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mcfreakin-bxtch · 4 years

Text

Alleyways

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: Smut, Public sex, Oral (m), Light fingering/cumplay, Dom/sub, Sergeant kink (it really made a comeback huh), Language, A little unedited

Word Count: 2.1K+

Summary: You convince Bucky to come with you to your favorite club.

A/N: I just missed writing for Bucky so here’s a quick one. I think the next fic I write for him is gonna be a fluffly one.

*Also reminder that I have my new taglist forum pinned to my dash if anyone would like to be tagged for any future fics!

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He’s struggling. Oh is he struggling.

And you can’t blame him. You’ve been teasing him relentlessly for hours now, and this—this is the cherry on top.

You don’t mind all the ogling eyes that are watching your every move, every swing of your hips in the luscious dress that hugs your curves to perfection, because they don’t matter; only the cool gray, ocean eyes is important to you.

The tick of his jaw brings a sweet grin to your lips—it means nothing but punishment for you; sweet, delicious punishment. You slide your palms down your thighs, making a show of licking your lips. The reaction, though a good distance away, is exactly what you’ve been looking for.

He stalks towards you through the crowd of swerving bodies, dancing to the rhythm of the beat coursing through the club.

Like a hunter finally taking its prey.

The alcohol buzzing in your veins is dull now thanks to your ‘vigorous’ exercise. It took days to even convince Bucky to come to this bar with you—though more confident in this confusing world, he still carries that soft, shy side of him—and fuck do you love teasing him like this; building him up until he fucks you so hard you can’t walk properly the next day.

You close your eyes and continue to sway to the beat, smirking to yourself as you still feel his eyes on you. Within a matter of seconds his hands are on your hips, roughly pulling you to his chest with a low growl.

“I know what you’re doing, doll,” he whispers gruffly in your ear; you shiver in delight and wrap your arms around his neck. “And you better fucking stop before I fuck you here in front of all these people.”

The idea excites you and you feel your pussy flutter at just the thought of it. You lean up and stick your tongue out, licking the shell of his ear and nibbling on the lobe; the heavy sigh followed by his fingers tightening in his grip makes you purr in humorous delight.

“Then do it, Sergeant.”

You know without looking up that his eyes are barely the blue gray you’re more than familiar with, they’re pitch black now with animalistic lust, the title only adding fuel to the fire brewing from the tension between you.

Before you can even begin to tease him further he’s pulling you after him, tripping and stumbling over the surprise of it but quickly gathering your footing with a giggle rumbling at your lips.

The air is crisp and warm tonight, a perfect combination for what you’re about to do. Your heart beats heavier in your chest when Bucky looks back and forth to his left and right of the alleyway, making sure not a soul is in sight. The anticipation building in your stomach coils when he finally turns to you with a set jaw and heat blazing in his eyes, scorching you.

He doesn’t need to say anything as he slowly backs you up to the cold wall of the building. Or when he presses up against you like a matching puzzle piece, his thigh between your legs, chest to chest, tips of your noses barely brushing against each other as he cups your cheeks.

Despite the heat flaring, there’s still the soft love he can’t help but show you every time, even before a nice, hard fuck that easily contradicts the way his slightly chapped lips glide along yours with gentle ease.

Bucky kisses you slowly, committing the taste of you to memory all over again with his tongue swirling with yours in a languid dance, literally taking your breath away. You gasp when he bites down on your bottom lip, sucking it and bringing his knee up to the heat between your thighs; he can feel your pussy against his clothed knee, realizing with a sucked in breath that you’re not wearing any panties.

“Fuck,” he hisses through his teeth, resting his forehead against yours. “You’re gonna be the death of me, baby.”

You moan softly and grind your pussy against his thigh, the friction delicious for your pulsing clit. “Yeah?” You whisper coyly, then lean in to start leaving kisses on his neck.

He tilts his head to the side as you lick the veins pulsing on his neck, giving you access to more of his skin. You suck and bite up to his sweet spot just behind his ear, grinding yourself down harder and brushing your leg against the obvious bulge poking against his jeans.

“Jesus we’re gonna get caught,” Bucky grunts but does nothing to stop you—he instead slides his palms down your sides until he reaches your ass, grabbing the flesh and kneading it roughly.

You pull back with a smirk and before he opens his mouth to ask what that mischievous smirks means, you’re on your knees and tugging at his belt buckle.

At this point, you don’t care that anyone can walk by and see you like this.

It’s getting to Bucky, too, because he instantly moans and grabs a fistful of your hair, tugging gently when your fingers brush against his cock when you make a hurry to pull his pants down just low enough for it to spring free.

Your mouth waters at the sight of the precum leaking from the red angry tip, and you don’t waste a second to slip your tongue out and lick under the head of him, fisting what you know won’t fit in your mouth. He jerks into your grip and tightens his fingers in your hair, the sting welcoming.

“Suck,” he orders gruffly.

Oh that gets your core even wetter if that’s possible, your inner thighs already slick and sticky.

Obliging without hesitance you slide your mouth over his long, thick girth until he’s hitting the back of your throat, already bringing tears to your eyes as you breathe out your nose. He groans with his head thrown back.

“Love that mouth of yours,” he drawls thickly, traces of his old Brooklyn accent seeping through; it secretly turns you on.

You hum and swirl your tongue, licking along the veins and constricting your throat as you suck. You do this a few times before pulling back for air, sliding your hand up and down his length, smearing his precum and your spit as lubricant. It doesn’t last long, Bucky tugging on your hair towards his cock for more of your eager tongue.

“Fuck princess,” he sighs, starting to thrust his hips, making you gag slightly with every hit of the back of your throat. “You should fucking see yourself right now. You—no, suck harder… yes just like that.” His thighs start to shake and his breathing becomes shallow, letting you know that he’s close to coming. You fondle his balls just how he likes, earning you a moan that gets lodged in his throat.

“Y-you gotta stop. Wanna come in you.”

You pop off him in such an obscene manner that you almost flush and the way he looks at you as you stand makes you truly believe that you’re a sight for wonder—tear stains on your cheeks, dry spit sitting on your chin and lips glistening brightly in the dull lights of the street lamps surrounding the city.

Bucky wastes no time in capturing your lips in a passionate kiss that clashes teeth and bangs head, not that either of you care, too caught up in the moment to give a damn about anything other than the feel of each other. His hands, metal and flesh, slide up your thighs until he reaches the end of your dress, hiking it up to your waist and lifting you up; you feel the bulbous tip of him at your leaking entrance and fuck why the fuck is he not inside you already?

“Ready?” He asks.

Your annoyance simmers away at the gentleness you see now in his expression, always ever the gentlemen and perfect lover in every way you need.

You peck his lips softly and wrap your leg around his hip, digging your heel into his ass so that his cock glides along your wet folds—Bucky tenses and closes his eyes, making your lower stomach constrict with boiling arousal.

“Fuck me.”

As soon as those words leave your lips he’s slamming into you, knocking the breath right out of you in a choked scream. He immediately slaps his palm over your mouth.

“Gotta be quiet.” He pulls out slowly, dragging the feeling of your velvet walls around his cock, and thrusts hard inside you, starting a rough and fast pace that already has your legs shaking.

Your moans get trapped behind the calloused flesh, but fuck you can hear every curse and moan that tears its way from deep within his chest, filling you with electrified euphoria that travels deep in your bones and numbs your body in the best, pleasurable way possible.

“You’re already squeezing the fuck outta me baby,” he groans in your neck.

The slaps of his skin hitting yours echoes across the alleyway—now anyone walking by will definitely know what the two of you are up to—and your cunt flutters around him, as if answering him. He chuckles when you do and grinds his hips harshly so that you can feel the brush of his trimmed hair against your clit.

He suddenly removes his hand from your mouth and swallows the next set of moans, allowing you a taste of his as he moves faster and harder against you.

“Feel so good sergeant,” you gasp in his ear high pitched.

He laughs and rewards you by biting down on your chest, leaving his mark for any and all to see who you belonged with. You hug his head and run your fingers through his short, soft locks.

“K-keep going,” you find yourself babbling, too lost in the haze. “Oh shit I’m close.”

“Yeah,” his breath stutters, eyes pinching shut with a hard grind that has you trembling and whimpering in his arms.

You gasp and arch your back until your breasts are heaving, needing to feel every inch of this gorgeous, insatiable man until you’re nothing but a trembling, weeping mess at his feet. He takes the chance to nibble at the perk nipples peaking through the thin fabric and holy fuck you’re so fucking close, you can feel it deep in your gut as he hits your sweet spot over and over again with expert precision; he’s even hitting your cervix, the pain only mixing with the pleasure.

“You gonna cream this cock, huh?” He moans and stammers when your pussy clenches around him. “Let me fill you up like the good girl you are? Feel me dripping from your tight pussy on the way home.” A hard, punctuated thrust that pushes you up the wall and makes your eyes roll to the back of your head. “Yeah I feel you sweet girl. Fuck I love you.”

You can’t stop the moans that are increasingly getting louder and louder but you don’t find any trace of embarrassment within you when you got his dick hitting every nerve in your aching pussy, bringing you closer and closer to your creeping orgasm.

“I love you!” You gasp harshly through the shattering thrusts that racks your entire body.

Your cunt clenches tighter and tighter around him until you can barely feel the rest of your body other than the heat burning between your legs and he’s cursing as his cock twitches. He brings the hand that’s been on your hip between you and suddenly you’re seeing white with one pinch of your neglected clit, coming around him in a gush that feels like a weight is leaving your lower stomach in waves.

“Fuckfuck Jesus!”

Bucky snarls and slams into you with all the force he can muster—without hurting you too much, of course—until his face and neck is red and he’s choking on a groan as ropes and ropes of cum fill your sensitive, quivering cunt.

You don’t know how long it takes for you to come down from your high. You can only register the feeling of his cock softening inside you, the light kisses being pressed on your chest, the tight grip under your thighs that’s supporting you; every breath leaves your chest in pants, matching Bucky’s in a post-orgasmic tempo.

When you finally do he pulls out of you with a soft hiss from him and a low whine from you. He eyes the way his cum immediately drips from your pussy. Just as you suspected he’d do, he slides two of his thick fingers up your thigh, catching some of it and pushing it back inside you. You groan and wince.

“Think you can handle another round when we get home?” He raises an eyebrow with his lips tilting upwards in a sloppy, goofy smile that makes your heart skip a beat from the sheer beauty and light of it.

“Bring it, Sergeant.”

The sore that leaves your pussy aching for days is well worth it.

Tags: @yippyikaiyaymotherfucker, @hiwelcometochillys, @paintmekala, @sunshine-rainbows17, @jaynoellef, @marian

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes imagines #fanfic #bucky barnes smut #james buchanan bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes

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bard-llama · 3 years

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WiP Wednesday: Love Breeds Love Isendain Edition

So, I have a porny universe called Love Breeds Love where the premise is that settlements across the Northern Kingdoms are being founded with the intent to save the elven race from extinction.

Now, for Iorveth and Roche, we discover that the settlement they're living in (Aiseirigh meaning rebirth/resurrection) is dedicated to doing this through accepting half-elves and creating more half-elves, because humans are very good at breeding. This means adjusting their culture as they share it, because half-elves and humans have their own experiences they're bringing to the settlement.

For some elves, that is simply not acceptable. They don't want human blood to taint their 'purity'. So they commit to working with elven couples to make babies. Their birth rate is much lower, but they argue that their product is better. (For the record: when you hear this kind of rhetoric, run. It's VERY eugenicist and suuuuuper racist).

Isengrim and Eldain both find themselves at one of the latter settlements (which I haven't named yet oops). They don't arrive together, though. In fact, they hadn't expected to see each other at all, though it's nice to see that rumors of each other's deaths were greatly exaggerated.

Because of the way I've made elven biology work, it's really important for the volunteers at this pure elven settlement choose a partner and really get to know them, get comfortable with them. This increases their chances of conception actually happening. I haven't actually decided if only one or both get pregnant, but they did decide to have some 'practice sex', to ensure their comfort. XD

I'll stick a bit of the WiP under a cut, but the really fun thing about this 'verse (aside from literally just being an excuse for breeding kink) is that the two settlements have to actually MEET at some point. At which point, rorveth and isendain discover each other and have a variety of reactions.

'cause see, Eldain doesn't like humans and he doesn't trust humans. He's made that mistake before and he refuses to do it again. So he is perfectly happy with the idea of living amongst elves and never having contact with a filthy human again.

But life isn't that easy and Isengrim and Iorveth are still old friends, though it's definitely awkward at first. But over time, Roche becomes the first human that Eldain actually feels comfortable around and they become bros. They most definitely bond over being feral raccoon disasters while their partners are fancy shmancy proper and polished types lmao. Oh, also, Iorveth and Eldain may both be musicians, but they despise each other's genres XD

I mentioned that this universe was just an excuse to write porn, right? So I've got a whole arc planned for isendain to meet up and bond with rorveth, but first, they all gotta get bred, 'cause that's the premise of the 'vese lmao. So this first isendain fic is the set up - establishing the settlement, getting them together, going through the breeding ceremony, etc. The sex is unfortunately fighting me during the 'practice sex' stage, but eventually, this will be a nice, long smutty piece. For now, though, here's them actually meeting again.

He’d arrived at the settlement alone, responding to a notice on saving the elven race, and he’d been astonished at how many people had actually shown up to do this. Of course, out of the thirty elves that had come to be bred, only a small portion would actually be able to conceive.

Eldain swallowed, wondering if he’d be one. He wasn’t sure if he was hoping that he would or that he wouldn’t, honestly, but hell, he was already here. He couldn’t back out now.

Which meant he had to find himself a partner. The notice had specified that single volunteers were welcome along with couples that were willing to conceive, but the first thing the elf who greeted him when he’d arrived had said was, “pick someone and get to know them. The actual breeding will not begin until this evening, but it’s important that you spend some time with your partner and become comfortable with them.”

Eldain had nodded, aware that feeling safe and comfortable was essential for elves to produce viable eggs and for them to be able to conceive. But he hadn’t realized just how many people there were and how daunting trying to choose one stranger out of two dozen would be.

So when he spotted the scarred man with dark hair that stood about two inches above everyone else, Eldain’s first emotion was relief. In more than one way, because this was someone he actually knew, but also, he’d heard that the other elf was dead. Of course, they’d likely heard the same about him, so Eldain shook himself and strode towards the famed Iron Wolf.

When he got closer, it became apparent that he was not the only one who had recognized Isengrim Faoiltiarna, because several other elves were circled around him, trying to persuade him to pick them.

The feeling in Eldain’s stomach was not jealousy, nor was it disappointment. It wasn’t like Isengrim was likely to choose him amongst all these choices. Hell, when they’d met in the past, he’d gotten the impression that Isengrim tolerated him at best.

Nodding to himself, he spun on his heels to find someone else to partner with when Isengrim apparently spotted him and called his name, a little bit desperately.

He couldn’t exactly walk away now, so Eldain turned back and walked up to Isengrim and his pursuers, forcing a friendly smirk onto his face. “Hey,” he started to say when Isengrim grabbed his shoulders and pulled him close in an overly familiar hug. Before he could say anything, Isengrim murmured in his ear.

“If you pick me, I swear I will owe you a favour of your choosing,” Isengrim’s low voice growled and Eldain shivered, Isengrim’s breath tickling over his exposed skin.

Pick Isengrim? Sure, twist his arm. That had, after all, been his initial intent. But he wasn’t sure why Isengrim was asking when Isengrim was the one with the pick of the place.

“Yeah, all right,” Eldain shrugged, trying to exude casualness. He was obviously just doing this for the favour. No other reason. “Shall we find somewhere to chat, then? Apparently we’re supposed to get to know each other.”

The look of sheer relief on the Iron Wolf’s face was strange to be on the receiving end of. But Isengrim slipped his arm through Eldain’s, immediately pulling them away and guiding the pair towards the garden.

Eldain looked around, mildly impressed. For a new settlement, these organizers were doing a pretty good job and getting it up and running.

Which made sense, given they were hoping that this event would culminate with many pregnant elves.

“So,” Eldain drawled, surprised by how much he liked the feeling of Isengrim’s fingers against the crook of his arm. “Seems like you’re a big hit.”

Isengrim’s nose wrinkled in a strangely adorable expression and Eldain bit his lip against a smile. “Apparently there is potential acclaim in having the Iron Wolf’s child. Even though, as I understand it, the point of this event is not about genetics as much as just…”

“Conception?” Eldain offered, and Isengrim nodded, frowning. “So why choose me? Do I not get the same acclaim?”

Isengrim snorted, “you have your own acclaim. Though, speaking of, I’d heard you were dead?”

“Likewise. It was a close ‘almost’,” Eldain shrugged, trying not to let the memories flood through him. He cleared his throat instead. “And you?”

Isengrim made a face, “believe it or not, I owe my survival to a human.”

“You’re kidding.”

The Iron Wolf shook his head, looking every bit as imposing now standing in an early-stage gardener’s plot as he had commanding Scoia’tael into battle.

Eldain licked his lips. Sure, he may have his own ‘acclaim’ in the form of a brutal reputation that was based mostly on real events, but there would always be something majestic about the Iron Wolf that people like Eldain could never match.

“Well, I doubt either of us want to talk more about that,” he said, jerking his gaze away from Isengrim’s face and continuing their walk through the garden. “So, what have you been up to?”

“Oh, you know,” Isengrim shrugged casually, “fighting, assassinating kings, that kind of thing.”

Eldain blinked, gaze landing on Isengrim again. Isengrim had a little smirk on his face, like he was enjoying Eldain’s reaction, but there was no sign that he wasn’t telling the truth.

“Wow, and here I thought I was doing well with my best kill being a duke,” Eldain joked, smiling back at Isengrim.

Isengrim tossed back his head and laughed, deep, rumbling sounds that felt at home settling in Eldain’s chest. Weird.

“What about you?” Isengrim asked after his laughter had passed. “What’s keeping you busy these days?”

“Eh, I’ve been working as a merc,” Eldain said, wondering if Isengrim would judge him. It was always hard to predict with Scoia’tael – some thought fighting for money was horrific and some thought it was sensible. He didn’t know what Isengrim thought.

“Oh? Around Aedirn?”

“All over,” Eldain shrugged. It had taken him about a year to be ready to return to Aedirn after everything with fucking Queen Meve. She was a perfect example of why humans could never be trusted. Ever.

He swallowed hard. “So, what do you think about this event?”

Isengrim huffed a soft laugh. “At my age, I kinda figured my chances of having a child were pretty slim. But…”

“Yeah,” Eldain nodded, understanding the unspoken reason. How could they not, when the very fate of their species lay in peril?

“But you’re pretty young, aren’t you?” Isengrim asked him. “Is this your first time doing this?”

Eldain hummed, pondering exactly how much older Isengrim was. The Iron Wolf had lived pre-humanity, Eldain knew that much. Most of the Scoia’tael commanders had been older elves that had been born before the Conjunction of the Spheres. Eldain had been unusual in gaining his command, but none of the elder elves ever had the balls to take on the Moulderwoods, so it had fallen to Eldain and all the younger elves who had been born there. Not that there were many of them left anymore, not after...

Eldain shook himself. If he kept thinking about his old command and his old home, he was either going to scream or cry, so he very pointedly redirected his thoughts to his companion.

Isengrim looked – pretty great, actually, for someone who was supposed to be dead. But then, Eldain wasn’t entirely sure it was possible for the Iron Wolf to look anything but gorgeous and commanding and in control.

“So, Isengrim,” he enunciated Isengrim’s name clearly and Isengrim cocked an eyebrow, one that was split by the scar that spanned across his nose. It was kind of beautiful. “What do we need to know about each other to be able to comfortably fuck?”

Isengrim choked slightly at him being so blatant about it, but seriously, they were at a breeding event. There was nothing un-crass about this whole thing.

“Well,” Isengrim cleared his throat. “Um, I guess… I have no idea,” he said after a long moment. “Um, maybe preferences, I guess?”

Eldain snorted, “feels like an icebreaker question. ‘Hi, I’m Eldain and I prefer men.’”

“Any man?” Isengrim’s eyebrow arched again. “Or specifically one who can put a brat like you in their place?”

Eldain’s breathing hitched and his exhale was shaky. “That helps,” he managed to say, and Isengrim’s mouth twitched into a smirk. “And what does the Iron Wolf prefer?”

Isengrim’s nose wrinkled again, clearly uncomfortable with his moniker in this context. Eldain made a note of that. “Apparently,” Isengrim said slowly, “my type is bratty musicians.”

Blinking, Eldain took a moment to process that, then grinned widely, bowing and flourishing his hand in front of him. “At your service.”

Isengrim laughed again, shaking his head. “What kind of music do you play, anyway? All the rumors said was ‘former musician’.”

Eldain tsked, “really, Isengrim, don’t you know better than to believe rumors?” Isengrim rolled his eyes and Eldain laughed. “Mostly, I play the lute and the fiddle, though I know several other instruments. I’m a modern musician, none of that classical shit.” He shut his mouth, abruptly realizing that Isengrim had been alive when those ‘classics’ were new, and may have been attached to them.

Fortunately, Isengrim just chuckled. “You’d probably get along terribly with my ex. He’s very much a classicist.”

“Oh?

“Played with symphonies and stuff, way back,” Isengrim said, a soft smile on his face that Eldain knew wasn’t for him.

He cleared his throat, looking away from Isengrim’s face. It wasn’t as if he was in love with Isengrim or anything, but it still hurt a little bit to be reminded that this was all to save their species. Isengrim had chosen him, sure, and that was an honor. But it was nothing more than sex. He needed to remember that.

Swallowing hard, Eldain forced a smile on his face. “Bet I’m a better musician,” he taunted, and Isengrim laughed again.

“You might be,” Isengrim conceded. “Would you play for me?”

Blinking in surprise, Eldain looked back at Isengrim. The smile on his face was different now, not like he was thinking of a past love, but like it was intended for Eldain.

This time, he swallowed down an entirely different emotion. “Yeah,” he managed to say. “Um, lemme–” he cleared his throat again, cursing himself for leaving his lute with his stuff in the room the organizers had given him.

Isengrim licked his lips and suggested, “I could come with you.”

“Uh, sure,” Eldain shrugged, wondering why he felt like a teenager bringing a boy home for the first time.

Isengrim’s smile widened, and he stepped up to curl his hand around Eldain’s elbow again. Eldain bit his lip against his own smile, leading them towards the rooms for volunteers.

#isendain #isengrim x eldain #past isengrim x iorveth #rorveth #mentioned #the witcher #wip wednesday #my fics #love breeds love #i should really be consistent about if each 'verse gets its own tag honestly

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themuseic · 4 years

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Only Fools (Chapter 1)

Fic Summary: Sent to Boone County, West Virginia on an assignment, you find yourself engulfed your work. How could you possibly find time for anything else? Even if “anything else” includes the tall, kind, and handsome bartender from down the road?

Word Count: 2.2k

Read here on AO3.

Warnings: Use of alcohol.

Author’s Note: Hi everyone!! I started a fic! It’s the first fic I’ve written, so please, I would love any and all feedback. I want to grow and constantly get better, so if you have any advice, I will be more than willing to listen! But I really want to give a huge shout out to @mind-p0llution, who not only encouraged me to write and beta read this for me, but has been nothing but supportive and kind to me! I hope y’all enjoy.

Ten hours on the road today, and you had finally, finally, reached your destination. A small town in Boone County. You hadn’t seen another car in miles, and the lights of Route 64 had long since faded behind the horizon. A yawn overtook you, and you tilted your head to one side, and back, a satisfying crack sounding as you relieved the pressure in your tense neck. Straight to the hotel then, you thought, ready for a shower and a comfortable bed to sleep in. As much as you loved a long road trip coupled with the beautiful vistas of rural America, you could only listen to so many podcasts, playlists, and radio stations.

You turned off of the road, following the directions of the robotic voice to your hotel, when something caught your eye. A wood paneled building sat on the side of the road boasting a red and green fluorescent sign that read “The Duck Tape Bar and Grill”. It wasn’t an overly impressive building, but the amount of cars parked outside suggested otherwise. Vehicles spilled out of the asphalt parking lot and onto the shoulder of the road. Some were even parked half into the drainage canal and half onto the street in order to secure their spot. It seemed as if every person in a 50 mile radius had found themselves at this one bar all on the same night.

You bit your lip in consideration. The bed at the hotel still called you, but that voice seemed to diminish to a whisper as the prospect of a nightcap looked better and better. What’s one drink? you thought to yourself, as you pulled over and threw the car into park. Grabbing your wallet and a stick of gum to suppress the stale road breath on your tongue, you hopped out of the car and strode towards the building.

~~~

The tinkling of a bell and a gust frigid air followed you into the bar as you slipped through the door, spinning to push it closed behind you. You blinked as your eyes adjusted to the warm lights that lined the space. It was a welcome change from the harsh headlights that you had found yourself driving into on the highway, and you were happy for it. The air was filled with happy, lilting voices and soft music that made you feel at home almost immediately and the sounds of glasses clinking and… the strongest smell of apples? You inhaled deeply, warmed to the bone by the spiciness of the scent, and tilted your face slightly to take it in. Like a dog to a bone, you scurried to the bar, hoping to snag a glass of whatever it was you were smelling.

You settled onto a high backed barstool and leaned forward, chin perched on your palm. It most definitely was a busy night, but the one bartender in the place looked like he was handling himself just fine. You looked down the bar, taking in the face of every patron as they chatted away. Entranced by the mirth that each exuded, you didn’t realize the bartender had noticed a new face at the bar until he was standing right in front of you.

“Hey darlin’, what can I get ya?”

Your head snapped forward at the deep rumble and you locked eyes with the man. He was, in a few words, breathtaking. He had bright hazel eyes framed by long dark hair, and the kindest gaze you had seen this side of the Mississippi. He was freckled and scruffy and just about the largest man you had ever laid eyes on. He entranced you, and you found your eyes gently tracing his every feature.

“Uh, darlin’?” he cautiously asked again, as if he was trying not to scare you, and you snapped from your reverie. “Oh, god, sorry. I guess I’m a little tired from my drive,” you laughed.

“S’no problem ma’am,” he smiled shyly, “You lookin’ for something to drink?”

“Yeah you know, I think I am. I can’t help but smell those apples, what is that?” you asked, and his face lit up immediately. “That’s my mama’s cider, I’ve got a batch goin’. Wanna try it?” he offered. He was already reaching to grab a mug before you nodded, which you did eagerly. He smiled again - oh, did that look good on him - and he turned to ladle some of the steaming liquid into the mug. The nameless man handed it back to you, your fingers brushing softly as the mug changed possession. You felt your cheeks warm as they did, a reaction to the light touch and your embarrassment that you were so flustered by this man. At least, you assured yourself, anyone in your position would be too. How could you not be?

“Thank you…” you started to inquire, and he eagerly interjected, “Clyde! M’names Clyde ma’am,” as he reached his arm towards you in his haste, fingers splayed. You giggled as you offered up your own, your eyes softening. “Well Clyde,” you sipped the warm liquid, ”you and your mama have a really good recipe for cider.” He beamed back at you, his cheeks reddening and his eyes crinkling as his dimples pushed . “Thanks darlin’, I try to do the recipe justice. Threw some V.S.O.P. in tonight instead of the regular brandy.”

“Oh?” you asked. “Special occasion, or just wanting to spice up your Saturday night?”

He huffed the lightest laugh in response. “T’be honest, I ran out of the normal stuff. I don’t think it’s tastin’ quite right.” His eyes fell to the mug in your hand, and he nodded at it. “Well darlin, let me know if you need anything else tonight. I’ll be around.”

He turned away over his right shoulder as he moved to the next patron seated at the bar, and a glint of metal caught your eye. You saw how he kept that arm, the one with the robotic attachment, mostly below the top of the bar. He didn’t even use it to emphasize his words, though he didn’t seem to offer up too many to begin with. There was a quiet beauty to him, and you were entranced by it. But, you reminded yourself, this was a small bar, in a small town. There was no reason for you to try anything. He was probably involved with someone, or you assumed at least, because anyone that looked like that should already be committed to another. Anyway, once you finished up your job in Boone County, who knew where you’d be headed to next? No, better to keep your head down, your connections loose, and your job short. You exhaled softly, sipped your cider, and struck up a conversation with your neighbor as the comforting warmth spread through you.

~~~~

“No way, a puma in town? We haven’t had too much news since… well you know,” Mellie wiggled her eyebrows suggestively, and Clyde huffed a laugh, shaking his head slightly.

“Yeah, Earl was just tellin’ me that Brett lost another cow down the road. Looked like it was attacked by somethin’,” Clyde drawled, swirling the dark amber liquid in his glass.

“That so?” Mellie cocked her eyebrow. “Haven’t heard of anything like that happening round here before.” Seated next to her, Joe pulled Mellie flush to his body, tickling her side and making her burst out in giggles. “Seems like we gotta keep our ladies safe then!” he hollered, prompting an eye roll from Mellie, Clyde, and even Jimmy and Sylvia over in the next stools. Clyde leaned back against the bar, glancing over at you, the new girl in the bar tonight. You were making polite conversation with the person next to you, and he found it impossible to tear his eyes away.

“Clyde,” Jimmy hissed from his stool a few people down, “get yer ass over here.” Clyde sighed, set his glass down, and walked over to Jimmy. “Need another beer?” he asked, reaching towards Jimmy’s bottle.

“Nah I’m good, thanks though. But boy, I have seen you lookin’ at that girl all night. What are you gonna do about it?” Jimmy stared him down. It was never easy to escape the laser gaze of his older brother, and Clyde shifted uncomfortably. “Now, I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about,” he tried to deflect, suddenly very interested in the hem of his shirt.

Jimmy’s eyes narrowed at this. “Clyde, you ain’t gettin’ out of this that easy. Listen, I know it hasn’t been easy for you since your last girl, but look. If my eyes are right, she’s been lookin’ over at you too, and if that ain’t true, I’ll eat my hat.”

Clyde chuckled quietly, but his face dropped again straight away. “Nah Jimmy, I’m sure she’s just passin through. Ain’t no point in tryin’ to go about startin’ anything.”

“Clyde, you’re never gonna know if you don’t say anything right?” Sylvia interjected as she leaned in encouragingly.

“I don’t think so. What’s the point?” Clyde shook his head, subconsciously rubbing the junction of his prosthetic and arm. “Clyde, if you don’t go talk to her, I bet someone in here is going to snatch her up real quick,” Jimmy leaned back in his chair, shrugging. “It’s now or never kid.”

“No Jimmy!” Clyde insisted, glancing your way. The man seated next to you was messing with your hair a bit, and he couldn’t help how his ears flushed and his heart clenched.

“Clyde,” Jimmy insisted once more. “Cauliflower.” Clyde met eyes with his brother, who nodded in response. The bartender rolled his eyes again, exasperated. “Ya know sometimes? I really hate these cauliflower plans.” Clyde yanked his brother's empty beer bottle from in front of him, replaced it with another, and straightened his shirt. Jimmy hooted from behind him, whistling just loud enough for their immediate group to hear. Clyde shot him a dirty look, but grabbed a glass to wipe down nonetheless and made his way over to where you sat.

~~~

“So… why ya in Boone?” Clyde spoke up, lifting his eyebrow and gazing at the girl from under his mop of hair.

You choked on your drink as you tried to respond before realizing your mouth was still full. Smiling, you wiped off your chin. “You keep sneaking up on me, Clyde!” you laughed, and he flushed for the thousandth time that night. “Sorry. It’s just, we don’t have a lot of people passin’ through here.” He gestured around the room with his right hand. “I’ve known all these folks' names since I was five, but yours I learnt tonight. Why?”

You downed the remainder of your current cider, and Clyde automatically stuck out his hand to take the glass and switch it for a fresh one, complete with a refill. “I’m in town on a big cat chase. Eastern cougars. We’ve got some reports of possible sightings in this area. Oh, thank you,” you replied, accepting the steaming mug from Clyde.

“Well, round here we have been having some weird livestock deaths lately,” Clyde shrugged. “Maybe it’s got somethin’ to do with that?”

“Sounds like it. I’m gonna be in the area for a little bit seeing if I can get some documented sightings, some photos, and maybe even a tag on a cougar so we can keep tabs on them.” You shrugged, sipping on the cider.

“Well, if you’d like, I’d be more than happy to show you round some of the game trails near town?” Clyde offered, the glint in his eye shining bright as he smiled, almost bashful, back at you. Your heart skipped a beat as you stared into his eyes, and your soft smile widened, if anything in pity for him, given what you knew was coming out of your mouth next. “Thank you so much for the offer Clyde, but I think I’ll be just fine. Anyway,” you took another swig of your second drink. You could feel your heart racing, and you knew you had to remove yourself before you had full heart palpitations. “Looks like the bar here keeps your hands full. Thanks for the drinks!” You placed a few bills on the bar to cover the bill (and then some). Clyde looked like a deer in the headlights, trying to keep up with your nervous chatting.

“Oh no, no problem, I-I just thought, that ya know, if you wanted…” he stuttered. His eyes flicked down to the still warm, half drunk mug on the bar top. You could see his plush lower lip jutting out slightly as he chewed on his upper one.

“I appreciate the offer Clyde. Really I do! But I’ll be okay. Maybe I’ll see you around soon,” you said, and patted his hand. He looked up briefly and you made eye contact for a fraction of a second. It almost pained you to tear away, but you were on the precipice of being engulfed by them. A moment longer and you knew would be diving headfirst into a myriad of problems that would come with getting involved with someone you knew for certain you would have to leave in a few short weeks. So instead, you pushed yourself away from the bar with a small smile and a wave, headed towards the door, and left without even a second glance back.

Taglist: @mind-p0llution (comment or message me to be added!)

#clyde logan x reader #clyde logan x you #Only Fools #logan lucky #adam driver #clyde logan #my writing

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isthatbloodonhisshirt · 4 years

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If you could change ten things about Teen Wolf what would you change??

OMG BUCKLE DOWN BECAUSE IT’S GONNA BE A LONG ONE! Do asks have a word limit? Guess we gonna find out! (Sometimes I wish I could speak these replies, they sound much funnier when I am speaking out loud to myself and then they are just weird and flat typed up but I DIGRESS! I do that a lot, have you noticed? Doesn’t matter.)

(Also, I did put a “Keep Reading” but for some reason it’s not working. Or it’s not showing as working on my end. But it’s right under this paragraph I swear so if it’s not working, that isn’t on me....)

1) SO! Trauma. People be dealing with their traumas. That’d be a thing I’d like, thank you. Like, I’m sorry, but there is a fuckton of trauma in this show and everyone like, goes to bed at night and wakes up cured. Like MAGIC! I mean, yes, I get that magic is a thing in the show (is it? I mean kind of? Idk, I never saw past season 4, they alluded to magic and then SNATCHED THAT AWAY so, side-note, that’s coming up later!) But yes, I would’ve very much liked for people to, you know, deal with their traumas in a realistic fashion. Let’s get some therapy going, or like, idk, some actual negative reactions to thing! They kind of had that with Stiles every now and then, but he seemed to be up and down episode to episode so like, it’d be like they wrote an episode where he reacts to what happened to him and then four episodes have gone by where he’s fine and the writers were like “OH YEAH SHIT HE JUST MURDERED LIKE A WHOLE HOSPITAL, make him have a panic attack randomly over dropping milk, that balances out, excellent, we’re so smart.” So yes. DEAL. WITH. THE. TRAUMA! Thanks.

2) LESS CHARACTERS, MORE DEVELOPMENT! I mentioned this in another recent ask about relationships but like, they just kept shoving characters in there. Like one of those clown cars. So we got like, 30% character development on the core group and then the rest was like “wait, who are you again?” Like, legit, I have a bad memory, you put too many people in front of me, I ain’t gonna remember them unless they have a good personality or a reason to be there. And like, develop their relationships! Not even romantically, but like, Scott’s mom loves Scott, that is sweet and lovely, but like, we never really… see… that… developed? Idk man, like again, I have a bad memory, but when you really develop relationships WELL (ex: Brooklyn-nine-nine), that shit sticks with you and you CARE about people. The friendships are important, and the familial relationships are important and just developing all the dynamics is important! They spent more time showcasing how much everyone hated each other and lied to each other and stuff and that just got really tiring. Yes, you’re allowed to get mad at your friends, but if you’re a Werewolf, and your human friend is calling you when there is a fucking monster running around killing people, can you maybe stop making out with your girlfriend and answer your phone so your friend isn’t treading water with a 200+ pound Werewolf for 2 hours? Like, JUST SAYING! (Spoiler alert: Me and Scott would not be close friends. Like, I think we’d be friends, but not so much that I’d trust him with my life. If I wanted to grab pizza and a movie, maybe play some video games, he sounds like a treat, but if my life was in danger, thanks I be callin’ someone who answers their phone).

3) Actual consequences for their actions! Okay like, I am also guilty of this in fanfic, but at the same time, my writing is free, I don’t get paid for it, and I write what I want because that’s how it works, so I can do whatever I please (If I wanna make the Hales royalty for the millionth time, ain’t nobody gonna stop me!). But like, when you are a legit paid screenwriter who is writing a show? Consequences! Just because it’s a show about Werewolves doesn’t mean there can’t be any consequences! Like, the best scene, and I feel like we can agree, because fuck it like, hurt my soul and my heart and I was just so like ;~; was when the sheriff got fired (fired? suspended? TEMPORARILY UNEMPLOYED!) because Stiles stole a police van when they locked Jackson up in it. Like, that shit was REAL LIFE CONSEQUENCES for actions, and that shit was intense and it HURT and omg I loved it! Give me more of that! Like, I’m sorry, but you gonna tell me Nogistune!Stiles walked through the hospital murdering a bazillion people and not one camera was working the whole time? Not one? Nobody saw that? Nobody went “hey, isn’t that the sheriff’s kid?” Like, CAN. YOU. IMAGINE?! That would’ve been so amazing, a bunch of episodes of the pack scrambling to keep the Supernatural a secret while also trying to stop Stiles from GETTING ARRESTED because saying “Sorry ma’am, I was possessed by a demon fox who likes chaos and thought murdering a bunch of people would be fun” ain’t gonna fly in court and the FBI sure isn’t gonna believe that but like, UGH! Again, bad memory, but was the fact that Dark!Stiles wandered through the hospital killing people EVER brought up again???? CONSEQUENCES. Woulda really liked that.

4) STOP with unnecessary romances. Like, yeah, I get it, the allos like their romances, but shockingly, you can still have a good show without focussing on the romance. Like, it can be there, I’m not saying don’t put it in, I’m saying DON’T MAKE IT THE MOST IMPORTANT THING! Like, the entirety of season one was Scott chasing Allison and Stiles chasing Lydia. This… this does not make an interesting show? Like, is that just me? And then as the season progressed, EVERYONE had to be in a relationship? WHY? Again, haven’t seen past season four, but I mean, I know Scott and Kira were a thing, and then Stiles and Malia, and Liam and some… person? Idk. And Ethan and Danny (congrats Jeff, you get to tick your “I had representation in my show!” box, well done, gold star, or whatever). And Isaac and Allison, and Melissa and Chris (apparently?). And then Stydia was alluded as being canon, and Scott ended up with Malia somehow?? And Derek slept with half the town and all of Mexico, idek. Like, stop it. Stop. Shows work without everything being about everyone banging each other. (See again: Brooklyn-nine-nine, or Avatar the Last Airbender, or The Good Place, or even fucking Supernatural!) You can have a good, interesting story without everyone banging each other. It ain’t necessary.

5) More actual storytelling (again, this woulda worked better without the unnecessary romances taking up 49 of the 50 minutes of air-time). Like, yes, I get it, pilot’s gotta have some pizzaz! Gotta be spicy and sparkly to make people interested (and like, fucking hell, all I can remember of the pilot is sobbing Allison soaking wet–LIKE, WAS THAT NECESSARY???–about the dog she hit and oh noes is it dead well thank God the lead character works for a vet! And somehow has keys and access to the whole clinic like nbd at all hours? Whatever. I wasn’t even allowed inside my blockbuster as a shift lead if it was off-hours but apparently a high school student doing paperwork at a vet clinic is different, I’m not a vet so what do I know? I HAD A BAD DAY OKAY, I GOT FEELINGS ABOUT THIS RN!) I went off-topic, what was I saying? Oh yes, storytelling. You know what woulda been nice? Werewolves! It happens, we find out about Laura, we find out about Werewolves, Scott gets bitten, all that jazz. And then like… ease in the Hunters? Like, why was there Laura/Derek, Peter, AND the Hunters all crammed into the pilot? Yes, I get it, you need the SUSPENSE and the DRAMA, but you can do that without the Hunters right off the bat. Just, how CONVENIENT~ that the same day Derek and Laura come back, Hunters move to town? That’s just lazy, and again, I can be guilty of laziness, I admit to it, but I literally get paid in—like, do hearts count? I get paid in hearts and pats on the back for my fics, I can write whatever I want. If you’re getting paid to write something, try a bit harder, yes? Yes???

What number am I on? Oh good Lord, I got things to say, okay.

6) MAGIC! Can you like—I feel like this one is self-explanatory. Stiles did the whole mountain ash thing in season one, and it was SO PROMISING, and then that just died. It died like Maes Hughes getting shot in a phonebooth (spoiler, but really, you haven’t seen that yet, that’s a you problem). Why even bother introducing magic if you weren’t gonna use it? Like, was it because people like Stiles more than Scott and the showrunner was like “nonono. If we make him magic, he’s TOO cool, and then Scott is unimportant.” I mean, you coulda worked that in your favour, but no. You just murdered the fuck out of it, like straight up took it out back and shot it. Like, yeah, Derek went kiddo again and Jennifer was apparently all magic beauty spell or whatever, but like?? That’s it??? You had a show about Werewolves and you didn’t even try to make it more interesting by making some of the characters magic? Lydia’s basically the closest and they didn’t even explain her powers that well. Magic would’ve been dope and they totally shoved that to the side. That was dumb. Shoulda done something with that.

7) Explain things more? Don’t mention them once and then do nothing? Like, we got some brief stuff about anchors, and emissaries (which are super duper secret according to Deaton but then like, EVERYONE KNOWS HE IS EMISSARY SO WHICH IS IT DEATON? YOU TELL ME!) Like, they had so much opportunity to talk about so many things and again, maybe that comes out more in the later seasons, idk, but they likely coulda done with more explanations and they didn’t and this angers me GREATLY. They mention something once and then it never comes up again. That’s some Lost bullshit right there. Don’t start something if you’re not gonna commit. You tell me the beginning of the story, I wanna fucking know the end, don’t forget halfway through and wander away, that ain’t right, I NEED ANSWERS JEFF! And like, as above, never really got Lydia’s powers. I know what a Banshee is, but her powers did NOT make sense to me. Idk, could just be that I’m dumb, but similarly, don’t write something so convoluted that it confuses people, that is also dumb. As dumb as I am so like, well done there. And also do we get more on Parrish? I know he’s a Hellhound, but how does one get born a Hellhound and not know until you are conveniently lit on fire by someone trying to kill you for money? (Also, you bean, you absolute treasure, “I’m worth five dollars?” You’re so cute. Silly child.) I feel like being a Hellhound is something that woulda come up before getting barbecued in his cruiser. Like, he works a stressful job, you gonna tell me not ONCE while getting shot at he didn’t have a massive heart attack over a close call and like, burst into flames? No? Is that just a me thing? I feel like the slightest annoyance and I’d be fully on fire, not gonna lie. (I’d be on fire a LOT… CLEARLY I AM AN ANGRY PERSON! No, that’s not true. No yes it is, I am angry, but more angry lately because I’m sleep-deprived and work is dumb ANYWAY back to this)

8) EMBRACE THE SIDE CHARACTERS! Okay, so MAYBE Scott is meant to be the golden child. The Dick Grayson of the show, if you will. The original Robin, the creme de la creme. That’s all fine and dandy if he is, no judgement (little judgement), but you know what you don’t do when your side characters are getting a lot of attention and love? What you DO NOT do is give them less screen time. Because then you’re being petty and, shockingly, you get more positive results when you give the fans what they want. I’m not talking about pairings, because everyone is different, and you can’t cater to everyone, but like, the more people moved away from liking Scott, the harder the showrunners pushed him into our faces. And like, that isn’t how this works. If I like side character 87 a lot, and the lead’s getting annoying, you know what’s gonna make me NOT watch the show? Cutting out side character 87 (hey, for shits and gigs, let’s call him DANNY, just, not coincidentally at all) and then just shoving the lead into my face. That is what makes someone go “Well, four seasons is enough, I can happily live knowing I didn’t waste my life watching two more of them.” Like??? I’m not saying cut out Scott, because the show is ABOUT Scott, but the more everyone tried to showcase how amazing and wonderful and pure and perfect he was, the more annoying it got? Like, Scott has flaws. THEY ALL HAVE FLAWS! If you don’t admit that they all have flaws, it gets boring, and you hate the characters. I know that Scott turned into a douche later (apparently, again, haven’t seen it), but even in the early seasons by trying to make him this pure True Alpha golden angel child who spreads love and hope and trusts everyone, it just got boring. He was vanilla, and also a bad friend, because he was too “perfect” to be around someone “imperfect” like Stiles, and even like, the rest of the pack overall. He was always put on a pedestal and it made the show really… irksome? Idk, I just feel like yes, SCOTT is the Teen Wolf, but you added all these damn side characters, maybe use them a bit more? At least Stiles was interesting, and Lydia was fucking badass, and fucking hell, if you’d done right by Boyd and Erica, the actors wouldn’t have left for better shows so like, come on man, you coulda done better. We coulda had such a dope show, why you gotta crush my dreams like that Jeff? What did I ever do to you?

I know this is only eight, but this is long enough, if I go two more, this is gonna be IN.SANE. And also it’s late and I haven’t finished my fic for the day (I mean, I’m almost done, but I’m not done yet!) So like, I’ma stop here. But yes, hopefully this answered your question. Sorry I got REALLY PASSIONATE about it but it’s been a day.

Also, I feel this needs to be said, but obviously these are my own personal opinions, and as opinions, you are not obligated to agree with them. But you are also not allowed to tell me my opinion is wrong. You can disagree with it, but this is an opinion, not a law, so there is no right and wrong. Don’t @ me, my day’s been bad enough kthx!

HAVE A GOOD NIGHT, BE BACK IN LIKE TWENTY(?) MINUTES!

#not tw #but also kind of #Blood's yakkity yaks #I had a lot to say #it's been a day okay!#Anonymous

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kuriboo · 3 years

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Hugsaku 2021

Day 2 - Don’t Touch Me | “I don’t want your help!”

I handwrote my first three entries for this, this part being the last one I handwrote. I was able to start typing it out after this, thankfully, since that was a lot easier.

This is the third part of a continuous fic I’m writing for hugsaku week: Yusaku ends in Heartland with no idea of how he got there or how to get home, and Yuma commits to helping Yusaku out. I’m also posting the whole story together on ao3. I’ll post the link to it in the notes. I hope you enjoy!

“What do you mean you don't like hugs?"

"I don't like people touching me. At all.”

Yusaku walked ahead of Yuma, pulling on the jacket of his school uniform. His hands had gone into muscle memory to loosely tie his tie around his neck. Pulling it too tightly felt uncomfortable, like a noose around his neck, but this made him look more sloppy and disheveled. He didn't dislike that. It seemed to be a fairly average look for boys his age. Yuma, meanwhile, had just changed out of his school uniform and into an outfit similar to what he'd worn when he met Yusaku; Yuma had just gotten out at school. For some reason, Yuma had thought it was a good idea to let Yusaku sleep until he got home, rather than wake him up so he could begin his search to get home. Yusaku didn't need that much rest. Between that and Yuma’s apparent constant desire for physical contact, he was a little annoyed.

“How can you not like hugs? They’re good for the soul!"

"Alright, boys, hold it right there."

Both boys turned around to look up at Yuma’s older sister, Kari. Most of her red hair was kept back in a ponytail, but her bangs framed her face . Like Yuma, she had some strands of pink hair, a fact that made Yusaku pull self-consciously at the pink strands in his own hair. She always seemed to stick to casual clothes since she was old enough to be done with school. She wore a nice blouse under a hooded vest, as well as galaxy print leggings. Kari sighed, her attention focused on Yuma. "Yuma, leave him alone and apologize.”

"But Kari- "

Kari cut him off. " I thought we taught you better than this, Yuma. No means no, If he doesn't like being touched, that's all there is to it."

Yuma turned to Yusako, biting his lip. " You're right, Kari... Sorry, Yusaku.”

Yusaku shrugged. "It's okay," As long as Yuma backed off in the future, that was all that mattered in the end, he supposed.

Kari kept her attention on Yuma. "Now, is your room clean, or did you leave your clothes all over the place when you changed?"

"I'll, uh..." Yuma gulped. "I'll be right back!! " He dashed back towards his room at top-speed.

Kari rolled her eyes. "Sorry about him,” she said to Yusaku. "I know he can be a lot.

Yusaku blinked. "Why is he so..."

"He's just like this with all his friends. And he's made a lot of new friends, lately. He insists anyone he duels is his friend. He's brought over more new friends in the past couple of months then I can count.”

“I'm not his friend. We didn't even duel; I declined his challenge."

"That's probably enough for him.” Kari sighed. "I wish he wouldn’t duel so much. I know I'm hard on him about it, but someone has to be." She frowned at Yusaku. "He said you don't like to duel."

"Bad experiences." Yusaku shrugged, He refused to get any more specific than that, but he had a bit of respect for their mutual dislike of the game. "He said you don't like it either.”

“Most of it's because of him," Kari admitted. "Don't get me wrong, I love my little brother a lot. But that's actually the problem. Mom and Dad told me that dueling was going to put him in danger. I don't want to see him get hurt.” She sniffed. "I don't want to lose him. He's..." She sounded too upset to keep going from there. Yusaku didn't know how to respond to that.

Right in that moment, Yuma ran back into the room. “Okay okay, my room's clean now. Can we go?”

She recovered fast. "Fine, but you better be back before dark. You can't be late for dinner, and you still have homework to do!"

"Yeah, yeah, I'll do it!” Yuma said in a tone that sounded like he'd already forgotten about the homework. "Come on Yusaku, you gotta meet Bronk and Tori!"

Tori and Bronte turned out to be two of Yuma’s friends. The three of them were in the same class, and Yuma and Bronk dueled against each other a lot.

“The five us us can figure this out together for sure," Yuma declared after they all met up in a local park. Yusaku was confused about Yuma's math for a second, until he remembered the apparent existence of Astral. “Right .. " Tori placed her hands on her hips. "So what's your master plan to figure this out,Yuma?"

Yuma stared blankly at her.

“Figured.” Tori stuck her tongue out at Yuma, then looked more softly at Yusaku. "What about you, Yusaku? Any thoughts?

Yusaku’s first instinct was always to hack his way out of his problems. “I'd see what I can find out on a computer, but I left mine at home and Kari is busy with hers." And Kolter’s hacking hot dog truck was at the same place Yusaku’s computer was: home.

“Finally, someone with a brain,” Tori said. "You're in high school, so of course you'd be smarter than Yuma.” Yusaku knew better than to make an assumption like that. "There's computers at the library we can use. And the library's close by.”

"Libraries make me itchy," Yuma mumbled.

“Just because you don't like to read doesn't mean they can't be helpful!" Brank laughed.

When they got to the library, Tori jumped onto the first computer they found. "So, Yusaku, where are you from?"

"Den City."

Tori typed the city into a search on the Internet, but no results came up. Den City apparently didn't exist. "Uh..."

"That can't be right,” Yusaku reached around Tori to type other queries in to the search. He wasn't stupid enough to search for himself. He went out of his way to make himself as unmemorable and invisible as possible. But he tried other things. Den City High School. Akira Zaizen. SOL Technologies. Playmaker. Blue Angel. Link Vrains. It all came up with nothing. "There's no way…”

(“Maybe he really is from another world.”)

Pain throbbed in Yusaku’s head. This couldn't be right. "It's like my entire life just doesn't exist…” What was he supposed to do without Kolter or Ai? Who was he supposed to be if the Lost Incident never happened or if he wasn’t Playmaker? Now what did he do?

Yuma, Tori, and Bronk each shared a look. “We'll just have to work even harder to help you get back home, then.”

"I don't even know if I can get home.” If he remembered how he got here, he could at least try reverse engineering that, but Yusaku didn’t even have that much. He was alone, in a strange place where he didn't exist. He had nothing here to drive him, no reason to keep going.I have nothing to go on,” Yusaku muttered to himself. "What’s the point?"

“There's still a chance. It's small, but as long as it's there it's worth trying. We can't give up yet,” Yuma insisted.

Yusaku stared blankly at him. "’We'? I never said I wanted your help. Actually, I don't want your help.” All he was doing was wasting their time. “Just leave me alone."

Tori and Bronk actually laughed at that. "You really don't get it, do you?” Tori asked. "Asking Yuma not to help someone is like telling a bird not to fly."

"It's about feeling the flow!" Yuma added. "And right now, I’m feeling it. Now that we're friends, I'm not giving up. I don't care if you think it's hopeless, Yusaku. It might look that way, but there's always hope deep down if you look hard enough. We're going to get you home."

"Now that you're friends with Yuma, you can't get out of it,” Bronk added. “Yuma always does everything he can to help his friends. And any friend of Yuma's a friend of ours, too, so now you're stuck with all of us."

Yusaku couldn't really get it. His idea of friendship was clearly different from theirs. But he could see he couldn't talk them out of it. "If you're not going to give up, I guess I have no choice. It looks like I can't give up, either."

"Great!" Yuma pumped his fist into the air. “Can we do a group hug?"

Some part of Yusaku felt like he needed it. "Yeah."

The three of them gathered next to Yusaku and brought him into a gentle but firm hug. Comforting and grounding. For a moment, Yusaku really believed they might be able to get him back home.

#hugsaku #hugsaku2021 #yugioh zexal #yugioh vrains #tater writes #this part introduces some new characters...don't get your hopes up for any vrains characters yet though

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jujutsu-headcanons · 3 years

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Yes to Yuji wrecking Mahito! Just so much yes my boy needs to avenge those wrongfully killed!

See I wanted Geto to be on my shit list (as I'm not normally a bad guy lover) but I swear he wore me down reading the manga. Plus he's just so pretty he makes my brain all static noises 😳 Not to mention that backstory between him and Gojo like YES give me all the drama I need buried drama 🤩

Totally agree on the Mai thing. See I wanted to hate Todo too bc of well him beating on Megumi but the moment him and Yuji were just like "Big Dumb Meat Heads" together I threw that out the window! Those two together are *chefs kiss* Absolutely stupendous I never get tired of them 👌👌👌

Mai on the other hand is just crawling more and more under my skin. Like why you gotta be like that gurl? You wanna go in the crusty corner with Mahito? Cuz you gotta crusty attitude that needs fixing like yesterday 😐

Literary brain tells me it wants more drama/character growth between Megumi and Toji. But my useless overly big heart wants to punch Toji and protect Megumi at all costs bc he just showed up on the screen like the kool aid man and burst right into my heart and I shan't forgive Megumi for that but now I will die for him so ¯\_( ツ)_/¯

But I'm not the only one who lowkey fantasizes about self inserty type day dreams??? Like every day all day I got my thoughts flowing into 500 different lil oneshots I'm too chicken to post anywhere bc I havent written anything in a while and I feel I'm rusty. But your idea! YOUR IDEA WOO BOI- I'm not even a Gojo fanatic (like I adore him but my heart dick thudded elsewhere RIP) but that scene you described of straddling him just to rip his blindfold off in the heat of an arguement that's clearly deadly to either party- Just to see him on the brink of tears fighting back every emotion to slate his composure to cocky/uncaring. Only to have it obviously failing, and the metaphorical reality around you both crumbling along with Gojo's emotional state- Oh God I would read that crap outta something like that. It fills me with the angst and I thrive on it daily *heavy breathing* You should think about posting more of your original content too! Self inserty or not bc that sounds down right brilliant on so many levels

💛anon

Bro I can't help but feel had for Gojo. That shit must have hurted. Like he looked so calm and collected when it all happened but was he really? His best friend potential lover went feral and murdered an entire village AND his family then he tried to kill his first years once and now AGAIN what is happening. Did you see the look on Gojo's face when Yaga told him he went rogue? That was a face of hurt and betrayal he couldn't even begin to understand at the young age of... What was it, 17? 18? He was practically a little itty bitty baby compared to now. I haven't read the prequel yet don't laugh at me but I've heard it hurts so much worse having to face Getou back then AND now. Stupid brain worms, stop fucking around.

I wanted to hate Todo too hut before he even turned good I couldn't. I have a thing for big buff boys who have zero brains and too much brawns I'm looking at you Metal Bat, Captain Ōbi I just wanna adopt/marry them because in all reality they're trying their best. I'm really glad Todo exists and has his big brother delusion because honestly I think that's something Yuji needs, especially in the current arc. Yuji needs as much support as he can get.

PFFFT CRUST CORNER I cannot with you omg they do need to sit on the time out chair for s bit and think about what they've done lmaooo

DID YOU CALL TOJI ZENIN- FUSHIGURO THE FUCKING KOOL AID MAN AHAHAHHHSH oh my god i hate this so fucking much or were you calling Megumi the koolaid man bc really each one is absurd n e wayz I dunno bro I rlly can't wait until Megs wakes up post Shibuya arc and actually has time to process what the fuck happened to him back then. I really want to know if he can connect the dots by himself and realize holy shit that was the source of my daddy issues right there in the flesh and how he reacts to him being a curse and all that. There's so many ways that can go too it's scary to think about.

Low key unrelated but I have a theory that Gojo can see everything from his little cube prison and knows what's going on. Its probably because of the six eyes, or because he's just fucking Gojo, or even because Geto seems kinda sadistic and would do something like that. But I can imagine him watching Megs and Toji fight and it absolutely destroying him. For starters, Gojo killed him .... Right? Wtf is he doing back? What? Second don't commit suicide in front of your kid oh my god Toji what (I'm probably just salty because of a past experience, but also, calm down Toji oh my god) and third I can see it hurting Gojo because in a way it feels like he's been trying to protect Megumi. Its obvious Gojo has this attachment to Megumi, and maybe it's because they've known each other so long, but I don't think Gojo is prepared to deal with the aftermath. Does he have to tell him, if Megs doesn't put the pieces together? Will he have to knock some sense into him to actually tell him? Because he DID try to tell Megs once before and he avoided it like the plague. Its also gotta hurt when you feel like someone's dad and you witness them have a bad interaction with their other dad.

Throw in his daughter being on the brink of death, his other son being emotionally demolished, his second year kids lost in the void and not even his void, his best friend locked him in a box, his other best friend exploded, etc. I think Gojo I pretty distraught even if he doesn't show it

Bro okay my brain is riddled with ideas like this and 90% of them are always angst. Idk where tf they come from half the time but they exist and I hate it. They're always self inserts too.

So I actually read this ask last night, but due to personal reasons I didn't reply to it now, and I actually started experimenting writing out this scenario. I had to stop when I wrote the line "Approximately one year after the first finger was consumed, Itadori Yūji was formally executed. At three minutes to midnight, Sukuna Ryomen was expelled from his body, destroying the vessel along with it. The executioner was none other than the teenager's teacher and mentor Gojo Satoru. When Y/N awoke to this news, they attacked on sight."

Oh god I made myself so sad with that line

And i do really want to post some of my fics, like I did with Nobara Meeting Sukuna For The First Time. However, I only posted that because it was short and simple lmao it was basically just a meme I didn't even run it though grammarly like I do with the headcanons.

I like sticking to the headcanons as of right now because I feel like grammar didn't exist when I make those. I can spell things wrong and leave off punctuation and word then like I'm a third grader just learning English and no one will laugh lmao. Fanfics kinda stress me out because i want them to be perfect. I also have a hard time with fight scenes and transitioning and it's s mess.

I REALLY want to write out my Guardian Angel! Junpei AU because I think it's so cute. Just the idea that this boy is assigned to fight against fate and the higher ups and keep Yuji alive despite him being an idiot and a target is cute to me. Like I just canon him being the plantonic equivalent of in love with this boy and he feels like he rlly owes it to Yuji for trying to save him it's the LEAST he can do. Plus I need the mental imagine if Junpei annoying reader-chan into finding Yuji because "they play a pivotal role in Yuji's future" just for the "pivotal role" to literally be playing therapist and just being there for him and being a medium between Junpei and Yuji because guardian angels aren't allowed to reveal themselves to the person they're guarding but also/// he might risk his wings being stripped just to talk to Yuji one more time////

Okay I'm going to stop now

But yea, maybe if I have time and create little mini works like Nobara Meeting Sukuna For the First Time I'll def post them! I'll work on casually making them longer and soon I'll be confident to posts longer ones. But until then I hope just the headcanons at alright ;-;

#.ask #💛 anon #long post

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spnfanficpond · 4 years

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December 2019 Pond LiveChat Recap - Structuring Longer Plots

We had a great time chatting with @jhoomwrites, today! Thank you so much for joining us and sharing your wisdom and experience!

Our chat was all about structuring longer plots, filler vs plot, and the different types of structures that are out there. (Mostly, we talked about how we don’t always have a structure in mind when we’re writing, and how we deal with it when a story breaks apart the structure we’d so carefully constructed.) A rundown of the chat, as well as general Pond news, is below the cut!

For those who don’t know her, Ashley is an avid writer, not just of fan fiction. She’s popular on Tumblr and AO3 for Destiel stories of all lengths, from little emoji ficlets she bangs out from requests (where followers send her a short string of emojis and she writes a story using them all) up to epic stories. She’s currently working on a hockey fan fiction that was her NaNoWriMo project, but with 120 SPN works on AO3, we’ve got plenty to read while she’s distracted with her hockey boys! (I’ve convinced her to be a member of the Pond, so hopefully we’ll see her around a lot in the future!)

We started off talking about how long our fics can get ( @katehuntington won with her Sullivan Series, which is currently at 570k), and whether we’re planners or pansters or a mix. Kate and Ashley are both kind of mixed, while @mrswhozeewhatsis has never successfully outlined a story, yet.

Q: Was My Liege Lord (her longest at around 80k) planned or pansted?

Ashley: It was both. I had planned out some things, but then I got new ideas as I went that I wanted to explore and it padded out the length. I had a whole fic worth of plans, but just the amount of time in their lives I ended up covering necessitated adding things. Kate: I do that too. I stick to the plan, but I add soooooo much stuff along the way.

Q: When you write, and plan out a story, do you use a particular structure?

Ashley: I haven't written out a plan for a fic in some time, but I was really consistent with the style I used for a while. I would do a chart with the main plot points to the left, and then details (excerpt of dialogues, notes about specific scenes, etc) to the right. Here’s an example:

Ashley: It helps me when I get ideas later, I can find parts in the story by looking to the left and then add notes. It's my favorite way to plan out a story, especially if I know it will be multiple chapters and if I might not be starting it any time soon. This is much nicer than the outline for the story I'm working on now, which is just a list of events in chronological order (and another list of "things i could add but i don't know where this goes"). I wrote the outline about a day before I started so I didn't need as much structure.

Q: Having a plan helps, then?

Ashley: I didn't used to plan, but then I started a multi-chapter fic and realized...... I don't have an ending. So, I like to plan that out to make sure I have an actual beginning, middle, and end. Michelle: When I start, I have an idea and an ending. That’s it. All my stories have the same ending, though: And then they kissed and lived happily ever after!

Kate: It does give freedom, not having a detailed outline.

Ashley: That is true, it does make me sad when I get somewhere in the outline and there's something I'd liked, that I'd wanted to include, but it doesn't work anymore and I have to scrap it. Gotta balance sticking to the outline vs adapting to how the tone/characters have developed.

Q: Is your planning method something you learned, or something you developed? And do you use the same structure for all of your stories?

Ashley: Something I developed. I haven't had any real training or instruction in writing. I was struggling with longer fics being unorganized and not coming together at the end, so I needed something for myself. I like making charts, so I figured that was a good way to start! lol It's not something I do as much, anymore. It was a great tool when I started doing it, and I did it for years... but possibly because I've gained more writing experience with longer stories, I don't need to do it anymore. I start a fic with a general idea, I figure out where that idea is going, and start writing. I do more of a mental checklist now. Of course, for original stories, things I hope to one day publish, I will still outline.

Q: Do parts of your structure have names? A quick Google search on how to structure novels brought back about a lot of different methods for structuring a novel, all with different numbers of steps. Each step had a general idea, like rising action, climax, falling action, etc. I guess I mean, what parts of a story do you feel need to be there for it to work? What are the parts of your structure?

Ashley: Having never paid particular attention in my English classes, I would be hard pressed to put names on different parts of my story structure. I view it as beginning (set up, putting things in place), middle (the actual story more or less, all of the action), and ending (wrapping things up, resolution).

Q: When you half wing it and the story is coming along, and then you hit a plot hole, how do you handle that?

Ashley: Well uh... **points vaguely towards abandoned WIPs** it can be rough. I do have some people I work with in terms of brainstorming. And if I get stuck with a fic I'm committed to, that I'm enjoying writing, then I talk it through with them. Sometimes, those issues are coming up--not because the story wasn't outlined--but more because I've just lost that spark of interest that I had before, and it's time to move on, anyway.

Q: There was a question submitted to the Pond by @kittenofdoomage about filler vs. plot.

Ashley: I think that's a real issue I face, filler vs plot. For some stories, I feel like I write a chapter and then can't really see what it adds to the story except maybe giving more characterization. My Liege Lord, I can think of some examples... and sometimes those things are cool, they're fun little ideas to explore and that's the only universe you could do it in, so you do it maybe for your own sake more than the story's. I think there's also a difference between reader and writer perceptions of what's filler. For my current project, there are scenes I wanted to include because I felt they were necessary to the plot, but I got the impression from people I'd polled that they would not be interested in those scenes (basically it's a romance and I was going to include things that were not directly related to the romance aspect and they said if it was more than a few paragraphs or so they didn't care). Michelle: I struggled with that with The Babysitter. Almost half of that fic is flashbacks to when the brothers were growing up and how their relationship with the reader developed. I considered cutting them all, but the fic felt thin. Sometimes, I'd pop a flashback chapter in there just to slow down the action in the present a bit, if you know what I mean. Like, chapter X is the night before the big battle, and chapter Y is the big battle, but it felt rushed to just go from X to Y, so I stuck D in between them. Ashley: Yeah, pacing is important, so the "filler" can help regulate that. It might also depend on if you view stories as about the plot or about the characters. If you view it as plot, then yes, you don't want that non-plot filler. If you view it as characters, then the filler doesn't necessarily move the story, but it adds depth and dimension to the characters and makes you appreciate them more. (I mean... I love the characters so much, I'd watch an episode of them just doing chores around the bunker...no plot, just them.) Kate: I just write what I feel like is right. Plus, I’m a sucker for a slow burn myself, so I’m not scared to let the readers wait. I like to use fillers as a stairway to the big reveal or moment. What I love even more is to put a lot of foreshadowing in there, so when they read it the second time, they go: oh! Rhi: The thing is that I've found is that filler serves a lot of purposes. As mentioned above it's great for dropping a bit of foreshadowing. It's also great for expanding your background and making your characters more than two dimensional. It also gives your readers a breather. Especially if it's a heavy plot. I often find myself rambling in filler, which is where rereading is key. With longer stories, I have a brief outline of what I want. Sometimes I'll write the major points first, the ending etc then follow up with the filler. On occasion, your filler will end up imploding your plans but that's cool. That's when you either roll with it or take a break and neither of those are bad choices. It depends on the individual.

Q: (In one of the articles linked below) Peter Behrens mentioned a novel idea. He basically said he doesn’t worry about structure until the revision stage. He writes what he wants to, and then when he’s revising, he tweaks the story to fit whatever structure it fits to best.

Ashley: I do like that, and that's something that @unforth-ninawaters has mentioned. We're working on shorter stories that would need to be under 7.5k and I said I don't know if I could hit that. She said to write the whole story, even if it's longer, and then have someone edit it with an eye to shorten it, if necessary, and you'll probably end up with a tighter story that way. So, basically, that's how I view writing things, now. I write what I want to write for the story, and if it needs to go, it'll disappear later in the editing process. But what if it does belong? Well, then it's there, already. And yes on slow burns... for fic, it's a staple, and for WIPs, it's part of the lure, the draw in, as a reader--knowing that maybe they will maybe they won't hook up this week.

To close out the chat, we talked about the story structures listed in the following two links:

How to find your novel’s structure - This article discusses the traditional 5-stage plot structure (exposition, rising action, climax, falling action and resolution) and the 3-act structure (setup, confrontation, resolution), as well as some other points, like how characterization can affect structure.

Writing Cooperative - Use a story structure to make writing your novel a lot easier - This article lists several structures, and includes links to read more about each one and their strengths and weaknesses. Different stories might do better under different structures, too. A romance novel wouldn’t necessarily need the 12 steps in The Hero’s Journey.

These links are definitely worth checking out if you have any fears or concerns about your story’s structure!

Next month we’re going to talk about Real People Fiction! We’re still looking for a guest speaker, so if anyone is interested, send a message to @mrswhozeewhatsis!! Date and time to be announced!

General Pond Updates and Reminders

What we’ve got cooking up next: Not much, at the moment, since everyone is busy, so we’re just trying to keep up with the day-to-day at the moment! Our to do list is still long, though, and will not be neglected forever! Next up is organizing the tagging system on the blog to make it easier for readers to find the stories they’re interesting in and for writers to find the help they’re looking for!

Reminders:

Angel Fish Award nominations are accepted all month long! No need to wait to tell us how much you liked a fellow Fish’s work! IF YOU HAVE SENT IN A NOMINATION, BUT HAVE NOT RECEIVED A PRIVATE MESSAGE CONFIRMING WE RECEIVED IT, WE DIDN’T GET IT. Be sure to use Submit instead of Ask!

Don’t forget to submit your stories to be posted to the blog! When your stories are on the blog, then they are easier to nominate for Angel Fish Awards!

Say hi to November’s New Members! (If we missed someone, let us know!)

Check the Pond CALENDAR to see when Big Fish will be in the Skype chat room/discord general channel and other Pond and SPN events are happening! Know of something that’s not on the calendar, send us an ask or submission with the deets info details! The calendar offers a lot of features, such as showing you when things are in your own timezone! Since we’re an international group, that’s a definite plus!!

We’re looking for a guest speaker for January to talk about RPF! If you know of an RPF writer that you’d like to hear from, let us know!!

#spnfanficpond livechat #chat recap #chat room #let's chat #THE CHAT ROOM #pond chat #plot development #character development

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angstmongertina · 5 years

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A Moment of Fate (Cal Lowell/MC)

Man, let’s be real, last week’s chapter was basically fan-service to the max, between the stripping and the deep dark secrets and the 30 diamond scene, and I loved every second of it... except for the fact that Cal doesn’t say anything to you if you pick the secret about afraid of hurting everyone you care about. So OBVIOUSLY I gotta write more about it. Because hurt/comfort is my specialty. (It’s really just hurt that is my specialty but shhhhh.)

Again, vague references to my previous fics because apparently they seem to be building on each other a bit now. Whoops?

AO3 Link

——————————————————————————————————

Between the howling wind outside, the ominous creaking of wood, and her own overactive imagination, Silvia knew that there was no way she would be getting any amount of rest alone in her room. At least, not while still in the Fate’s mansion, with the weight of everyone’s secrets, her own most of all, pressing down on her.

In spite of herself, a shiver climbed its way up her back, which she barely managed to suppress as she pushed herself into a sitting position and contemplated the door. On one hand, her friends had to have been equally as unsettled as she felt; that the baring of their souls had been an ordeal nobody had enjoyed, she needed no words to know, but…

But on the other hand, she had already told them all too much, had already put them at risk simply by association, and to reach out now would only put them more at risk. Sighing, she rolled over, pulling the covers over her head in a futile attempt to block the noise… just as a knock momentarily drowned out the apparent gale.

For a moment, she froze, holding her breath, but the knocking continued, accompanied by a familiar voice. “Silvia? It’s me.”

She was out of her bed and standing in front of her door in a heartbeat, before pausing. For all she knew, any number of creatures could imitate voices, and there was no guarantee it was who it sounded like. Heart pounding, she searched the room, grabbing the first potential weapon she could find, and threw open the door, brandishing its weight in her free hand.

“Silvia, are you all r— Whoa! It’s me, I swear!” On the other side of the doorframe, Cal took a step back, his hands raised in surrender.

“Cal.” His name was more of a sigh, of half-resignation half-relief, as she lowered the heavy iron poker. “What are you…?” She shook her head. “How did you find me?”

Something resembling a blush tinting his skin, he dropped his gaze. “I can smell you, actually. Just followed the scent.”

In spite of herself, her mouth twitched as she shifted, her hand loosening around her makeshift weapon. “I honestly don’t know if I should feel offended or not.”

His chuckle seemed to resonate in his chest, even as his cheeks darkening further. “Believe me when I say that it wasn’t meant to be. You, um, honestly smell amazing. I… may or may not have committed it to memory already. In a thoroughly non-creepy way, I promise.”

At that, she laughed, feeling the first warmth she’d felt all night chase out the lingering chill from their encounter with the Fate, and let her muscles relax. “Thanks. I think.”

He smiled and opened his mouth, though before he could say anything, the wind wailed through the hallway, a mournful howl that had her shuddering, hair standing on edge. Cal, too, jumped before running a sheepish hand through his hair. “Um… Can I come in? I’m beginning to suspect that the place is haunted.”

“Oh!” She swallowed before forcing her suddenly stiff face into something resembling a smile. “Yeah. Of course.”

She stepped aside, holding her breath as he passed in front of her, all graceful strength and gentle warmth, on his way to her small couch. When she moved to sit, carefully just out of his personal space, she found that her hands were clenched, knuckles turning white, and carefully relaxed them with a sigh.

“How are you holding up?”

“Fine.” Her reply was too fast, curdled bitter on her tongue as she spit it out, and he sighed, almost as if he were expecting that answer. Maybe he was.

“You’re wrong, you know.”

Instinctively, she stiffened, her teeth gritted, but said nothing. Instead, she turned her head away, staring at the darkened window, though she could still sense him beside her, still knew his every movement from the shifting of the now-familiar heat at her side.

His shoulders slumped as he sighed again. “I don’t mean now, though I think we both know that was also a lie. But… we’re all here because we care about you.” Without warning, a warm hand covered her tightly fisted hand, too gentle to pull away from, and she blinked against the sudden pinpricks of heat in her eyes. “We won’t leave you to face all of this alone. I promised, remember?”

It was tempting, so tempting, to meet his gaze, but instead, she drew a shuddering breath, eyes fixed on the smudges of shadow she could barely make out outside the manor. “And what if I’m not worth it? All of this pain and vulnerability… You’re doing it all for me but what if it doesn’t stop? I… I’m not worth putting you through all of this.”

“That’s for us to decide, not for you.” His response was instantaneous, almost aggressive in his determination, but the hand that cupped her cheek, drawing her gaze back to him, was impossibly soft. “And we wouldn’t be here, baring our souls to each other and to Lady Fate, if we thought otherwise. Do you trust us, trust me?”

“It’s more myself I don’t trust.”

His earnest look broke into a more cheerful expression. “Well, I trust you and you trust me, so by that logic…”

Relaxing back into the seat, she laughed, the sound startling even herself, and his smile warmed. “I've missed that look.” When she gave him a questioning look, he shrugged, though it did nothing to hide his playful grin. “You know, the one where you debate whether you should slap me or jab me with one of your remarkably pointy elbows. Seriously, you don’t even need that poker you were hauling around earlier once you get into range.”

Narrowing her eyes, she sat up straighter and crossed her ankles with as much prim propriety as she could muster. Beside her, Cal chuckled, shaking his head, before yelping as she drove said elbow squarely into his ribs, though even that failed to fully wipe the mirth off his face.

“Feeling better, then?”

“A bit. Thank you. Though…” She hesitated, glancing over and taking in the way his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes, then bumped his arm gently. “I feel like I should be the one asking you that.”

For a heartbeat, his face dropped before he sighed again, running a hand through his hair. “I’m all right.” Her face must have changed; he shook his head, giving her a wry smile. “I mean, yeah, sure, it hurts to talk about it, but that’s just how I feel.”

Guilt, thick and caustic, welled in her chest and she drew a deep breath. “I’m sorry. It’s my fault you had to even bring it up.”

He shrugged. “Perhaps but in some ways, it helps, too. Putting it to words, I mean. Besides, I’m used to it.”

Without thinking, she shifted closer, leaning against him and taking his hand. “You shouldn’t have to be, though. You’re…” She paused, feeling her face warm as he turned to meet her gaze, eyes suddenly tentative and searching. “You’re thoughtful and genuine. You show the real you to the world, instead of buying into all of that werewolf macho crap. And that, more than anything, is true strength. You’re incredible, Cal.”

He exhaled slowly, though a soft smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “I… don’t know how accurate that is…”

“I can tell you that it is. And I’ll keep saying it until you believe it.”

That earned her a chuckle, even as his fingers tightened around hers. “Well, sounds like we’ll just need to keep sticking together, then, huh?”

“We’re quite a pair,” she agreed, or at least tried to, but something in his face when he twisted to face her more directly made the words catch in her throat, swallowing them in the depths of his regard until all she could think about was the heat of his skin against hers and the free hand shifting to rest against her cheek, warm fingers stroking her skin in a way that was both comforting and incredibly distracting.

“Cal?” But before she could so much as breathe, his mouth met hers and any semblance of thought scattered like sand in a breeze, overpowered by the feel of him, the soft pressure against her lips, the fingers brushing her cheek, curled under her chin. He was warm, hungry yet gentle in that way that was so uniquely him, and she slid closer without thinking, moving to straddle his lap, arms thrown over his shoulders, before he pulled away, pressing his forehead against hers.

She opened her eyes to find him watching her, eyes shining with tenderness, and she laughed, still a little breathless, at the look on his face, a mixture of daze, longing, and frustration that was more heady than the rich scent of his cologne, enveloping her in its alluring embrace. This close, she could feel the heat radiating from his body, the thundering pulse of his heartbeat racing under her hand. The shuddering gasp he drew when she shifted in his lap, running her fingers down his chest.

“Silvia…” His voice was low, but hoarse with desire, and she shivered as he leaned in again, solid and unyielding. A hand splayed against her back, both pressing her closer and drawing intricate patterns against her skin… before he pulled away once more, resting his head against her shoulder with a hoarse laugh.

“Cal?” His name caught in her throat and she cleared her throat, wetting her lips and watching as he glanced toward her mouth with a faint groan.

“I…” He exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair and offering her a wry smile. “I’m… fine. Just… We should get some rest. And I really don’t think Lady Fate would much appreciate what I very much want to do with you in her home.”

She snickered before heaving a reluctant sigh and getting to her feet. “You’re probably right. I guess I can take a raincheck. Though…” Turning, she cast a dubious look in the direction of the door. “I can’t say I would turn down company tonight.”

He chuckled. “What? Are you worried the house is haunted?”

“At this point, I wouldn’t put it past this place. But in all seriousness, stay?” She held out her hand, blushing in spite of herself when he took it, their fingers entwining as naturally as if they had spent a lifetime doing so.

“Of course,” he murmured, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Then again, considering how easily they fit together, his arm curled around her waist as she relaxed, warm and safe, in the comfort of his embrace, perhaps it was.

#Nightbound #Cal Lowell x MC #Cal Lowell/MC #Cal Lowell #PlayChoices #Tina writes stuff.#Tina plays Choices.#the soft werewolf bf #otp: in your hands #Silvia Delmero

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mveloc · 5 years

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Days of Why and How

Chapter 13

Author’s Note: Yes, I’m alive! I haven’t been super active online due to how crazy busy I’ve been, but I promised that I would complete this fic and continue writing, so that’s what I intend to do :) I’d like to thank all of you who’ve continued to stick with this fic and support me--I really do appreciate it. I wish I could find the time to update more frequently and I’m really going to try, but work keeps me pretty bogged down and I’m also working on some original writing, so free time is in short supply these days. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter!

There is a trigger warning for violence in this one--I don’t think it’s too descriptive, but I want to tread on the safe side. If blood makes you squeamish, be warned (although I really don’t think it’s any worse than Pure Radiance for those of you who’ve read that one).

She’s immune to the sound of blaring car horns and hollered profanities as she weaves in and out of traffic, one hand gripping tightly to the wheel and the other holding her phone to her ear, hopelessly listening for some sort of response. For the fifth time in as many minutes, the ringing subsides and she's greeted by a pre-recorded message of Cosima’s voice that she would normally find charming.

Tonight?

Not so much.

“Cosima, answer your phone! This is important!” Delphine snaps, slamming her hand against the wheel in a fit of fury. “I think Aldous is coming for you!”

She presses the large red circle on the screen to terminate the call before dialling again, hoping six is her lucky number. As soon as she looks up from her phone and back to the road, she manages to react in time to the red light that’s suddenly appeared, slamming on her breaks and nearly springing forward through the windshield.

“Hey, this is Cosima. As much as I’d love to—”

She ends the call again, tossing her phone into the back seat and nearly growling in frustration. Luckily enough, she’s not left to stew in her anger for too long as Bobby’s comes into view. She doesn’t even bother pulling into the nearest parking lot and instead opts to double park right out front, indifferent to the potential consequences. She leaps out of her car and bounds into Bobby’s, head whipping back and forth as she tries to locate Cosima.

“Where’s the fire?” Bobby asks, stopping what she’s doing she address the frantic blonde.

“Where is Cosima?”

“Uh, she’s gone for the night. She worked an earlier shift today,” Bobby replies with a raised brow.

“This is really important, Bobby. Do you know where she went?” Delphine asks.

The tattooed woman shakes her head.

“Sorry. No idea.”

For the second time that night, Delphine feels her heart sink even deeper into her chest. Sensing the French woman’s distress, Bobby tries her best to be helpful.

“Sarah was in earlier. The two left together. Maybe she knows?”

The suggestion permeates her panic. When Sarah had called earlier, she was clearly no longer with Cosima, but maybe Cosima had mentioned what her plans were? In any case, it was all she really had to go on since Cosima was avoiding her calls.

She expels a breathy word of thanks before racing back out to her car, hopping into the driver’s seat and reaching behind to retrieve her discarded phone. She continues to ignore the honking as she scrolls through her call history, finding the number that Sarah had called her from and dialling it back.

Luckily for her, Sarah isn’t as petulant as Cosima.

“Delphine?” she answers, seeming just as surprised by the call as Delphine had been by hers earlier in the evening.

Delphine cuts right to the chase.

“Do you have eyes on Cosima?”

“Not this second. What’s the deal?”

Delphine expels a frustrated sigh.

“Sarah, I told you—“

“Oi! I’m with my daughter right now, okay?” Sarah lashes back, matching Delphine flame-for-flame. “The only kid I babysit is my own.”

She shouldn’t be surprised that Sarah isn’t up to the task, but for whatever reason, she expected more. The Brit clearly has no idea just how severe the situation is.

“Just relax. I have Felix on watch duty.”

Finally, she catches the break she’s needed the entire night.

“Then you need to get him on the phone right now, and tell him he needs to take Cosima and go to ground,” Delphine says sternly.

“Jesus. What the hell’s going on?”

“Just do it!” Delphine snaps again. “I think someone’s coming for her.”

+ + + + +

She doesn’t know when Delphine managed to slip her number into her contact list, but her blood begins to boil the second she sees “Eskimo Pie” staring back at her from her phone screen. She isn’t sure what she’s most insulted by—the fact that her ex had somehow gotten a hold of her phone and entered her information without permission, the fact that she had the gall to use that nickname after everything, or the fact that she’s calling at all after she’d made it abundantly clear that she wants nothing to do with the blonde.

She quickly declines the call, giving an apologetic half-wave when about a dozen people in the theatre turn to her with looks of annoyance.

A minute later, her phone starts up again and so do the glaring strangers.

“Would you turn that bloody thing off?” Felix whispers harshly, swatting her on the shoulder. “You’re going to ruin the best part.”

“Yeah. Sorry,” she mumbles, turning her phone on silent.

She focuses her attention back to the large screen, watching Elizabeth Berkley ride Kyle MacLachlan in what has to be one of the most ridiculous sex scenes ever committed to film. The sound of water splashing is almost drowned out by the thunderous applause and laughter, and while she wishes she could join in on the amusement, Delphine has successfully managed to get under her skin with two simple phone calls.

“Are you okay, darling?” Felix asks, noticing his friend is suddenly distracted. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I’m fine.”

“No—Elizabeth Berkley’s tits are fine. You’re looking morose.”

“Can we just watch the movie? I don’t wanna talk about it.”

Felix shrugs, then fixes his gaze back on the screen. Even though she’s seen this movie at least a dozen times, she finds herself completely lost as she tries to wrap her head around why Delphine would be calling her.

Probably more of the same bullshit.

Why does she care?

Cosima pulls her phone out of her pocket again to see that Delphine has called four more times. She turns the device completely off this time without a second thought, fairly certain that a vein on her head is probably looking much more pronounced at the moment.

“I have to pee,” she huffs, rushing out of the theatre with no preamble.

She ascends a flight of stairs to find the woman’s washroom and is thankful that there’s no one in any of the stalls. She hurries into the larger handicapped stall, slamming the door behind her and locking it before plopping down onto the toilet, burying her head in her hands.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” she mutters, sliding her fingers beneath her glasses to press her closed eyes.

Today was full of almost too much bullshit for anyone to take; first, Shay’s uncle had showed up at Bobby’s while she was working to intimidate her. The encounter had left her pretty shaken up and she considered going straight to Shay’s after work, but Sarah had convinced her otherwise.

“Fuck all of this mess,” she had said dismissively. “Come grab dinner with me, Fee, and Kira.”

It had been far too long since she’d seen her niece and the thought of spending time with people who cared about her—people who were removed from the current war that was going on—sounded blissful. They had taken Kira to a diner and laughed as the small girl ordered an entire stack of pancakes and an ice cream sundae for dinner. No one protested—not even Kira as they all stole bites ice cream throughout the meal. Once they were finished and she was ready to call it a night, Felix had somehow convinced her to come to a late night screening of Showgirls with him.

Her true family had somehow managed to take her mind off all the chaos that was encircling her. She hadn’t realized how tightly she was wound until her belly was full of laughter again. At this point, maybe finishing the job with Sarah and taking off with her, Felix, and Kira really was the best thing for her.

She spends several more minutes sitting in the stall, trying to push Delphine and Shay’s uncle and even Shay from her mind. After a short breathing exercise, she feels ready to rejoin Felix for the grand finale—only the second she exits the women’s washroom, he’s standing right there with a panicked look upon his face.

“We need to go—right now,” he says, grabbing her arm.

“What’s going on?” she asks, eyeing the flamboyant young man suspiciously.

“Sarah says you’re not safe.”

She rips her arm out of Felix’s grasp, equal parts confused and angry.

“Sarah? What the hell does Sarah know?” she counters.

“You can ask her yourself.”

Felix holds up his phone, then shoves it in her face. She takes it from his hand and holds it to her ear. The second she says hello, she’s met by the Spanish Inquisition.

“Why’s your bloody phone turned off?”

“Uh, cause Delphine keeps fucking harassing me—not that it’s any of your business,” Cosima retorts with just as much sass.

“Yeah. I just got off the phone with her.”

She stops dead in her tracks, much to the dismay of Felix who’s all but dragging her down the stairs at this point.

“What? Are you kidding me?”

“She’s not fucking around, Cos!” Sarah barks. “She says someone’s coming for you.”

“And you believe her?”

“Yeah, I do!”

Cosima brings her hand to her forehead, resting it there for a moment as she tries to figure out exactly what’s happening and determine her next move. She’d like to think that Sarah is overreacting and Delphine is playing both of them for fools, but considering the fact that Dmitri Davydov appeared at her goddamn place of work earlier in the day, she can’t help but heed the warning.

“I’ve gotta go.”

She hangs up the phone, then shoves it back into Felix’s hand. Without bothering to explain, she races down the flight of stairs and through the front lobby of the theatre, out onto the street.

“What are you doing? Where are you going?” Felix asks, trailing behind.

“I need to talk to Shay,” she answers, pulling her own phone out and turning it back on.

She can see that Delphine has left her a voicemail and she scowls, opting instead to open the Uber app to call herself a car.

“No—you need to come with me and we need to disappear.”

Cosima shakes her adamantly.

“Look, this is about her uncle. I need to sort this shit out once and for all.”

She isn’t going to wait around for one of Dmitri’s men to come and snatch her up—or even worse. As strange as it seems, she’s probably the safest with Shay right now; Dmitri wouldn’t come for her with his niece standing between them, would he?

“It won’t take long.”

+ + + + +

She bangs loudly on the door three times, her head hanging low as she tries to contain her anger. It wasn’t her intention to come to Shay’s apartment and explode on her lover, but the longer she sat in the back of that Uber pondering the most recent events in her life, the more angry she became.

Shay hasn't betrayed her the way Delphine has, but she did introduce her twisted uncle into the mix, and even though Shay’s been supportive on so many occasions, Cosima can’t help but wonder if it’s all just an act. As much as she hates to admit it, she’s not exactly the best judge of character when it comes to people she’s involved with; Delphine had managed to fuck her over royally and she never saw it coming. Could this be another con job?

Before she has time to give it more thought, Shay’s door swings open and she’s greeted by the wide-eyed blonde.

“Just what the hell is your deal?”

“I’m sorry?”

“First, you bring me to your creepy uncle’s mansion, then he shows up at my work asking all these questions, and now I have Delphine and Sarah telling me that I’m about to be offed,” Cosima immediately spills.

Perhaps it’s too much up front, but she’s unable to contain herself. Sensing this, Shay quickly scans the hallway of her apartment complex for any potential onlookers, then opens the door wider.

“Come inside. Hurry.”

Once they’re both safe behind closed doors, Shay releases a long sigh.

“My uncle isn’t going to ‘off’ you, if that’s what this is about.”

“Are you sure about that?”

Cosima remains closed off, her arms folded tightly across her chest and head cocked slightly to the side; everything about her is hard and accusatory—no room for the softness they usually share.

“He wouldn’t do that,” Shay replies.

Cosima shakes her head incredulously.

“He’s a mob boss, Shay!”

“Yeah, but he wouldn’t do that to me! He knows I care about you.”

She can see the hurt swimming behind Shay’s eyes, but she stands her ground.

“I can’t do this,” she sighs wearily. “I can’t deal with this shit anymore.”

When did her life become this? Somehow, she doesn’t think she can blame it all on Delphine. She doesn’t even think she can blame it all on Shay, as much as she’d like to. After all, she’s the common denominator between the two; through all the bullshit and the lies and the terrible choices, here she is—at the center of it all.

“Cosima, just calm down.”

Shay’s words have the opposite of their intended effect.

“It’s just been one thing after another! First Delphine, then you!” Cosima unleashes, pacing erratically around Shay’s small apartment. “I thought things were going to be easy between us but I guess that was just wishful thinking, huh?”

“I’m sorry, okay?”

Cosima pauses, struck by the sincerity in Shay’s voice.

“I know he’s, like, way out of line by asking you all those questions. I didn't think things would go down like this,” Shay tries to explain.

She moves past Cosima and drops down onto the couch in a long, deflated breath. She runs her hands through her hair and finally settles them on the back of her skull, her head sinking low between her legs.

Cosima shifts from one foot to the other, reassessing their conversation. Maybe she did come in too hot. She didn’t expect such an easy victory. Of course, her and Shay have never really fought before so she wasn’t sure what to expect, but watching Shay shut down like this certainly wasn’t it.

“Why did you bring me up at all? Why did you have to drag me into this shit?”

She tries to swallow the thickness in her voice, but she’s unsuccessful in masking that she’s on the verge of tears at this point. She can’t be sure if they’re tears of hurt, frustration, or exhaustion, but it hardly matters anymore.

“God, I didn’t even mean to!” Shay bursts, her head snapping up again to face Cosima. “I just brought you up in passing! I said, like, maybe three things about you, okay? How was I supposed to know he’d offer you a job?”

“Shay, he showed up at my work! He scared the shit out of my friend! He scared the shit out of me!” Cosima counters. “It doesn’t matter what you meant—what matters is what’s happening now because of what you did!”

She feels like she’s suffering from a major case of deja vu, and that’s when her choice becomes painfully clear.

“I can’t live like this,” Cosima proclaims, her voice cracking.

She’s instantly transported back into that car with Delphine all those years ago; she had meant it back then too, but couldn’t find the strength to follow through when Delphine had captured her gaze, held her close, and fought like hell to keep them alive. When she locks eyes with Shay, there’s no fight, no fire.

Instead, a silent understanding passes between them.

“I’m sorry. I’ll take care of it,” Shay quietly says.

“You’ll take care of it?”

The blonde finally stands again, nodding slowly.

“I’m going to go over to his house right now and sort this all out. I’m going to tell him to leave you alone from now on.”

She makes her way across the apartment and grabs her coat off the coat rack, the urgency in her movements matching the urgency of her words. Cosima merely watches as Shay throws her coat on over her pyjamas and then reaches for her boots.

“Do you really think he’ll listen to you?” Cosima asks.

She has a hard time believing that Dmitri Davydov would simply give up his pursuit at the behest of a woman—family or not. Everything she’s been told about this man tells her he’ll stop at nothing to get what he wants.

“He owes me one,” Shay mutters over her shoulder as she finishes tying her boots. “When I went down, the cops didn’t even want me. He was their big fish—they were just trying to use me to get to him. They were hoping I’d give them something they could use to take him down. I mean, I totally could have and I probably would have served a lot less time, but I kept my mouth shut.”

It was never a secret that Shay served time because of her involvement with her family, but the particulars surrounding the entire situation remained a mystery to Cosima. It was something they never spoke about. Shay knew all the dark and sordid details surrounding Cosima’s imprisonment, but for whatever reason, the blonde had never shared her own story with her before and she had never thought to ask beyond the CliffsNotes version she was presented with.

“When I got out, he told me he was indebted to me. He told me if there was anything I ever needed, all I had to do was ask,” Shay finishes. “So I’ll call in my favour and you can put this all behind you, okay?”

Again, her mind wanders back to that car ride with Delphine. Her then-girlfriend had made a similar promise—one she couldn’t keep. She wants so badly to believe Shay, but she cannot hide her skepticism.

“Okay,” she reluctantly agrees.

They exit Shay’s apartment in a tense silence, riding the elevator down to the ground level and leaving the complex. Shay’s bug is parked in its usual spot across the street and Cosima watches with hands stuffed in her pockets as Shay begins to cross the street—that is, until she notices Cosima isn’t following and stops.

“Where are you off to?” Shay asks, turning back to acknowledge Cosima.

“I need to go meet up with Sarah and Felix,” Cosima shrugs.

“Wanna ride?”

Cosima stops for a moment, considering.

“No, it’s fine.”

Shay sighs, then takes a step closer.

“Are things going to be weird between us from now on?”

Cosima lifts her gaze, eyes focusing on the black, boundless sky above her. She manages to blink away the tears that almost form and takes the much needed minute to compose herself.

“Honestly?” she counters. “I think I need a break from the whole ‘us’ part.”

She shakes her head, finally able to meet Shay’s gaze.

“I promised myself I wouldn’t do this again.”

The lump in Shay’s throat is visible as she swallows it down hard. She digests Cosima’s answer with a slow nod and distant eyes.

“I get it.”

With that, she turns away from Cosima and makes her way towards her car.

There’s nothing left to say and yet Cosima can’t fight the words that are rising to the surface. They’re fuelled by guilt—guilt that she hasn’t been entirely honest with Shay, and despite everything that’s happened, she can sense Shay’s sincerity; she had said before that Shay’s intent didn’t matter, only her actions. When she reflects on her own actions, she realizes that she’s just as culpable in the death of their relationship as Shay is.

“I slept with Delphine.”

Shay stops mid-stride, the wind completely sucked out of her sail. Thankfully there’s not a lot of traffic on this side street at this time of night, and without the threat of an oncoming vehicle, Shay remains planted in the middle of the road.

“I don’t know how I’m supposed to take that,” she says just loud enough for Cosima to hear as she turns around to face her again.

“I-It was before I met back up with you,” Cosima tries to explain, closing some of the distance between them until they’re both standing in the middle of the road. “I didn’t tell you because I was afraid you’d judge me or be mad at me or something.”

Shay cocks her head, her curiosity strangely piqued.

“Why would I be mad at you?”

Cosima gives the question some real thought.

Why did she have any reason to believe that Shay would be mad at her? Shay’s been nothing but kind and understanding through everything. Perhaps she’s projecting; if their roles were reversed, she would undoubtedly be hurt and consider her actions a betrayal.

“Because I told you I’d look you up as soon as I got out, but I didn’t,” Cosima admits. “I guess I didn’t technically look Delphine up either, but I went to her first—not you.”

Now that the truth is out, she’s both relieved and angry all over again.

“I didn’t even mean to. I was so fucking mad at her and I still ended up in bed with her anyway.”

Shay places a hand on Cosima’s arm in a bid to quell her stirring emotions.

“Look, you don’t have to explain—”

“But I want to,” Cosima presses.

She’s been grappling with this explanation for years, unable to truly find the words to express what she needs to say. If she can’t be honest with herself or with Shay in this moment, what hope does she have? She takes a deep, steadying breath and finds her legs for the first time in forever.

“I wish I could hate her, but I just… I can’t.”

She quivers as the words crack and crumble in her mouth like she’s chewing on a mouthful of charcoal. They leave a black, chalky texture for her to ruminate as all the toxins are slowly pulled from her body.

“I have every fucking reason to and every time I see her or hear her voice or think about her, I get so fucking angry—but it’s not because I hate her,” she confesses, her lower lip trembling.

Shay is looking at her now with deep and sympathetic eyes, but she slowly removes her hand from Cosima’s arm and allows her to unravel all on her own.

“I’m angry because I can’t, so I just hate myself instead.”

She stares at her feet, eyes swollen and face red. She knows if she looks up to meet Shay’s gaze, she’ll be greeted by warmth—a warmth she isn’t ready to embrace just yet.

“You don’t have to punish yourself, Cosima.”

She hears the waver in Shay’s voice and that’s when she knows she needs to escape.

“I have to go,” she mutters, sniffling quietly and turning away as fast as she possibly can.

She leaves Shay standing there, never bothering to look back and face her. She wipes her glossy eyes on the sleeve of her coat as she continues to walk away, and she can hear Shay’s car door open then slam shut, followed by the sound her driving away. Only once she’s certain she’s alone does she stop her trek; she had bee so desperate to place enough distance between them that she didn’t even consider where she was heading. She pulls out her phone and opens the Uber app, setting Felix’s apartment as her destination.

She takes another deep breath, relishing in the fact that the worst part of her night is now over. All she can think about is getting back to Felix’s, smoking the fattest bowl she can pack, and drifting off to a less-cruel reality… that is, until she senses an unfamiliar presence nearby.

She turns to face the oncoming car, squinting carefully to make out the licence plate. She then refers back to the app and realizes that the car slowly approaching her is not the blue Toyota Camry listed. She folds her arms over her chest, eyes following the car until it comes to an excruciatingly slow stop right next to her. The driver’s window rolls down and she can barely make out the figure at the wheel.

“Looking for a ride?” he asks.

She bends her head a little lower to get a better look at the man. He appears to be in his forties, with a thick beard and pair of aviator glasses that remind her of her dad’s when she was little. He offers her a smile, but there’s something chilling and soulless about it that immediately makes her blood run cold.

“Oh, uh, that’s okay. My ride is on its way,” she mutters, trying her best to conceal the creeping panic on her face.

She begins walking again, her pace hurried as she tries to put more distance between her and the stranger. She checks her phone, mentally cursing when she sees her ride is still in the process of completing a nearby trip. She manages to get about half a block before she hears the car come whizzing past her, making a sharp turn up onto the sidewalk to cut off her path.

She freezes, this time greeted by the barrel of a gun sticking out of the window instead of a creepy smile.

“Let’s try this one more time,” the man says, clicking the safety off his weapon. “Looking for a ride?”

Cosima slowly raises her hands into the air, the colour draining from her face completely.

“H-Hey now. Let’s just take it easy, okay?” she tries to talk him down, her voice trembling. “Just take it easy.”

The gun remains fixed on her.

“Get in the car,” the man repeats, his smile gone.

“Shay’s on her way to meet with Dmitri right now. She’s going to clear this all up, okay? You don’t have to do this,” she tries to reason with him.

What happens next surprises her.

“Dmitri?” the man asks in a breath of laughter.

He seems genuinely amused by her suggestion and her brow furrows, confusion momentarily taking the place of fear.

“You really think I’m Bratva?”

The world begins to fade away as soon as she understands what’s really happening, and while she shouldn’t be surprised in the least, she finds herself blindsided yet again and too terrified to be angry that the man who ruined her life the first time will also be the one responsible for ending it.

“Fine,” he sighs.

He makes no attempt to hide his annoyance at the inconvenience her lack of cooperation is causing him. She doesn’t mean to defy his demand, but she can’t will her legs to carry her forward and climb into the car; one would think a gun pointed directly at them would be a brilliant motivator, but the weapon has the opposite of its intended effect on her.

The second he steps out of his car is when sound and colour return to her. She tries to backpedal, but she knows there’s nowhere she can run now, so she closes her eyes tightly and tries to let her usually active brain carry her somewhere else.

“Since you don’t want to get in the car, we can do this right—”

She screams out—the sound of a loud impact cutting through her haze-like shock. The second she’s able to process that the sound isn’t a bullet in her head, she opens her eyes again only to find that the creepy man is no longer standing in front of her with a gun pointed at her face. Instead, he’s several meters away from her in a bloody heap on the ground. Her eyes then land on a second car which sports a distinct, body-shaped dent on the front bumper and hood.

Cosima finds her breath again.

She knows this car.

Her eyes follow Delphine as she climbs out of the driver’s seat, walking over to the groaning man with purpose in every step.

“D-Delphine?” he asks, completely caught off guard by this development.

The blonde draws her own gun, staring down at the man with complete disdain. She points her weapon at his face, prompting him to raise his hands and begin to plead—a plead that’s cut short by a bullet which finds its home snuggly between his eyes.

Cosima drops to her knees, eyes wide and mouth gaping in terror. Tremors tear through her body, even as Delphine holsters her gun and comes dashing over.

“Cosima!” Delphine calls out, dropping to her knees in front of her to assess Cosima’s current state. “Are you okay?”

“W-What…?”

She can’t find her words, mouth dry and tongue swollen as she tries make sense of what the hell is happening.

“You don’t answer your phone!” Delphine snaps. “I’ve been trying to reach you all night—trying to warn you!”

She reaches for Cosima, pulling the brunette to her feet again. She’s shaky on her legs, but Delphine slings an arm around her waist to help support her.

“We have to go.”

Cosima can only nod as Delphine ushers her into the passenger’s seat, buckles her in, then runs back around to climb into the driver’s seat and take off.

+ + + + +

They march down the dimly-lit corridor to Aldous’s office, one of her hands clasped firmly with Cosima’s and the other carrying the briefcase that contains their prize. She had promised Cosima that this would be it—now was the time to tell Aldous they wanted out. If they played their cards right, they could be on a plane to St. Barts this evening.

They both stop in front of the hulk of a man who guards the door. It only takes him a second to scan them over before he nods, stepping aside and granting them entry. Before they open the door, they exchange one last look; Delphine’s smile is weak but reassuring, and elicits a similar one from Cosima.

“Thank God you’re here—the both of you,” Aldous proclaims the second they walk through the door.

He stands, circling around from behind his desk to greet them both properly. He places both of his hands on their shoulders and gently squeezes; Delphine has grown accustomed to the gesture, but she can feel the shiver travel down Cosima’s spine.

“We’re fine, Aldous. We didn’t see any danger on the road,” Delphine answers.

“That’s good news.”

He backs away until he’s pressed against his desk, leaning against it and staring at them expectantly.

“Well?”

As if on cue, Delphine releases Cosima’s hand and steps forward, handing him the briefcase.

“Here it is—all of it.”

He smiles, walking back around his desk to place the briefcase on the surface. As soon as he opens it and peers inside, his smile grows.

“Nicely done.”

He rifles through the case, silently counting the prize as the two young women stand awkwardly, unsure of how to proceed. Cosima slips her hand back into Delphine’s and the blonde looks over to her side to meet Cosima’s gaze.

“What is it?”

They both freeze, their attention directed back to the older man.

He’s stopped counting his money long enough to notice the tension between the two and he waits for one of them to step forward and explain.

“We need to talk,” Delphine finally breaks.

Aldous pauses for a brief moment, then closes the briefcase.

“Is everything okay?” he asks.

Delphine opens her mouth, but the right words elude her. How does she explain herself to Aldous without insulting or angering him?

“No, everything’s definitely not okay,” Cosima chimes in.

Delphine squeezes Cosima’s hand a little harder—a warning to proceed with caution. Cosima’s always been too cheeky for her own good and while Delphine usually finds it to be one of her more endearing traits, it’s far from charming at the moment. Cosima responds in kind by yanking her hand away from Delphine’s and folding her arms across her chest, frown all-too-prominent.

“How can I help?”

Delphine expels a mental sigh of relief when Aldous doesn’t retaliate against the insolent comment. She searches Aldous carefully and determines that he seems to be in a sound state of mind; there’s a calmness radiating from him and she senses that it’s safe to tread a little deeper into the water.

“Well,” she begins, taking another step forward. “Cosima and I were talking, and… well… we—”

“You’re making a huge mistake!”

They both jump as soon as the door bursts open. They turn to identify the source of the sound and they’re greeted by the hulk again, only this time, he has his bulging bicep around a much smaller man’s neck.

“Hold that thought, Delphine,” Aldous says smoothly, lifting a hand to stop her.

He makes his way around his desk once more and the hulk tosses his boisterous captive to the floor. Upon closer inspection, both women can see that the man appears to be badly beaten; his hands are tied behind his back, his lip is swollen and dribbling blood, and his face is badly bruised—so much so that one of his eyes is completely swollen shut.

“What’s going on?” Delphine asks in a panic.

She can see the same panic reflected back at her in Cosima’s eyes and she instinctively steps closer to her girlfriend, the two of them stepping off to the side of the room.

“You know Patrick, don’t you?” Aldous asks, gesturing towards the man.

“Y-yes, we’ve met,” Delphine reluctantly replies.

She doesn’t know him well and has never personally worked with him, but she’s seen his face and knows that he’s another one of Aldous’s subordinates. His relationship with Aldous far predates her own and she wonders just what the hell is going on.

“Leekie, what the fuck is this all about?” Patrick spits, taking the words right out of her mouth.

Aldous turns to Cosima and Delphine—now backed up against the wall.

“Patrick here has been stealing from me.”

“Bullshit!” Patrick barks. “You know I’m no rat!”

Delphine feels her heart stop in her chest.

She suddenly knows what this is all about, as well as what’s about to happen.

“He’s the reason for all the panic,” Aldous explains. “It seems he forwarded your coordinates to an unknown third party.”

“What?” both woman ask in unison.

“That’s a goddamn lie!”

“He was probably hoping they’d kill you both, recover the money, then wire him his share once your bodies were cold and they were long gone.”

Cosima wraps her arms around one of Delphine’s, pulling her in even closer. The gesture serves to tether Delphine—to reassure her that they’re here together, that no matter what happens, that’s how it’ll stay.

“You see, I don’t tolerate disobedience. I don’t tolerate disloyalty.”

Aldous’s tone is much harsher now. The calm waters she had detected before have given way to a thundering tidal wave that advances far too quickly to avoid; the only thing left to do now is to be pulled under.

“W-Wait a second, Leekie! It’s not like that, I-I swear!”

As Patrick pleads for his life, Aldous retrieves his gun and promptly unloads three bullets into his face without any sort of preamble or regard for his audience. Cosima cries out, burying her face between Delphine’s shoulder blades in a bid to block out the horrible image. A loud gasp escapes from Delphine’s lips before she can bring a hand up to cover her gaping mouth. She’s unable to pull her eyes away from Patrick’s bloody corpse as the hulk drags his lifeless body out of the room without a word or second, closing the door behind him as if he’s merely taking out a bag of trash.

“I’m sorry you had to see that, but I think it’s important that you did.”

Aldous steps closer towards them and Delphine feels Cosima’s grip tighten to the point of being painful.

“We’re surrounded by enemies, even on the inside,” Aldous lectures them. “In this line of work, loyalty is worth far more than any dollar price you can name.”

He stops, considering the two young women before him. Cosima peers out from behind Delphine, her eyes red and glistening with tears but her glare as resolute as ever. Delphine swallows hard, nodding at Aldous’s words. He walks back over to his desk, grabbing the briefcase and then approaching them again, briefcase outstretched.

“Here.”

Delphine is stunned.

“A-All of it?”

Aldous smiles.

“Consider it a reward for your loyalty.”

Delphine reaches out to accept the briefcase and she feels Cosima’s nails bite into her skin as if to force her to retract her hand. The blonde knows that there’s no way she can pull back now, so she bites down hard on her lower lip to block out the stinging in her arm and accept the gift bestowed upon her.

“You have a bright future here,” Aldous tells them, craning his neck to steal a clearer glimpse of Cosima. “The both of you.”

Delphine diverts her gaze to the floor and nearly drags Cosima out of the room, rushing through a pool of blood in the process. She leads her Eurydice to safety, only she manages to make it all the way out without looking back once to assess the state of her girlfriend, the fear of losing her far too great.

It isn’t until they’re back at her apartment that she realizes the woman she left with was not the woman she came with.

This becomes gut-wrenchingly obvious as she sit atop her bed, listening attentively to Cosima’s sobs as they break through the barrier of the bathroom door. After over an hour of the shower running, Delphine finally finds the courage to make her way over to the bathroom door and knock gently.

“May I come in?” she asks softly.

When she isn’t greeted by an answer, she slowly opens the door a crack and slides her head in.

“Cosima?”

She isn’t met by the billows of steam she initially expected (although she’s fairly certainly there’s no hot water left at this point) and she steps fully into the bathroom, gazing through the glass of the shower door to spy her girlfriend sitting on the floor, knees tucked to her chest and face buried in them.

“Cosima…”

Cosima finally looks up, her face red and splotchy. Her makeup is long gone—cried off or washed away in the shower, she’s unsure—and her entire body trembles violently as she tries to catch the sobs and whimpers that rip through her.

“I can’t get it out of my head,” Cosima cracks.

Delphine feels her own chest seize up and she surges forward, climbing into the freezing shower to help pull Cosima up off the floor and into her arms.

#cophine #cophine fanfic #fanfiction #orphan black

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berry-cat7 · 6 years

Text

Philia

Summary: That time Murasakibara and Kuroko started kinda-sorta fake dating, and kinda-sorta never bothered to brake up. (Or, the queerplatonic fake dating AU where nothing goes wrong.)

Characters: Kuroko Tetsuya, Murasakibara Atsushi (Ft. Momoi Satsuki, Haizaki Shougo, and the rest of the GoM)

Kuroko no Basuke

T Rating

Warnings: Cursing (Haizaki)

976 Words

Can be read on AO3 or Fanfiction

Next>>

The Beginning (Ch1)

Murasakibara carelessly flops into his chair, which squeals in protest. He groans and runs a hand through his long hair in frustration. "Kise-chin, how do I get rid of them?"

Kise sets down his chopsticks in surprise while everyone else at the lunch table looks on in interest. It's rare that their tallest friend asks anything of anyone if it doesn't involve food, and it's usually Akashi or Kuroko that he goes to, so this is particularly strange. "Eh? You finally wanna know?! Gosh, I thought you didn't care! Okay, so I don't think shampoo is going to cut it at this point, because those split ends are bad. But don't worry! I'm pretty sure I can save at least-"

Murasakibara growls. "No. Girls. How do I get rid of them?"

"Girls?" Momoi repeats curiously.

Kise's face scrunches in confusion. "Isn't your face usually scary enough?" Murasakibara scowls at him but Kise feels vindicated by the cold sweat beading on his forehead. "S-Sorry, but I thought they usually avoided you..."

"It's the Home Economics class isn't it?" Deducts Akashi, before taking another dignified sip of his tea.

Murasakibara grunts his confirmation but Aomine still scratches his head at the conclusion. "What's Home Ec. gotta do with it?"

Midorima scoffs, pushing up his glasses with the finesse of any good Megane-type. "He recently transferred into that class after there was an opening, remember? That's the only obvious change in his school routine that comes to mind. Not to mention it's a predominantly female course."

Aomine rolls his eyes. "Oh I'm sorry, I didn't realize this was all so obvious. Thanks Wattson."

"Hey. Help." Murasakibara pokes Kise in the cheek for emphasis, which the blond bats away.

"Okay, so what's the problem?"

"They won't leave me alone."

Kise sighs. "Meaning?"

"They keep trying to cling onto me and confess, it's a bother." The giant slumps into his seat, reaching into his pocket to pull out a stick of Umaibo to eat.

Haizaki snorts, rolling his eyes. "Oh no. What a dilemma. God, what suffering you must endure. My heart goes out to you in these trying times-"

"Shut it Haizakicchi!...Ahem. Murasakibaracchi, what did you do to attract them anyways?" Kise laces his fingers together on the table and leans towards his friend as if to project a professional air.

"Haaaah, I don't know. The teacher was impressed with my cooking so he had me assist some people."

"I...I see..." Momoi mutters with a glazed look in her eyes.

They could all see it. Murasakibara with his long hair pulled back into a ponytail, showing off his surprisingly handsome face. Him, tottering around the classroom in an apron, accidentally spewing lines out of a shoujo manga as he helps a bunch of very single and very imaginative teenage girls. No doubt they've clicked him into the trope of Jerk-With-A-Heart-Of-Gold who's both excitingly rugged and cute boyfriend material.

"Just tell them you aren't interested." Reasons Midorima.

"I did, but then they try harder."

Much like an insect caught in a web, the more he struggles the worse he’s entangled.

"Then just be meaner!" Then, as if to lead by example, Haizaki nabs a piece of sushi from Kuroko's lunch box and is quick to shove it in his mouth before anyone can object.

Just as Aomine angers on his behalf, Kuroko says, "It's fine." He then pushes the rest of his lunch towards Haizaki to avoid further drama and focuses on reading his book.

"Tch, don't encourage him Tetsu." Grumbles Aomine, leaning back in his seat and crossing his arms petulantly.

"Kise-chiiiin," Whines Murasakibara. "Help."

Kise can only shrug unsurely. "I don't know what to tell you, I usually just flirt with them a bit and excuse myself. I don't think that's really your style thought..."

"Ugh."

Seeing how disheartened he's becoming, Momoi thinks fast. "Hey Mu-kun, sometimes I just say I'm already taken. Maybe that'll work for you too?" She suggests.

"But what if they ask for proof?" Prods Midorima.

"You wouldn't owe them anything." Argues Akashi, setting down his cup.

Kise grimaces. "Fangirls are pretty persistent Akashicchi, I've had to deal with a stalker or two." He shutters at the memory. He never did get those shirts back.

Aomine gets a smug look on his face as he comes up with a solution. "Just pretend to date someone."

Haizaki immediately shoots him down. "That's fucking stupid."

Momoi cringes "He's right, fake-dating never works."

Kise agrees, even nodding knowledgably. "Someone always gets hurt, and since Murasakibaracchi isn't interested in anyone, it'll be the other person."

Haizaki snorts. "Who gives a shit, it's a problem solved. If they catch feelings, that's on them."

Akashi is the only one to notice that Murasakibara has been suspiciously quiet.

"That's not how it works Haizakicchi, haven't you watched a Rom-Com?!" Screeches Kise.

"Pfft, I'm not a pussy. I'm not surprised you watch that garbage though-"

Murasakibara cuts over Haizaki mid-sentence. "Hey, Kuro-chin,"

"Yes Murasakibara-kun?"

"Be my boyfriend."

"Okay." Kuroko fails to even lower his book throughout the exchange.

There's a pregnant pause where everyone but the two involved look absolutely gobsmacked.

Momoi and Kise shriek in unison, almost as if practiced. "Heeeeh?!"

Even Aomine is in a state of disbelief. "Wait, what?"

"Are you fucking serious?! Why him?!"

Calmly, as if he isn't causing total anarchy at their table, Kuroko simply shrugs and replies with, "He asked."

Kise practically leaps from his chair and slams his hands against the tabletop with a loud smack. "Kurokocchi, be my boyfriend!"

"I'm sorry, I'm in a committed relationship."

"Ack! Kurokocchi stop playing with my heart!" Kise collapses back into his seat, dropping his head against the table with a sound thud. Momoi rubs his back in sympathy, a rather defeated expression on her face as well.

"Congratulations on your relationship, you have my support."

"Thanks Aka-chin."

AN: Idk?? What this is?? But I just love their relationship so I thought, 'Lets write a MuraKuro fic because there are none!' But then I thought, 'I just can't imagine them actually kissing.' and this beautiful AU was born. I ship Kuroko with too many people and I ship Murasakibara with Himuro, but I also feel it in my soul that they're somehow Ace.Not sure how many chapters this will have either, but I have some ideas. This'll also probably be a series of drabbles, so don't expect an over-arching plot or tight continuity.

Feel free to send it requests for future chapters! If you're Ace I'd love to hear from you in particular, since I myself am not. Updates will be sporadic o)-(

#MuraKuro #Murasakibara Atsushi #Kuroko Tetsuya #KnB #kuroko no basuke #Fic: Philia #Philia ch1 #hope you're ready for a shitshow #The last thing I needed was to start another multichap #Kuroko and Mura are ace as hell and you can fight me on this #catch me in rarepair hell

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builder051 · 7 years

Note

Okay, so you know your series with Bucky/Steve where Bucky is recovering and you write the fics set during different holidays? I'm really curious how Bucky would deal with Steve getting food poisoning... Like maybe a bit further on in his recovery? I'd love to see a fic for this if you're willing and up for it!!

This is quite long, so brace yourself… And it’s fairly plotless too. :)

We are in Powers/No Powers Choose-Your-Own-Adventure.

_____________________________

Steve leans back into the couch, hands behind his head, and watches the Minnesota Vikings make a touchdown.

“Yes!” Clint practically jumps out of his seat, pumping his fist in the air. His son Cooper, who’s sitting on the couch between Clint and Steve, glances at his father and follows suit.

“Why are they your team, again?” Bucky asks, peering around Steve and Cooper to address Clint.

“I don’t know. Thor likes them, so I figured I’d adopt them as my team too.”

“For not being that into them, you’re really into them,” Steve observes with a hint of friendly judgmental incoherence.

“Yeah, well, what can I say. Sunday is football day. And just to throw it back at ya, I don’t think I’ve ever seen two dudes less into a game,” Clint throws back.

“It would be different if the Giants were playing,” Bucky provides with a bit of a yawn.

Steve reaches over to pat Bucky’s knee. “Tired already?” He asks quietly. Bucky’s been doing better lately, but that doesn’t mean the nightmares are completely gone. The jumbled sleepy groaning had turned to shouting around 4, and they’ve both been awake since then.

“I don’t know. I’m ok,” Bucky replies.

“This game’s almost over, if you’re ready to split,” Steve suggests.

Bucky shrugs. “I’m ok,” he repeats.

Laura swoops in from the kitchen, picking up bowls of snacks from the coffee table and carting them away.

“You could at least wait until a commercial break,” Clint playfully snipes at his wife as she momentarily stands between him and the TV.

“Yeah, yeah, suck it up,” she teases back, rolling her eyes and dancing in place as she loads a bowl of potato chip crumbs under her arm.

“Here, let me help you with that,” Steve offers. He jumps up and grabs the bowl of onion dip and a plate of baby carrots and celery.

“I got it,” Laura tries to say.

“No, really, you’ve been waiting on us all day,” Steve says.

“Now you’re really blocking the view,” Clint complains. He sticks out his foot to trip Steve as he carries the dishes into the kitchen, but Steve easily sidesteps the obstacle.

“I’ll get dinner served in a few minutes, here,” Laura says, gesturing to the potatoes in the oven and crock pot of chili on the counter.

“Thanks for the offer,” Steve replies, “But we should be getting home. You’ve fed us enough already, and we’ve got a long drive home. Gotta be up for work tomorrow. You know the drill.”

“Yeah, sure do. He doing ok?” She glances at Bucky, still watching the TV in the living room.

“Oh, yeah, he’s doing great,” Steve explains. “You’ve seen how far he’s come getting back to his old self.” Steve paws in the bowl of chips for a couple sizeable crumbs, swipes them in the onion dip, and throws them into his mouth. “We just had kind of a long night, if you know what I mean. The nightmares still bug him sometimes.”

“I bet they still bug you, too,” Laura says with a sympathetic eyebrow raise.

Steve half-shrugs and dips another chip.

“You know, that’s been sitting out for over 6 hours. I’m not sure you want to eat it now.” Laura snags the bowl of dip from under Steve’s hand and dumps it into the sink.

Steve swallows the chip anyway. “I’ll be fine.” He tries to help stack up a few more dishes. “I think I amgonna drag Bucky home now. Thanks for everything. All the hospitality.”

“Sure. You know you’re welcome anytime.” Laura dries her hands on the seat of her jeans and hurries to find their coats.

Steve meanders up to the back of the couch and starts massaging Bucky’s shoulders from behind. “Ready to run?” He asks. “I gotta be up early tomorrow.” He doesn’t really, but it’s an easy out.

“Yeah, sure.” Bucky stands up and claps Clint and Cooper on the shoulder before donning his jacket and following Steve out to the car.

They’re on the highway before either of them speak.

“How’s it going?” Steve’s used to Bucky’s long silences; he just sometimes feels the need to check in to ensure they’re contented stretches of quiet instead of depressed ones.

“Fine. Good. I’m good,” Bucky says. “I’m just, I just wonder… I think I like the Giants, since they’re a New York team, but I don’t really remember seeing a lot of football before the war…”

Steve shifts slightly in his seat and replies, “Yeah, I don’t think we paid a lot of attention to football… If you decide you don’t like the Giants, you can always go for the Jets…” Steve stifles a belch behind his hand.

“You drink too much coke or something?”

“I’m fine,” Steve automatically replies. He’s sure he is. He can’t remember the last time he was sick with anything, not even a sniffle. The slight grumble in his stomach has to be from an afternoon of munching junk food and ignoring the need for physical activity. Though even as he commits to the thought, the unsettledness takes a dip toward pain.

Dusk is falling. Steve can see the edges of orange sunset peeking in the corners of his rear view mirror as they sail from the beautiful stuck-in-time Virginia countryside back toward the concrete bustle of the DC suburbs. He wishes they were travelling west so the beautiful sight could be in front, like a paradise to travel toward.

“Maybe we should move to the country,” Steve dreamily suggests. “Get a farm house like Clint.”

“Could,” Bucky says in a doubtful tone. “But I think we’re city kids. We could go back to Brooklyn…”

They dissolve into a stretch of silence again. The sun continues to plummet, and the harvest gold glow glints off the car mirrors in a harsher manner, making Steve squint against the assault on his eyeballs. It’s beginning to make his head hurt, which isn’t coupling well with the tumult in his stomach. Wave motion is creating white-capped froth against the sides of his abdomen, and it feels as though it’s splashing up into his chest. Steve tries to stealthily let out another burp, and he tastes the sourness of acid reflux.

Then Bucky’s saying something, and Steve’s completely missed it.

“Huh?”

“Are you ok?” It’s definitely not what Bucky said the first time.

“Sure. Yeah,” Steve replies.

“I think, maybe, you’re not,” Bucky says, his eyes trained on Steve’s face. “Your stomach hurts, doesn’t it?”

“Buck, really, I’m ok,” Steve says. But internally, he admits to himself that he’s definitely uncomfortable. The first flecks of nausea are starting to materialize under his tongue.

“No, you’re not feeling good,” Bucky insists. “It’s been a long time, but I used to take care of you. I remember how you’d look when you felt sick.”

“That attractive, huh?” Steve asks, attempting to chuckle and swallow at the same time.

“If you feel bad, pull over,” Bucky says.

“It’s not that bad.” Steve realizes what he’s let slip as soon as the words leave his mouth.

“But you do feel kinda bad.”

“Eh. Kinda.” It’s not worth disagreeing, now that there’s something like an invisible boa constrictor simultaneously squeezing his stomach and esophagus.

“You want me to drive?” Bucky suggests.

“You can’t,” Steve says, swallowing a mouthful of bitter saliva.

“I can drive,” Bucky says, somewhat defensively.

“Yeah, but you don’t have a license,” Steve reminds him. “I’m gonna be fine. Let’s just…get home.”

The sensation stretching from his stomach to the back of his throat has reached the point of definite illness. It’s been such a long time since he’s felt sick like this; it brings back flashes of being a weaker version of himself, laid up in bed before the war. But with Bucky still by his side.

He pushes on for five rough minutes. When the flips of his stomach bring sleepy heaviness to his jaw and vertigo to his forehead, Steve knows he’s screwed. Sickness is imminent. A disgustingly wet belch works its way up his throat, and it’s all Steve can do to swallow down what’s quickly becoming the urge to gag.

“You should pull over.”

“Yeah, yeah, give me a second…” Steve mutters in a choked whisper. He takes the next exit without knowing exactly where it leads. He gulps against a surge of bile and speeds through a yellow light to quickly merge from the off ramp to the main road. There’s a gas station about a hundred yards down, and Steve pulls into the parking lot. He sloppily stops the car across two parking spaces and throws the door open just in time to heave onto the dirty cracked asphalt.

“Hey, alright,” Bucky murmurs from behind him. There’s a click as Bucky releases his seatbelt, then a shuffle as he clambers to his knees to balance his stump arm against Steve’s seat.

Steve feels the warm pressure of Bucky’s hand on the back of his neck. It has the essence of comfort, but also the sensation of pushing him forward into the choking sling of his seatbelt as his stomach continues to evacuate.

He retches hard again, and a torrent of undigested food and soft drinks erupts, splashing over Steve’s knee and the edge of the door frame. The seatbelt has him bound too far into the vehicle, and he fumbles his trembling fingers over the mechanism to unbuckle himself.

“I’m coming around to your side, ok?” Bucky pats Steve’s shoulder and scrambles up. He produces a dizzying ricochet when he slams the passenger side door.

In barely a second, he’s around the front end of the car and hovering face to face with Steve. He quickly leaps backward a step as Steve lets out another flood of vomit onto the toes of Bucky’s boots.

“God. Sorry,” Steve croaks, dabbing his mouth with the back of his hand. “You’re tired; we should be home…”

“It’s ok, you’re just all messed up,” Bucky says, squatting by Steve’s left shoulder.

Steve nods absently in agreement as he tries and fails to suppress another gag that ends up delivering a thin stream of liquid.

“You want to go inside?” Bucky jerks his head in the direction of the gas station’s convenience store. “Try to get in a bathroom?”

“Nah, I’m…I don’t want to move.” Steve’s hands shake visibly as he rests his face in his palms.

“But you’re, I mean, everything else is doing ok?”

“I’m not shitting myself, if that’s what you’re asking,” Steve embarrassment coming out in an edge in his voice.

“Hey, whatever’s going on, no problem. I’m just here to help.” Bucky says. He uses a Kleenex from his pocket to swipe a few chunks of sick from Steve’s knee, then keeps his hand comfortingly on his thigh.

“Yeah…” He retches agonizingly, then spits onto the ground as his body continues to force out air and fluid in painful belches. “Jesus fucking Christ…”

Bucky’s inexplicable lover’s radar seems to inform him that the filthier the curses, the more excruciating Steve’s condition. His hand finds Steve’s, and he squeezes as tightly as he can. “Do you think you’ll be ok for a minute? I’ll grab you some water. Maybe some antacids. Or some ginger ale? I don’t know what’sgonna help the most…”

“I’m ok,” Steve gasps through a cough. He means in general, though he also knows he’s blatantly mistaken.

“Ok. Breathe, alright? I’ll be right back.” Bucky forces the Kleenex into Steve’s hand and lovingly strokes the back of his knuckles with his thumb.

Bucky’s gone for all of five minutes, but Steve can’t stop his body from contracting forward again. Twice he heaves, and twice white-tinged stomach acid falls into what’s becoming an ocean of puke running across the concrete and under the car.

In his peripheral vision, Steve sees Bucky’s strapping one-armed form exiting the store’s glass doors. He has a plastic shopping bag in the crook of his elbow and his phone pressed between his cheek and his shoulder.

“Yeah…” Steve hears Bucky muttering as he approaches the car. “Ok, I’ll let you know if anything changes. Ok. Thanks. Bye.” He slaps the shopping bag around his hips as he fumbles the phone back into his pocket, then he bends over Steve’s back again.

“Alright, how’s it going,” Bucky asks.

“Oh, god,” Steve groans, fighting a hiccup. “Just…so nauseous.” He takes a stabilizing breath. “Who were you talking to?”

“Just Laura,” Bucky says. “I wanted to let her know, in case someone else was getting sick.”

Steve gives a thick swallow. “’S nice of you…”

“And I, well, you know I’m kind of rusty on this,” Bucky admits quietly. “I mean, you’ve been doing so much for me, but it’s been a long time since I’ve done this. I want to make sure I’m, you know, doing it right.”

“I don’t think there’s a lot you can do,” Steve murmurs, bringing a fist to his mouth. “What did Laura say?”

“To push fluids. Get you home. Go to the ER or call Sam to start an IV if it gets too bad.” Bucky sets the shopping bag on top of the car and starts rummaging in it. “And to remind you to not eat something if she tells you not to eat it.”

Steve glances up and sees Bucky’s smile.

“Yeah. Point taken,” Steve says.

Bucky squats down to face him again, squeezing a bottle of water between his knees as he screws off the cap. “How long’s it been since you brought anything up?”

“I don’t know. A few minutes,” Steve gauges. “But feels like I could go again any second.”

“Here.” Bucky offers the water bottle.

Steve eyes him doubtfully and gives a small shake of his head.

“Better to puke up water than just acid.”

Steve has the slightly nostalgic feeling that he’d told Bucky the same thing not many months ago. The full scope of the role-reversed scenario suddenly hits him, and Steve’s struck with the desire to be cooperative, though his body still seems to have other ideas. He accepts the water bottle from Bucky and loosely grips it in his sweaty, shaky hand.

“Yeah. Ok,” he sighs. “Just…not really appealing.”

“Take a couple sips and I’ll drive you home,” Bucky encourages.

“You still can’t drive.” Steve brings the bottle to his lips, the condensation beading on its surface making it slick in his hand and against his mouth. The water is refreshing, but swallowing gives him the distinct impression he’s forcing his system to work in the opposite direction of its current preference.

“I can drive. It’s a medical emergency, and I won’t get pulled over,” Bucky insists.

The water immediately hits Steve’s stomach, and the bubbling reaction it seems to set off is less than pleasant feeling. He burps under his breath.

“Ok?”

“Maybe,” Steve says. “It’s not setting that great.”

“Well, you seem ok for now. You think maybe you’re ready to get going?” Bucky rescues the plastic bag from the top of the car and stoops to offer Steve his stump shoulder as support. With difficulty, Steve accepts the handhold and pulls himself to standing, remaining slightly bent at the waist with one arm protectively draped around his middle.

They sidle around the large splash of vomit on the ground and somehow maneuver to the passenger side. Steve can barely concentrate on moving his feet as he trembles around the front of the car. He sinks into the plush seat as soon as Bucky guides him to bend his knees. He swallows hard as the water he swallowed threatens to come back up.

“Here,” Bucky says, reading Steve’s panicked expression. He reaches over Steve to place a container of Tums in the cup holder, then hands over the empty plastic bag.

Steve imagines the car’s tires streaking through the lake of sick as Bucky reverses out of Steve’s awful parking job. He doesn’t look to confirm his prediction. With his palm pressed firmly into the steering wheel’s 12 o’clock position, Bucky steers them easily back onto the highway.

It’s only 25 minutes or so before they reach the exit for Falls Church, but Steve still can’t handle the smooth motion of the car on the road. He leans his head into the window for as long as he can, but ends up hanging over his own lap as saliva trails from his lower lip into the crinkly plastic bag.

“You’re good,” Bucky says, shooting Steve a sympathetic glance. Steve nods and belches out a mouthful of acidic water. Hardly anything more comes up, but he stays hunched, not trusting himself to move. At the first stoplight they get to, Bucky takes his hand off the wheel to stroke his fingers down Steve’s back.

Once they’re safely parked in the garage, Bucky unlocks the front door and Steve immediately slips past him to set up camp in the downstairs bathroom. He kneels in front of the toilet and buries his face in the bowl, folding his arms over his aching head.

“What do you need?” Bucky asks from the doorway.

“Nothing, I don’t know,” Steve says around the threat of a gag. “If you just want to come sit…”

“Yeah. Of course. With ya till the end of the line, remember?”

#sickfic #fanfic #marvel #mcu #captain america #powers/no powers choose-your-own-adventure #stucky #steve rogers #bucky barnes #laura barton #clint barton #emeto #emetophilia #food poisoning #football

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avidfanficwriter · 7 years

Text

Unforeseen Circumstances

Jeremy Renner X OFC.

Summary: “How would he explain it to the child? How would he explain it to Willa? Years together and now it’s all gone. There’s no way, Willa would never forgive him. How could she look at him and still feel love. He stands up facing Julienne, his heart in his throat and words coming out of his mouth before he realizes. “Will you Marry Me?” Jeremy stares at her in silence, unsure of what answer he wants from her. If he even should be asking that question. He had to ask her, it was the right thing to do. Even if she wasn’t the one he loved. “

Rated: T.

Warnings: Unfaithfulness, break up, depression; Language, Baby Mama Drama.

Authors Note: I actually forgot all about this story, this chapter and the second chapter have been sitting in my drafts for apparently six months. Plus this was suppose to be a Reader fic but god i got so bloody tired of writing in that view so, it’s OFC. Hope ya’ll enjoy.

Chapter 1. Chapter 2. Chapter 3.

Willa’s eyes leave the laptop screen with a wide grin on her lips. “Guess what the new rumor is?” She says, turning to face her boyfriend of ten years, Jeremy Renner.

He doesn’t move or even acknowledge that she spoke. He’s lost in the new script he’s just received. “Babe?”

“Yeah?” He responds, his head lifting from the script to face her, his eyes lighting up when they meet hers.

“Did you hear me?”

“No.” he says, refocusing his attention back to the script

She chuckles, “Guess what the new rumor is about you?”

‘Hmm?”

Willa turns back to the laptops screen, reading the title of the article. “Jeremy Renner cheats on longtime girlfriend with dumb bimbo model.” she chuckles finding it amusing. It was one of their shared interests, reading the ridiculous headlines that the gossip articles wrote to attract attention. Now that Jeremy had his name attached to ‘Avengers’ movie he was getting more gossip spreading about him than every before.p>

Jeremy lifts his head from the script, his face goes white as his breath hitches in his throat. His eyes slowly move back to her and he smiles slightly. “Oh?”

“Yeah, Apparently, you two have been a thing for a few weeks now.”

“Is that so?”

Willa smiles, her eyes continue to read the article; her smile never leaving.

Jeremy’s eyes linger on Willa for a while longer, he’s panicking. Fighting his heart rate and the beads of sweat gathering on his forehead. His jaw clenches as he tried to refocus his attention to the script ahead of him. Jeremy stares at the paper desperate to read the words though it’s no use as they blur, each letter going in and out of focus. He breathes deeply, trying to regain his composure.

“I’m gotta take a shower babe.” Jeremy finally says, tossing the script onto the glass coffee table. Willa nods in response, her attention to still on the article. Jeremy quietly walks up the stairs, his chest rising and falling with each deep breath he takes. It’s like a cartoon, his stomach bubbling with nausea, his heart breaking off as he goes up the stairs; his eyes filling with enough tears to fill a pool.

He didn’t plan this, he didn’t even plan to hide it from Willa. It just happened, plain and simple. A piss poor excuse but that was the truth. A single moment turned into something more.

From that it continued, A month turned into two and before he knew it, he was a failure. A failure as a boyfriend. A failure as a man. It was his biggest mistake, the biggest regret he would ever find himself committing. He wasn’t a child, he could atone for his mistakes but they continued. One missed date, one missed event and soon after he’d missed their anniversary. All because of another woman.

A woman that would never compare to Willa. A woman would meant nothing to him. By the time, he reached the upstairs bathroom, he locked the door, and was resting his back on the cold wood. He pulled out his cell phone and entered his pass code, a new feature he’d added on. Yet another thing he’d lied to Willa about.

“Where’s your phone, Jer? I have to call my boss and my phone is completely shot.” Willa says coming down the stairs, dressed in nothing but a tank top and yoga pants. Jeremy is lost in her appearance, figure fitting clothing that showed every curve, he face make up less showcasing her natural beauty. “Jer?”

“Oh, it’s on the counter.” He points in front of him to the kitchen. Willa walks past Jeremy who's laying on the couch, passing the time as he watches crappy tv.

“Since. When do you have a lock?” Her voice forces his eyes to shoot open

“Oh, some of the guys kept trying to go through my phone for the past week so I put a lock on it so they couldn’t get in.” He feels like he deserves a pat on the back for how quickly he thought of that trick.

“I will never understand men.” Willa says shaking her head. “Pass code is?” “2982.”

Jeremy scrolls through his contacts, searching for the pseudonym name that he put ‘her’ under.

‘Oscar.’

He stares at the contact information for a while deciding if he should call her or text her. He opts for a text. Fearing that Willa may pass by and overhear a part of the conversation that she never should.

Jeremy tosses the phone onto the counter, proceeding to start the shower. He raises his hand to his face, rubbing his eyes while starring at his reflection in the mirror. He pulls his shirt off tossing it on the floor when his phone chimes. He grabs the phone quickly, reading the text message.

He let’s out a sharp exhale, shaking his head

‘Oscar’ responds quicker this time, Jeremy doesn’t even have a time to put his phone down before he received two responses

Jeremy groans, loudly. The small bathroom is beginning to fill with steam, clouding his mirror and his phone screen. He doesn’t have to think of what to say, Willa means more to him than he would ever be able to admit and he wasn’t going to do anything else to mess it up. He responds:

This time before the response is received, Jeremy manages to get out of his jeans. He walks to the shower and grips the waist band of his briefs when the phone chimes again.

Jeremy stares at the phone is disbelief, the woman he’d meet months ago was nicer, sweeter not an ounce of bad blood in her body. He doesn’t argue, he can’t argue, if she’s willingly to inform the media about their relationship who knows how far she would take it, if he refused her again.

Jeremy tosses his phone into the counter, he hears the sound of glass shatter, not caring at all.

After Jeremy finishes his shower, he returns downstairs to find Willa sitting on the leather sofa watching television. He walks behind her, wrapping his arms around her chest and planting a kiss on her head. It feels wrong when not even half an hour ago he was talking to the woman he cheated on her with. When here in front of him, the woman whose hands were holding his, the one he called his for ten years, he’d hurt in the worst way possible and couldn’t bring himself to confess to it.

He didn’t want to see the pain on her face. The tears that would fall. How her bottom lip would quiver while she tried to speak. When she couldn’t hold back her emotions and her hands would grip her shirt. He couldn’t imagine causing her pain.

“Are you hungry?” She asks, nudging her head against his chest.

“No.” He says, quietly.

“I have to stay late tomorrow.”

“What?”

“We have to do night scene tomorrow and they want us to come in the same time but stay late as well.”

“Oh.” Willa says, shaking her head. “I don’t understand actors.”

Jeremy smiles, “That’s what everyone who works in an office says.”

“I enjoy my job. A lawyer’s life is fulfilling and I can be home at normal times unlike someone.”

The rest of the night went by smoothly, the pair sat on the couch for the remainder of the night. Falling asleep in each other’s arms, Jeremy had one hand wrapped with her waist and the other entangled in her hair. The leather couch they owned was their least favorite piece of furniture, it could be comfortable for an hour but after any exposed skin would stick to it. Or there would be an outline of your body imprinted on the couch.l Yet when the two fell asleep on it, the discomforts no longer caused conflict.Willa nuzzled gently into Jeremy’s chest and his arms wrapped tightly around her. Willa is awoken by a constant buzzing, shaking the glass coffee table it rested on. She pulls the phone from the table, reading the name. Her hand softly shakes Jeremy awake holding the phone near him.

“Yeah?”

“Oscar is calling you.” Jeremy nods in response, slowly drifting back to sleep.

Willa smiles and places the still vibrating cell phone on his chest, Jeremy gasps in response grabbing the phone off his body. He lazily holds the phone to his ear, desperately trying to not succumb to sleep. A woman’s voice begins speaking and instantly he realizes who he’s talking too. He shoots up, sitting and nearly knocking Willa off of the couch with the movement. He holds her head into his chest as a sign of apology before slowly getting off the couch. Willa watches him as he uses his opposite hand to point to the phone, Jeremy leaves the living room retreating to the Office, he closes the french doors and locks them. He then moves further away from the door as he possible can, backing himself into a corner.

“Why are you calling me?” He whispers, his eyes focused on the doorknob.

She scoffs. “I changed my mind. You need to come over here tonight.”

Jeremy closes his eyes, “Tonight? Are you crazy? I can’t tonight. I already came home.”

“You need to come over here.” She insists.

Jeremy leans his back on the wall and exhales deeply, “I can’t.” He pleads.

“You need to come over here now!” She shouts and Jeremy obliges. He stuffs the phone into his pocket and walks to the door. He holds the door handle in his hand and takes a few deep breath. It’s another lie he has to create another excuse he has to make.

Jeremy walks out of the room and leans on the door frame, he smiles at Willa who’s curled up in a ball, her eyes closed. She looks like she is sound asleep, resting peacefully.

“You awake?” He asks, Willa nods her head ‘No.’

“I have to go. They need us to go over out contracts. So we have to do it tonight while the main producer is in town.”

Willa nods and gives him a small smile, still refusing to open her eyes. She’s tried he doesn’t blame her but he’s glad that he won’t have to look her in the eyes and lie to her once again.

“I love you.” She whispers, quietly.

“I love you too.”

As Jeremy, made his way to ‘her’ home, he felt wrong. The road wasn’t right, the route was longer; his heart beat at a ragged pace. He didn’t feel like a man. He promised himself that the last time he was with her would indeed be that, the last. He wouldn’t associate with her. That was the end of that.

He arrives and she doesn’t give him any time for warning, ‘her’ Julienne takes little time to hit him with the news.

“I’m pregnant.” The words stun Jeremy, he steps back, stumbling. He lands on the couch and is speechless. He doesn’t ask her if it’s his or even if she's’ positive shes’ pregnant he was raised better than that. As a child, he was always told nothing happens that you can’t handle. He sits back and begins to panic.

“How far along?” he asks, quietly.

“A few weeks.” Jeremy nods, resting his hand on his chin. He’s happy and disappointed in himself. He’s just hurt the only woman he’s ever loved and now he’s never going to take it back. the news of fatherhood brought a smile to his face but this wasn’t how he wanted it. He’d always pictured it with Willa, that she’d be the one who surprised him with the news. He was going to have a child with the wrong woman.

How would he explain it to the child? How would he explain it to Willa? Years together and now it’s all gone. There’s no way, Willa would never forgive him. How could she look at him and still feel love. He stands up facing Julienne, his heart in his throat and words coming out of his mouth before he realizes. “Will you Marry Me?” Jeremy stares at her in silence, unsure of what answer he wants from her. If he even should be asking that question. He had to ask her, it was the right thing to do. Even if she wasn’t the one he loved.

Julienne takes a moment to think, she smiles. “Yes.” The young woman is happy, smiling beyond belief.

Neither of the two think of Willa or the situation they’ve now found themselves in. It’s the future, he’ll have to focus on now. A future without his true love. A future where, he’s thrown everything he’s ever cared about away for the wrong girl.

It doesn’t take long for a feeling of nausea to hit Jeremy as he holds Julienne in his arm, he loosens his grip on the younger woman and is back on the couch in seconds, she’s speaking about their wedding. Jeremy stayed the night at Julienne’s home, drowning himself in alcohol; begging that when he woke up this would have just been a cruel dream.

The next morning, Julienne tells him about a doctor’s appointment she has scheduled for the baby, that she’s excited for him to go. She’s overly happy, the happiest he’s ever seen.

He spends three days holding off the information from Willa, every minute he found her eyes on his own, his heart broke just a little more. He loved her, there was no doubt about that, she was his world but he’d ruined everything.

Jeremy and Willa were in the bedroom, he was watching her get ready for work. Dressing to perfection as she paid little to no attention to him. When she sits down next to Jeremy to put on her heels he feels his heart catch in his throat.

He watches her, “I cheated on you.” He confesses. Willa expression changes, her eyes grow wide and a look of confusion capturing her face as she slowly turns her head to look into his eyes.

“What?” she asks in a quiet voice.

He clears his throat, hiding his eyes. “I cheated on you.”

Willa mouth drops open slightly, her hand coming up to run through her hair as she stares at Jeremy. “Okay.” She says, slowly she slips out of her heel and rises to her feet standing in front of him.

Jeremy watches a collection of emotions overcome her face. She puts her hand up to her mouth while Jeremy stares at her.

“Alright… w-w-we can work through this.” Willa says, nodding her head.

Jeremy takes a deep breathe, “No.” is all he says, in a low voice.

“What?” he can hear the sound of her heart break in her voice and the sound of her heart shattering following.

“I asked her to marry me.” Jeremy says, in another low voice.

Her breath catches in her throat, her jaw quivering as she stares at him. Her eyes full of tears. “Y-You what?” She breathing deeply, taking yet another step back. “You did what?” Her voice breaks.

“She’s pregnant with my child.” Jeremy argues.

“What about me? What about us?” It’s the last word that makes her realize what’s happening. Just what Jeremy’s intentions are. There was never going to continue on being them.

That night, Jeremy felt like less of a man. He’d broken nearly every rule he’d set out to have in his adult life. The woman, he’d spend ten years of his life with was going to be left alone to mend the broken pieces of her heart. He listened to her beg, to her hold onto his shirt and beg him to not leave. She tried everything, she could to make him stay. This woman–his woman was fighting for him.

“Jer… Jeremy, please.” She begs, her tears falling rapidly. Her hands balled up in his shirt as he sits on the bed. He looks at the floor, knowing fully well if he were to look Willa in the eyes, he’d break. He too would cry. “I love you.” She whispers, pulling him into her. Wrapping her hands around his back and leaning her head against his.

Jeremy looks towards the ceiling, trying to blink away the tears. He lets one hand wrap around her, holding her while she cries. He places a small kiss on her shoulder and another on her cheek before standing up, holding her against him. They embrace one another, Willa knowing she’s lost Jeremy.

It hurts. The pain courses throw her body and the tears don’t stop. She doesn’t want to let him go, she doesn’t want him to leave, she wants him to stay. To take it all back. She wishes her were a crappy man who didn’t care about his ‘child’ but it’s selfish, even she knows that. Willa just wishes, she didn’t have to loose the only man she’d come to love.

Jeremy’s hand unravel from her body, his tear stained shirt sticking to his body as he begins to walk away. The sobs from Willa haunting him as he makes his way out of the home. It was their last interaction, she was his weakness. He knew, given the opportunity, he would run back to her but he couldn’t do that. he had a child on the way and needed to do what was best for the child.

Jeremy and Julienne spent three miserable years together, she was the one to end it. Serving Jeremy with Divorce papers while he was away filming. When he returned home, she was gone along with their daughter, Macy. He tried for three weeks to make her stay, promising he would be a better man but nothing worked. Neither of them were happy and their child was suffering. He knew that but he didn’t want their daughter to grow up in a broken home.

In the beginning, he dreaded sleeping in the same bed with her, he dreaded having to hold her in his arms at times he hated even the sound of her breathing. Even putting his hand on her swollen stomach when she was pregnant was something he hated doing. Things had drastically changed the day she left for good, he longed for her. The bed seemed empty, cold even. The house was quieter and he missed the smell of her perfume.

A year after she moved out, their divorce was finalized, they would share joint custody of Macy, Julienne getting Macy the majority of the time and Jeremy getting her on any of his days off. It worked, Julienne and Jeremy getting along for the most part.

Of course, they still had their fights as well as the unfortunate moments of passion where they’d wind up in bed together but it meant little to him. In reality, he still longed for Willa. He’d looked into the eyes of his child and wished they resembled Willa’s instead of Julienne.

This small child who he loved to death, who was his entire world shared DNA with a woman he would never truly love.

Their daughter nearing six was now school and learning everything there was about the world. Julienne however had married again with her second child on the way and her new husband trying to take on the role of father far more than need be. With a new sibling on the way and a new stepfather, it meant the young child’s curiosity was peaking in regards to Jeremy and her mother’s relationship.

This week was Jeremy’s and he was more than happy to spend it with her. She was becoming her own little person, a beautiful personality and a wonderful child. Everything Jeremy had hoped for. They’re getting ready for dinner as Macy sits at the table playing with a set of zoo animals when he pushes the toys out of the way for her food.

“Do you love mommy?” His young daughter asks as she leans over the plate of pasta, Jeremy’s placed in front of her. His breath catches in his throat at the question.

“Why do you ask that sweetie?” he asks, sitting next to her. He watches the small brunette use her fork to play with the noodles.

“Because Lilly said that her mom said that you and mommy didn’t love each other. That you two only were together because you had a baby.” her voice is low.

It’s another bombshell that nearly causes him to forget how to breathe. He knew this day would come but he hoped that she was older when she posed the question or better yet she wouldn’t ever ask. He held his hands close to his mouth as he stared at her clueless as to what to say.

“Baby, see…It’s–It’s–It’s complicated.” He says closing his eyes. “You’ll understand when you’re older.”

“Mommy says she didn’t love you.” she says barely audible.

“What?”

“Mommy told my other daddy that she didn’t love you.” Jeremy bites his lip, anger brewing in his body as he stares at his own plate of pasta in disbelief. These past few years weren’t easy, custody battle after custody battle that took it’s toll. It seemed that every time he and Julienne found themselves in a room together a fight ensued and back to court the pair went. Even with her new marriage and her new baby on the way, something was bound to tick her off and he would be at fault.

As he sat at his dinner table and looked at his young daughters face who was desperately trying to understand the conversation, he had no words. No way of fixing what was said. She was right both Macy and Julienne.

Julienne didn’t love him.

And he didn’t love her.

She was a mistake and a child was born because of it. You can’t explain that to a child, let alone a five year old. This situation that the three found themselves in would never be easy to understand.

He didn’t answer his daughter, he changed the subject but the words repeated in his mind, just the knowledge that Julienne would confess that in front of their daughter. That her friends parents were discussing their lives. it ate at him.

Their week together seemed less enjoyable, every waking moment Jeremy found himself thinking of what he would say to Julienne, how the situation would progress. Sunday came quicker than he expected and her mother and step-father showed up at his door.

“Is Macy ready?” Julienne asks with a hand on her stomach.

He has to bite his tongue to point of blood seeping into his mouth from not saying anything. The things he could say to this woman. It was bad enough her new hubby was forcing his daughter to refer to him as ‘Daddy’ but now she was talking about him behind his back with Macy in earshot.

Only after her, ‘Daddy’ leaves to put Macy in the car does he mention it. “What are you saying to Macy about us?”

She looks at him with a dead stare, “The truth.”

“Which is?”

“That we screwed around and Macy was born.” Jeremy was in no way a perfect man, this entire situation had proved that. Yet in the eyes of his daughter, he never wanted her to think less of him, he never wanted be less of a man.

Julienne taps her foot, annoyed while Jeremy stands still, Macy’s bag in his hand and trying to remain clam and collected.

“Why are you telling her that? She’s a child.”

“She asked about us.” Julienne shrugs her shoulder, oblivious to the issues Jeremy sees.

“Asked or not, she didn’t kneed to know that.”

“I’m not going to lie to her.”

“She’s a child, Julienne. She doesn’t need to know how we got together.”

“What you mean that her daddy is a lying cheating bastard?” Julienne says, turning up her nose.

If looks could kill, Jeremy’s was close to it. He stared at her with disgust. “Dont you dare pull that card, Your’re just as guilty as i am.:”

The words do little to phase her, she stares blankly at him, almost annoyed. Jeremy doesn’t know what to say or how to feel, there are so many things he could spout at her. The choices are unlimited.

yet like a timer goes off, Julienne rips the child’s bag out of his hand and drops yet another bombshell. “By the way, i need you to sign the papers that my lawyer will be dropping off for you on a few days.”

A look of confusion over comes Jeremy’s face as he chases her outside, “What papers? What have you done now?” he asks, half hoping the answer he receives is nothing actually bad. Yet words fail Jeremy as Julienne confesses, “Adoption, papers… For Rick.” He nearly looses all sense of function when the words spill from her mouth.

Ricks leans against the car, watching the interaction between the ex-husband and ex-wife. It’s a sight for sore eyes.

“If I sign those papers…” He would never sign those papers, even faced with the option of death, he’d never sign away his daughter. He’s sooner die. “You won’t get any child support.” He hopes with the realization that the money would be cut off, her actions would cease. Much to his amazement, she does the latter. Defending her reasoning, accusing Jeremy of cheating and being a evil husband.

“My attorney will speak to you about the case.” She says, brushing off everything that he’s said.

“You are not serious.” He asks, his heart racing.

“Rick wants to be her father. We want to be a family.”

Jeremy could feel his heart falling out of his chest, the same feeling he’d experienced the night he told Willa he was leaving her. The realization that he was loosing a part of his life.

Saying goodbye to: Willa seemed easier than his current situation. They’d been together for ten years but this was his daughter, his baby girl; the five year old that shared his eyes and his smile. The five year old who grabbed his finger just mere seconds after she was born.

“I’m not signing those damn papers.” He says loudly as Julienne attempts to get into the car She’s annoyed at him.

“You will.”

“I’ll take you back to court.” He says angered, his voice rising.

“Have it your way.” She says just as angered.

Rock chimes in much to Jeremy’s disappointment. “Just sign the papers you’ll get rid of the kid, its not like you spend enough time to qualify as a dad.” Rick moves to stand in front of Jeremy, the younger man who was nearing his mid thirties attempting to stand his ground.

Rick was taller than Jeremy, he’s built far from average and looked as though he could knock Jeremy out in one hit but Jeremy was not one to back down. This fight however would be one that he would not loose.

“You’ve been around for what two months and all of a sudden you’re a better dad then me? Because a kid inside of Julienne’s uterus makes you so experienced.” Jeremy says angered. “What the hell did you at about my wife?”

“How about you take care of your own and I take care of mine? Macy is mine.”

Rick once again, attempts to stand his ground. “I’m married to Julienne which makes Macy’s mine. I’m a far better father than you could ever be. At least I can keep it in my pants.”

Jeremy grabs the mans, collar slamming his back forcefully into the side of the car. He grunts in pain before either knew it Jeremy’s fist was raised just begging to hit the mans face. Just moments before his fist crashes into ricks sorry face, he looks over and there behind the glass is his daughters green eyes peering at him. He sees the look of horror on her face and he stops, lowering his fist. The grip he holds on Ricks collar tightens.

“If you think I’d let you take Macy, you got another thing coming, boy.” It was true, Julienne husband was a boy compared to Jeremy. With he nearing fifty and the husband just barely 33 years old age, he had much more experience in life than him.

He let’s the man go, his threat going straight to the mans core. He watches the broken shell of a man retreat to the car and eventually drive off as fast as he can. The car leaving tire tracks on Jeremy’s driveway.

He takes a moment to contain himself, slamming his foot into a ceramic pot resting near his driveway that shatters to pieces upon impact to the floor. Soils spills to the ground and the Lilly’s he and Macy planted months prior are both smashed And stained by the black dirt.

Not even a day later, the papers and a lawyer arrive. She’s a young female lawyer who looks like this is her first solo case. He recognized the look from Willa. She too shared the same look when a lawyer had her join him in court, she sat at the table with her heart racing and her palms sweating.

Jeremy spent the early hours of the morning, convincing her that she would be fine as well as that she wouldn’t throw up her Breakfast. As he expected, she did it perfectly. There was no trouble at all.

He starred at the young blonde woman, her eyes wide and her words stumbling as she presented him with the paperwork. Normally, he would introduce himself and be polite but now he refused too. He wanted nothing more than to throw her out of his home. His anger was directed at the wrong person, it would be Julienne who deserved the anger not this young lawyer.

She presented her case, telling Jeremy this would go over smoothly if he did simply just sign the paper work or if he wanted to hire his own lawyer and try the case. It’d be a long battle she warned.

He did the latter. Soon as she left, he reached out to everyone he knew in search for a lawyer. He made an appointment for the following week and awaited anxiously as every day passed.

The paperwork mimicked his divorce papers they too rested on his counter, untouched. A sense of denial overtook the man as he would come face to face with the papers. He didn’t believe it was true, that his life had meet this fate. That at the age of 46, he was a divorced single father who was on the verge of loosing custody of his daughter to a teenager.

His actions also mimicked his earlier one, a beer with every meal; a beer every time he was home. A closet alcoholic.

The day of his appointment, he tried to clean up but there was no will. He didn’t shave, his face was sporting more than a five o’clock shadow, bags were present under his eyes. Even with a decent suit on he still resembled a depressed man, which he was.

“You’re my nine o’clock?” A man says, straightening out his tie as Jeremy enters his office.

“Yes, Jeremy Renner.” Jeremy says, smiling, reaching his hand out to shake his.

“You called about a…” He glances down at his desk, “a child custody case?”

“Yes.”

“Well, here’s the deal.” He says, his hand pointing towards the chair in front of his desk. “I don’t typically take child custody cases. You’re high profile which means you’re going to get a lot of attention and i think you’d be better suit for someone else to handle your case.”

Jeremy remains expression list, his hand on his side clenching into a fist. “Who would you refer me to?”

He takes a look at his computer screen, scrolling a few minutes and mumbling to himself before pulling out a piece of paper and writes on it. “Two floors up, there’s a bunch of lawyers with far more experience in child custody than i am. They should be able to help you.” He hands the paper over to Jeremy who glances at it, His cane number he assumes. “I’ll let them know you’re on your way. Good luck.”

Jeremy leaves, clutching the paper in his hand and his level of anxiety on high, between his fit with Rick in front of his daughter and now the new fight he was having to prepare himself for. It was beginning to take a toll on his body.

When he arrives at the second floor, the atmosphere feels different, like it’s damper; heavier up here.There’s people walking back and fourth, pounds of paperwork stacked in their arms and phone going off in every direction, before he has a chance to ask the receptionist for direction she speaks.

“You’re the guy that Eric sent up?” She says, stepping out from behind her desk, a smile forming on her face.

“Ye–yes.” He says.

“Follow me.” She walks ahead of him, her heels clacking on the marble floor. “I don’t know whose schedule is free at the moment, so please allow me to ask around.”

He nods. “Please wait here.” she says as she knocks on a wooden door. She steps inside of the room for no longer than two minutes before coming back out with another smile on her face. ‘We’ll have to try the next one.”

The same deal with the next one, he’s busy or he turned her down. While shes’s inside of their third attempt, her news is better than he expected. “Alright, Jamesson said he wouldn’t be able to take you on. His schedule wouldn’t be able to fit you but he thinks our last associate may be able too. Please follow me.”

Once again, the process is repeated but there’s no answer to the door, She opens the door but its empty. “Oh dear.” she says, quietly.

“Callie, can I help you?” A female voice says from behind you.

“Oh, this is the man from downstairs, Eric didn’t have the expertise to help him so he sent him to us. Are you available?”

Jeremy gets ready to fall apart, he’s no way prepared for another let down. He turns around slowly but his entire body language changes when he meets the woman whose responsible to the voice.

“I do–” She starts to say before stopping mid sentence to face him. It’s like someone had gotten a hold of a time machine and set the dial back to six years ago. There standing directly in front of him was Wila. Her eyes the same light hazel, her hair a lighter shade of brown but she didn’t look even the slightest different from the day he left. He stares at her dumbfounded, in a state of shock as her eyes face his again.

“This is the–him?”Willa says as she forces a smile on her face, her eyes quickly leave Jeremy’s to face Callie.

“Yes. Are you able to take him on?” She asks, in a polite voice. Willa nibbles on her lower lip, quickly walking past Jeremy and grabbing Callie’s arm, forcefully pulling her into the office where she closes the door gently. Jeremy however can hear everything that is being said between the two woman.

“What’s his case?” Willa asks

“Child custody.”

“For fucks sake.” Willa says, hissing.

“What is something wrong?”

“How far into the case is he?” Willa asks changing the subject

“Not any, today was his first meeting.”

“I’ll do a consultation with him but i’m not saying that I’ll take his case, okay?” Callie fills the room with ‘thank yous’ as she leaves.

“Okay, Mr. Renner, Willa will see you know.” Callie holds the door open for Jeremy who takes a deep breath before entering. The door closes behind him as his eyes lock onto the woman he once called his own.

“Willa, I–” He starts to to say before she interrupts him.

“Now Mr. Renner, Callie says that you’re here for a child custody case. Please take a seat and tell me what exactly it is your seeking?” She says from behind her desk, her hand extends out to the chair in front of her while she makes little to no eye contact with Jeremy. She glances at her computer and pulls out a notepad from her desk, sitting it on the desk and beginning to write on it. .

Jeremy cautiously sits down in front of her, his heart is racing. “My–my… Are you sure you don’t want anyone else to do this?”

She sighs, “Look Mr. Renner, right now there’s no one else to do this.”

Jeremy’s taken back, Willa is acting as though nothing happened between the two. Like they are simply employee and employer.

“My ex-wife is trying to petition the court to get my parental rights terminated and given to her new husband.” For a moment on Willa’s face as she writes, he swears a see’s a small smirk but it’s quick to disappear.

“How long have they been married?”

“A little over six months.”

“Are you up to date on child support payments?”

“Yes.”

“Child welfare? Are you providing a stable and safe environment for her?”

“Yes.”

“i’m sure you two had a previous custody agreement prior to this correct?”

“Yeah, I had Macy on any day i had off and she had her the other days.” he can tell even with little expression on her face, the words stung.

“Tell me, what exactly it is you’re planning to gain should this go to court?” Finally, Willa’s eyes land on him. He glances at her hand, no wedding ring. Her desk is empty other than a few photos and loose papers.

“I don’t want my rights taken away. I’ll push for sole custody if i have too. His voice raises.

“Just so you know, if this does go to court, it will be messy.” She sets her pen down and crossing her arms over her chest. “Messy for not only you and your ex-wife but the child you share as well.”

Jeremy nods and she continues. “Legal options, you legally do not have to sign your parental rights away. If you can prove that you’re a fit father then your chances of keeping custody are high. You pay child support and make time to see your child, that plays in your favor as well. However seeing as though this a new husband is trying to provide for his new family that also has some set backs. I’m not saying that it’s going to go in their favor but you have to be aware of all options if this were to proceed.”

“She… My ex-wife filed paperwork to terminate my parental rights, what are my options now?” Jeremy asked realizing how awkward this situation was. he was asking for advice from his ex-girlfriend about what to do with his ex-wife who was his mistress at that time.

“Do you have the paperwork? I assume either she or another lawyer dropped them off with you?”

“Yes…here.” Jeremy says reaching into his breast pocket to pull out the paperwork. She takes the paper away from Jeremy quickly, refusing to hold her hand out near his any longer.

“This says that you’ve failed to meet the standards that a parent should.” She skims through the documents. “That you’re home is unsafe and unfit for a child of her age as well as you’ve been keeping her from school.”

“I haven’t done any of those.”

“Okay, if you do indeed choose us to take on your case, this would be the problem. Not only would we have to prove that your a fit parent but we’d have to open a case with child protective services. but it could turn into a he-said-she-said type deal. Which is even worse.”

“Is there any way to keep this out of the courts, Willa?” he asks using her name for the second time. immediately, Willa eyes change, threes a hint of sadness in them.

“If you hadn’t of received these papers, you probably could have avoided that but now it seems that court is most likely going to happen.”

“How bad is this going to get, Willa?”

She chuckles and puts her arms on the table, “Mr. Renner, I’m not–”

“Jeremy stands up from the seat, bumping into the table. “Will, you stop with the whole. ‘Mr. Renner’ thing? I’m not Mr. Renner to you, you know me better than that.”

Willa also stands, “Then what are you to me?”

“Jeremy.” he says almost pleading.

“Not in here.” She says, sternly. “In here, it’s Mr. Renner and Miss Koehler. Nothing more.”

her words catch Jeremy off guard. it’s hostile. As it should be. He sits back and thinks of what he did to her, how she deserved to treat him like crap rather than take the time out of her day to help him. She should have cursed him out the minute she saw him but she simply accepted it and sat down.

“How much do you guys charge per hour?” Jeremy asks in a small voice as he sat back down.

“It’s pro bono, don’t worry about it.” She says, starring at him.

“No… I’ll pay.”

“No, you won’t. The firm needs ex amount of pro bono hours and each associate has a certain amount of hours to meet.”

Jeremy nods in response. “Please however do me a favor, i need your full name, your address and contact information.” She hands him a piece of paper and reaches into one of her drawers pulling out a business card. “here’s my business card to give to your ex-wife. from now on, you don’t say anything to her unless it’s pertaining to your daughter even then the conversations are to be held to a minimum. If she or her husband have anything to say to you, they will direct it to me or the firm.”

it was less than a normal interaction between them, he wanted to apologize to her, to say something, he wanted to tell her that he never stopped thinking about her. That he missed her every single day but considering how they parted, he didn’t have the right to say any of that.

He left her office without saying another word. He didn’t mention their pas he bit his tongue and walked away. When he was outside, the California air did little to help him relax. he stood outside the building, looking around him like the answer to his problems would just show up. He left in search of a convenience store or gas station some place in where his need for a cigarette could be met quickly. There was no explanation as to why he was craving a cigarette, he hand’t smoked in years. Not since Willa had printed out countless articles, plastering them to the walls about cigarette related deaths.

“What is this?” Jeremy asked, pulling a paper away from the wall as he enters the home, Willa is sitting on the couch, a book in her lap. .

“An article.”

“I see that. Why is it on the wall?” he asked leaning down to kiss Willa on the top of her head.

“I just figured if you want to smoke you might as well know the ways you’re going to die.”

“God, you’re such a sweet woman.” He said, smiling at her. “You know those things wont kill me for at least another forty years?”

“So, you’re saying we aren’t going to be together for another forty some years?” She says in a shocked voice.

Jeremy walks over to the couch, leaning down next to Willa. He rests his face directly in front of hers and smiles. “Maybe I’ll get tired of you after thirty-five.”

He pays the clerk with a gash in his heart, they hadn’t even made it to thirty-five years. They barely made it to ten. He pulls a cigarette out from the small cardboard box, lighting it with ease. He stares it watching the smoke rise. When he finally takes a small puff, he lets it linger in his lungs, burning away the pain. He looks at his ring finger, remembering the gold band he once wore. The gold band that he once wore, coincidentally the same gold band that he looked at purchasing when he and Willa were together was also the ring he wore to symbolize his ‘love’ with Julienne.

The tobacco burns his lungs and throat, reminding him of his youth. When the days were simpler, when the only thing on his mind was what party he was going to attend that night. Not fighting for custody for his daughter or fearing what would happen with his future.

#jeremy renner #jeremy renner fic #jeremy renner fanfic #jeremy renner imagine #jeremy renner fanfiction #jeremy renner x reader #reader fic

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snorlaxlovesme · 7 years

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SoMa Week 2017

Day one: Confession

I wasn’t totally in the mood for writing romance, so I kinda went in a different direction for the prompt today. So here’s a little fic about Maka and Soul being detained in 24 hour Wal-Mart and questioned by the night manager after causing trouble. Who’s gonna crack first?

ao3 link

(Oh! And shoutout to @texasdave94 for letting me use his Wal-Mart experiences as extra inspiration for this fic!)

Greg doesn’t get paid enough for this job.

It was 4:00 a.m. on a Friday night and the last thing he wanted to do was more paperwork, but if he got these interrogations done and over with by morning he could go home to his wife, Linda, and their two Chihuahuas, and not have to worry about anything until the weekend was over.

Technically this wasn’t even supposed to be his job. As the night manager at the 24-hour Death City Wal-Mart he had much more important things to be doing than questioning two shoplifters, but Dennis, the security guard on duty for tonight, was sent home early with food poisoning. Greg supposed questioning delinquent teens was a little bit better than cleaning more of Dennis’s puke off the floor of cereal aisle, but only marginally.

Greg rubbed his temples while he opened the door to his office to let the first suspect inside. Dennis was the only one with keys to the small interview room they had, so this would have to do for now. He wasn’t really sure how these interviews worked, but from what he saw on tv on the cop shows he watched with Linda, it was best to interview criminals separately so they couldn’t corroborate with one another. He highly doubted the two kids sitting outside his office counted as “criminals,” but the sentiment still applied. Best not to give them a chance to change their stories.

The first was a teenage girl, average height and slim build, wearing a trench coat. That in and of itself should have screamed that something was amuck with her, but apparently the other employees did not notice anything nefarious about the girl when they came close to letting her walk out of the store with stolen goods. The other suspect looked shady as well, a white-haired boy with sharp red eyes and strange-looking teeth that made his scowl look even more menacing. Greg figured that asking the girl was probably the better option. Teenage boys were impossible to talk to regardless of how creepy-looking they were. Greg was a teenage boy once, he knew their dispositions well.

He told her to sit, and she did, smoothing out her skirt primly and resting her folded hands in her lap. She seemed like an agreeable young girl. Maybe this whole thing would go smoothly.

Greg cleared his throat and lifted a blank sheet of paper to his face, pretending to read standard interview questions that were actually locked in the real interview room.

“So, uh, what’s your name?”

“Am I required by law to tell you that?” Maka asked the man pleasantly.

The man’s kind demeanor turned perplexed. “Excuse me?”

“I just want to know if I’m lawfully obligated to tell you my name without a lawyer present.”

“A lawyer?”

“Soul Evans,” Soul said, sticking his pinky inside his mouth to pick idly at one of his back teeth. A little sliver of popcorn had gotten caught back there earlier today and it had been bothering him ever since.

“Listen,” the man questioning him said. His face already looked pretty red, though Soul was having a hard time figuring out why. Did his interrogation of Maka go poorly or something? “I’m not in the mood for your games tonight, okay? We all want this to be over so just be straight with me, okay?”

“….Okay?”

“What. Is. Your. Real. Name.”

“I already told you—”

“Listen, little girl, there’s no need to get lawyers involved here. I just need to ask you a few questions as per protocol.”

“Fine. Ask me all you want. But I prefer to remain anonymous.”

A vein in the man’s temple throbbed comically. “You can’t remain anonymous when you just committed a crime!”

Maka crossed her arms indignantly. “Committed a crime? What on earth did I do?”

Soul was smacking his hands on the man’s desk for emphasis. “My name IS SOUL! That’s my name!! It’s on my birth certificate! Why is that so hard for you to understand?”

The manager guy put his head in his hands. “I swear the next time I see Dennis I’m killing him.”

“What?”

The man looked at Soul like he hadn’t spoken. “Fine, Soul, can you care to tell me about why you’re here with me right now?”

Soul scoffed and crossed his arms, leaning back in the upholstered chair he was forced to it in for this interview. “I shouldn’t even be here right now.”

The night manager looked positively LIVID. “Can one of you just ANSWER THE QUESTION PROPERLY.”

Soul did not appreciate this man shouting at him when he’d been nothing but civil the entire time. He yelled right back, “I DIDN’T DO ANYTHING WRONG! I WAS PUT UP TO THIS AGAINST MY WILL. MAKA IS THE MASTERMIND HERE. BOOK HER.”

The man’s eyes widened somewhere near the end of Soul’s tirade, and he picked up his clipboard and pen and started furiously writing something. “Maka. Finally!”

“Are you serious? You were trying to steal from my store! That’s against the law, kid.”

Maka rolled her eyes. “Trust me, sir, I know the law. Probably a lot better than you, I can assure you.” She was a meister, for Death’s sake. It was her job to remain firmly on the side of Good.

“Says the one who was shoplifting.”

Wait. Maka pauses for a moment. “Shoplifting? Is that what they said I did?”

The man blew a breath out loudly through his nose. “If you didn’t shoplift, what is it you think you’re here for?”

“We never even left the store! That would defeat the point—” Maka squints at the man’s nametag. “—Greg.”

“Listen here, missy, I won’t let you use my name if you refuse to tell me what yours is.”

Maka looked down at her watch and smiled a little. “Fine, whatever works for you.”

Soul was practicing his deep breathing exercises. He just wanted to go home.

“Alright, kid, now tell me what it is your friend out there coerced you into doing.”

Soul lifted his eyes to the heavens. That’s a loaded question if he ever heard one. “Where do I even start? Listen, man, I’m a good person,” he said, placing a hand over his heart. “In fact—and I know this might be hard to believe—but I’m the honest-to-God conscience of my friend group. The fact that it’s taken us this long to get detained by someone is baffling. All I want to do it stay at home on our day off from school and watch HGTV reruns with my girlfriend, but noooo, because Maka and fucking Black Star have to make a bet and poor ol’ Soul gets dragged into it, yet AGAIN.”

The manager looked like he was struggling to keep up. He’s frantically writing things on his little clipboard, but Soul couldn’t be bothered to care. “Wait, who’s Black Star, another accomplice?”

Soul ignored him, because now that he’d started complaining, he couldn’t stop. “Like? Maka complains that there’s nothing fun to do in Death City anymore and Black Star’s all ‘WANNA BET?’” Soul practically shouted, making his voice sound as bro-y as possible. “And then they’re betting! They always bet and I always get caught up in it because then Maka’s all—” his voice got significantly higher and a thousand times more defiant, “—‘me and Soul can TOTALLY stay in a Wal-Mart for 24 hours without being caught’—”

The man’s eyes widen again.

“And I never asked to be involved in this, you know? Like the last thing I want to do is spend my free Friday sneaking around a capitalist wasteland for a full freaking DAY. I like sleeping! I like not having to sneak!”

“I never stole anything,” Maka said, her arms cross defiantly over her chest.

“Margaret from register one says that you and your crony outside were looking very suspicious over by the front of the store. She’d seen you wandering around the store idly multiple times.”

“And I deserved to be questioned for that, why?”

“Margaret also said that when she tried to kick you out, you refused to walk through the front doors.” The man looks at her pointedly. “Where the security alarms are.”

“Why would I leave the store when I haven’t made my purchase yet?”

“Because you were never PLANNED ON MAKING A PURCHASE, did you?” The night manager says, slamming his hands down on his desk. Maka is sure if it’s for emphasis or to be intimidating. She raises an eyebrow.

“Well, that’s the first thing you’ve been right about in this entire interrogation, Greg.”

“Wait, so you’re saying you’ve been in my store for—”

“And God, you’d be surprised how boring Wal-Mart is after like 3 hours. Like, looking at the food just pisses you off because of how hungry you are and how cheap it is compared to local grocery stores, but you’re not gonna buy any because Wal-Mart doesn’t deserve your money when it’s causing smaller stores to out of business to begin with—”

The manager jumped in. “Wal-Mart is a wholesome, family store—”

“Can it, Greg,” Soul said, not missing a beat. “And after a while you start reading all the trashy dollar novels but you can only see word ‘meat missile’ so many times before you start to think, hey, maybe these authors aren’t being ironic when they write this, and then it gets kinda sad.” Soul ran his hands through his hair. “And Maka can be stuck in the book section forever, so you gotta find something else to do since trying to get her to give up this dumb bet clearly isn’t worth it.

“And so then you’re playing with Power Rangers toys in the kid’s section, which is really fun but the toy section people are looking at you really suspiciously, which I don’t get, because what’s so wrong with two seventeen-year-olds playing with Power Rangers? They’re cool, okay?”

Greg over there opened his mouth like he was going to interject, but closed his mouth when Soul loudly shouted “I’M COOL, OKAY?”

“I knew it! You weren’t planning on buying anything!”

Maka sat stoically while the man gloated, though she was still unsure what he was so happy about. He hadn’t really gotten her to admit anything. She wiped some sweat from the back of her neck and sighed. She was already hot to begin with, but somewhere throughout this little “interrogation” Greg had turned his desk lamp around to blind her. This guy had seen too many 60’s cop shows.

“Getting a little nervous there, girl? Looks like you’re starting to sweat.”

Maka rolled her eyes.

“So the Power Rangers plan is over, so then you go over to the exercise equipment because your meister absolutely insists on training since we’re not at school to do it.” Soul rubs the back of his neck as he looks up at the ceiling, lost in thought. “And like, I love her, but why does she always have to do that. Even on our day off, trapped in a Wal-Mart, of all places, she still wants to do homework? Who does that? So now you’re spotting your girlfriend while she benches like 150, hoping to God she doesn’t ask you to switch because then you’re gonna have to take all the weight off of that bar, and fuck—you’re gonna have to get a LIGHTER BAR entirely, and how embarrassing is that?”

Part of Maka wished she was an actual shoplifter just so she could have swiped a deodorant when her and Soul were bumming around in the pharmacy department. She was starting to smell a little rank after training with Soul for two hours in the exercise department, and the damn light that man insisted on shining in her face wasn’t happening.

“Listen, sir, since I never actually stole anything, you don’t have anything to pin on me. So why don’t we just call it a night—” she glanced at her watch again, “—and let me go. My partner and I will go purchase something in the store to make you happy and we’ll be on our way.”

“No way, missy. Just because you have a smart mouth doesn’t mean I can’t get your little partner-in-crime to fess up to what you two have been doing in my store.” He stood and went to his office door, opening it up and calling for Soul. “It’s your turn, son,” he said, his voice a little deeper like he was planning on going back to the intimidation tactic. Maka sighed and stood up, walking past Soul. She tilted her wrist in just such a way that he could see the timer still going on her watch.

“—And after getting kicked out of the toilet paper section for building forts, what is left for you to do, really? The electronics department didn’t even have HGTV as a station, so there was really no point in hanging out there once your heart is set on Flip of Flop. We were gonna go grab a cart from the front to do chariot races when that nosey cashier started yelling at us.”

The night manager looked at Soul speechlessly. He idly wondered how long he’d been talking. “So yeah, I’m beat. Can I go now?”

The man looked down at his clipboard, then up at Soul again. “So, you didn’t shoplift anything?”

He raised an eyebrow at him. “No? Why the fuck would we do that? Maka’s morals are way too strict for crap like stealing.”

Greg thumped his head on his desk.

“Are you okay, man?”

Greg breathed in loudly through his nose, the wood of his desk cool against his forehead.

“Listen, just go, kid.”

“What? I can’t hear you with your face all down like that.”

Greg peered up at the boy and scowled. “Just. Go.” It felt like he’d been talking to these kids for an eternity. After all that, they never even stole anything.

“I mean, if you say so,” he said with a shrug, standing up and putting a hand in his pocket. He went to the door and opened it. “Oi, Maka. The guy says we can go—” he shut the door behind him, but there wasn’t enough force for it to click all the way shut.

“Did you say anything to him?” Greg heard the girl—Maka—say quietly. “You were in there for a while.”

“Nah, not much. I mean we didn’t even technically do anything wrong, unless Wal-Mart wants to give a loitering fine or something. But I don’t think he wants to see us anymore. Were you being a pain or somethin’?”

The girl laughed a little. “Nah, not really.”

Greg squeezed his hand into a fist. He was going to need to get his blood pressure taken in the pharmacy department after this. He stood to go shut his door the rest of the way.

“Hey,” the boy asked, voice a little farther away. They must have been leaving the back hallway to head back into the store. “What time is it anyway?”

Greg peered out the door in time to see the girl thrust her wrist watch in the boy’s face delightedly.

“Time for Black Star to PAY UP!! We won the bet!”

“We better have, after I poured my guts out to that guy for like two hours,” the boy grumbled.

The girl kissed him on the cheek happily. “You’re the best partner-in-crime ever, you know that?”

They turned to walk away. “Yeah, yeah. Black Star better know that he owes ME fifty bucks and back-rub too.”

Greg shut his door with a little more force than necessary. He definitely had a story to tell Linda in the morning now.

#soma week 2017 #soma week #soulxmaka #soul eater #maka albarn #my writing #se fic

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fantasiawandering · 7 years

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Fic commentary meme

@aradow submitted:

“UNDYNE, HAVE YOU SEEN… WAIT. WAS THAT MY HUMAN?”

“Don’t worry, Papyrus, I’ve got this covered. I’m helping them science. I’m a teacher, yanno.”

“YOU’RE A GYM TEACHER!”

“AND YOU’RE AN ASSISTANT GYM TEACHER! SO ASSIST ME!”

It’s been a thing in my head from the very beginning that even though Papyrus is one of the most popular members of the faculty, he rarely uses the human kids’ names. They’re always “[modifier] HUMAN!” Though he will very, very occasionally refer to Frisk as “small human” when they’re young, his modifier for them is almost always “my human,” or “our human” if he’s talking to Sans and he needs to specify. It’s not really a conscious decision on his part. All the other kids are variations. Frisk is his original.

Undyne’s teaching style is taking pretty directly from her training regime with Alphys. She’s actually really good at being a gym teacher (not so much with the science when she’s acting on her own, though she is actually a decent assistant when Alphys needs one, as long as nothing has the potential to explode, because if Undyne has a say, it will.) Papyrus in this world has many, many jobs (which he’s very vocal about, as opposed to Sans’ many jobs, about which he keeps pretty quiet until you run into him at one), but he’s in charge in none of them. Not because he isn’t capable if he wants to be – he’s pretty able when it comes to raising Frisk – but because he’s just so excited about DOING things, ALL OF THE THINGS, he doesn’t have time for management. The closest he comes is his cooking classes at the school. Undyne doesn’t really need him as assistant gym teacher, but she’d never dream of denying him the enjoyment he gets. Plus, he’s really good with the little kids until they learn that Undyne is all bark and no bite. At least, not with the little kids.

You struggle from the snowdrift, coughing and sputtering, and grab Artie’s ankle to pull them up after you. Once both of you are mostly free of the snow, you look at each other, and collapse against each other in a fit of giggles.

“So which one of us hit the ground first?” you ask Undyne through your laughter.

Undyne rolls her eyes at you. “Pssh. Like I was paying attention to that.”

As mentioned, not necessarily the best at science. Contrary to appearances, Undyne actually knows exactly what Frisk is capable of taking when she dishes it out. It was kind of important to me to set up in these that affection from Frisk’s family can occasionally look dangerous and scary to an outsider, but from the inside, Frisk is totally on board and enjoying every minute. They’re not always perfect (see the roof of the embassy incident), but most of the time, if Frisk gets hurt, it’s the result of an adventurous kid being allowed to adventure, not anything the family does to them.

“Well, we’ll just have to do it again.” You smile as Papyrus tugs you the rest of the way free of the drift, and you throw your arms around him, clinging tightly so that you can kiss his cheekbone.

He blushes a little, giving a quiet “NYEH-HEH,” and brushes the snow from your jacket before looking hopefully at Undyne. “DO YOU THINK THAT’S ENOUGH SCIENCE? HOW ABOUT SOME NICE HOME ECONOMICS INSTEAD?”

This is a bit of a running theme. Frisk is no stranger to being someone who just wants physical affection from a loving family, and knows how much it hurts when you’re alone in the world and don’t have anyone to give it to you. They paid attention, and Papyrus’ comment about being showered in kisses stuck. Frisk will hug just about anything or anyone who’ll hold still long enough, but Papyrus is one of the very few who actually get kisses, and he gets them far out of proportion to anyone else. His awkwardness afterward isn’t discomfort – Frisk learns very quickly that it delights him so much that it has the power to derail pretty much any tear he’s on. And he never stops being surprised by it.

Papyrus is also a much more responsible caregiver than you’d expect. He’s always up for a good wrestle or training fight, but even though he doesn’t remember all the times he nearly beat Frisk to a pulp – in his timeline, Frisk is practiced enough that they beat him in their fight fairly easily – he’s been around Sans long enough that something in the back of his mind really doesn’t like seeing Frisk helpless in the snow.

“Uhhh, I don’t think so.” Undyne folds her arms. “The whole point of Science is proving things are repeatable, right? So they have to repeat the experiment until they get a statistically significant conclusion.” A second later, she realizes you’re all staring at her, and her brows draw together. “What??? I DO LISTEN TO ALPHYS, YOU KNOW!”

This bit is pretty self explanatory. The monsters are all very, very innocent. They’re not stupid. Undyne, though she can do stupid things sometimes, is hiding a lot of cleverness behind her bluster, and she loves Alphys more than anyone in the world. She listens to every word Alphys says. Some of it rubbed off. Papyrus has some of the same thing going on.

“oh, here’s where you went.” Sans ambles up behind Undyne, his hands in his pockets. “what’d i miss?”

“Science!” Undyne strikes a pose.

Artie finally manages to clear all of the snow out of their eyes, and blinks up at Undyne. “Yo, Teach, aren’t you cold?”

With a glance down at her bare arms, Undyne scoffs. “Come on, I’m too tough for cold. Snow takes one look at me and melts in terror.”

“I can attest to that!” calls the little snowman at the far end of the park, and you wave at it from your perch on Papyrus’ hip.

Ironically, though Frisk is a lot younger in this story than in a lot of Under Shield, Sans is a lot more laconic when it comes to Frisk’s safety. He has yet to figure out just how much trouble a kid with zero fear of the world is capable of getting into, and though Asriel attests to how much everyone loves Frisk at the end of the game, Sans hasn’t yet realized just how much he cares yet.

Undyne just grins. “See?” Whirling, her hands on her hips, she looks at you in much the same way that the Dogs look at a stick, and you cling a little more tightly to Papyrus. “Now, seems to me the problem is you’re not in the experiment enough. What is it that Toriel’s always yammering on about during staff meetings?”

“PROMPT MARKING?”

“No.”

Frisk isn’t afraid here. But they know Undyne well enough to know that caution is advised, and safety lies in Papyrus.

I’m also kind of amused, having been though enough teacher staff meetings in my life, at the thought of how they’d run at the cooperative school. Toriel would, of course, be a passionate advocate for experiential, student-centric learning.

I also have this idea that Monsters don’t always commit fully to a single career. They do things they love, but they don’t see the human insistence on limiting themselves to a single job if there’s more than one thing you need to do. Though few go to Papyrus’ extremes, most members of Frisk’s family divide their duties between the Embassy, the school, and in Undyne’s case, her gym as well. Though Aaron is perfectly capable of running it when she’s otherwise occupied. But since Undyne’s duties are largely centred around Frisk’s personal security, being Frisk’s teacher kind of kills two birds with one stone.

Undyne’s least favourite aspect of teaching is the paperwork.

“NOT SLIMING THE CHILDREN?”

“NO! Come ON, Papyrus!”

“yeah, bro, throw her a bone.”

“EXPERIENTIAL LEARNING?” Papyrus offers, glaring at Sans.

“Yeah, that thing!” Undyne crows. “You gotta EXPERIENCE the experiment, punk! Here, check this out.”

Sans cannot get through a story without at least one pun. This is why I both love writing him, and hate it so damn much. Puns are hard. Especially when you need to keep coming up with new ones.

I also had fun trying to think of what they’d discuss in staff meetings. They’re often about fire safety. Because Undyne and Papyrus.

She reaches forward and plucks you out of Papyrus’ arms. Before anyone has a chance to realize what she’s planning, she’s already hauled her arm back. You can feel her muscles coiling like steel beneath you, and in another instant, you’re airborne, hurtling toward the clouds. Over the fading shouts of the skeletons below you, you can just make out Undyne’s words.

“WHAT??? KIDS BOUNCE, RIGHT?”

I did say Undyne was smarter than people thought. I also said she’s more than capable of doing stupid things sometimes. This is one of those times. :D

Facetiousness aside, even though she’s not entirely clear on the no-bouncing thing, she’s seen Frisk fall from greater heights and walk away. And canonically, Frisk is not the first person Undyne has transported via flinging. She’s operating pretty squarely within Frisk’s limits as she knows them.

Fortunately, Sans and Papyrus aren’t willing to see this hypothesis through to its conclusion. :D

#DVD commentary meme #Under Shield #aradow #submission

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heyitsthatgirl · 7 years

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Nights of Malta

It's a quiet night in Malta, the successful job in Malaysia wrapped up, when Elena receives a few unexpected phone calls. (My first foray into writing fic for this particular fandom and pair, so I hope it’s up to snuff! Any and all feedback is very much appreciated!) (AO3) (FFN)

It��s the quiet moments that stick, the soft brush strokes of orange and blue that bleed across the sky like watercolor, the gentle swell of a rising tide cresting against the old stonework of an ancient city on the sea. The rhythmic scratch of Nate’s pencil against his journal as the daylight dies on the glassy horizon, images of sixteenth century architecture mixed with boxy modern busses beginning to appear on the pages. It’s a habit, he says, an instinctive need to commit important things, cherished memories, to pages in a book. (She knows the feeling, the weight of her camera sitting heavily in her lap. Memory card full of images she intends to cherish for a very long time. Records of their life, their new adventures.)

There’s a gentle breeze blowing in from the sea, the salty air of the Mediterranean filling her lungs and tossing strands of blonde across her eyes. It’s only day two in Malta, but a girl could get used to this. The aimless wandering through ancient streets, a husband who won’t shut up about Knights and the Crusades and local legend, and the crystal blue water that greets her every morning. Well, maybe two out of three, anyway. She feels a nudge at her side, sucking her back to reality and the quickly approaching twilight, Nate nodding down at her lap as her phone buzzes in her pocket.

“You gonna get that?”

“Damnit,” she mumbles, shoving her camera into his hands as she fishes the phone from her pocket, swiping across the screen and tucking her hair behind her ear. “Elena Fisher— Oh, hello!” Nate’s eyeballing her carefully as he tucks his leather-bound journal into his pocket and drapes the camera over his shoulder. He’s got an eyebrow raised, his hand twirling, urging her to divulge more information, but she just gently smacks his hand away as she presses a finger to her ear, straining to hear the voice on the other line. “Oh? Tomorrow? And everything is… We’re good to go with the— I see. I see. Yes. Okay. Thank you.”

Quickly thumbing the screen to hang up, she twists to face him, a mixture of excitement and, perhaps, a little disappointment (just a little— goodbye relaxing vacation) painted across her face. “Well?” He asks, hopeful smile plastered on his face. So she simply shrugs and turns back to the sea.

“Crew arrives tomorrow, network’s given us the go-ahead to start shooting.”

He’s up like a shot, all fiery red in the glow of the fading sun, camera still swinging at his side as he beams down at her. “We got it?”

“We got it! They loved the Malaysia demo.”

“You know,” he starts, crossing his arms across his chest while leaning back against the rusty green railing behind him, “Part of me still thinks this is crazy.”

“Which part?”

“The top half,” he smirks at her before going on, “But then part of me knows we can actually pull this off.”

“The bottom half?”

“Oh, oh I see,” on a chuckle he bends down to grab at her hand, tugging her to his side and twisting her to face the sunset, “Joke all you want, Ms. Fisher,” he tuts, snaking his arm around her waist and pulling her against his hip, “But this, us, here… This is all you.”

“Malaysia did go pretty well, didn’t it?” She hums, letting herself relax ever-so-slightly into his grip, her cheek coming to rest against his arm.

“Well, those cable network idiots sure seem to think so,” he agrees, thumb brushing gently at the bare skin of her arm, “And I gotta admit, not getting shot at by thugs with guns is a nice perk.”

“It’s all about the perks,” she laughs, pulling back to look up at him, “Now come on, I’m starving. Treat me to something nice for all my hard work.”

“I think I saw a nice little kebab stand back there,” he’s already tugging her away from the vista and back to the quickly filling streets of evening travelers, “What are your opinions on shawarma?”

“Nate,” she groans, tugging his hand as he leads her into the twilight glow of streetlamps and cobblestone, “You’re ruining the moment!”

“Oh? Are you in more of a fish n’ chips mood?”

“Torture,” she sighs, letting her fingers slide between his as they make their way through the crowded city streets, “You’re torturing me.”

She can’t help but notice the shit-eating grin plastered across his face as they eventually make their way down a series of stone steps to an understated-looking Maltese restaurant. All soft lighting on the edge of a marina, in the shadow of a looming stone sentry box at the top of a small peak. She’d describe it all as old world meets new world, centuries-old stonework wrapped around glass and glowing fish tanks that play home to tonight’s main courses. As she’s about to jab her thumb into his ribs and tease him about playing his cards right tonight, she’s interrupted by her phone buzzing. Again.

“Crap,” she sighs, sliding the phone from her pocket as he cocks an eyebrow at her, “Go, go,” she shoos, “Get the table, I’ll be in in just a sec.”

“Maybe they called the wrong Elena Fisher before,” he teases and she’s shoving him toward the host stand.

“Order me something expensive.”

With a shrug and his hands thrown up in defeat, he wanders toward a young hostess in black while she slips back into the warm night air to bring her phone to her ear. “Fisher.” She says curtly, very much annoyed to be back on the phone, especially with her stomach growling as the smell of fresh fish sizzling wafts out the restaurant.

“El… Elena?”

The voice on the other end is male, faintly familiar, and definitely not the network executive’s assistant who had called earlier (female, British, mousy.) “…Yes? Who is this?”

There’s a long pause, and she can’t help but feel her chest grow tight, her pulse quicken. Like the mystery voice on the other line is about to deliver some kind of soul-crushing news. Like she should be steeling herself for some tragedy. It’s absurd, but it’s where her head goes on instinct. Knowing full well her husband is only a few hundred feet away, most likely fiddling with his flatware and attempting to order a glass of wine in stilted Maltese, she can’t stop herself from suddenly being back in a hotel room in Yemen. Hearing the words “pirates” and “shipwreck” and “no sign of survivors.”

She hears the man on the line puff out a breath, some kind of nervous, soundless chuckle, before he goes on, “It’s Sam. Sam Drake.”

Well, shit.

That feeling in her chest, the tight, pinched, something bad is about to happen sinking feeling is suddenly quadrupled and now she’s imagining her brother-in-law pinned down as goons with machine guns spray the side of a crumbling building. So sue her, it’s where her mind goes as he nervously clears his throat on the other end. Sounding not at all in danger or like he’s in the middle of a firefight. But damnit if that’s not what she imagines. “Sam?” She lowers her voice, as if Nate could hear through glass and mortar and suddenly appear at her side. But he doesn’t of course, though she still tucks herself into a dark corner at the side of the dimly lit building. “What’s wrong?”

He pauses again, but this time it’s shorter and he’s letting a small chuckle puff into the mic, “I, uh, why would something be wrong?”

“Well,” she begins, feeling her mouth draw into a tight, crooked smirk, “For starters you called me, not Nate. And secondly, you’re a Drake.”

“Fair enough,” he laughs, before going on hesitantly, “Actually… I wanted to talk to you. Just you.”

“Well that’s ominous,” she deadpans, peeking out of her shadow to eyeball the door to the restaurant. Still no curious husband with superhuman hearing. Her nerves calm just slightly, even if the phone call is still off the scale on the unexpected weird shit-o-meter. Not that she doesn’t know Sam, it’s just… Their only time spent together was gunning their way through hordes of armed mercenaries and that’s probably not normal in-law quality time (though she’s fully aware of what she’s married into. What’s normal anyway?) Still, she isn’t exactly used to getting evening phone calls from said in-law.

“Nathan isn’t around, is he?” Sam asks cautiously, and Elena laughs out loud because anyone listening in to this conversation would definitely get some weird ideas.

“He’s currently sitting inside of a very charming restaurant waiting for his wife to get off the phone, why?”

“No, I—” He cuts himself off, “You guys just did a job in Malaysia, right? It went well?”

“Why do I get the feeling this isn’t just small talk?”

“I know you guys are in Malta now, Nathan said a shipwreck job off the coast. World War One-era, isn’t it?”

“Uh huh…”

“Well, it’s just… I got this lead. Something possibly big, just off the coast of Sardinia, and I need someone I trust, someone who won’t dick me over on this and I—”

But before he can continue, she’s already sighing, rubbing at her temple and leaning herself against the cool stone, “Why, of all people, would you call me? Isn’t this something that the dynamic duo of Drakes should be discussing?”

“Well,” he begins, slowly, before going on, “I didn’t want to ask Nathan, I wanted to ask you. The last time I dragged him into something, I nearly got him killed and almost ruined his marriage. And I just thought, you know, I should ask you. Avoid all that… Shit.”

Elena can very much feel the beginnings of a headache start to settle in the back of her neck. Because for all his well-meaning, good intentions, Sam is still going about this all wrong. And now she’s the one in the position to try and set things right. “Look, Sam…”

“Before you say anything,” he cuts her off, his voice raised just an octave higher. He sounds desperate and it’s evident in his tone. “It isn’t a dangerous job. Just a dive and retrieve, and I need a partner I can trust going down with me. No war lords, no mercenaries. Just an old wreck with some valuable cargo.”

“Sam.” She stops him, her head falling back against the building and eyes searching up at the pinpricks of starlight dusting the night sky. Closing her eyes she sucks in a big breath of salty sea air, “First of all, Nate is the only one who jeopardized anything— life, marriage, so on. Not you. And, honestly, that’s something we’ve worked through and moved past. And secondly,” here, she pauses, opening her eyes to find the thin sliver of the moon peaking out through misty clouds overhead, “I’m not in the business of making my husband’s decisions for him either. Look, I know you mean well, and I appreciate that. But… The three of us? We’re family. And anything you think both Nate and I need to know, or be a part of, you gotta come to us, talk to us, together. None of this cloak-and-dagger stuff.”

There’s silence on the other end of the line and for a moment she wonders if she’s lost the connection. But then she hears him clear his throat, “No… You’re right, I’m sorry. It’s just. Well… I’m not very good at this. I don’t really know how to do the family stuff anymore.”

She smiles sadly at his confession and relaxes a bit against the wall, “Email me the details, Nate and I will look it over tonight. But we’re pretty married to our camera crew and network funding, so any side quests are gonna have to be on the QT, you know?”

“You guys lock down the deal?” His tone changes at once and instead of a timid, unsure man poking around in uncharted waters, he’s suddenly alight with excitement.

“Locked, loaded, set to shoot this week.” She can’t help but feel awash in pride. Proud of what they’d accomplished, how far they’d come, and what new adventures lay ahead, “Thanks to you, of course.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He says with full cheek, laughing as she shakes her head toward the mossy cobblestone beneath her feet. That’s when she hears it, footsteps coming toward her. A somewhat baffled, “Elena, what the hell is taking so long?” muffled by the sway of the tide in the harbor and the wind rustling through the trees.

“That’s my cue,” she says into the phone, earning an understanding, “Enjoy your dinner,” from the other end. “Shoot me the email, and we’ll take a look okay?” Sam agrees, says his goodnights, and they both hang up just as Nate approaches. Face all twisted into an annoyed, confused expression, one hand clutching a glass of what looks like it could be merlot. What she hopes is merlot. And he expectantly waves his free hand toward her.

“What?” She asks as she stuffs her phone back into her pocket and reaches for the wine glass. But he’s quick, pulling it back and cocking his head to the side to scowl at her.

“What what? I’m starting to get pitiful looks from the waiters. I think they think I’ve been stood up. Wait— have I been stood up?”

She just clicks her tongue between her teeth and snatches the glass away from him, taking a quick, defiant sip, “A little stewing in your own juices is good for you.”

“Clearly you never went to Catholic school,” he says as she pushes past him with a smile, his footsteps falling in behind her as he goes on, “I’m pretty sure that’s a cardinal sin.” She finally lets herself laugh as he reaches around her to pry open the front door of the restaurant. The incredible smell of aromatic spices, fresh cooked seafood, and steaming heaps of pasta hitting her in a sensory overload. Damnit she was hungry. “So?” He asks as he steers her toward the waiting table, a small setting for two against a glass railing overlooking the murky harbor water below. “Are you going to tell me about your mystery phone date or do I have to stew some more?”

“No,” she says as she settles down at the one untouched setting, his own glass of wine across from her already half finished and his napkin crumpled into a heap. Flatware askew, having been fiddled with. “No more stewing. It was your brother.”

“Sam?”

“Unless you’ve got another one lurking in the shadows somewhere.”

Giving his face a quick scrub, Nate settles back in his seat and looks up at her, “Well? What’s the crisis?”

She only shakes her head through a smirk, “That’s what I asked. But no, no crisis. Just a dive he wants some help with. I told him to send us the details and we’d take a look. He says it’s legit.”

“Why would he call you?” He begins as she plucks the evening’s menu from its perch on the table.

“Weird, right?” Her fingers tap against the paper, the mussels catching her eye, before she looks up at him, sighing, “He was trying to… Make up for Madagascar, I think. Asking for my permission. It was sweet, if not… Completely missing the mark.”

He laughs a bit at that, finally easing forward and propping his chin up with his fist, “I can only imagine what other surprises are in store for us tonight.”

Her mouth quirks in a knowing smile and she studies his face with a soft, wistful look. “Yeah,” she says gently, watching as he takes a slow pull at his glass of wine, “I can only imagine.”

#nate x elena #uncharted fic #elena x nate #nathan x elena #uncharted #myfic #im hella nervous about posting this buuuuut #i really need to polish my writing of these characters

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