be an @xfpornbattle prompt, but of course, I never finished it. I’ve never really written anything multi-chapter before, so we’ll see how it goes.

Naval Air Station North Island, San Diego, California

June 1981

The salt of the sea tangled in her wind mussed tresses. She scrunched her toes deeper into the sand as the surf lapped at her ankles, a siren call beckoning her back to its depths.

A pair of strong tanned arms swept around her suddenly from behind and pulled her firmly against the chest of their owner swaying them gently from side to side, her burst of surprised laughter breaking over the crash of the waves. Her eyes slid closed and lips upturned as his soft lips nuzzled their way from the freckled skin of her shoulder, across the fine bones of her clavicle and up the curve of her neck to her ear.

“God, you are so fucking beautiful, Dana”

He pressed a gentle kiss in that sensitive spot just beneath it before pulling it into to his mouth. His hands crept lower on her hips, long curious fingers edging beneath the suit line, dancing their way towards the thin strings holding the sides together. A gentle tug on her ear…a gentle tug on the strings…closer and closer…

The sound of a car crunching in the driveway gravel jolted her eyes open and her hand from her panties. She jumped up in a panic, quickly wiping her hand on the towel she had laid down.

She peered out the window, her pulse speeding up and another gush of arousal flooding her already sopping underwear.

Fuck. It’s him. He’s here.

Fox Mulder was 19, brilliant, and beautiful, the star of many a late night teenage fantasy beneath the sheets in her darkened bedroom. He was also the on-again, off-again boyfriend of her older sister, Melissa, the forbidden fruit of her lust at whom she was forever allowed to look but never touch.

His tall, lanky frame leaned unaffectedly on the hood of his beat up Jeep, the epitome of cool, hair swept back and aviators perched on his aquiline nose, entirely unaware of the flurry of teenage anxiousness he was causing two floors up.

Her heart rampaged in her chest as she moved from the window to root around in the top drawer of her dresser, flinging her oversized t-shirt over her head in the process.

Damnit, pull yourself together, Dana. You can do this. This is your chance.

Her hand finally landed on what she was looking for and she pulled out the tiniest black bikini she had ever seen, let alone owned. The push-up cups gave her just the right amount of cleavage without looking too risqué and Melissa had insisted she buy it after dragging her to the mall last weekend.

"You need to learn to live a little, Dana," she'd chided, as she shoved her into the fitting room with the scrap of material. "You look smokin' and there isn't going to be a boy in town that can keep his eyes off you!"

Ahab would freak if he knew she had bought something like that. She looked in to the mirror to settle her breasts just right in the top before tugging on the barely there high waisted gym shorts her mother had expressly told she was not to wear in public. “Hot pants” were entirely inappropriate for a captain’s daughter. Her heart picked up speed at the illicitness of it all. Maybe Missy was right, she did need to get out of her comfort zone. And she knew exactly whose eyes she wanted on her.

Melissa and Mulder had been a thing since they met their sophomore year of high school and had broken up and gotten back together more times than she could count. Dana had been just a lowly thirteen year old in junior high, forever in the shadow of her beautiful older sister, but Mulder never treated her that way.

He was always kind, asking about school and her science classes, indulging her ramblings on Einstein and physics until Melissa pulled him away insisting she was boring him. He never seemed bored though. Bored people didn’t ask that many questions. Relevant questions at that. In a house where she was constantly talked over by Bill Jr. and Melissa, it was nice to have someone interested in what she had to say for once.

It was an innocent wish of a happy 14th birthday and kiss on the cheek that had changed everything. She'd stammered her thanks as her face flushed the color of her hair. Bill Jr. had teased her mercilessly for weeks afterwards. Her hand strayed to her cheek, certain she could still feel the gentle pressure of his soft lips on her skin, even three years later.

She smoothed her hair and leaned into the mirror, dabbing on just a hint of lip gloss and a few swipes of mascara, opting for the more natural look she knew Mulder preferred from one of the occasional eavesdropped conversations she had been privy to over the years.

Dana knew Melissa cared for Mulder, but she wasn’t the type of woman he needed. She was flighty and impulsive, and uninterested in settling down with one guy.

"Life is too short to tether one’s heartstrings to a single person so young, Dana," she'd once told her younger sister. "I want to follow my heart, be free to give and receive love."

What Mulder needed was someone stable and grounded. Someone to hold him when the nightmares about his sister woke him up crying and shivering in a cold sweat. He didn’t need someone to wave healing crystals over his head and babble about the deeper meanings of dreams and how they were the key to unlocking the subconscious.

Okay, so maybe she had eavesdropped more than just a few times. And Mulder’s bad dreams and beauty preferences weren’t the only thing she had “accidentally” overheard.

She’d heard him sneak in Melissa’s window one night, when they thought everyone else was asleep. Their shared bedroom wall was thin and hushed conversation quickly gave way to creaking springs. She could hear his muffled moans and felt an unexpected tingle down below.

She'd closed her eyes, imagining that she was the one making him make those noises. She hadn’t meant to, but she'd suddenly found her hand wandering lower of its own accord, pressing against the heat of her center. She'd quickly snatched her hand away, the nuns’ constant warnings about masturbation being the devil’s handiwork ringing in her head. But she couldn’t stop thinking about how good it felt.

In that moment, her innocent crush had turned into a full-blown obsession.

Dana Scully was a good girl. She was obedient and polite and god fearing. The heady rush of doing something so bad and wrong and downright naughty was intoxicating, even better than the time she sneaked one of her mother’s cigarettes in the dark. It was too tempting to resist. Night after night, she listened for his voice through the walls, a pile of soiled panties growing beneath her bed until she was alone in the house to do her laundry.

She took a final look in the mirror with a pop of her glazed lips and light spritz of Jovan Musk on her pulse points. “Discover the power,” the TV commercial had declared, claiming to bring more men and women together than any other fragrance in history. In a world filled with blatant propositions, brash overtures, bold invitations and brazen proposals, she was going to get her share. Satisfied, she slung her beach bag over her shoulder and headed down the stairs.

She wasn’t one of those immature girls littering the pages of her notebooks with hearts and his name in a loopy cursive scrawl. Mrs. Fox Mulder. Not anymore anyway. No, she was a woman. A woman who was going to show him that she was more than Missy’s kid sister.

As she made her way down the front steps to the driveway, he was still sprawled, god-like, against his car, chewing on that much fantasized about bottom lip and pensively shucking sunflower seeds with his tongue, an errant lock of hair flopping into his eyes.

Dana's fingers twitched with the urge to brush it back and just slide her fingers through his hair, certain it was as soft as it looked.

Keep it cool, Dana. You got this. Shoulders back, stomach in, chest out. Cool, casual, breezy, confident.

She strutted towards him with a subtle sashay of the hips, her chin tipped with an air of disinterest.

Mulder lifted his sunglasses slightly to peer over the mirrored lens, his eyes flitting briefly over the newfound curves of her body that had bloomed since she’d last seen him. Dana felt her face flush with a streak of pride and bit her lip to keep from grinning, willing herself to keep her cool. She had only recently become accustomed to having this power over men, and she’d be lying if she said it didn’t thrill her. For once, boys actually looked at her, instead of just Missy.

“Oh, hi Mulder,” she tossed out as casually and breezy as she could manage. He never let anyone call him Fox.

He pulled off the sunglasses, training the full force of his smile on her, the bright white glinting in the noonday sun. Her insides turned to mush and her knees went weak. He had no idea of his effect on her. It was entirely unfair.

“Hey, Dana!”

Just the sound of her name on his lips made her stomach flutter and crotch moisten again. She could listen to that throaty monotone for hours. She took a deep breath in a futile attempt to settle her nerves and prayed the thundering echo of her pulse wasn't audible outside her own ears.

"What are you doing here? Didn't Missy tell you she was going out of town for the weekend?"

“Oh…” Mulder murmured, his smile fading. He shook his head as if to clear it, suddenly looking like a lost puppy who couldn’t find his owner. “Yeah, I guess she did mention that. I must have forgotten. Sorry, I should go.”

He reached to put his sunglasses back on and turned towards the car.

“Wait!”

Mulder jumped, startled at the force of her tone and her sudden hand on his arm.

Perfect, Dana...that was absolutely chill, cool, calm, and collected. Fantastic.

“You should come with me to the beach,” she offered brightly, doing her best not to frighten him anymore than she already had. “It’ll be fun! Plus, I hear it rains a lot in England, so you should enjoy the California sunshine while you can.”

He smiles softly at her, his mood seeming to lift. “Yeah, okay. I'd like that.”

"I was planning on going down to Coronado -" she began, frantically stopping midway at his scrunched nose of displeasure."But if you have a better idea, I'm down for anywhere!"

Mulder chuckled and rested his hand against the exposed small of her back to guide her towards the Jeep, sending a rash of goosebumps across her skin.

“Actually, I think I do. Hop in, kid. I know just the place.”

#it's been forever since I've written anything #let alone something not intentionally terrible #imadethis #txf fic #xf fic #txf fanfic #xf fanfic #the x files #x files

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