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icequeenbae · 4 years ago

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Desert Flower (m) Ch. 1 | BBH

Pairing: Baekhyun x Reader x Baëkhyun

Characters: EXO and X-EXO (not all of them mentioned)

EXO vs X-EXO dynamics, complicated relationships, angsty, action, smut (as usual)

Warnings: sorta mingling with your ex’s ‘evil twin’, mentions of blood/ violence (nothing too graphic… I suppose), Y/N gets teary a lot(?), explicit content, rough sex, unprotected sex

Word Count: ~13.5k (full), ~3.7k (Chapter 1)

Summary: Baekhyun, your beloved boyfriend of three years, suddenly breaks up with you and disappears from the city in an attempt to protect you. But leaving you alone and clueless means trouble will surely find you. For it is easy to spot a flower in the desert.

Masterlist >> One >> Two (m) >> Three (m) >> Four (fin)

Author’s Note: Yay, this is happening!!! My first BaekBaёk, oml I’m gonna-

Ok. I’ll admit right off the bat that I wouldn’t be posting this any time soon without my lovely beta @baekshoney 🖤 She’s the person I turn to when I think there’s a million little things I could’ve done better, because that’s what I always think. I had to give myself a cut-off date to finally give up editing this 😅 So, I’d really appreciate it if you guys could share your thoughts and opinions on this too. My asks, dms and comments are places where you’re always welcome! Now, let’s get into this!

Tags: @blahblahblah-boo @baeklightsx @wooya1224 @baekklove

Chapter 1. The beginning of the end

It was all too sudden.

The words he’d said deafened you. Refusing to believe what you were hearing, you shook your head and took a step back, as if doing so could start the conversation you’d just had over. Or rewind the time and allow you to prevent the words from coming out of his mouth in the first place. But he was firm, unyielding in his stance.

‘I’m sorry,’ he repeated. ‘It’s my fault. I should’ve known better.’

Than to start this relationship, was what he meant. That he should have avoided getting in a relationship with you altogether, and breaking up with you would’ve never become an issue.

‘Why?’ You tried to speak, but your lower lip started to tremble, silencing you at once.

This was all wrong. It couldn’t have been true, what he was saying.

He licked his lips, looking away, hands forming tight fists at his sides as he tried to recollect himself and urge his body to stay frozen on the spot.

That did not work for long – the sight of you, so small, so stunned and defeated, with tears welling in your eyes while you tried to stifle them… He couldn’t. It was stupid of him to break his act so easily, but you were too precious to him to just leave you like this.

Sighing and cursing himself out in his mind, he took a stride towards you and gathered you tightly in his arms.

‘I am sorry, Y/N,’ he continued softly, hearing you hiccup in his unexpected embrace. ‘But I have to leave. We- I should’ve stayed away from you from the start. Forgive me for being so weak.’

You sobbed at his words, shaking your head stubbornly and clinging to his broad chest as an act of desperation.

‘I can come with you!’

‘No,’ he interrupted your crazy idea. ‘I’m leaving you behind. To keep you safe.’

‘Safe from what?’ You questioned, half-annoyed now.

He kept insisting that he wished to protect you, but how was leaving you all alone ensuring your security? And why would you even consider it, when you only felt safe while with him?

‘I cannot tell you. The more you know, the more dangerous it is.’

‘Baekhyunie, please,’ you wiped the tears and grabbed onto his vest as he moved to pull away. ‘You can’t just decide this on your own!’

‘Y/N,’ he took hold of your wrists, not removing them just yet. ‘I know it’s hard, and I never wanted to hurt you like this. But there’s nothing you can say that’ll change my mind. I’d rather break your heart than risk your life, so it’s not really a choice.’

He looked around as if to make sure you were not being watched, and then leaned in to place a farewell kiss on your temple – his favorite spot. You sniffled, realization of the inevitable setting in.

‘Just let me go, flower,’ his voice lowered to a whisper, and you sobbed at the pet name. ‘You’ll be better off without me, I promise.’

‘No,’ you protested as he freed himself from your grasp, and took a step back. ‘No, Baekhyun, don’t leave,’ you clawed at his forearm, trying to stop him. ‘We can deal with it together, we can think of something! I don’t want to be without you,’ you whimpered sorrowfully.

He shook his head, shying away from your touch, while you desperately tried to hold him back.

But you couldn’t. He gently peeled your hands off to walk away, and you missed the pained crease between his eyebrows when he turned his back on you to escape your apartment.

‘Please, don’t do this…’ You whispered, voice breaking in anguish. Just as your heart was.

Yet, Baekhyun kept walking. Leaving you to weep in the unwelcoming emptiness of your home.

Leaving you for good.

***

Your relationship with Baekhyun started almost three years ago.

Still new to university life, you found yourself in the midst of a soap opera worth of drama when a bunch of transfer students joined all at once, some even in the same year as you. All highly attractive, they usually hung out together and spent less time than needed socializing with the outside world.

Not that you cared too much – sure, the excitement going around was making you curious, but they looked too handsome, almost to the extent that you found it intimidating. Ironically, the most intimidating you found Baekhyun. His then long dark hair with strands of red and a mullet hairstyle, the sharp green eyes, the pierced eyebrow, and the lip ring that made him look like a very attractive hooligan... The piercings turned out to be just as fake as the eye color, which did not disappoint you at all.

Funny enough, you only got to know this bad boy because he took a liking to retreating to the campus library. Hiding from all of the attention, of course. While some members of his clique actually basked in it, he preferred to disappear to the remote aisles of the quiet space and read a book, or, more likely, sleep with one on his chest. You saw him like that often, since you were stuck in there yourself – essays for different classes were piling up rapidly. As a diligent student, you were determined to do well in your first year of university, so dragging yourself to the library to stay glued to your laptop was the best option.

Coincidentally, you also preferred to stay in the less lively spaces, as you tended to seek peace and quiet to focus on your assignments. Your attention span… wasn’t impressive, to say the least, so you did your best to avoid any distractions. However, you didn’t count on a certain sleep lover to be one of them.

It was not the first day you spent close enough to notice the tranquil expression he wore on his face as he was snoozing. It was, however, the first time he caught you staring mindlessly in his direction. Burning the deepest shade of red in your cheeks, you grabbed your books and quickly made yourself scarce, thanking heavens for the multiple aisles of books around. You walked around for ten minutes or so, actually placing your books back where they belonged and finding a secluded corner to check out what else was on the shelves. Squinting, you tried to read the name of the tome that had gotten your attention, and raised your arm to get it from the level that was clearly too high for you. Thankfully, someone reached over your head and helped you obtain the book. You turned around to say thank you but instead were suddenly pushed back into the shelf by the taller figure with neat red strands. Speechless, you only held your book close and gaped at him, as he leaned forward.

‘Ever heard about the cat killed by curiosity?’ He hummed, eyes piercing you from above.

You swallowed, knees getting weaker as you registered the fresh musky smell coming off of his brightly colored shirt.

To push your buttons, he decided to get even more scandalously close to you, arm holding onto the rack behind you to keep balance.

‘Nothing wrong with being curious!’ You jabbered. ‘In fact, if people preserved the curiosity they have as kids they would’ve had a much bigger learning capacity as adults.’

He huffed. You weren’t sure if he was shocked or amused, because your eyes looked anywhere but his face. In fact, they lowered enough to fix on your forearm, resting across his rib cage, and your fist pressing slightly into his pec to keep him at least at a minimal distance.

At this you gasped, eyes widening and returning to his face, only to catch an inquisitive spark in his retinas as he nudged the lip ring with his tongue. Sighing, he took a step back, finally allowing some space between you.

‘Can’t write a philosophy essay with this, little flower,’ he chuckled. ‘Or if you can… I’d be impressed.’

You looked down in confusion, understanding that the book you were holding was from a Botanics section. ‘The Oxford Book of Wild Flowers’, read the title.

But… How did he know about your philosophy assignment?

***

Only later had Baekhyun confessed that he had had an eye on you for a while by the time this incident took place, but the moment of your outburst was what got to him. When he looked down at your cornered form, holding a book to your chest so innocently, and keeping him away instinctively with one arm. He had to bite his tongue to prevent a smile from making its way onto his face. That was it for him, and even though he wanted to avoid you and keep interactions with you to an absolute minimum, he couldn’t help but find ways to draw your attention. Like that one time, when you walked out of the library because the loud noises from the outside made your concentration for the night crumble.

The source of that noise was, in fact, a certain convertible, blasting the music for the entire campus to hear. You would have come up to complain that your studying was cut short if you didn’t have perfect eyesight. It allowed you to see that there was a red-haired problem sat in the car, with a bare foot resting lazily against the panel. Ready to run the other way, you turned around, meeting a solid chest with your forehead. You discovered that it was a rather cheerful guy in the same year as you, Jongin, and the other one with him was Sehun. And those two stalled you long enough for Baekhyun to make an entrance.

It was the first time he tried asking you out. And got rejected.

However, as much as you wanted to take ownership of that and say that you were playing hard to get when you walked off and left him stunned by your refusal, that was not the case. This guy made your throat go dry at the mere sight of him! He was way too handsome, and he also looked kind of… well, he looked like he’d break your heart without thinking twice about it. And that you couldn’t allow.

But then again, good girls do tend to fall for bad boys. Or was he only pretending to be bad? You’d never heard anything that discredited him, except for the way he stared people down sometimes. That once happened to a fellow student in your class. After he sat next to you during lunch.

Actually, almost the entire week following that incident you had lunch alone because everyone kept making excuses to sit elsewhere. That was how you became friends with Jongin and Sehun. Having had a few classes together, you were more or less acquainted with each other, so you didn’t mind when Jongin suddenly appeared out of nowhere with a tray and asked you if they could join. He even had lunch with you when Sehun wasn’t around – you figured that it made Jongin even more chatty. So much so, that one day he leaned across the table to get slightly closer, and used his most clandestine voice on you.

‘You know, hyung could burn a hole in anyone next to you with his glare, but I’m immune to his ‘charms’, thankfully,’ he giggled and added, ‘Still, I think you should give him a chance. Baekhyun’s a good guy, and he’s kinda torn as it is. Asking you out was a pretty big step for him.’

Honestly, you had a hard time believing that. Baekhyun… was probably the kind of guy, who never even had to ask. You could look around and easily spot a dozen eyes that were fixed on him at this very moment. Why in the world would he want to date you, clearly not the ‘easy-going’ party type? He probably wanted to get into your pants just for sport, like the rest of the pretty boys.

‘Whatever you’re thinking, it’s far from the truth. Ugh, Junmyeon will kill me for this!’ Jongin cursed himself and continued, before you could ask. ‘Hyung looks rough around the edges, but he’s really a softie. Trust me on this.’

‘Are you his wingman or something?’ You snorted dubiously, getting a little timid from this discussion.

‘Ha, are you kidding? He’s gonna strangle me if he finds out. Like I said, he’s torn between staying away from you and persisting in his efforts to take you out. Just think about it,’ he ended with an attempted (but failed) wink.

As if to take away your chance to process the unexpected input, Jongin shoved Baekhyun in your direction the very next day. Disappearing from the cafeteria right after, of course. Envy his subtlety. But, apparently, what he said earlier had an effect, so you only nodded when a flustered figure asked for permission to sit with you. He looked quite different from the previous times you saw him up close – much less confident and intimidating. But he seemed sincere when he said he just wanted one chance.

And that was how your relationship picked up. It took a whirlwind course from the very beginning, and the hot summer before your second year of university was the most torturous time ever for the both of you. Still wary of getting played, you only trusted Baekhyun enough to get intimately close months and months into dating. And he was patient with you, going at a slow pace, letting you pull away whenever you wanted. Until you didn’t want to anymore.

That last leap of faith was a beginning in itself – a true beginning of you and Baekhyun. The final seal was broken, and you entrusted yourself fully to him, which he repaid by showering you in his affection and feelings that he himself had not come to acknowledge just then.

After a year together, you were not simply allowed into the inner circle, but also educated about the special abilities that Baekhyun and his friends had. You were first interrogated by their leader, Junmyeon, who wanted to make sure you had no ulterior motives and were not going to tell a living soul about them. He called it ‘a quick chat’ as he dragged you in a scarcely furnished room where he sat you down at the small metal table across from him. The leader asked you questions and tried reading your verbal and non-verbal cues, so it was clearly an interrogation. Junmyeon was pretty experienced in this, so he could instantly tell that you were harmless. And you also passed the test, answering the most ridiculous questions about Baekhyun – apparently, that was to make sure you were not ‘faking it’ – so, he accepted you into their family.

However, knowing too much was dangerous, so you only learned about their powers and how they came from the so-called EXO Planet when they were young (talk about dating an alien!), and that the organization they called ‘the Red’ amongst themselves wanted to hunt them down. They also used to be held hostage by these people – and that was just about as much you knew about the issue because Baekhyun kept you away from the ‘unnecessary details’. He only told you that they seemed to be hidden well in this town, surrounded by just enough people to blend in and disappear. And you worried, always, because you knew too little about the dangers surrounding the group, and even less about how you could contribute to their safety.

Baekhyun laughed when you once brought it up, finding your concern nothing but cute.

‘You don’t have to worry about it, flower. It’s my job to make sure you’re safe, not the other way around,’ he then said, playing with the curly ends of your hair.

You frowned at that. Why was it not your job to take care of him? If you could help, you wanted to help. But he always brushed you off, saying that the only thing you should do to help is staying out of trouble. Like that was a challenge – you either studied or hung out with him and his friends, not much room to stir trouble. The only other person you talked to regularly was your roommate, and she was also pretty harmless.

As time went by, you got closer to your own graduation, basically, one year left before you had to figure it out for yourself again. Your boyfriend was always supportive, but you couldn’t help but wonder how he imagined your future. He was always up to something but never shared it with you since it was ‘nothing for you to worry about’. Had he not shown you his actual abilities before, you would’ve certainly thought that it was a crazy lie he told you to cover up for some kind of illegal activity. In reality, some illegal activities were going on, especially since hacking and cracking was one of Minseok’s specialties (but mostly because they needed to keep their identities out of sight). Another reason why they didn’t all go to the same school when they arrived, and also why they changed their appearance ever so often. The lucky mullet was long gone by the time you had your first Christmas together, and you had had the pleasure of seeing him in multiple hair colors throughout almost three years of your relationship. Notably, the first dozen or so make-out sessions you had with him took place when he had just cut his hair and dyed it pitch black. And he still wore his fake lip ring at the time, which was an experience in itself. He did know how to use his mouth…

Admittedly, you were kind of used to being the object of the boys’ shameless teasing every time you hung out together. The way Baekhyun kept you close and fussed about everything was, apparently, atypical for their usually chill and humorous hyung. He was their second-in-command, after all, the genius behind the strategic planning of the group, and the mind that kept them hidden for so long in one place.

Because of you.

One of the boys had previously let it slip that they hadn’t lived anywhere for that long before, maybe not even for one full year. But this time Baekhyun was determined to stay for a while, now that he had an anchor.

But the day came. When he found out that they might’ve been compromised, he got scared. The way he’d never feared anything before. And he’d been through a lot, to put it mildly. Baekhyun could maintain a cold and sharp mind at all times, that was his thing, but not when it came to you. Once he figured out that there was a real chance, that they could’ve found the EXO hideout and, thus, could connect you to the boys, he couldn’t think straight. Overwhelmed by a sudden panic, he sought advice from the leader.

‘You know it’s not me who’s supposed to decide,’ Junmyeon sighed, looking at his disheveled second. ‘I told you a relationship wasn’t a good idea. I also think that keeping her close means putting her life in jeopardy.’

His words were cutting through Baekhyun as he paced the room, long fingers grasping his own hair.

‘But it still may be a safer option than leaving her here,’ the leader added, pinching the bridge of his nose. ‘We need to relocate fast, and you have the ‘better of two evils’ situation on your hands.’

‘I know I should leave her,’ Baekhyun stopped in his tracks, turning his head to the leader. ‘But what if they already know, hyung?’

‘Minseok had every trace of her erased, not a single camera in town had a glimpse of her with you. They might have found our footprints in the sand, but those don’t necessarily lead to her. I suppose they should move on as soon as they come here and realize that we’re nowhere around.’

‘Most likely, but what if-’

‘They can very well catch up to us while we run. Like I said, there isn’t a right answer, but a choice. And I think that you’ve already made it when you should give her a voice, too,’ the leader pushed.

‘I-’ Baekhyun turned away to hide the glassy eyes from Junmyeon. ‘I have to give her a chance, hyung. I cannot sentence her to a lifetime of running and danger. And I know she’s silly enough to throw herself into it if she has a say in this.’

‘And if you’re wrong? You’re going to break her heart as a precaution?’

‘She won’t die from a broken heart. Can you imagine what they’d do to her if they find out?’

Junmyeon bit his lip. This time, the choice was completely out of his hands. He thought his second was making a mistake, but it was not his place to decide. Exhaling again, he nodded.

‘Tell her in the morning. We’re moving out as soon as the rain starts.’

>> Chapter 2

A/N: So, what do you think? This is more of an introductory chapter, I know, but it covers quite a lot of their relationship with Baek. You must be excited to see where this goes and when Baёk appears? Or if Baekhyun is coming back? Me too, me too 🙈

#baekhyun smut #baekhyun x reader #baekhyun x you #baekhyun #exowritersnet #icequeenbae fics #x exo #Desert Flower #2baek #baekbaёk #exo fanfiction #baekhyun fanfic

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sebstanseabass · 4 years ago

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Afterglow (A Bucky Barnes AU fan fiction) - Chapter 1

Afterglow chapters

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Story Description:

❝It's like an afterglow.❞

❝Yes, like an afterglow. If seeing something so beautiful makes you feel good then the after of it all must be... more pleasurable.❞

❝A lot of people tend to miss that detail after sunset. But not you. You're a photographer, y/n. The details in nature, in people, are some things you can never miss.❞

But there's one little detail you had missed, that you both missed: that you've already met years earlier.

You're a 25-year old photographer and part-time bartender, and has heard countless stories about the adventures of your roommate's stepbrother, Bucky Barnes -- a clumsy, party-driven 38-year old businessman. One day, you stumble upon Bucky inside your apartment on a Saturday night that would change both of your lives forever as you both take pleasure in the afterglow.

A/N: I already have this on Wattpad but with a female OC. This is my first ever Bucky Barnes fan fic and I hope you guys like it :)

CHAPTER ONE

"Hey, y/n. I think Nick wants to ask you out on a date." Peter Parker, your roommate, brought his beer bottle towards his mouth. His eyes were fixated somewhere while you were wiping droplets of beer on the countertop. You looked at his face features illuminated by the light from his laptop. "You should really put coasters here, y'know." he added.

"Shut it, Parker," You rolled your eyes at him, "or no more free drinks for you."

"He's into you." He sang and averted his eyes somewhere. You followed his gaze which was on Nick Miller who was talking to some loud blondes on the booth, taking their orders.

"I'm not talking to you anymore." You put your hand up, blocking Peter's face and walked away. You greeted some customers approaching the bar counter. "Good evening, gentlemen, what would you like to drink?"

"Shots of tequila," one replied, "and keep 'em coming, doll!" The other three cheered which you knew annoyed Peter.

The bar was packed tonight. Saturdays were the only days New Yorkers were almost free for a chill drink hangout. College boys hang by the billiards table on the corner, office girls sip their margaritas on one of the booths, thirty-year old women shoot darts on the dartboard as if the board were their husbands, thirty-year old dads with their caps on drinking hard beer on one of the tables, kids who just turned twenty-one ordering their first drink legally, lonely people by the jukebox or on the bar counter telling their sad tales to the bartender and Peter Parker casually drinking beer with a laptop in front of him.

"You really should stop doing your work here on the bar." You approached Peter once more. "You're bumming people out."

Peter raised an eyebrow, his eyes glued on the laptop. "You're bumming me out."

"Seriously, do your business work elsewhere. Go to a coffee place or something. Starbucks isn't that far."

"You know I work better with beer"

"How can I forget?"

You and Peter go way back. You two had met in business school and had been roommates ever since. While you would pull an all-nighter in your shared apartment, Peter would struggle to open the front door, dance around in the living room like he had left feet and threw his final papers on the floor. He'd end up waking up your other roommates, Mickey and Pablo (who would usually join him by the way), leaving poor you cleaning up their mess the next morning. You'd put Peter to bed, seeing as the other morons were incapable of doing so. The next day, Peter's bed would reek of the pungent smell of beer and cigarettes. Though he didn't smoke ("and I never will!"), cigarette smoke disgustingly clung to his clothes and skin, which you found rather unpleasant. Even with all the alcohol in his system, Peter managed to pass all his exams and graduate with flying colors. You hated that.

"I don't get why you drink so much during exam week." You sighed, handing Peter a glass of water. He wasn't an alcoholic but he did turn into one right before midterms and finals start. It was somehow seasonal. According to Peter, it helped him focus. "You're not supposed to drink before a big exam, y'know."

"Hemingway drinks. He writes better when he drinks."

"You're a business major. Not a writer. You don't even read literature."

"Look at you now cleaning other people's messes." Peter chuckled, closing his laptop. You sighed and wiped the counter with much vigor. The four gentlemen from earlier left a pretty big mess toasting shots before they went towards the billiards table.

"Please, this is not the kind of bar you used to go to." You responded, making a gin and tonic. "This is a smoke-free, grope-free, friendly bar. No dancing, no loud stereo music -- just your regular bar where you can relax with your friends after a long day at work."

Peter turned around and tilted his head towards the jukebox. "There's someone dancing right now beside the jukebox."

"Not that kind of dancing." A 20-something year old man was breakdancing to some old beat you've never even heard of.

"Y'know it's really ironic you're working at a bar now. Oh, how you used to hate them."

"It's the only job I can do." You shrugged. "Besides photography, of course. And again, this is not that kind of bar. Think of it like a MacLaren's Pub from that tv show. Kind of funny how it's also just below our apartment building. If only we lived in this building in college, I would've enjoyed bars more."

You once went to one party at a crowded bar where Peter had surprisingly invited you. Writhing bodies pressed up against each other. Body shots from strangers. Toilets that reeked of beer vomit and pee. An "accidental" kiss between you and Peter in the bar that lead into a steamy makeout session as soon as you got in the apartment you both shared. Up to this day, neither of you spoke of that night and perhaps that day wouldn't come -- You really hoped it didn't. Wouldn't want to open a can of worms from the past.

"You're a boring old hag." Peter snorted.

"Hmm, I'd like to disagree. I can make drinks and you can't."

"Oh, you know who can make drinks, though? My stepbrother!"

Ah, yes. His stepbrother. The infamous Bucky Barnes. Born in the upper east side of New York and sadly, out of wedlock. Orphaned at a young age and adopted by a man named Tony Stark who then married Peter's mother. A successful hotel business owner (but not really famous), and the star of Peter's countless stories. Been arrested once for streaking. Got Peter out of detention in high school. Trespassed school premises. TP'd a house during Valentine's Day. Caught naked by a newly-wed in a hotel room. That was just the tip of the iceberg.

"I know. He makes the best bloody drinks of all time." You mimicked Peter the way he would -- insulting and proud -- which he didn't like as he shot dagger-like eyes at you. His expressions changed in a snap.

"Oh, that reminds me. He's in town!"

"I thought he was in Monaco?"

"Yeah, no. He travels a lot."

"Does that mean I now get to meet this famous stepbrother of yours?" You smirked, pulling out shot glasses from one of the cabinets.

"I'm not sure he would want to meet you. You're not exactly in his league."

"You mean snobby and rich?" You laughed while fixing the shot glasses on the counter. "I'm aware."

"I mean classy." He adjusted his tie.

You snickered. "Yeah, all those stories were real classy, Parker. Top-notch."

"You know what I mean, y/n - suits, money, stuff like that. Bucky's changed." One big sip of beer. "I think."

"Ya think?" You scoffed.

"Maybe, I don't know. Haven't spoken to him in a while. He's always traveling and stuff. Hard to keep track of him."

"Sounds to me like he's on a run from the bad guys." You joked which Peter didn't find funny.

"What do you mean?"

Peter idolized Bucky. He was the sole reason why he got into business in the first place -- no, they didn't spend late nights talking in their backyard basketball court about how fulfilling business is and all that crap like brothers would do. Peter just wanted to be like Bucky. To be in the world of money, booze, and then more money. That kind of crap. "It was a joke, Parker. This Bucky sounds like he may have done some stupid stuff but I doubt he's into something illegal or what."

"Yeah, he's a good guy." But even Peter didn't sound convinced of himself. He took a big gulp of his beer.

Nick approached the counter, avoiding your eyes but a smile landed on his lips as soon as he neared you. You could hear Peter chuckling. "Hey, Nick."

Nick acknowledged him by saying a small hello and started preparing a bunch of Bloody Marys for the blonde girls by the booth. Peter watched him, finishing his beer. You gave him a look before walking away to serve some drinks -- which he just mocked in return. With a tray of beer in your right hand, you approached the four gentlemen from before at the billiards table and gave them their drinks. Seeing a couple of girls slide out of one of the booths, you grabbed a washcloth and a bottle spray on the cleaning station and headed to clean the girls' mess. The table reeked of Gin and tonic, Margaritas, Grasshopper, a couple of beers and Long Island Iced Tea. Well, that's a weirdly wild group of friends.

While cleaning up the booth, you glanced up at the printed photographs on the walls which were yours. Black and white portraits of strangers. Flashes of red and blue lights on the streets. Giant buildings. Random people on Central Park and New York streets. Peter drinking beer at the booth with his co-workers. And the owner of the bar who was always cooped up inside his small office. Photos that didn't sell in your exhibit always went to the bar, in hopes that someone might find them somewhat good -- good enough to take home. But that wasn't the case. To them, the photos were just mere decorations at the bar; they just wanted to have a good time and couldn't be bothered to even take one shy glance at the bartender's photos. You wanted to think they just had zero taste when it comes to photography to make yourself feel better but you were wrong. It just made you feel worse.

Just when you were about to turn around, Peter slid into the booth. You almost dropped the things you were holding. "Jesus, Parker."

He looked up at the photos. "Told ya your photos won't sell here."

"That's not what I was thinking." Lie. You walked towards the bar counter with Peter on your tail. He sat once more on the high stool and immensely watched as you placed some glasses on the counter.

"Come work for our company. We could really use your skills for our products." He leaned in, trying to get your attention. It wasn't the first time he tried to convince you to go work for his company.

"For the nth time, I'm no corporate slave."

"You're working at a bar. You make drinks and serve people. Some of these fuckers have corporate jobs as well - like me! If you think about it," he crossed his arms, placing them on top of the counter, "it's kind of like serving these corporations you hate."

With a frown, you asked, "What kind of logic is that?"

"A businessman's logic."

"If that's the case, the corporate world is dead." You smirked, washing the glasses. Peter was no businessman. He was just a part of a sales team, making marketing pitch presentations every week or so. Honestly, you couldn't keep up with his presentations. "I'd be happy to join then."

"Come on, Aria. You can't be juggling two jobs for the rest of your life. You can get one big job at our company and you'll get paid big time. Plus," he leaned in further, almost getting up from the stool, "we'll be working together. Wouldn't that be fun?"

"I'm honestly getting tired of you." You chuckled, sprinkling some water on Peter's face. "And my answer is still no. I don't want to work for your company. I like freelancing and bartending." That wasn't a lie. Despite graduating from business school, you decided to pursue your passion in photography even if the pay couldn't cover your half of the rent. So, you decided to take a waitressing job at the bar just below your apartment, and then started bartending. Out of all the establishments you could've gone to, you chose this very bar because it was the most convenient option of all -- it was just below the apartment. Being a photographer and a part-time bartender weren't exactly the dream you had for yourself but you liked them; nothing gave you more pleasure than taking product photos for small businesses and making drinks for strangers who happen to stumble upon one of the best bars in the Upper West Side.

Peter sighed. "I'm never giving up on you. I'm not a quitter."

"Whatever you say, big guy." Peter had been at it for a few years.

"I hate you." Peter groaned.

"Aren't you the sweetest?"

Peter rolled his eyes and caught a quick glance at the wall clock. "Hey, your shift's almost over. Better hurry up."

"Right. Thanks, Parker." You began placing back the shot glasses on one of the cabinets then hurriedly walked into a small door on the back. You greeted your boss who was just doing some paperworks.

"Hey, Steve. I'm heading out."

"Right, right." Steve looked up from his laptop and removed his specs, placing them on the table.

You gave him a smile and turned to leave but before you could even close the door, Steve called you.

"Yeah?"

"Nick's not gonna be here tomorrow afternoon and I'm gonna be in Long Island for some family reunion. Would you mind checking all the deliveries for tomorrow?"

"Well, what about the others?"

"Ah, they're no good." Steve sighed. "I only trust you and Nick."

You raised an eyebrow. "Nick? Really?" You wouldn't trust Nick with anything -- not even with some dumb, silly secret.

Steve shrugged. "He's a good kid. He and I get along. So, do I get a yes?"

"Yeah, sure. I got nothing going on tomorrow."

"No photography thingy?"

You pursed your lips. "Not unless you want me to take photos for your family reunion."

"No way in hell am I gonna let you meet my family."

"Aw, you said you trust me."

He chuckled and leaned back on his office chair. "Go home, y/n."

You sent him a smile before heading back to the counter to meet Peter who was mindlessly scrolling on his phone. "Let's go, Parker."

You two walked up the steps towards your apartment building, shoulders bumping from time to time. You and Peter lived on the fifth floor. You would've gotten your own place but your parents cut you off since you refused to work for the family supermarket your family owned in Hoboken, New Jersey. The last time you spoke to your parents was almost three years ago, when you threw a huge tantrum like a damn baby at your graduation party. "There's nothing for me here in New Jersey! It's as boring as these two old couples next door. (No offense). I hated business school. I want to pursue photography whether you like it or not. I'm not staying in this hellhole forever."

"You walk out that door, you're out of here forever."

And out you went with only a couple of clothes and some leftover college money. The only sliver of hope you had was Peter.

"Hey, y/n?" Peter asked as soon as you got inside the elevator. "Hypothetically, if Nick asked you out on a date, would you say yes?"

You gave him a weird look after the elevator doors closed before you. "I don't know, man. Never dip the pen in company ink, right?" You fished for your apartment key on your purse. "How are you so sure he's gonna ask me out?"

"He flat out told me that's how." He replied. "Yesterday night. So, if he does ask you..."

"Why are you so invested in my dating life?"

"You have no dating life." He retorted.

Peter was one to talk. He also didn't have one.

"You know what I mean, idiot."

He shrugged. "Just curious."

The elevator doors opened and you both headed towards your apartment unit, with Peter still yapping about Nick this and Nick that. You groaned, getting ultimately tired of hearing Nick's name and the possibility of you and him dating. "Maybe you should date him, Parker."

"You date him."

You gave him a confused look. "Shut up, Parker."

"Wait, you know what? Don't date him. I don't like him for you. He's weird and -- "

"No, I mean it. Shut. Up." You hissed, stopping on your tracks and grabbing Peter by his arm. You were right outside your apartment unit. There was a small gap between the door and the door frame. It seemed like someone broke in..

"What do we do? What do we do?" Peter half-yelled, half-whispered.

"Have the cops on speed dial. If it really is a robbery, call them. Got it?"

"What if they have guns?"

"I'll tell them to shoot you first."

"Gee, thanks for looking after me. Appreciate it."

You smirked, your hands already on the door. Slowly, you pushed it away from your body, failing to make it as quiet as possible as the door creaked against the floorboards. You gently looked around the dark living room, seeing no sign of someone inside -- until your eyes caught something moving on the couch. Your eyes went wide. You went back in the hallway where Peter was standing with his phone in his hand, ready to press the call button.

"Well?" He was waiting for an answer.

"I think someone's crashing on our couch?" Even you looked confused.

"What? Are you sure?"

"Either that or a large animal just broke into our apartment. Come on, let's go see." You whispered, trying not to wake up the uninvited guest.

"I'm not going in there!"

"Fine, I'll wake the bastard up." You groaned. "Pussy."

"Dick." He snickered but zipped his mouth shut as soon as you sent him a glare.

Without a noise, you managed to get closer, using the light from your phone as a guide. On the couch was a huge blanket sprawled across and under that was the rhythmic sound of someone breathing. Your hand lightly trembled, reaching for the blanket to unveil whoever was under it; but before you could even touch a single thread, the person jumped out of the couch, and so did your heart. You let out a scream, falling backwards and hitting your head on one of the small tables beside the couch. The unknown person stood on the couch, and awfully joined your screams. The lights suddenly turned on, with Peter standing by the door.

"Oh my god!" You yelped as soon as you realized the man in front of you was naked. No clothes, no nothing, just bare skin against the cold breeze. Your hands immediately flew to your eyes. "Who the hell are you?" Your screamed at him.

He urged you to remove your hand from your eyes, telling you he was wrapping the blanket around his waist. Thankfully, he wasn't lying.

"Bucky?" Peter breathed, approaching the scene.

"This is Bucky?" You asked in disbelief.

Bucky smiled and jumped off the couch, offering his hand. "Hi, I'm Bucky."

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky x reader #bucky barnes smut #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes story #bucky x you #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes fanfic #fan fic #fan fiction

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platypanthewriter · 4 years ago

Text

Guess Again

Day Four of Harringrove AUgust, Profession AU! Steve runs into a hot guy named Billy on his plane flight back to Indianapolis, and Billy lies about what he does for a living, then, laughing, admits he lied. The prize for this guessing game: an exchange of phone numbers.

Steve found his seat, in coach, because that was the only seat available on the overbooked flight into Indianapolis a week before Thanksgiving. He shoved his carry-on under the seat, and wedged himself in the limited leg room, opening his laptop to answer the emails that had been pinging his phone before the plane was ready to take off, and he—blessedly—had to go into airplane mode.

He barely even noticed the guy wedging himself in to sit by the window, and trying to get the damn table to stay up. Steve typed away as the busted table mechanism flapped onto the guy’s lap over and over. Finally, Steve grimaced, glancing over. “You can use my table,” he offered, registering only that the guy was tattooed, and kinda...hot. “I’ll put this away as soon as we taxi to the runway.”

“It’s fine,” the dude said, smacking the floppy table with a sigh. “Not like there’s a meal on this flight.”

“You can lean in and share my pretzels,” Steve told him, grinning over, and was met with big, long-lashed blue eyes, an annoying mustache, and curls that curved around an attractively firm jaw.

The guy nodded, and put the broken table away. “...kind of a workaholic?” he asked, probably because it was nearly ten o’clock at night, and Steve was glaring at his screen and typing emails like his survival depended on a high word count.

He snorted a laugh. “I left them all until now,” he said, grimacing. “They really don’t need my input, but if I replied earlier, they’d just ask me something else. Something they could google.” He narrowed his eyes at an email from a coworker who’d actually emailed to ask for exact details of what was allowed under the sexual harassment policy. Talk to HR, he sent back. Creep, he thought. He finished the last of the replies, hoping he wasn’t sending anything too weird in his distraction, and closed his laptop. “Um. Sorry. What do you do?”

“I sell life insurance,” the guy said immediately, with a toothy grin. “I’ll sell you so much insurance on this flight.”

“Uh,” Steve said, blinking at him. “Umm...oh.”

“That’s a lie,” was the dude’s followup, and Steve stared at him, starting to regret his offer to share a table, or catch the flight at all. “I don’t sell life insurance, I swear. I promise,” the guy said, laughing. “God, your face. I just...my job is...I started telling people I sell life insurance, so they wouldn’t talk to me.”

“I can just sit over here,” Steve offered, pretending to zip his lips.

“No, no, it’s, uh. Sorry I lied. Talk to me, it’s a long flight.”

“Why do you have to lie?” Steve had to ask, and the guy grimaced.

“My job’s kinda awkward,” he said, laughing.

“Are you a...porn star?” Steve asked, trying to figure out what kind of job would get the worst people to talk to you, and the dude cracked up.

“Jesus, no, but thanks for the ego boost,” he said, and Steve snorted a laugh.

“Um. What about…” Steve thought, opened his mouth, and then closed it. “Can I guess?” he asked, grinning, and the guy snickered.

“Sure. Give it your best shot. Just don’t tell me any horror stories.”

“Do you embalm bodies?” Steve tried, already holding back a tide of questions, like did you ever drop one and have to fix a broken nose.

“Nope!” said the guy, turning to lean more against the window, to face Steve. “How many tries do you want before I just tell you?”

“Oh, no, no, lemme guess,” Steve said, thinking as they came around asking for drink orders. “Horror stories...um. Are you a soldier?” he asked, wide-eyed, and the guy laughed again.

“No! No, nothing like that.” He leaned to see Steve’s ID as Steve pulled it out to order a beer, and Steve grinned.

“I’m Steve.”

“Billy,” said his mysteriously-employed seatmate, offering his hand, and Steve flipped it over investigatively.

“You don’t have those, like, love/hate knuckle tattoos,” he said, feeling like a detective. “So...maybe not a biker?”

“I’m not a biker,” Billy snickered. His hand was warm in Steve’s. “Is that even a job?”

“Oh! Oh!” Steve leaned forward, sure he had it this time, and Billy moved the armrest between them out of the way. “A writer?”

“What?!” Billy laughed, which probably meant Steve was wrong, but he argued his point.

“People tell you horror stories,” he said, narrowing his eyes. “So—so probably everybody tells you they have a great idea for your next novel—”

“No, uh. One clue,” Billy said, grimacing. “They’re true stories.”

“True stories,” Steve said, going to cross his arms in thought, and realizing Billy hadn’t taken his hand back. “Uh, what do I get if I guess right?” he asked, squeezing Billy’s hand, and Billy snorted a laugh, grinning like he couldn’t quite believe what was happening.

“I dunno, I feel like Rumpelstilzkin, you want like my firstborn or—”

“No, nope,” Steve made a face. “I got enough kids around, thanks. Oh—” he blinked, realizing how that sounded as Billy started to pull his hand back, and lean away, “—not, like, I’m not a dad, I don’t have a wife and kids or anything. I just have some little shitheads that come over all the time and eat all my popsicles and pizza.”

“Oh good,” Billy said dryly. “I’d feel terrible if holding my hand ruined your marriage.”

“No other knuckles can fulfill me, now,” Steve said soulfully, and then when Billy burst out laughing, Steve couldn’t hold a straight face.

“You know how fucking dirty that sounds, right,” Billy whispered, rubbing his face with the hand Steve wasn’t holding, and Steve snorted a laugh.

“Don’t worry, I’m not trying to get you to fist me on the plane,” he hissed back.

“Coward,” Billy shot back, and then they started giggling again, like they were ten.

“True horror stories,” Steve repeated, later, as they leaned together over the napkin on his tiny airplane table, where he was keeping track of the guesses he’d already made. “True horror stories. Are you a reporter?”

“God no,” Billy said, making a face. “Imagine this many tattoos in front of the news cameras? We’ve got a ways to go before they allow that.”

“Oh, true,” Steve nodded. “I mean, unless you worked for, like, a tabloid. Circling everyone’s stomach in pictures and writing ‘BABY BUMP?!’ on it.”

Billy jumped when Steve yelled ‘BABY BUMP’, and half the plane twitched and mumbled. “Fuck no!” he hissed, laughing. “Ssh!”

“Huh,” Steve said, studying the napkin. “Oh! Um,” he grimaced. “Police officer?”

“No,” Billy growled, and Steve nodded, writing that down and crossing it out, and sipping his third beer. “We never worked out what you got if you guessed,” Billy said, watching.

“Oh, yeah,” Steve agreed, nodding. “Uh, what about...dinner?”

“We’re gonna land at like six in the morning,” Billy pointed out, and Steve fingergunned him.

“Breakfast.”

Billy laughed. “I dunno if I’m willing to put out on our first plane trip together.”

“Lemme get you, like, bacon and eggs,” Steve said, leaning in and waggling his eyebrows, “—and my phone number.” He smirked as Billy cackled, leaning his head in the window.

“Yeah, okay. Gimme some breakfast sausage, Steve,” he said softly, the overhead reading light making his curls glow a little, like a halo.

“Now I haveta figure it out,” Steve said, frowning at his list, and Billy’s fingers twitched towards him. Steve grabbed his hand, lacing their fingers together, and accepted another beer from the flight attendant. “I wonder how many beers that is,” he said, prodding at the label with his thumbnail. “I think they’re like ten bucks a pop.”

“I bet the alcohol will really help you think,” Billy said dryly, and Steve made a face at him.

“Shut up, I got it. I got it this time,” he said, tipping his head back for a long, satisfying drink of beer, and wiping his mouth. Billy’s mouth hung a little open when he finished, and Steve licked his lips, grinning. “You—you’re a doctor. A—a doctor of butts. A butt-doctor.”

Billy started laughing so hard, silently, that Steve was starting to wonder whether he could breathe.

“I’m right, right?” Steve said, taking a triumphant swig, and Billy shook his head, wheezing for air.

“You mean a proctologist?!” he gasped.

“Yeah, and you understood fine,” Steve told him, annoyed.

“I’m not—I’m not a butt doctor,” Billy choked out, tears of laughter in his eyes. “I don’t have a doctorate in ass—”

“Your loss,” Steve muttered, glaring at the napkin with the list. “Man, my cousin is one, and he has some stories. Dude, that’s everything, that’s every damn job. Ever. Do zookeepers get told horror stories?! Oh!” He pointed the beer bottle at Billy. “Dentist!”

“No,” Billy giggled, his hair rising with static in the dry air of the plane, and sticking to the wall and window behind him. He looked ruffled and fond, and Steve squeezed his hand again, trying to think of what he’d missed, before the plane landed, and he’d spent the entire flight guessing jobs, and Billy hadn’t even given him a last name.

“Shit,” Steve said, then straightened again. “No, okay, this time,” he said, the beer making his words a little soft around the edges, “This time I really have it. You’re a Mickey Mouse person.”

“I’m a what now,” Billy said, still snickering.

“You know,” Steve said, his eyes narrowed. “You crawl up the ass of one of those suits and let kids think you’re a Disney princess.”

“No, Harrington,” Billy said, breathlessly, as he shook with laughter. “No, I do not. Do people tell mascots horror stories?! I don’t even want to know. Which princess? Just for scientific curiosity, Steve, which princess do I crawl up the ass of, in your brain?”

Steve tried to remember them all. “Not Jasmine,” he said with certainty. “Um. Wait, Peter Pan? Maybe?”

“Peter Pan’s not a princess,” Billy choked out, wiping his eyes as he tried to muffle his laughter.

“Hrm,” Steve said, accepting another beer and huffing a sigh, but Billy leaned in suddenly and just kissed him. His lips were warm and chapped, and Steve hummed happily against them. Their teeth bumped, a little, because Billy was giggling so hard, and Steve was grinning so wide his cheek muscles ached.

“I’m a drug and alcohol counselor,” Billy said with a grimace, and Steve glared at his beer, betrayed, "—so, um, horror stories. Yeah."

"I just have butt-doctor horror stories," Steve said quickly, trying to salvage the situation, and he shoved his beer behind him.

Billy laughed harder, shaking his head. "I’ll still take that number,” he whispered, kissing Steve again—and snickering, his cheeks flushed. “And breakfast?”

Here’s my other Harringrove stuff! Or check out the Harringrove AUgust collection on Ao3! Add something! =D

#Harringrove AUgust #Harringrove #Profession AU #Meet-cute #Fluff and banter

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dinosaurtsukki · 4 years ago

Text

[ traffic jams ]

pairing: suna rintarou x gn!reader

word count: 1.8k words

contains: ‘timestamps’ in a way, some shenanigans to pass the time, slightly awkward!suna, a bit too many ratatouille references, friendship with mutual crushing

a/n: i lowkey miss the traffic jams going home and one thing that struck me when reading suna’s bio on the wiki was that he doesn’t actually live near inarizaki so i thought it would be cute to have like a suna x reader commute fic

>> 5:45 pm:

you sigh for what was probably the fifth time that hour as you stare at the road map on your phone. the highway you were currently on was marked with red, indicating a traffic jam that stretched for kilometers. ‘estimated travel time: 4 hours’ the top of your phone screen read.

‘great, and it’s a friday night on top of that.’ you rub the side of your temple and stare out the window of the bus. you already knew what going to inarizaki, a high school all the way out in hyogo, while you were currently living in tokyo meant when it came to travel time. you often had to wake up early and get home late with the long travel time to school and back. most days, it was manageable and a one hour commute meant a good day. however, there were days when a storm was raging outside, delaying the train and bus schedules, and road accidents that led to the kind of situation you were currently in.

after leaving at five pm, you spent the past hour doing some homework in the bus and now you were fresh out of things to do. you’re also avoiding using your phone too much and draining your battery. right before you’re about to put on your earphones, your bus seatmate stirs awake.

aside from you, there is one other student who also commutes all the way to school from aichi, the prefecture where you live: suna rintarou. you know him as one of the regulars in the volleyball team and that he’s in the same year as you. neither of you ever really interacted much but took the same bus to and from school. sometimes you’d greet each other good morning and recently had this silent agreement to sit next to each other.

you watch as suna blinks sleepily before glancing out the window beside you. “where are we?” he mumbles.

“still in hyogo. it’s been an hour,” you answer.

“damn, really?” suna groans when he realizes just how terrible the traffic is outside. “and it’s a friday too.”

“tell me about it,” you chuckle mirthlessly. “also, estimated travel time is four hours so there go my exciting friday plans,” you add sarcastically.

“sorry you have to spend them with me,” suna smirks at you. your stomach flutters and you smile nervously. despite not knowing him too well, you couldn’t help but find him quite attractive. in fact, the reason why you got up early in the morning and tried to leave school at the same time as him was because you enjoyed your daily commutes with suna so much. even more so when you two started sitting next to each other.

“well, i don’t think that would be too bad,” you clear your throat. “we could play ‘i spy’ for four more hours.”

“or,” suna grins, leaning down and opening his backpack before pulling out his laptop. you chuckle and pull out your earphones. “we could watch ratatouille.”

“of all the things to pirate. you really chose ratatouille?”

“fuck disney, am i right?” suna smirks.

“fuck disney.”

>> 7:46 pm

“good on you for making sure that your laptop was fully charged before leaving school,” you say, stretching your arms a bit as soon as the credits roll.

“hmm, yeah,” suna sighs and leans his head back. “though, i think i made the wrong decision.”

“how come?”

suna crosses his arms over his stomach and squeezes his eyes shut. “because we watched ratatouille, i’m hungry now.”

“oh...” you nod your head, just as you feel a rumble in your stomach. “oh,” you repeat.

“yeah,” suna groans. “do you have any food on you?”

“i have...” you rustled through your backpack before procuring “a bag of peanuts.”

“hmm, that’ll have to do,” suna said, plucking the packet out of your hand. “say, one nut each per two minutes? just to ration it out?”

you sigh. “it’s going to be a long night.”

>> 8:10 pm

“there it is, the last two nuts,” suna says gazing at the two peanuts in the palm of his hand before offering one of them to you.

“i really, really thought they would last longer,” you sigh.

“they would have if you kept them for yourself,” suna raises his eyebrows.

“i’m too nice for that,” you giggle. “besides, i’d feel too guilty seeing you all hungry.”

“and i might guilt-trip you just a little bit,” suna says. “like, toss you mournful looks and everything.”

“no! not the mournful looks,” you cry and the two of you burst out laughing. you lift your peanut towards him. “toast?”

“toast,” suna snickers. you toast your peanuts before popping them into your mouth. you’re both still far from home.

>> 8:30 pm

“i spy with my little eye... something red and blinking.”

“oh my god, it’s another car taillight isn’t it?”

“... it is,” suna admits, blinking lazily out the window. “i mean, it’s all taillights out there. anyway, your turn.” he nudges your arm with his elbow.

“i spy with my little eye... “ you blink and yawn. “some really tired passengers.”

“i’m looking at one right now,” suna snickers at you.

you two share a glance before simultaneously sighing.

“i want to be home,” you say. you don’t even have to look at suna to know he’s nodding in agreement.

>> 9:00 pm

“chicken nuggets.”

“suna, please stop,” you groan.

“it’s all i can think of,” suna shakes his head. the two of you are staring up at the ceiling of bus, trying and failing to forget your hunger. “when we get out of here, i’m going to the first fast-food restaurant i see and ordering chicken nuggets. also ice cream from the convenience store. you know, the soft-serve one in the cone.”

“yeah, you only mentioned that five times for the past hour,” you roll your eyes.

“how bout you? what’s the first thing you’re getting when we finally get to the stop?” suna nudges your ribs. you close your eyes, knowing that nothing good will come out of talking about food. but then again, not thinking about it wasn’t going to make you any less hungrier either.

“strawberry yogurt drink,” you answer. “i want that strawberry yogurt drink that they always have in convenience stores?”

“oh that one,” suna hums. “you’re literally the only person i know who likes that.”

“which is great because the vending machines never run out of them,” you add. “you what else i want?” you ask after a beat of silence.

“what?”

“that mushroom remy cooked in the beginning of the movie,” you giggle. suna shakes his head as a smile blooms on his face. now that you think about it, you’ve never really seen that kind of goofy smile on him before.

>> 9:30 pm

suna wakes up for the second time during that bus ride after a short nap. it doesn’t surprise at all that he’s still in the bus. what does, though, is seeing you fast asleep with your head on his shoulder. you must have accidentally leaned on him while you two drifted off to sleep but suna was far from annoyed.

he was never really one to approach random people to strike up a conversation, but he always enjoyed seeing you, wearing the same uniform as him, waiting at the same bus stop he took every morning. unlike suna, you were way more productive during your daily commutes by doing your homework in the bus. once or twice, he’d glance at your pretty handwriting or pick up your pencil after you accidentally dropped it.

suna noticed that sometimes, you’d pack cereal in ziploc bags to eat for breakfast. that it would take you less than five minutes to fall asleep in the bus when there are exams. that you rotated between the same five hairclips throughout the week.

the sound of the bus engine coming to a stop and passengers abruptly standing up brings suna out of his thoughts. with a start, he realizes that you’re both finally at the bus stop in your hometown.

“y/n. wake up,” suna nudges you softly. he only gets to appreciate your sleepy face for a few seconds before breaking the good news. “we’re home.”

“we are?” you wake up instantly at that and look out the window. “oh my god, we are!” you squeal. suna grins as the two of you quickly pick up your bags and leave the bus.

“okay so the nearest fast-food place is the one a few blocks away from here,” suna says as the two of you leave the bus. god, he’s starving. he can already taste the chicken nuggets.

“eat a whole bunch of them for me,” you laugh. suna stops and looks at you.

“i...” suna realizes with a hint of embarrassment that he was under the assumption you two would be going together. “if... if you’re hungry too you can come, if you want.”

“oh.” there’s genuine surprise in your voice and suna feels a bit of relief. “i... i thought.”

“of course you don’t have to if you really need to head home.”

“it’s not that i just, rarely ever get invited to things,” you chuckle and hook your thumbs into the straps of your backpack. “so... shall we go?”

suna feels the corner of his lip turn up in a smile. “chicken nuggets are on me.”

>> monday, 6:00 am:

you sprint to the bus stop as fast as your legs could carry you. rarely were you ever late for your bus, especially with how quickly you went through your morning routine. but this time, your sibling hogged the bathroom for five minutes too long, thus leading you to your current predicament.

the bus is thankfully still there when you reach the stop and you don’t hesitate before flinging yourself inside, only to be greeted with the seats full of passengers. ‘damn,’ you mentally curse. the next bus doesn’t arrive until twenty minutes later and you were surely going to come in to class late and--

“y/n.”

you hear suna’s voice call out to your right. he lifts his bacpack off the seat beside him and gestures for you to sit.

he had saved a seat for you.

“thank you so much,” you smile gratefully and slide into the seat while catching your breath.

“sure thing, busmate,” suna smirks at you. “i, ah, also got you this.” he reaches into his backpack before handing you something. it’s a carton of your favorite strawberry-yogurt drink.

you have to press your lips together to keep the giddy smile off your face as you accept it from suna. “thanks... busmate.”

“so,” suna clears his throat. “i was thinking of what movies to pirate next in the event of another friday traffic jam. you got any ideas?”

“hmm, let me think...”

maybe traffic jams weren’t going to be so bad after all.

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dcforts · 5 years ago

Text

[monday 4: bet]

ao3

Four times Eileen thought Dean and Castiel were more than friends and one time Sam (finally) saw it too.

Eileen likes the bunker. As a hunter you learn to be grateful and appreciative of things that others give for granted. Like waking up feeling safe, knowing that nothing can jump right through your window and attack you. Like pressing your cheek on a soft pillow without having to worry about bed bugs and filth. Like opening your bedroom door and smelling coffee.

She smiles and follows it right to the kitchen.

She doesn’t expect to find Castiel standing next to the coffee machine. He is in his usual attire, looking exactly as the last time she’s seen him. He looks up as soon as she enters and smiles politely at her. “Good morning” he says, “Would you like some coffee?”.

She smiles back, nods and waits for him to fill her a mug.

Then she sits at the table and watches as Dean appears on the door, his eyes sleepy, his hair messy, the belt of his robe loosely tied. He waves lazily in her direction then goes straight towards Castiel, holding out a hand to grab the mug that he was already offering him. No words between them, just soft smiles, as if it’s a thing they do every day. She has not been around the Winchesters that much but she is fairly sure she’s never seen a more content expression on Dean’s face.

He sits down next to her and closes his eyes, lost in the smell of the coffee.

“Good morning to me” she reads on his lips, with his eyes still closed, as if he’s talking to himself.

So, you know, Eileen is a very good observer. It’s a crucial skill for a hunter, especially someone who hunts alone and has no extra pair of eyes to rely on.

Later that day, Eileen and Sam are pressed against each other on a couch, both ignoring how “sharing a laptop” is a such a lame excuse for two adults to sit closely together. But whatever. Sam is showing her a restricted online archive about lore in European historical findings that he was able to crack into when she catches Dean passing by the door and she remembers about that morning.

“Sam,” she interrupts whatever he was saying on some magical old stones. “can I ask you a question?”

He nods. “Sure.”

“Castiel and your brother,” she signs, hoping that that’s enough input for Sam. Clearly it isn’t, because he keeps looking as if he’s expecting her to go on. “Are they… together?”

He frowns and ask: “Together? As in…?”

In response she signs: “Love.”

Sam has the funniest reaction. His face goes blank and he starts staring into the distance as if he’s processing a word he is not used to hear. He snaps out of it right when Eileen is wondering if she should wave a hand in front of his face. “No,” he says, “it’s not like that.”

She gives him a look as if to say “Please”.

“Really, they – they are like brothers.”

Eileen makes a disgusted face and signs: “Brothers?”

He makes an annoyed face back. “Yes. It’s not like that,” he repeats.

“They act like a couple,” she signs.

He shakes his head. “You are wrong.”

“It looks like there’s something more between them,” she insists in the face of his blunt denial. “Wanna bet?” she signs raising her eyebrows.

Sam frowns and signs: “I’m not betting on my brother.”

“Come on.” she says, then signs “If I win, I want you to cook for me.”

Sam laughs. “I can just do it. No need for any of this.”

She shakes her head and smiles: “Don’t worry, you will. When I win.”

ii.

They’ve been working like crazy, taking all kinds of jobs up and down the state. It’s tiring but as a team of four they can get it down in a fraction of the time it would take if they were on their own. Plus, it’s definitely more fun even if it feels like they barely have the time to put down their bags before something else comes up and they’re out of the bunker again.

This time, it looks like a simple enough job that could take two days top. Sam is checking their supplies once again and Castiel is sitting at the map table flipping through a magazine when Dean finally appears in the room.

“Alright, let’s go” he says clapping his hands together.

Sam looks up and makes an horrified face: “Wait. Dean, what are you wearing?”

“What? Oh, yeah. It’s a cowboy shirt.”

“You can’t wear that. With that thing on your shoulders. We are not going trick or treating.”

“Hey! Don’t insult the shirt.”

Eileen laughs at the exchange so Sam addresses her. “Eileen, please tell him.”

She just shrugs amused and Sam looks betrayed so Dean keeps going: “It’s not my fault we’ve been out all week and I didtn’t have time to do my laundry. This is the only clean thing I have left.”

“Well, you can’t come dressed like that. Just take one of mine.”

“You have freakishly long arms, Sam, I’m gonna look like I’ve shrunked in my clothes.”

Eileen turns to Castiel who seems engrossed in his magazine that has titles on the cover of the kind “Top 10 poisonous plants you can find in the jungle” right next to “What colours should you paint your garden shed”. It looks like he is used to it and knows that staying away from their arguments is the safest strategy to survive with the Winchesters. She taps him on his shoulder. “What do you think?” she signs, interrupting Dean and Sam who are still going at it.

Castiel looks up but Dean cuts him off before he can open his mouth: “Why are you asking him for? He has never changed once in his life.”

Castiel shoots him an annoyed look but doesn’t respond to the provocation. “Did you check the laundry room?” he says calmly instead.

Sam glances over his shoulder to look at him.

Dean just stares, seemingly confused.

“You always forget your clean clothes in the laundry room. There should be a red one that you haven’t wore this week yet. I assume it’s still there.”

Dean thinks about it for a few seconds, then nods: “Yeah, you’re probably right. Be right back.”

Castiel sighs and goes back to his magazine without another word.

Sam’s gaze meets Eileen’s. She raises her eyebrows and signs “Cute”.

Sam mouths back. “It means nothing”.

She just laughs and takes the stairs.

iii.

It’s a rainy afternoon and they are keeping busy cleaning their weapons and filling shotgun shells of rock salt. At some point Sam looks up from where he is sitting right next to Eileen.

“Hey Cas,” he says “remember that book that you were reading last week about sigils? I wondered if I could borrow that. I wanted to scan it and send it around to other hunters.”

“Sounds like a good plan. I’ll give to you later.”

“Oh, no, there’s no rush if you are still reading it.”

“It’s not bother. I’m not reading tonight anyway. I’m watching a movie with Dean.”

Dean, on the other side of the table, lifts his gaze for a moment at the sound of his name then goes back to his gun.

“O-okay, thanks.” says Sam.

Eileen meets his gaze briefly and holds back a smile.

Only when they are left alone she nudges him with an elbow and Sam knows immediately what she is going to address.

He grumbles: “They watch movies together all the time, they are friends!”

Eileen shakes her head. “But why haven’t they invited us?” she signs, then answers her own question: “Date night.”

“No, you don’t understand. Dean has been showing him all the stuff he doesn’t know.”

“I understand very well that I won the bet” she says challenging him.

Sam sighs and signs. “There is no bet. And it’s not like that.”

iv.

They are on a hunt. Well, actually they are at some kind of fair. The spirit they are chasing has shown up in all the towns that the travelling fair has hit in the past few months, so the safest bet is that it’s somehow hunting the place.

For now, they are just walking around in the crowd, keeping an eye out for anything suspicious. They have a duffel bag full of salt, shotguns and blades but from the outside they just look like four people that have come out to enjoy the fair on a fine evening.

Dean is in a very good mood. “I can’t believe they still do these things” was his comment on the way there and since they’ve arrived he has been complaining that he can’t stop at none of the games before the job is done. Eileen finds endearing the way he manages to protect that part of him that makes him excited for things like that even with the life he has. It’s not easy to reconcile the image of that man with sparkly eyes with the one she has seen swaying a machete a couple of days before.

“Hey!” he shouts at one point, jogging a few feet ahead of them and waving to get their attention. “Guys, look, it’s Cas!” He stops at one of the stands and grabs a tan teddy bear with a blue tie that is on display. Sam snorts and Dean keeps grinning like it’s the funniest thing ever and points at Castiel who has an expression on his face that seems to say Did we really stop for this? “It’s you!” Dean laughs again “I bet you didn’t know you had a twin, uh?”

“Alright, let’s go,” Sam tries to get them moving again and Dean jogs back up to them and falls in steps with Castiel.

Eileen looks his way in time to see him put his arm around Castiel’s shoulders and pull him close. His lips read: “What? It was adorable. Wanna win it for me later?”

She turns her face to look at Sam and finds him next to her.

“Adorable” she mouths at him. He rolls his eyes. “He just likes to joke”.

It happens again and again. Eileen looks pointedly at Sam when Dean pops into the kitchen to say “Me and Cas are going out. Need anything?” or when they find them engaged in a serious conversation or sharing a drink. She looks at him whenever Dean calls Castiel “Sunshine” and whenever Castiel asks “Where’s Dean?” before he even gets both of his feet in the room.

Sam dismisses every moment, finds every excuse for them. They’ve always been like that. Can’t two friends do it? Does it have to mean something? It’s just the way they are.

Now, Sam is in a sticky diner with his brother who is across from him and can’t seem to sit still. A couple of days before they got two calls in a matter of hours and they’ve gone north while Eileen has gone south. Coincidentally Cas has been contacted about a lead on God’s position so he’s gone too.

So it’s just the two of them again and Dean is tapping on the screen of his phone every two seconds as if he doesn’t trust that it will let him know if he has a new notification.

“Dude, what’s up with you?” snaps Sam when he can’t take anymore of his fidgeting.

“Cas.” he grumbles. “I texted him last night and I got no word back yet. We said we would check in with each other every night, so...” he frowns.

“I’m sure he is fine” Sam says, before thanking the waiter that brings them their food.

Setting down his plate his gaze falls on his own phone, and he is reminded of the last time he texted Eileen and she has taken a long time to reply. How he worried, how he needed to know she was fine. How he feels on his fingertips the need to type something to her right now. How he can’t wait to see her again.

He looks up at Dean who’s taking a bite of his burger.

“What?” he says with his mouth full in response to his staring,

Sam smiles a little. “Nothing.”

Dean takes another bite, still watching him so Sam sighs. “Dean,” he dares, “with Cas. I mean… is there…”

He gets interrupted by Dean’s phone lighting up with an incoming call. His brother drops his burger and picks it up without a care for his greasy hands.

“Finally.” He says, then presses it against his ear: “What did we say, uh? How many times I gotta tell you?” he barks in lieu of Hello.

Sam watches him while he listens to whatever Castiel is saying on the other end. He sees his forehead striped with worried lines relax by the second.

When Dean speaks again his voice is definitely softer. “You are an idiot, but alright. Yeah, we just got here,” the frown disappears and his voice goes quieter still, “Okay. Yeah, I’ll see you at home.” his eyes flicker to Sam and he clears his throat so when he speaks again his tone is back to normal. “Remind me to kick your ass for making me worry.”

Castiel says something back that Sam assumes sounds like You can try because Dean’s eyebrows rise comically. “What? You don’t think I can take you?” he says. “Yeah tough guy, anytime. Wanna bet?”

Sam tunes out. He touches his phone and opens up his conversation with Eileen. He types:

Alright, what do you want me to cook?

I am participating in the spnstayathomechallenge by @bend-me-shape-me @pray4jensen @helianthus21

#spnstayathome #monday 4: bet #deancas #destiel #deancas fanfiction #okay so 1 i really like 'like a bear dean'#2 i really like 'they are basically married deancas'#an unapologetic about it #no actual focus on sam and eileen even if in my head they are a thing in this one #saileen #hey look this one has a title #im making progress #i don't actually believe sam is this oblivious but i needed him to be #ive always wanted to write a 4 times + 1 kind of thing #i tried #deancas ficlet #deancas ficlets #my writing

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oceantail-oceantail · 4 years ago

Text

Skephalo Week, Day 1: Soulmates

Title: spin me right round (read on ao3)

Summary:

Bad’s red string of fate that looped around his pinky always jumped around, always spinning around him as his soulmate traveled across the world. They never seemed to stay in the same place for longer than a year.

Every time it moved, he used his father’s compass and globe to estimate where they might be and wrote down his calculations in his journal.

It was quite a coincidence that the locations matched up almost perfectly with Skeppy’s timeline of traveling.

Bad’s string didn’t appear when he was born. It wasn’t a big deal, around 50% of babies were born without a complete string. His soulmate just wasn’t born yet.

If anything, most people preferred to be older than their soulmate. It gave them just a bit more information on their perfect half: the age difference and their birthday.

And sure enough, almost 5 years later, Bad’s string flared to life, stretching northward.

He marked down the date in a small leather journal his mother gave him, in horrible, scribbly four-year-old handwriting.

January 17th, 2000.

~~~

Bad’s string always jumped around, always changing the direction it was coming from.

His soulmate never seemed to stay in the same place for longer than a year.

It started off stretching north. The day it appeared, his father flipped open an ancient looking compass and presented him a massive world globe. Bad spent the rest of the day learning about the Red String of Fate and how to use a compass and a globe to estimate where his soulmate might be, stretching his tiny fingers across the wide expanse of the globe, tracing outlines of different continents and oceans. (Later there would be computer programs to more accurately triangulate positioning, but his father always loved sticking to tradition).

The string only pointed north for a year before it did a complete 180 and now tugged out southward. It was a little embarrassing to admit that he brought his compass and globe to a kindergarten show-and-tell and figured out his soulmate’s new location in front of the class. (“and based on the direction, increase in movement, and degree, I think that they’re in Tampa!”). (Looking back, he was almost right. Clearwater, Florida was only a 30 minute drive from Tampa).

By the end of high school, Bad had several locations scribbled down in his journal, not even including locations that lasted only a week or two ( vacations, most likey).

-North, still in the US, Ohio, Indiana, Michigan?

-TAMPA, FLORIDA

-Farther north than before, Canada or the northernest states??? Ontario (Toronto maybe)

-California? Nevada? Definitely west coast

-Northeast coast, New York or New Jersey area

-Northwest coast? Higher than Nevada/California. Oregon or Washington?

The strangest change happened just after he graduated high school. The red sting pointed directly eastward, out into the open ocean.

That angle was an interesting one. And since it remained steady in that direction, he knew his soulmate wasn’t back in Florida. That means they lived on the other side of the world, and based on some quick calculations with his globe and compass, he would probably guess they were somewhere in the Middle East or Asia.

Bad only lived in one city his whole life and he genuinely wondered how his soulmate felt about having to move around all the time. The thought of having to adapt to a new school and a new city sounded terrifying to him.

But regardless, for as long as he could remember, his red string of fate always seemed to be spinning around him as his soulmate traveled across the world.

~~~

The muffinhead who tried to apply to be a mod on MunchyMC was so annoying. When the call ended, Bad could feel the beginning of a headache building up behind his forehead.

He had no idea why he didn’t decline the call the next time he called.

It was probably his imagination, but his string almost seemed… brighter?

~~~

A simple internet search informed him that Skeppy's birthday was January 17th, 2000.

Bad hit Ctrl+W as fast as he could and slammed his laptop shut.

For as much as he loved puzzling out where his soulmate was on the other end of his red string when he was younger, it was a completely different situation to have his potential soulmate one Skype call away.

~~~

Apparently, Skeppy would be moving in with TapL and Spifey in L.A. Bad was happy for them of course, but he couldn’t help the simmering of annoyance that churned in his stomach.

Did he have the right to be jealous? He and Skeppy had been talking about a meet up for months now and it still hasn’t happened. Bad had always been an indecisive person and he knew his inability to commit to a meet-up must have been aggravating for his much more energetic and decisive friend. It was his own insecurity and nervousness that prevented him from meeting up with Skeppy first, right?

It didn’t matter in the end though, he decided. Now just wasn't the right time. Besides, he’d only known Skeppy for just over a year at this point. Bad had known plenty of other online friends for much longer and he didn’t meet up with them yet either.

Next year, in 2020, maybe he’d be ready.

The day Skeppy was set to fly to L.A. the string slowly stopped from pulling south, and started pulling west.

~~~

The only excuse Bad has was that it was late at night and he was tired.

Vulnerability in general was complex for him. There was a surprising amount of accurate information out there about him either told by himself or his friend. He finds it easy to talk about stories from his life, sharing with his viewers random anecdotes and information but his online personality is different than his personal life. It’s hard to be vulnerable, truly vulnerable, especially with someone you love.

He stayed on TeamSpeak with Skeppy for hours, whispered conversations and secrets spilling out between them with only accompanied by the light tapping of their keyboards and soft mouse clicks as they aimlessly wander around the SMP.

Bad learned that Skeppy’s string was anchored in one spot. No matter where he moved across the world, the string alway pointed unerringly back to his unmoving soulmate.

Skeppy spent the first portion of the night rambling about the places he’s traveled in his short 19 years of life.

It was quite a coincidence that the locations matched up almost perfectly with Skeppy’s timeline of traveling.

When the sun rises over the horizon, they both pretended to not remember what happened.

The string keeps moving and moving, spinning him around and around.

~~~

Skeppy, TapL, and Spifey's lease on their L.A. house expired in Febuary and the string moved back south, stretching towards what Bad knows is Clearwater, Florida.

By May, Skeppy's already bored of Florida and packs up to move to Texas. Bad's string adjusted accordingly.

A trip back to L.A., then back to Clearwater, then to Dubai, back to Clearwater, then to Las Vegas for his 21st birthday, and back again to Florida.

Everytime Skeppy traveled, Bad's string followed.

~~~

Skeppy was a lightweight.

Only two shots in and completely wasted. Truly astonishing. Coupled with the fact that he was streaming, it was just a recipe for disaster.

Bad was trying desperately to keep his frustration at bay, hoping the irritation and desperation didn’t leach into his voice. He really hoped Skeppy wouldn’t mind him pulling this card when he watched back the VOD back sober, but at this point he just needed Skeppy to end stream before he could accidentally dox himself or spill even more embarrassing information about himself.

“Who’s going to pick me up from the airport?”

Skeppy’s reply was tentative, almost fragile. “I will.”

Bad pushed the advantage, ignoring the way his red string seemed to hum at his words. “Well, if you’re streaming you can’t be there.”

“Bad, I’ll pick you up,” Skeppy said, his voice soft, impossibly soft.

Bad felt his annoyance fade away, replaced with a rush of affection. “Alright, well end your steam and you can pick me up at the airport once we meet up in, a couple weeks or months or whatever.”

“Okay fine,” Skeppy whined, burying his face in his hands, “I’ll end it for Bad. Goodnight guys.”

He was going to have a long talk with that muffinhead after the hangover passed.

~~~

Bad didn't text Skeppy when the plane landed.

Skeppy should know.

~~~

“Hey dude!” Skeppy exclaimed, spotting Bad from across the baggage claim. Bad yanked his last suitcase off the conveyor belt before turning to glance up at his best friend, who was half-walking half-jogging awkwardly towards him. Skeppy’s body language screamed of apprehensive exhilaration, but Bad probably wasn’t much better. His hands trembled as securing his last piece of luggage on his cart.

Skeppy’s gaze was flickering back and forth between Bad’s face and the glowing red string stretching between their pinky fingers. He didn’t look surprised to see it, just nervous.

That one realization sent an inordinate amount of relief crashing over him. Skeppy wasn’t surprised. He knew. I knew. He’s here!

“BAD!” Skeppy finally crashed into him, wrapping his arms tightly around him in a hug, and Bad buried his head into Skeppy’s shoulder with a laugh.

“Skeppy!”

Their shared string of fate glowed brighter.

#this was a wip before the prompts were released lol #i probs wont do the whole week bc i cant commit like that wtf #skephalo #badboyhalo #skeppy #Celia writes

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zmediaoutlet · 4 years ago

Note

Prompt: Dean gets cursed into being a virgin again. Blushing, fake bravado, the whole shebang. Sam has to break the spell. It'd be fun if Dean tends to become slightly more demure/blushy once Sam takes control, because that man clearly knows what he's doing (and knows Dean's body well enough to play him like a symphony) while Dean, for all his pretending and show-confidence... doesn't.

(read on AO3)

“This doesn’t make any sense,” Sam says,and he knows he’s repeating himself but it’s just—

“Yeah, I heard you the first five times,” Deansays. Sam sighs, tipping down the screen on his laptop so the light’s not inhis eyes, but it doesn’t help at all with looking at Dean like—this.

A spell, is their best guess. Some kind of ritual, done bysome kind of practitioner—witch or hoodoo priest or a hopeful, weird, luckywiccan—and if they’re right it’s to prepare sacrifices, to whatever small godhas been lured to this small town. Making the harvests fruitful, making theseasons mild. Right now it’s a warm spring trembling on the cusp of summer, theforest full of gold light and the lake an idyll, and the town would be gorgeousif it didn’t have unexplained disappearances, once a season of people gonewho’d been acting strange just before they left, and when they found bodies,later, they were hardly recognizable because the people were emptied out.Husks, like they’d been drunk dry of life. It wouldn’t even be that bad,really, because they’ve both seen their share of weird deaths, if when Deancame back from the liquor store he hadn’t had his jacket zipped up to thethroat, and his face flaming, and his voice stuttering and stumbly as he toldSam that something—something’s wrong.

“You don’t remember—” Sam tries, and Dean rollshis eyes, immediately, says, “I told you, I don’t remember any of it.”

He’d been panicky, when he came back. Panicked, like theyhardly ever got anymore unless one or the other of them was dying, but it wasbecause of a woman, some random woman, who smiled at him in a certain way thathe couldn’t even describe, and when Sam snorted and said sounds like she was hitting on you, Dean had stared at him confusedand said, what do you mean?

“Dean,” Sam says, helpless. Dean’s ears and cheeksand throat, all bright red, and his arms folded defensive across his chest. “You’rethirty-six. You’ve slept with I don’t even want to know how many people. You’vehad sex. Jesus, you’ve had sex with me.”

Dean blushes harder. Tomato from his hairline to that tightclosed collar. Sam’s just as lost as he was an hour ago, but Dean just looks…miserable. Sam’s getting there himself. “What about last night?” Samtries. They don’t talk about this kind of stuff, much, but they’ve beentogether long enough that it’s not special. Except in how it is. He swivels hischair around, leans forward, tries to look—calm. “Talk to me. Whathappened?”

Dean rolls his eyes. Changed but not. Some kind of comfort. “Wedrove in to town,” he says, annoyed in that way he gets when he’s freakedout about something. “You bitched about the radio selections, like always.We got some dinner, and you bitched about what I ordered, like always. We got amotel room, and I showered before bed, and then I went to sleep. Like always.”

“Except that’s not—” Sam drags his hand over hisface, and doesn’t miss how Dean’s eyes jump all over, from his eyes to his handto his chest. “Dean. We slept together. Last night, after dinner, afteryou showered. Right here, on that bed.”

He gets big eyes, and a head-shake, and an honest-to-godquiver of the lip. “We didn’t,” Dean says, but soft and uncertain,and it’d be weird enough as it is but it’s way, way fucking weirder with Deanall—

“I don’t get it,” Sam says. He stands up anddoesn’t miss, either, how Dean flinches back, how he squirms with his kneestogether on the edge of the mattress. Dean’s got the Mark of Cain on his armand he’s treating Sam like he’s the predator. What kind of cruel joke is Sam’slife. He pushes his hand through his hair, looking at the research they’vemanaged to scrounge up in the past twenty-four hours. Missing people, theirpictures stuck to the wall. “Offerings, right? To something. Mostly youngbut not always, mostly women but not always, and with you like—like this—Iguess it’s—”

“Virgin sacrifice,” Dean says, and when Sam turnsaround he’s not red anymore but patchy pink-and-white, his eyes huge, and Samgoes right to his side and grips his shoulders, and Dean flinches still but helooks at Sam like he’s the only thing in the world.

“It’s not going to happen,” Sam says, and Deanlooks back and forth between his eyes before his attention fixes to Sam’smouth, and when it does he squeezes his eyelids tight, turns his face away likeit hurts. Sam cups the side of his neck, instinct, and Dean shudders under hishands like it’s revolting but doesn’t move to get away.

“You’re—” Sam starts, but bites the inside of hischeek before he can say it. Afraid. Disgusted. Virgin, his brainsupplies, and immediately after supplies Dean grinning and lascivious as heducked down Sam’s body, the night before, as he opened up Sam’s jeans andsucked down his dick like it was a treat he’d been looking forward to all day.Knowing Dean, it might well have been. Sam licks his lips and touches his thumbto the column of Dean’s throat, dragging slow even pressure down to the hollow,just above where he’s zipped up tight, and Dean actually—trembles, under hishands, like Sam hasn’t felt since—since he was soulless, that once, and healmost rips his hands away except that this isn’t that. He’s… almost onehundred percent sure, that it isn’t that.

“Tell me,” Sam says. His voice feels sore and heclears his throat. “What it feels like, Dean, tell me.”

Comes out harder when he tries again. Dean breathes shaky,eyelashes shuttered low. His cheek’s a line of hot pink, strange contrastagainst the stubble he’s let grow nearly into a beard. “I don’t—” hesays, and swallows, quivery against Sam’s hand. “I don’t get it. Whatyou’re—doing. I don’t know why you’re touching me like that.”

“Do you want me to?” Sam says. Almost ten years,he hasn’t had to ask.

Dean’s mouth opens, and closes. His eyes slide toward Sam’sface and he laughs, sort of, a strange unhappy sound. “It’s so fuckingweird, dude,” he says, and sounds a little more like himself. He lifts ahand and barely, barely touches Sam’s forearm, fingertips so light Sam almostdoesn’t feel them. “I—damn it, I’m freaking out, with you so close, andtouching me, and your—body—” His eyes squeeze closed, which is luckybecause Sam can’t imagine what’s on his face right now. “I just don’tknow,” Dean continues, low. “I can’t—I want to get away but I can’t.And I want—I want something, but I don’t know what it is. Like there’ssomething I’ve been waiting for and I’m gonna get it, but at the same time itfeels like—like I’m gonna die, if I get it. And I want it anyway.”

Virgins, Sam thinks, and a rolodex in the back of his headoffers up a dozen gods, a dozen rituals, too many spells to count. Virgins,scared and ripe, ready to be eaten up in exchange for all sorts of wonderfulthings. Yesterday they went to the morgue and looked at the last victim, awoman who’d been twenty-six when last seen by her husband, and on the metaltable she’d been torn open, her skin shrunk down to the bone, her eyes blackholes in her face. Used up.

“Doesn’t make sense,” Sam says, again, and Deanturns his face away, huffs with annoyance. Trembling still, like he’s therabbit and Sam’s the snake. Sam lets his hands go light but Dean doesn’t try toget away. “A spell. Right? But virginity isn't—anything. Physically, Imean. What matters is—”

That moment, he thinks, but it’s hard even to pin down. Toquantify or explain. That place where the hazy understanding from furtivewhispers and porn turns into something known. The facts immaterial in the faceof that shock of—he doesn’t even know how to think about it, really, but infront of him Dean really, really doesn’t.

“How long was it?” Sam says. He sounds rough.“Between when the victims went missing and when they were found?”

“Three days,” Dean says. The color in his cheekhasn’t faded.

Dean was gone for two months, not two months ago. Sam dragshis hands down Dean’s arms and squeezes his wrists. He’s not sure he’d make itthrough three days of Dean gone, at this point.

“Okay,” he says, and leans forward, and kissesDean’s mouth.

A flinch. “What,” Dean says, breathy, and Samgrabs his jaw and holds him in place to be kissed again, taking it even if it’snot offered. Dean’s hands come up to press uncertain against Sam’schest—pushing, sort of, but so light it’s like it’s not his brother, who couldwrestle him to the floor if he wanted, who could break his arm if he wanted.His mouth’s soft, yielding, and when Sam licks inside Dean makes this highstrange sound in the back of his throat like he’s being hurt and doesn’tparticipate, doesn’t grin and kiss Sam back, doesn’t grip Sam close and lean inlike this is the best part of his day.

“Fuck,” Sam says, as he breaks away, and Deanblinks at him huge-eyed, his mouth still half-open like he doesn’t know how itgot there. “Do you—” Dean shakes his head. Sam palms the side of hisface, this vague churn of nausea starting in his gut. “You want me tostop.”

Dean opens his mouth wider and then hangs, breathing, likehe can’t get the words out. Spells, Sam thinks, and sacrifice. Willing andnot-willing, beautiful and afraid. It’s as clever as it is vile. He closes hiseyes, ducks his head in closer so it’s nearly a hug, and Dean does touch himthen, a light hand on his side. Not knowing how to consent to things they don’tunderstand, so they can’t say no and they can’t say yes, either.

Well. Sam knows his brother, and he knows what��s waiting, ifsomething else catches him. “I’m not going to stop,” Sam says. Queercertainty, in the face of Dean’s confusion. “Dean. You’re not—I’m notletting you be one of those people.”

Frowning—confusion, like he has no idea what Sam’s talking about—andgod, maybe he doesn’t, but that doesn’t make this any less necessary. “Takeoff your clothes,” Sam says, and Dean gapes at him. Sam squeezes his eyesshut and pulls off his own shirt, his undershirt, yanking them over his headand tossing them aside, and when he looks again Dean’s staring at his bareskin, at his tattoo, and Sam ignores that because this skin should be familiarground, ten years and whole lives and deaths between them and Dean shouldn’tlook at him like anything but a known quantity. He hauls Dean closer with apull on his wrist and Dean staggers in, and Sam gets the zip on the jackethalfway down before Dean has time to more than paw at him, futile. “Stopit,” Sam says—asks—but of course Dean can’t help it, weird compulsion takingover his body, and so Sam has to just—muscle through it, shoving Dean’s handsaway and stripping off the jacket, pulling it down his arms and taking hisovershirt with it, and pulling the black tee over his head, and when he’s nakedfrom the waist up he wraps his arms around himself, like it’s something Sam hasn’tseen. Like that soft stretch of his stomach, like his chest that Sam’s bittenup and slept against, like that isn’t familiar ground. He looks at Samstartled, like he wasn’t Sam’s first time with a guy, both of them bruised andtheir knuckles sore and Sam desperate to prove—what, he doesn’t even remember.Like he didn’t hold Sam in the night, not two months ago, and kiss his jaw andsay I’m sorry, I’m sorry, like Sam needed an apology in the face of havinghim, having his body, home and safe again.

But Dean doesn’t remember those things. Sam kicks off hisboots, peels off his socks and jeans and underwear until he’s bare, and Deanstares at him with his face almost vacant. “I’m gonna take care of you,”Sam says, and Dean says, a strange note in his voice, “But this isn’t foryou,” and when Sam reaches out Dean backs up, nervous, until he hits themattress with the back of his knees. Sam’s hand curls helpless in the air, a second,before he reaches out and grips Dean’s wrist, hard.

It’s a fight and it’s not. Dean pulls away but there’s nostrength to him, and even if Sam’s been able to outclass him for years now itshouldn’t be like this, with Sam fresh off an injury and Dean with the marklighting up his blood. It’s easy, easy, way easier than it should be, and Deantwists but it’s all a playact, a show. Virgin from a movie, pink-cheeked and ignorant,not knowing what Sam’s going to do to him—what whatever ravenous thing wasgoing to do, what it might have bitten into and eaten out of him.

Naked with the lamps still on, Dean’s pale-golden, red fromhis ears to his throat to his chest, his thighs clamped tight, his dick soft.He puts his hands up when Sam grips him and shoves him further up the bed butof course he doesn’t push Sam away—his hands gripping at Sam’s shoulders buttoo lax to do anything about it. Sam hardly has to force it to get his kneesapart, to slide up between them where he’s home, but Dean’s face is scrunchedtight, turned away. “Can you—” Sam says, but on second thought he doesn’twant Dean to look at him—not like this, not with that tight fearful tip to hismouth.

He kisses Dean there, instead, and if he doesn’t have toforce it he can be—soft. Kind of soft. Dean lets out a small hurt noise but Samignores it, kisses him again, and props himself up on one hand so he can tipDean’s chin up, and kisses him gentle and unmet by affection on the lips,pressing in soft to lick inside. Dean’s fingers curl against his chest and heshudders but it’ll have to do, because Sam’s not going to fuck Dean without kissinghim—they’re better than that, now, and Sam’s not going back no matter how vilethis feels.

Despite everything—Dean’s taste, the same. The smell of him,the same. Sam dips and breathes against Dean’s jaw, brushes his lips againstthe too-long stubble, and despite everything his dick’s lengthening, pressingup against the soft inside of Dean’s thigh. He holds Dean’s throat and kisseshis collarbone and Dean’s chest hitches, unexpected, and Sam presses hisforehead there against Dean’s tattoo and slides his hand down, cups Dean’s softdick small in his hand and squeezes, gentle, coaxing. This at least isgenuinely new, to both of them. “You think you can get there?” hesays, something flickering inside. Dean makes a wounded noise, his thighs squeezingaround Sam’s hips, gripping at Sam’s shoulders enough to dig his nails in butno strength to push him away, and Sam kisses his pec, the skin soft and familiar—suckshis nipple in, the puffy soft of it just right under his tongue, and he’d biteusually because it makes Dean squirm and laugh and push at him hard, makes Deansay it’s not a friggin salad bar, freak, but with Dean like this—he’s careful,lapping slow, sucking just enough that the soft skin pulls between his lips, Deanalways as soft here as a girl—and—ah, there, Dean’s back arches and his handslips to the back of Sam’s neck, his dick plumping, a little. A little. Hisnipple buds up in Sam’s mouth and Sam groans for it, his own dick sliding up againstthe soft curve where Dean’s ass meets his thigh, and Sam has to pull away,breathing hard, while Dean pants above his head, confused.

“That’s not—” Dean says, and Sam picks up his headto find Dean frowning down at him, mouth red and tooth-dented, and Sam switchesto the other nipple, suckling it to a reluctant firmness, rolling Dean’s littledick in his grip while Dean squirms and faux-struggles and arches under him,learning something new.

Virgins, Sam’s been thinking, this whole time. Not anythingbased in reality but a symbol full of power nevertheless, and what symbolism isrequired to break it. What they’ve done before but what Dean doesn’t remember.What he’s scared of, every time his hips hitch under Sam’s and his knees dragup, trying to close.

When he’s done Dean’s chest is wet, his nipples even puffierthan before, worked red. He dips lower, kisses Dean’s shuddery stomach, kisses wherethe barely-there line of hair leads down to his dick—kisses his dick, wet, andfeels Dean’s thighs cringe up around his shoulders pressing them open, and whenhe sucks in one of Dean’s balls Dean cries out, sliding his hands into Sam’shair, pulling as much as he can. “Does it feel good?” Sam says,stupid instinct, and stupider when he looks up and Dean’s shaking his head,helpless. His face—

“Fuck, Dean,” Sam says, and buries his face therein the crease of Dean’s thigh and kisses whatever he can reach, touching himcareful, because Dean's—

“Stop,” Dean says, cracked, crying, and Sam shakeshis head and touches Dean’s asshole finally, what he’s been inching toward thiswhole time, because he knows how virgin sacrifices work and what’s going to berequired of them, here, and Dean actually does twist away, then—sets his heelsin the bed and pushes, trying to put distance between them. His dick’s halfwayto hard but that doesn’t matter—his body flushed, waking up to what Sam’s alwaysknown how to do to it, but that doesn’t matter—because whatever awful thing wantsit to hurt, wants it sore, and Sam pushes up, kneels revolted for a bare second,and then catches Dean around the thighs, drags him back into place.

“Dean—” he says, and he doesn’t know if he’s eversounded so pleading, but Dean twists his face away, panting, and Sam catcheshis forearm and pushes it back against the bed, his hand covering up the mark,and Dean of course stays there because even if he’s supposed to fight he’s notallowed to win. Sam clenches his jaw, closes his eyes, but he knows what he’sgot to do. He’s not going to let Dean get hurt by another hand ever again, ifhe can help it.

Dean cries out again when Sam presses lube-slick fingersagainst him—goes still, shocked, when the fingers press inside. Sam starts withtwo by habit but Dean’s tight, a vicious band of heat around his knuckles, and hewatches Dean’s face, careful. He knows Dean’s body but Dean’s body isn’tDean’s, right now. Panting at the ceiling, his hand that Sam hasn’t trappedgripping at the polyester blanket. “Talk to me,” Sam says, desperate,“tell me if it hurts, come on—”

“It doesn't—” Dean starts, and Sam pushes deeper,working the lube in as far as he can. Dean’s jaw drops, his thigh tipping out.Normally Sam might grin triumph and Dean would roll his eyes and smack him andsay, more, bitch, and Sam would—but he pulls his hand away, now,drizzles more lube in and pushes in again and Dean hitches breath, muscleflexing unexpectedly as he pulls at the blanket.

“First time,” Sam says, aching. He can’t fix itbut he can make it less—how it is. “You bet me fifty bucks and an oilchange that I couldn’t make you come like this, just my fingers. We had Pieces ofEight on the tapedeck, and we got to Queen of Spades before you started to—and fuck,it was hot, Dean, I know you can’t remember but it was the hottest thing I eversaw.”

“Sam,” Dean says, wet stripes down his temples andhis mouth trembling, and Sam says, “I’m gonna fuck you now,” and Deangrimaces and covers his face with his hand, and Sam picks his hips up, his assplush and sweet in Sam’s lap, tipped up so Sam’s got easy access to get justthe right angle, and he lets Dean’s forearm go—bloodless impression of his handoutlined around the mark, that’s gonna bruise, fuck—and pulls Dean’s hand away,holds it while he presses his dick against where he’s made Dean wet and soft, wherehe’s gonna bust him open.

“You like this, Dean, I promise you do,” Sam says,kind of desperate, and Dean shakes his head, chest heaving on a sob, but he’slooking Sam in the eyes, and that means Sam can see it when he pushes inside,Dean’s body giving up space around him the way it always has, tight-and-then-soft,hot, right. Right.

Dean stops shaking, the fine quiver in his skin stilling.Sam pushes deeper, the slick between them just enough from long practice, andDean’s thighs tip wider, his face an open shock. When Sam bottoms out he staysstill, and when he lets Dean’s hand go Dean doesn’t shove at him or try to getaway. He keeps his eyes on Dean’s face and lets him feel it—feels it himself,in a way he hasn’t. That perfect grip and Dean’s skin, and his eyes, wet andthe lashes clumped and dark but locked in, on Sam’s. Strange moment. Separatebut not, anymore, and Sam arches his hips, curving forward and cramming himselfjust that tiny bit deeper, and Dean’s lips part, his cheeks so red he looksburned.

“Feel,” Sam says, and curls in so he can kissDean’s face. Wet and salt, and the heat of that blush. He slips an arm under Dean’sback and rocks his hips just a little, and feels the jolt, and when he lifts upagain Dean looks almost like he doesn’t know where he is. Or like—

“Hey.” Sam grabs his hands, holds them tight.“Hey, are you with me?”

“Sammy,” Dean says, and lifts his hips. Itclenches, inside, and Sam lurches forward, crushing Dean’s legs back so they’realmost pressed to his shoulders. Dean winces but moans, too, and he takes ahand away to curl his arm over Sam’s shoulders, holding him closer.“Sam,” he says again, breathy, and Sam lifts up and kisses him andDean—he doesn’t respond like he should, but he doesn’t just lay there like amannequin, either, and Sam’s so relieved he could cry.

When they pull apart Dean touches his jaw, eyes distant. “Ican't—it’s not the same,” he says, shaking his head. He arches his backand groans, frustrated. “You're—I know something’s coming but I don’t knowwhat.”

Sam shifts, bracing his knees, and gives Dean a real, steadythrust, holding still again as he bottoms out, and Dean grunts, groans again,startled. Not the virgin fakeness—that maybe gone, from that first piercingmoment of someone inside him—but not fixed, not knowing. He grips atSam’s hair, breathes out with his head tipped back on the blanket, and Samfucks into him again, wondering. “Oh—god, god,” Dean says, squirming,“why does that feel so good,” and Sam pushes in and kisses him, intent,rocking his hips for real now, a rhythm they’ve worked out long before,cramming Sam’s dick in just where it does its best work.

“We’re not done,” Sam says, holding Dean’s face.Dean gulps air, rakes his nails against Sam’s shoulder. “I’m going to comein you. Make sure.”

“Jesus,” Dean says, shaky, looking thunderstruck.He hooks a leg around the back of Sam’s, arches, and his face goes distant asSam jolts up inside him at a new angle. God, he feels good. Hard now, too,between them. “What’s that like?”

Sam groans, lifting up. Dean’s spread out, below him, anopen feast. His eyes still uncertain but trusting Sam to know. “You’llsee,” Sam says. He cups Dean’s balls in his hand, rolling them soft, andwatches Dean’s face go tight, wanting. “Don’t worry. I’ve got you, Dean.”

(Later—much later—Dean shifts, where he’s curled into the commaof Sam’s body. Sam hasn’t let go, really. He says, quiet, What if I’dfought?

Sam opens his eyes, looking at the curve of Dean’s shoulder againstthe light.

I can be—I could’ve hurt you.

Sam rubs his thumb against the tendons in Dean’s forearm.Slides up, to where he left his handprint, and closes his hand soft thereagain. I would’ve done it anyway. Dean’s head turns, enough that Sam cansee the shape of his cheekbone, his eyelashes dark against his cheek. Nothing’staking you away. Not again.

Gleam on Dean’s skin, where the tear-tracks dried. Good,is all Dean says, and Sam closes his eyes, and they sleep.)

#Anonymous #wincest #dubcon #--kinda #forced sex?#idk how to tag stuff anymore

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i-like-5sos · 4 years ago

Text

No Idea [Malum Fic]

PAIRING: Calum Hood x Michael Clifford

WORD COUNT: 6428

WARNINGS: Drinking, swearing, and just some angst

SUMMARY: After moving across the country to escape the heartache that high school brings and to begin his first year at University, Michael finds himself face to face with the very person that caused his heartbreak: Calum Hood.

A/N: This was made specifically for Mandie for The Club Fic Gift Exchange ! It’s been a hot minute since I’ve written any mxm BUT I’ve missed it and can’t wait to start writing more (if you have any suggestions on how to improve please send them my way, I’ll take all the help I can get).

Fifteen minutes late. I’m fifteen minutes late to my first class as a University student. Great.

I burst out through the doors of the residency building, almost crashing into some blonde girl who’s face leaves my memory as quickly as it entered, and run as fast as I can across the campus to The Arts building. Thankfully I listened to Mom’s advice and looked up a map of the school last night or I’d be fucked right now. Musical Theory. Monday, 8AM. Room 102: Arts Building. I check the room number on my schedule twice before taking a deep breath and opening the door to my classroom.

The door opens to the back of the room and multiple heads spin around to face me. I can feel my face getting hot as I try to disappear into myself and search for a place to sit down. As to be expected, almost every table in the room is full and there’s nowhere to sit… Unless I want to join one of the tables of three and converse in small talk with a group of people that obviously don’t want me to sit with them- and let’s be clear; I don’t want to do that.

I almost settle for a table with two girls seated at it, but then notice the table in the front of the room with only one person there. Thank god. I head toward the dark-haired boy at the table and quietly sit across from him. He doesn’t react as I sit down, his head buried in his folded arms on the table.

I would normally never be caught dead at the front of the room, but here I am, sitting so close to the professor that I can smell his cheap cologne, having to share a table with some random guy who is probably going to hate me for ruining his table of solitude.

As the class continues, I do my best to follow along with the PowerPoint slides on my screen while also trying to focus on what the professor is saying at the front of the room, but I can’t help but glance over to the brunette across from me every chance I get. His head hasn’t left his arms since I’ve sat down, and I’m pretty sure he’s asleep… Maybe I should wake him up. Maybe he’s dead. I begin to picture what would happen if my classmate had died sitting across from me. Would I have to talk to the police? Would I be a suspect? Am I obligated to go to his funeral and give a speech? What would I even say? What if-

“You will have two months to complete this project and it will be worth thirty percent of your final grade. Get to work.”

I turn to face the Professor, and I realize that I may have zoned out for the entire explanation of a project that’s worth almost a third of my final grade… awesome.

Letting out a sigh, I turn back to read through the notes on my screen and, of course, none of them have anything to do with a huge project. There is no way I am going to ask the professor to repeat everything he’d just said.

As my classmates begin to talk amongst themselves about the project that I know nothing about, I glance over to the boy across from me that may or may not be dead and decide that now’s a good a time as any to find out.

“Hey” I say quietly.

No response.

I repeat myself a little louder, “Hey… Uh, my name’s Michael.”

No response again.

“Dude, seriously?” I huff, before picking up my biggest textbook and dropping it onto the table.

It worked! His head shoots up and I notice the headphones in his ears. That explains a lot. I also notice that the boy I’ve been watching all morning sitting across from me is the same boy I’d spent the majority of my high school years watching from across the room. Calum Hood. I haven’t seen him since our high school graduation last June, but he looks about the same. Same dark hair, same brown eyes, same three moles on his cheek, same annoyed and confused look on his face- oh no wait that’s new.

“Are you trying to give me a heart attack?” He glares at me as he rips the headphones out of his ears.

“I thought you were dead or asleep or something.” I shrug before changing the topic, “I didn’t know you got accepted here.”

“Well, obviously I’m not dead, and if I was sleeping, that was a cruel way to get me to wake up... Remind me never to have you actually wake me up.” He places his headphones into his backpack before continuing. “And um, yeah, I was torn between a few different universities but settled on the one farthest from home… Looks like you did the same?”

I nod and chuckle softly. “Yeah. Fuck that place.”

“How pop punk of you.” He laughs, and it brings me back to being fifteen and pathetically swooning over that very sound, never being the one to have caused it. If only fifteen-year-old me could see me now.

Grounding myself, I quickly try to think of something that isn’t completely embarrassing, and remember the mysterious project that I know mothing about.

“So… did you catch anything the prof was saying about this project worth thirty percent of our grade… cause I might have zoned out the whole time...”

He looks confused for a moment, before directing his attention to his laptop.

“I can’t blame you for not paying attention. Five minutes into his lecture I stopped listening to him and started listing to my music instead. Figured I could just read the Power Point later tonight.” He types something before continuing, “I looked through the material on the class page before the lecture started and I think I saw something about a group project that was worth thirty percent… let me just… Okay yeah, here it is.” He turns his laptop to face me, pointing at the assignment on the screen and showing me how her got there.

I quickly follow his instructions to the page and begin reading about the assignment. It’s a group project for 2-3 people about how emotions and feelings are portrayed through song. We’re all supposed to draw an emotion from the professor -that explains why people keep getting up to talk to him- and write an essay about a song that has made us feel this way. Once we finish our essays, we’re supposed to go back to our partners and make a playlist of 25 songs that combines each the emotions we were individually assigned and talk about how easily these emotions can be portrayed in music. Seems simple enough… Except for the whole partner part.

I look up from my computer screen, and before I can talk myself out of it, I ask Calum if he’d like to partner up for the project. To my surprise, he agrees and before I know it, I’m looking down at the paper I had pulled out of the tin can on my professor’s desk. Longing. What kind of lame-ass emotion is longing? I sit back down at our table and show Calum my paper.

“Longing? That’s going to be so easy to write about! And it’ll go great with love. This is going to be a piece of cake.” He enthusiastically, typing away on his laptop.

“You got love? Are you kidding me? That’s such bullshit. Every song is about love… or sex… or drugs, and I don’t think sex or drugs are emotions… so like that’s not fair.” I look back at my small slip of paper, “How am I even supposed to write about longing?”

He breaks away from his typing long enough to look at me, “Longing is so easy to write about. Haven’t you ever wanted something you couldn’t have? Or missed someone or something like that?”

“I don’t know… maybe.” I pause for a moment, “I don’t know.”

He looks back to his screen and continues to type. “Okay, I looked up the word longing and it says here that ‘Longing is mainly a blend of the primary emotions of love or happiness and sadness or depression’. So there. You can focus on one of those four. It’s not that hard, Michael.”

Hearing Calum say my name takes me back for another brief moment. Even though we went to the same school for four years, I never really knew if he had known my name or not… we never really talked or hung out in the same crowds, so I figured it was safe to assume he didn’t even know I existed.

He shakes his head and looks at his screen again as I try to avoid the thoughts of how smooth my name rolled off his tongue that are currently running wild in my head, to focus on what he had said about the different ways longing could be portrayed and experienced.

Just as I begin to reflect on the last few years of my life for a moment that could stand out as ‘experiencing longing’, I’m interrupted by the sounds of my classmates packing up their belongings. I look to my left and notice Calum suddenly standing next to me.

“Here,” he says, handing me a sticky note with a phone number on it. “text me so we can meet up to work on the project.”

“I uh- thanks.” I stumble over my words as I take the paper from him and stick it to the inside of my laptop.

When I turn back to Calum, he’s already on his way to the door. I quickly pack up my books and pause for a moment to look at the sticky note before shutting my laptop, ignoring the heat on my face and the feeling in my stomach.

. . .

I feel like I may have stepped into an alternate dimension when I entered that classroom two weeks ago, because I’ve somehow found myself in the Calum Hood’s dorm room. By choice. His choice. Who would have thought?

To be honest, I’m kind of surprised at how easily we get along. We both have the same taste in music, the same sense of humor, and the same hobbies. Who knew we were so similar? Had we actually spoken to one another in high school, there would have been no stopping a friendship from forming.

Since texting him the day after our class, we’ve pretty much been inseparable. So, I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that I’m hanging out with Calum in his dorm room… but I kind of am.

“Okay seriously, Calum. How do you already have four pages written out for your essay?” I ask, scrolling through the Word document open on his laptop.

“It’s like you said, love is easy to write about… You know what else is easy to write about?” He spins around on his desk chair, taking a break from his game to face me. “Longing. Have you even started your essay, or were you just planning on taking me down with you when you flunk out?”

I set the laptop down next to me on his bed. “The only one flunking out here is your team in Fifa.”

“That was a shit insult and you know it.”

“You’re a shit insult.”

He shakes his head and laughs. “Mate, for real. Do you need help writing your part?”

“No. I told you, I’ll be fine. I just need some inspiration… Which is what I should have gotten from your essay but the whole damn thing is about your family. It is so boring! Where’s the drama? Weren’t you a ladies’ man in high school? Where’s that Calum?”

With his eyebrows raised he looks taken aback for a moment and bursts out laughing.

“Did you seriously just call fourteen-year-old me a ‘ladies’ man’?” He asks, making air quotes at the last part.

I shrug and he continues laughing.

“Okay fine, you have a point. But like... what even is longing?”

His laughter softens and he rolls his eyes, smiling at me.

“Do you need me to pull up the definition again?”

“Fuck off.” I huff.

“Okay, fine… What about like, leaving town to come here. Didn’t you miss your girlfriend? Or your friends? Or maybe your family?”

“Girlfriend?” I laugh loudly. There’s no way he’s serious right now… “No. Absolutely no girlfriend. As for my family? I honestly couldn’t be happier to be on my own and out of the house... Also, it’s kind of hard to miss your friends when facetime exists.” I lay back on his bed and prop myself up with my elbow. “What else ya got?”

“Okay lone wolf… what about uh… okay I’ve got it. What about longing for like… touch, or affection, or love, or… fucking I don’t know, food?”

“Yeah, cause I’ll definitely get an A writing my essay about craving a Big Mac. Maybe I can get extra credit if I bring one in.”

He glares at me and rolls his eyes again before shaking his head and turning around to focus his attention back to his game. I drop my head onto his pillow and sigh. Watching him play, my mind wanders as I being to think about his words. Touch. Affection. Love. My heart aches for the poor fifteen-year-old boy I once was, longing for those exact things for over a year and never getting them. I remember the emotional shut down I forced myself to do to move on from the brown-eyed boy that occupied my mind daily. I sigh deeply, taking in the musky scent of the room around me, and as much as I don’t want to admit it, I finally know what I’ll be writing about.

. . .

“Are you sure you know where this party is? I’m pretty sure we’re lost.”

“Well, I’m pretty sure they said it’s in this neighborhood… there should be a street coming up soon that starts with an S… or maybe it was a B. Whatever. We’ll start to see people on the street sooner or later and follow the noise to the right house.”

Calum and I continue to walk aimlessly down the suburban streets with houses that all look the same, in search for a party that I’m not even sure exists at this point.

“You’d think, for someone that probably went to every high school party, you’d know to write down an address when it’s given to you.” I grumble as my feet begin to ache.

“You know, you make a lot of assumptions about what I was like in high school. Weren’t you ever told not to assume?” He says, bumping his shoulder against mine.

“You’re really going to tell me that you never went to any parties in high school? I seriously doubt that.”

“Okay… Well, yeah I went to some parties. Didn’t everyone though?”

“What? No.” I scoff. “Dude, not everyone was invited to parties like Mr. Cool Guy over here.”

“Am I supposed to be Mr. Cool Guy? That’s a laugh.”

“Mate. Just admit it. You were one of the cool kids and you know it.” I bump my shoulder back against his.

“Was not.”

“You were to! Everyone knew who you were. Everyone wanted to either date you or be you. You can’t be that oblivious.” I kick a small pebble as we cross yet another unidentifiable street.

“Date me or be me huh? Did you want to be me?”

Fucking hell. Why am I still allowed to have the ability to speak without a filter?

“No.” I focus my gaze on the cracks in the sidewalk, making sure to avoid any possible eye contact.

It’s quiet for a moment as a car drives past us, filling the silence before Calum speaks again.

“Well, you obviously didn’t want to date me. So, your theory is clearly wrong.”

I walk beside him silently as I debate whether to admitting to the fact that I had the biggest crush on him for over a year when we were younger.

“See, I’m right.”

“I did though.” I choke out before I’m able to stop myself. Fuck.

“What?” He stops walking.

Well, this was fun while it lasted… I wonder if our professor will still let me join another group, seeing as Calum isn’t going to want to talk to me ever again.

May as well finish the job then.

“I did want to date you.” I confess softly as I stop in front of him, keeping my eyes on the ground.

“You’re not... gay though.”

I- What? He’s got to be kidding me right now. I’m pretty sure everyone in high school knew I was gay. Hell, I came out to my parents in the fifth grade.

“Are you fucking with me? Calum.” I finally gain the courage to meet my eyes with his and see him shaking his head. “I’m gay as fuck. Always have been.”

“No way. What about Jessica Hunter?”

We’re awkwardly standing in the middle of the sidewalk and I’m completely over-aware of the man walking his dog across the street as Calum continues to stare at me with a dumbstruck look on his face. Well, at least he hasn’t left yet.

“What about Jessica? She and I hang out from time to time and listen to music together. We’re friends.” Oh god. “Wait- are you thinking that her and I? Oh god. Never.” I shake my head to try and get that image out of it.

“No no... She was in love with you! The way she always talked about you, hung around you, and hung off you… You went to Prom together! You were the reason I never even had a chance with her. I spent so many hours thinking about you and why she chose you over me and I…” he tampers off and continues to look utterly confused.

Am I being Punked right now? There must be a hidden camera somewhere. This can’t be real.

“No Calum. Oh my god. Mate. Jessica and I were always together talking about you. She didn’t want me. She wanted you… We both did. We only went to Prom together cause she was still hung up on you and didn’t have the guts to ask you herself. Plus, you did that whole stag Prom thing with Timothy Anderson anyway.”

He continues to stand there, trying to piece together the story he had so wrongly created around himself.

“So… You’re gay.”

“Yup.”

“And you actually used to … like me?”

“Yup”

“And Jessica-“

“Never had a chance with me. Because I’m gay and she had the hots for you anyway… Are we all caught up? Can we please keep walking? I’m getting cold.”

“Man, did I have this whole thing wrong or what…” He shakes his head and starts walking again.

We continue heading to the party that totally doesn’t exist and get about half a block away from where we had previously stopped before Calum stops walking again.

“Dude! Seriously?” I sigh deeply and stop a few feet in front of him.

“You don’t uh… still have feeling for me or anything. Do you?”

“Yes Calum. I’m completely head over heels for you and plan to propose to you when we get to the party in front of everyone.” His mouth drops and I roll my eyes. “Fuck off. No. Cal, I don’t still have feelings for you. That was years ago. Now can we please keep walking? I’m going to fucking die of hypothermia.”

“Okay… you’re right. Sorry.” He mutters, clearly embarrassed and continues to walk again.

At least I’m not the only one that’s embarrassed.

We walk silently for a few minutes and I feel his fingertips brush against mine and my heart flutters softly. Shit.

. . .

“Are you even listening to me Mike?”

I look up from my phone to see Calum glaring at me. He burst into my dorm room about 45 minutes ago insisting we practice our presentation for the millionth time since he finished his essay. Of course, mine’s not finished yet, but at least I have something to write about now. But, without mine to practice, he’s just been reading his on a loop – I personally think he’s trying to annoy me to death. Jokes on him though, he’s got a nice voice.

“I can only hear your essay so many times before my brain starts to block it out to preserve my sanity.”

“You wouldn’t have to hear it so much if we had something else to practice… like, I don’t know- maybe your easy perhaps?”

How subtle. Ever since he finished his essay (overachiever much?), he’s been on my ass about mine. Even if I actually had it finished, there’s no way in Hell I’ll be letting him see this – let alone hear me read it out loud – until I have to.

“Dude. I’ve told you like eighty times now. I hate presenting stuff. I’m not doing it any more than I have to. Being in front of everyone, having them all stare at me- judging me? Fuck that. Once is enough. I don’t need you judging me too.”

“You honestly think I’m going to judge you? I don’t buy it. You’re Michael Clifford. You don’t give a shit about what other people think about you.”

I can’t help but laugh out loud. If only he knew.

“Well, when I’m putting myself out there in front of a whole room of people then yeah, I’m going to give a shit about what they think.”

“Putting yourself out there? Mate, it’s an essay. You sure you’re not just making up excuses to cover up the fact that you haven’t started writing it yet?”

Calum runs his finger through his hair, and I try not to stare. Why did he have to come to my school again, be in my class again, make my heart ache again. I feel like this time is worse. Being this close, not being able to touch him in the ways I want. Is this some horrible karma for complaining about longing? I shake my head at the joke that I call my love life and push past it like I always do.

“Maybe, but I guess you’ll have to wait and see.”

He throws a pillow at me and tells me to shut up before beginning to read his presentation yet again.

. . .

As I approach Calum’s door, I look down at the folded mess of papers in my hands and decide to quickly shove them into my backpack to make sure he doesn’t try to take them and read my shitty essay beforehand.

I pull my bag off my back and drop to my knees to put the papers away. I finish zipping it up and throw it over my shoulder as I hear the door open in front of me. I look up and see an eye full of Calum’s junk. My eyes widen and I can feel my cheeks heat up as I quickly look away and stand up. I try not to look at his face and pray that my cheeks aren’t as red as they feel.

“At least buy me dinner first. Damn.” He laughs. The sound melts my worries away. Mostly.

“Fuck off. We’re going to be late.” I give him a shove and begin walking to the exit.

Walking with one another to our classes has become a part of our daily routine. Calum decided so about a month ago when he found out that I tripped and scrapped my elbow and knee open like a child while running to make it on time for one of my 8AM classes. So now he seems to think that I can’t manage walking to class by myself. I mean, I’m not complaining. I’ll take any time that I can get with him until inevitably ruin the best friendship I’ve ever had.

As we walk, Calum is -of course- rehearsing his presentation again. I sigh and think about the essay sitting in my bag and how he’s going to react to hearing it. Maybe he’ll just drop the class and ghost me. God that will hurt... Maybe I should just fake sick, or say I never finished my part of the project, or-

My spiraling thoughts are cut short by Calum opening the classroom door and I admit defeat. The two of us sit at our table still -sadly- located at the front of the room. As we sit down, I watch Calum pull out his papers and read them over as if he didn’t just prove that he’s got it memorized by reciting it on our walk over. I set up my laptop and shove my papers under it, quickly checking back to Calum to make sure he hasn’t noticed. I exhale softly and wipe my sweaty palms on my jeans before opening our Spotify playlist, preparing it for our presentation.

A dread-filed hour and a half passes as I listen to the other groups make their presentations and read through their playlists to try and distract myself.

“Group seven, you’re up.”

My blood goes cold and I feel like I can’t move. I feel Calum swiftly kick my shin under the table.

“That’s us. Get up.” He whispers

I close my eyes and take a deep breath. I want to be back at home in my bed. I don’t want this. I don’t want to lose my friend. Why did I have to take this class? Why couldn’t I have been assigned anger. Why didn’t I just sit with those two girls that first day?

“Mike, it’ll be okay. I’ll be up there with you the whole time.” That’s half the problem, Calum.

I sigh deeply and open my eyes. They stay glued to the table as I pick up my laptop and the messy pile of papers underneath it. I walk slowly behind Calum to the front of the room and stop at the podium. I quickly plug my laptop into the screen behind us as he introduces the both of us to the class and begins to talk about the emotions we were assigned before launching into how they relate to one another and briefly talking about our playlist. I feel slightly reassured as he begins to recite the speech that I pretty much have memorized myself at this point. I allow myself to zone out to the sound of his voice as I wait for my cue.

“… and to me that is what love is to me. Family.”

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. I rub my sweaty palms on my jeans again and pick up my papers with trembling hands. Closing my eyes again, I take another deep breath and open them once finished. Here goes everything.

“I- um- I’m Michael and I uh… I was assigned the emotion longing. When I first read the small paper and saw I had longing, I was confused and upset that my partner had such an easy emotion to talk about and I um… I had something as complex as longing…” I look over to Calum and he gives me a reassuring smile and my heart skips a beat. “Until he helped me realize that longing is pretty much the universal emotion. It branches into every emotion you can think of. It powers them and really brings the depth to them. Once I had realized this, the only issue I had was choosing which emotional experience to talk about. This itself seemed to be an impossible choice, so I’ve decided to talk about an experience that, like longing, incorporates every emotion. Heartbreak. My chosen song for this was No Idea by All Time Low. Song number…” I quickly look over at our playlist and count the sounds out to make sure I’m right before continuing, “seven on our playlist.”

I press play and I continue over the quiet music, telling the story of a young Michael who was in love with a boy that never knew he existed. A boy who broke his heart without ever even speaking to him. A boy who he was still desperately in love with, years later. A never-ending tale of longing.

Once the longest five minutes of my life had passed, I quickly unplug my laptop and hurry back to our table, avoiding eye contact with Calum the entire way back. I grab my books and shove them along with my laptop and essay into my bag. I damage my papers even more by doing so, but I could care less.

Throwing my backpack over my shoulder, I leave the room as I hear Calum call out after me. There’s no way he’ll catch up to me. Besides, my Sound Tech class was cancelled today, so even if he does manage to catch up, I won’t be there.

I finally make it back to my room without encountering Calum and I toss my bag onto my chair and dive face first into my bed to wait out the impending consequences for ambushing my best friend in the middle of a room full of people. Why did I do that. Fuck me.

. . .

Calum had been planning a party over the last few weeks to celebrate us finishing our project. I had told him time and time again that ‘finishing a project’ is the lamest reason to throw a party. But yet, here I am, in my room surrounded by the pulsating beats of music blasting down the dorm hall.

I’ve managed to avoid Calum for the past four days since the most embarrassing moment of my life. He’s tried texting and calling me too many times to count, and he even showed up to my dorm room twice. I, of course, pretended to be asleep both times.

So, I know it has to be Calum banging repeatedly on my door, throwing off the steady beats of music.

“Mike, it’s Calum. Can I come in?” I hear him shout through the door over the music.

I get up and turn the light off before returning to my desk to continue trying to focus on the game on my computer and pretending I’m not here.

“Mate! I saw you turn your light off! Michael! Open the door!”

The banging persists and my head sinks lower and lower into my shoulders. Go away. Please. I don’t want to hurt. Not tonight. Please.

“I’m not leaving! Maybe I’ll just ask one of those art kids for a sculpting knife and cut your door down! HA! You couldn’t avoid me if I did that! You wouldn’t even have a door to lock!” He slurs half of his words and it’s becoming clear that he’s drunk, and drunk Calum doesn’t quit.

I drop my head onto the desk and breathe deeply for a minute, listening to him yell at me through the door, before getting up and walking over to the sound. I pause there for a moment and prepare for the worst.

As soon as I open the door, Calum falls backwards onto my floor. How in the Hell…

“What do you want Calum? I’m busy.”

He stumbles back to his feet, swaying softly while he regains his balance in the centre of my dark room.

“You’re busy? You’re busy. That’s why you’ve been avoiding me for a week? Cause you’re busy?! Fuck off Michael.”

I say nothing as I lean against my open door, waiting for him to get this over with, so I can shut it behind him and go back to my self-loathing.

“Answer me!”

Clearly the silent treatment isn’t working here. I glance at the hallway full of people, some who have begun to stare at the two of us. I grit my teeth and shut the door, letting the darkness engulf my room, leaving only the light of my computer screen allowing us to see one another as we stand together in the center of the room.

“What the Hell do you want me to say?!”

“Well for starters, how about you tell me why the fuck you’ve been avoiding me?”

“I haven’t been-“

“Fuck off. You have, and you know it. Now tell me why.”

I shake my head and adjust my weight from foot to foot, shrugging to come up with an excuse.

“Oh. My. God. You’re impossible!” He pauses for a moment and takes a deep breath before I watch his posture soften. “Is this about what you said in your essay?”

I go stiff and remind myself to breathe.

“I knew it! At first, I didn’t think that was it, but it fucking was! Why are you avoiding me? Do you think I’m against your sexuality or some shit? Is that why you won’t talk to me? Cause that’s not true! You never even asked me about what I thought about it. About your feelings for me. How I would feel. About my feelings for- about your sexuality. Your sexuality, yeah... You just never asked me.” His face reddens at the last part, probably from lack of air after that speech.

I listen as he drunkenly rambles at me and try to think of something to say. How can he be right? He can’t be. I shouldn’t have to explain myself or my sexuality to him. Why would it matter what he thought about my sexuality?

“Your opinion of my sexuality isn’t needed Calum.” I say, shaking my head.

He sighs harshly and rubs his temples before stomping his foot. Did he actually just stop his foot? Is he five?

“Michael. That’s not what I’m saying! Listen to me! You’re so busy thinking about yourself and your feelings that you’re missing the bigger picture! You’re not the only person in this situation!”

“Oh, I’m sorry Calum. I’m so sorry my feelings were an inconvenience for you! You wanna talk about it? Let’s talk about it! Have my feelings for you ruined your college experience? Have my feelings for you kept you up every night? Have my feelings for you broken your heart?!”

He is silent for a moment before closing his eyes. His body sways softly as he runs his hands through his hair.

“No-” He sighs deeply before replying quietly, “your feelings for me didn’t do any of those things to me. Mine did.”

He opens his eyes and the light of the computer screen highlights the beautiful features of his skin as his words sink into mine.

I stand there with my jaw dropped, staring at the man in front of me. Did he just say… No. No. This is a sick joke. I feel a lump form in my throat begin to form.

“That’s not funny Calum.” I choke out softly.

“I’m not joking.”

“You’re straight.”

“I’m not! I’m Bisexual.” His cheeks redden softly in the pale blue light.

I stare at him in disbelief. He’s got to be drunk out of his mind to lie like this.

“You’re straight.” I repeat in an attempt to both reassure myself and convince him to stop the lies.

He runs his hands through his hair again and lets out an exasperated groan.

“Michael! Fuck! Why won’t you ever listen! I like you! I’ve been trying to tell you ever since you came out to me on the way to that shitty party. I only stopped myself cause you said you didn’t have feelings for me anymore. I’m bisexual Michael! Why do you think I went to Prom with Timothy?”

“That- that was just a stag thing…”

“I wasn’t ready to come out yet. Neither was he.”

He takes a step closer to me, making me overly aware of how small my dorm room actually is. I can smell his cologne and the alcohol -tequila? Yeah, tequila- wafting off him as the space between our bodies lessens.

“So, you’re… bisexual?”

The relief is visible as it washes over him. He smiles softly and takes another step towards me.

“And you… uh… you like me?”

“You wanna talk about it?” He whispers as his eyes drop to my lips.

“Calum, I-”

Before I can finish whatever stupid thing I was going to say, I feel his hands grab my face and his lips crash into mine. I close my eyes and return the kiss. My hands find their way into his hair as he pushes his body against mine. His hand leaves my cheek and finds its way up the back of my shirt, pulling my body impossibly closer to his.

This is more than I’ve ever dreamt of. Calum Hood. Calum Hood kissing me. His hair is softer than I could have ever imagined. I can taste the tequila on his tongue as it slips ever so slightly in between my lips and I suddenly remember how drunk he is. It takes every part of me to pull away and break the kiss.

“Calum. You’re drunk. I can’t.”

“I can.” He steps towards me with a slightly needy expression in his eyes.

“Calum.” I repeat sternly and step away, my back pressing against the door.

He lets out a defeated sigh as he turns around and walks over to the drawer where I keep my snacks.

“Do you have any bread?”

“I- uh… what?... Maybe, why?”

“I want to sober up so you’ll kiss me again.”

I laugh softly and walk over to help him look.

. . .

I wake up to the feeling of something heavy laying across my face. As I open my eyes and adjust my sights to the room around me, I realize the heavy thing on my face is actually Calum’s arm. The events of last night come back to me like a hurricane. Calum arriving at my dorm room drunk, Calum coming out to me as bisexual and confessing his feelings for me… Calum kissing me, and finally, Calum falling asleep beside me while waiting to sober up… I would say it was a dream, but I now have a red, arm-shaped mark on my face to prove otherwise.

I peel his arm off my head and his eyes shoot open, making me jump a little. I watch as he looks around the room and stops once his eyes meet mine. He smiles sweetly at me.

“Hi.” He says, his voice deep and raspy from just waking up.

“Hey there.” I whisper back.

“Guess what.”

“What.”

He smirks at me as his hand finds its way to my cheek and his body shifts towards mine.

“I think I’m finally sober.”

I exhale as my body relaxes from the tension and worry I didn’t realize I had about last night. I chew on my bottom lip as I wait for him to do something.

His eyes explore my face before slowing down at my lips just as they did last night. He blinks slowly and as his eyes open, I find them looking into mine again. He smiles softly as he closes them once more and leans forward, connecting his lips to mine. His pillowy lips kiss mine softly for the best minute of my life, and when he pulls away, he takes my breath with him. I am utterly awestruck by his beauty and the feeling of his lips on mine.

“How about you and I go on to dinner later and get to know the real us? No more assumptions and no more secrets.”

I nod and smile widely.

“I thought you’d never ask.” I agree as he grins before kissing me again.

#malum #the club gift exchange #for mandie #malum fic rec #soft malum #calum x michael #malum fic #malum one shot #5sos fic #5sos one shot #writings #mine

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let-me-write-shit · 5 years ago

Text

Like We Used To: 14

A/N: Next Chapter starts the interviews! If there’s any questions you might want to be asked, or if there’s something you’d like me to incorporate in any of the future chapters, let me know! I love hearing from you!

I’m gonna try to put up the next chapter later tonight, so make it quick!! :) :)

PLEASE don’t forget to like/reblog/message me if you like it. It’s suuuuper helpful

[CLICK HERE FOR PREVIOUS CHAPTERS]

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CHAPTER FOURTEEN

“I cannot believe I let you talk me into this,” Elizabeth shifted in the passenger seat of Harry’s car, staring out at the streets of London.

It was nearly 10 AM and the two were on their way to the airport to travel to LA for a week for some promotional interviews for Harry’s upcoming performance in New York next month before a new album is released. Somehow Harry and Judy managed to gang up on Elizabeth. He even got Kate to call her in the middle of her honeymoon to convince Elizabeth to go. So Thursday and Friday were spent finishing up as much work as she could get done, visiting the office to tie up any loose ends and let her staff know that she would be out of town for a bit, and spending her free time relaxing with Harry.

Harry seemed to be spending his free time either watching movies, writing emails, on phone calls, or, what Elizabeth assumed, writing new songs. By the end of the week it was pretty much tradition to end the day sharing a sleeve of oreos and going on a late night walk around town. Luckily her neighborhood wasn’t too busy so no one was hardly ever outside to notice them. At least there was no buzz in the tabloids on Harry’s whereabouts since his appearance at the club the previous weekend.

“Well, with the help of Judy I can be pretty persuasive,” Harry grinned at her, turning into a gated lot. A small plane was parked in the middle of a huge runway with a couple people standing around the bottom of the stairs and a few other cars parked around it. Harry must have noticed Elizabeth’s uneasiness as he parked the car because he squeezed her hand and whispered, “Don’t be nervous, it’ll be fine. I already warned my manager that you’d be tagging along and the band is excited to meet you.”

Elizabeth nodded and the two of them stepped out of the car, letting the wind whip her hair around, clutching onto her purse and laptop bag that hung around her shoulder. Harry walked beside her, his hand on the small of her back, leading her over towards two men and one woman, handing his car keys to one of the men. They all greeted Harry with high-fives and hugs before smiling at Elizabeth.

Harry started the introductions, “Elizabeth this is Jeffrey, my manager,” he introduced the man he gave his keys to and continued, “Lisa does videography and photography whenever we travel, and Kenneth is my bodyguard. We keep him around whenever we travel for work, but usually he’ll only be with us when we’re at interviews and such.”

“Very nice to meet you,” Lisa smiled sweetly, shaking Elizabeth’s hand and earning a nod from Kenneth.

“So you’re Harry’s old school friend, are you?” Jeffrey asked, and joked, “I heard he practically bullied you into coming?”

Elizabeth let out a small chuckle, “Yeah, he just keeps nagging you until you say yes!”

“I know the feeling,” Jeffrey nodded as they all laughed, “Handsome boy, but dead annoying. Don’t worry, we’ll keep you company whenever Harry’s preoccupied. I bet we’re more fun than him anyways.”

“Excuse me, I take offence to that,” Harry jested.

“As you should,” Jeffrey said before looking between the both of them, “So you’ve both got your passports with ya, then? Great. Go on up, then. Everyone’s in there waiting.”

Harry nodded and led Elizabeth towards the steps of the private airplane, almost reaching for her hand before she lightly pushed it away, unsure of what them holding hands might look like. He didn’t seem too phased by that and continued on up. Harmonious shouting occurred as the two walked further onto the plane. Harry gestured for her to sit in the window seat while introducing her to his backing band members Mitch, Sarah, Adam, Ny, and Charlotte. Elicabeth’s worry of what Harry’s friends’ and crew would think of her started to disappear as they got to talking.

An airport worker came to load the bags from Harry’s trunk to the airplane before taking his car away and within thirty minutes they were ready for takeoff. Airplane safety instructions were given and as soon as they were in the air Jeffrey gave everyone the rundown. It would be an eleven and a half hour flight. They would arrive in LA at nearly 3 PM their time. Immediately from landing they would head straight to hotel check-in where they got free reign for the rest of the night, though they were given ‘strong suggestions’ to make it an early night as they had to be up by 6 AM to head to their first performance at a news station. The performance wouldn’t be until 8 AM, but they needed to get their equipment set up and rehearse.

“So, wait, did they get me my own hotel room, or….?” Elizabeth whispered to Harry, not wanting the others to hear.

He whispered back, “No, I have a house in LA, so you’ll be coming with me there. Everyone else has a hotel room. Except Sarah and Mitch share a room. They’re dating.”

Elizabeth nodded, understandingly, before Adam spoke, smiling, “So, Harry didn’t tell us much. Just that you two were friends since you were fourteen? Is that right?”

“Yeah,” Elizabeth confirmed, “Knew him before all of this….” she looked around at the airplane.

“Wow,” Adam nodded, “And was he a little shit back then, too?”

“Excuse me,” Harry interrupted, “Little shit? Watch your tone, sir. I’m a big shit. A big, masculine shit, thank you very much.”

They all continued to banter for a bit, making Elizabeth relax. They were all given lunch, but it didn’t take long before everyone started doing their own thing. Sarah and Mitch cuddled up and watched a movie, Adam and Ny started scrolling through their phones, Harry was talking with Jeffrey, and Charlotte fell asleep. Elizabeth used the time to get even more work done so that she could be completely free tomorrow. By 7 hours into the flight everyone seemed to take Charlotte’s lead and went to bed.

It felt like seconds before Elizabeth was being shaken awake. She fluttered her eyes open, immediately looking out the window to notice their descent before looking over at Harry who was grinning at her. His hair was disheveled and a red mark was bright on his cheek from where he fell asleep on his wrist, clearly haven been just woken up.

“We’re getting ready to land,” his groggy voice drawled.

Elizabeth looked around to see most everyone else stirring awake and Mitch glancing between Harry and outside. He didn’t speak much, but when he did he was really sweet and very funny. She looked around sheepishly, unsure of what to do when they exited the plane as everyone was kind of unloading their things and going over details on when and where they would be meeting in the morning. Eventually an SUV pulled up and a man got out, waiting patiently. Jeffrey directed him to Harry and Elizabeth’s luggage and he began loading up the car.

Harry broke away from the group who all shouted a “see you later” at him and Elizabeth before the two of them slid into the SUV.

“You alright?” Harry asked her.

Elizabeth smiled coyly, “Yeah they’re all nicer than I thought they’d be. Was just a bit overwhelmed. I think I’m still coming to terms with the fact that I even came. And it’s so hot here, what the hell? It’s October in a few days' time!”

The car started off and Harry laughed, “We’re not in England anymore, that’s for sure. You get used to it, though,” he reassured before asking, “So I was just talking with Mitch about him and Sarah coming over tonight to chill out with us if that’s okay?”

Elizabeth shrugged, “Yeah, sure, why not? It’s not my house.”

“What do you say we grab some dinner first? It’s only 3:30, but I was thinking once we get back to my place we could get our stuff settled and then go out and grab something to eat?”

“Will people not notice you eating out with a random girl?”

“I’m not too worried about it, honestly,” Harry smiled, “What, do you not want to be seen with me?”

“It’s not that I don’t want to be seen with you. It’s just...we’re still trying to figure this whole thing out and I don’t want it to then be made into a big deal for you.”

Harry smiled, “I’ll be fine, love. It’s just dinner.”

Her heart fluttered a bit. When they got to Harry’s house, Elizabeth looked around in awe. It was, for all intents and purposes, a mansion. Sleek and modern, it had four bedrooms and six bathrooms. Who needs six bathrooms?! It even had a heated outdoor pool and hot tub. There wasn’t much in the way of decoration, but she figured it’s probably because he’s just a guy and he spends more time in England, anyway.

She followed Harry with her luggage up to Harry’s room and dropped them in the corner. He decided to take a quick shower while she got situated, touching up her makeup and unloading some of her clothes. She had been in the middle of a text to Matt when Harry walked out of the bathroom. A towel was wrapped around his waist, his water glistened on his skin and his hair looked like a wet mop.

“You can’t just come in here lookin like that,” she motioned vaguely at him, sitting up on his bed.

“It’s my bedroom!” he retorted, ruffling his hair, “Am I making you nervous?”

Elizabeth groaned, “Don’t do this to me. I’m starving! I can’t think straight on an empty stomach.”

He laughed, dropping his towel, exposing himself, before pulling on a pair of briefs, “You know, I’m starting to think you’re just using me for my body.”

“I definitely am just using you for your body!” Elizabeth joked, “You don’t have a problem with that, do you?”

“None at all.”

It was 5:30 by the time they were ready to get dinner. There was a chinese food place not too far from his house that they decided they wanted to eat at. It wasn’t too fancy, so Elizabeth didn’t bother changing her clothes before heading over there. Parking was horrendous in LA, so they had to park a block away, but luckily the restaurant wasn’t too crazy for a Saturday night. He informed her that most people in LA either postmated their food, or ate later in the evening.

The staff did recognize him, so they were able to get a seat at a booth towards the back. Dinner was fantastic. They were able to sneak a few quick hand-holds in before finishing up. On the way to the car they heard a few people shout Harry’s name at a distance, but he didn’t seem to pay any mind to it as he took her hand and led her to the car. While driving out of the lot, though, she noticed a man with a camera on the corner snapping a few pictures of his car.

“Harry?” she questioned, slightly concerned.

“Yeah, I see him,” he acknowledged, biting his cheek.

She decided to drop it and they continued back to Harry’s house.

Mitch and Sarah had arrived a little after 8 PM after the sun had set. The four of them took some wine and a pack of oreos to Harry’s seating area beside the pool in the back, Mitch and Sarah on a couch across from Elizabeth and Harry, and got to know Elizabeth some more while music played softly over his house speakers. They had asked about the friendship with Harry when they were younger, told stories of their childhood, and talked about their current lives. Harry and Elizabeth shared a sleeve of oreos, again, joking about it with his bandmates before putting it away. She felt like they could really open up to them, like they were forming a real friendship.

“I can’t believe you almost got into a fight with her ex boyfriend!” Sarah put a hand on her cheek, “Good on you, though. He sounds like a creep, no offence.”

“None taken,” Elizabeth nodded, taking a sip from her glass of wine, “It was a long time coming.”

“It must be nice to still have close friends from when you were just children,” Mitch commented and turned to Harry, “Do you feel like you missed out? I mean, I know you said you had lost touch for a while, but….?”

Harry nodded, “Yeah. But I’m just glad to be back in it now. That’s why I practically forced her to come with me. I didn’t want to have a repeat of last time.”

Mitch and Sarah nodded in silence, but the stare Mitch gave seemed almost like he was peering into their soul. He finally spoke again, “Alright, so you two are dating then, or?”

Elizabeth glanced at Harry seeing a shocked smile form on his face, “Uhm...no. We’re not officially dating yet.”

“What does that even mean?” Sarah grinned, furrowing her eyebrows at the two of them.

Harry cleared his throat, “Jesus, with the interrogation tonight. It means that we’re enjoying each other’s company and elevating our friendship slowly.”

“You sure do have a way with words, don’t you?” Elizabeth laughed. “I’m just...not ready to have that official label yet, so for now I’m just a ‘friend’..”

Mitch nodded, “I understand. You just need to dip your toe into this world first.”

“Exactly!”

They spent a little more time talking until the song ‘Comethru’ by Jeremy Zuker started playing on the speakers.

“Oh, I love this song!” Elizabeth exclaimed, swaying in her seat.

Harry looked over at her with a smile before standing up and offering his hand for a dance. Elizabeth looked at it hesitantly, and slightly embarrassed, taking a peak at Mitch and Sarah. They smiled kindly at her and Harry, so Elizabeth took this as a sign that it was okay and took his hand. He led her a few feet over towards the pool a bit more before turning to her, draping her free hand on his shoulder before wrapping an arm around her waist, still holding onto her other hand. She relaxed her head into Harry’s chest as the two swayed. In seconds Mitch and Sarah joined them, dancing under the stars.

The next, more upbeat song began to play and Mitch turned to them, “Oh, Harry, that reminds me. I had a few more ideas for those songs we were working on if I can show you real quick?”

Harry nervously switched footing, breaking apart from Elizabeth, “Uh, yeah. Let’s just go into the office,” he looked hesitantly at the girls, “Are you two okay for a bit?”

“I think we can manage,” Elizabeth snorted, making Sarah laugh.

KEEP READING

#Harry Styles #Harry Styles fanfic #harry styles fan fic #harry styles fan fiction #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles imagine #harry styles one shot #harry styles smut #harry styles fluff #harry styles oneshot #one direction fanfic #one direction fan fic #one direction fanfiction #one direction fan fiction #one direction

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livlepretre · 4 years ago

Note

So what happened with the ghosts? If you want to share. 🙂

at first I thought you were asking about one of my fics and I was like ???? but now I realize you are asking me about my actual terrible time living in a haunted house in good old Dublin.

okay. so, to begin, I’m not particularly skeptical about ghosts. New Orleans is a really haunted city and my grandfather’s house which I spent a huge amount of my childhood in was pretty haunted-- newspapers mysteriously sitting in the foyer in the morning even though the doors are all locked and the alarm is on, hearing your name being called all throughout the house and it turns out you’re there alone, a gardener who used to never go out at sunset because there was a man in a planter’s hat who would walk from the corner of the house to the pecan tree and back every night at the sun was going down-- honestly I knew A LOT of people with similar experiences growing up so I just,,,,,, accepted that ghosts were pretty much a benign part of life sometimes. (and there may have also been an incident where that same gardner pulled up an old flagstone and a woman popped out of the ground and he came inside white as a sheet, but my grandfather’s house pre-dated the civil war so it didn’t surprise anyone that it was super haunted.)

well. when I was in college I had a JYA in Dublin, and I moved into a townhouse with a group of other Americans. something like day 3 or 4 in the townhouse, I knew for a fact I was the only one home, but I had this intense feeling standing in the upstairs hallway that there was someone standing right behind me. I can’t describe it as anything other than absolute certainty that there was another presence in the home. at the time, I was like, chill, there’s a ghost. and I went on with things and didn’t worry about it, as my own personal experiences with ghosts were pretty much that sometimes they’re just their and they’re harmless, and I kept this insight completely to myself since I also suspected that my roommates were likely to be skeptics and I didn’t want to come off week 1 as Ghost Girl.

Well, end of week 1, little did I know, but the gang who lived on the 3rd floor of the townhouse (I was on the 2nd) decided to make a ouija board on a lark. I have no idea where this idea came from, since I specifically did not mention the ghost to anyone... other than obviously it was on a lot of other people’s minds as well. well. they do the ouija board. the power cuts off in the middle of their fucking seance. it comes back on after a few minutes, and they decide to be done with trying to contact anything, but that night all of my roommates who were involved with the ouija board incident had.... like,,,,,, suicide fuel nightmares. like the worst most vivid nightmares they had ever had in their entire lives.

that was also the night that the fire alarm started going off at 3 am. each floor had this old fashioned red metal bell with a mallet, and it would go off 3, 4 times a week for no reason at all... it was one of those things where at first we just chalked it up to an annoying old building.

but there were a number of weird things that happened-- door slamming shut by themselves with no possible explanation, the fire alarm bell going off all the time, a mysterious fire that none of us could figure out, just a lot of little things that were interesting to me and which I was like ghost! I was super interested in the ghost and talked about it a lot because I was fascinated. Big mistake.

I didn’t understand at the time that some ghosts are malevolent. I didn’t understand that there were times where it’s best to ignore the ghost and pretend it doesn’t exist rather than to talk about it where it can hear you.

we had this big heavy mirror that hung on the wall at the top of the stairs. big sturdy thing, weighed a ton, must have been hanging there forever.

one night I was standing under it talking to one of my roommates and the thing came off the wall and nearly landed on my head-- I was really lucky that I jumped back in time. The whole thing shattered. It probably could have killed me. I was freaked, so I went back to my bedroom, where my laptop was open and in the middle of my queen sized bed. I remember that it was in the middle specifically, because I had noticed it was sort of weirdly slipping off the edge of the bed for some reason when I had it over to the left, so I put it smack in the middle of the bed. well, I walked into the bedroom immediately after the mirror had nearly fallen on me, and honestly describing this still nearly breaks my mind. literally less than two minutes after the close call with the mirror my laptop gets hurled against the wall-- like four or five feet-- to land smashed up on the ground.

At that point I realized that I had been talking about the ghost and it had noticed me and my only hope was to shut the fuck up right that second.

I never talked about the ghost where the ghost could hear me again.

Not to say there weren’t still ghost issues. The fire alarm continued to go off at the witching hour all the fucking time. There was an incident where my whole bedroom started to mysteriously v i b r a t e ??? Like, thundering. I thought that the gang was upstairs in the bedroom above mine dancing or something, but they were all on the other side of the house. (I later found out the fucking ouija board had been long-term stored directly above my bed, w o n d e r f u l )

There was also the time I was sitting on the floor in my friend’s room down the hall from mine, and I said to her, “why is there a pillow stuffed up your chimney???” naturally, she was like, “what the fuck” -- so, slowly, we pulled this throw pillow out from the chimney (realizing that the pillow was the one missing from the sofa upstairs??) and there, on the throw pillow, was a bird with a broken neck.

there’s probably more that I can’t recall anymore because it’s been like a decade. I mostly remember being really afraid a lot of the time, as were like half of my roommates who were feeling similarly.... oppressed by the ghost, and being kind of helpless about it because I was a poor student and honestly that ghost wrecked me financially that semester when it wrecked my laptop so maybe it did get the upper hand at the time. idk.

fun fact I actually met my husband because he was one of my roommates during all of this, so there were positives?? he’s a very rational person though so he just stuffed a book between the bell and the mallet on his floor so the fire alarm couldn’t torment him and ignored the ghost.

I’ve had a couple of other ghosty experiences since then, but this is the one that stands out as the most personally harrowing. it was pretty wild to realize that some ghosts mean harm and that this one had it in for me in particular. I had a friend (actually one of my roommates who drew the fucking ouija board back in Dublin) go through something much much worse that honestly I can’t talk about, but has decently fucked me up for life just knowing about it. The funny thing is that he basically didn’t believe in the ghost back in Dublin (I think he was blacked out most of that semester though), but he reached out to me about his frankly horrific situation all because he remembered me flipping the fuck out in Dublin.

Anyway. that’s the story of how ‘don’t talk about the ghost where the ghost can hear you’ became one of my lifelong rules to live by.

#story time

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chickensarentcheap · 4 years ago

Text

Best Part of Me -Chapter 35

Warnings: none

Tagging: @innerpaperexpertcloud, @alievans007, @c-a-v-a-l-r-y, @ocfairygodmother��

“Did you consider it? Even for a split second?”

He can’t get those words out of his head; playing on a continuous loop. Eating away at him and burrowing into every inch of his already fractured and troubled mind. It’s the insinuation behind them that hurts more than anything; the fact she’d even think that he’d be capable of something like that, as if it somehow made a difference that they’d only known one another for five days. She wasn’t a stranger; they’d been sharing a bed, exploring each other's bodies and both enjoying and pleasing one another as much as possible. They’d been each other’s confessionals as well; sharing those deep, dark and -and sometimes shameful- secrets that they’d kept buried for years and never told a single living soul. It was the first time he’d felt THAT comfortable with someone; able to easily and effortlessly let his guard down and show her the different sides to him. Not just the hardened mercenary covered in scars and tattoos; the one with a drinking problem and an addiction to pain meds, weighed down by a lifetime of baggage. He’d found himself smiling and laughing again; genuine, not the forced smiles and laugh that he’d perfect over the past thirty-five years of his life.

By the middle of the third day he’d realize that maybe it was more than just two lonely and broken people drawn to each other through similar painful circumstances and a job they used as an escape from their shitty realities. He liked having her around. Not just in those early morning hours when he’d wake up to that soft, warm body next to him in bed. But when he’d look at her from across the room as she sat at the table by the window; both feet up on her seat and knees tucked tightly to her chest, headphones on and eyes narrowed in concentration as she worked on her laptop. Or when he’d come back to the room after grabbing food at the market and she’d greet him with that brilliant, beautiful smile that made her eyes sparkle. He just liked her being there; hearing her voice and seeing her face and breathing in the soft, sweet scent that lingered in her hair. Most importantly, he didn’t feel judged; she didn’t look at him with disgust or pity. She understood his job and the brutality and violence that came with it; she knew what he was capable of and the lives he’s taken over the years. None of that had bothered her. She ‘got it’. In a way no one else ever had.

It had been his side to see if there was more to it...more to THEM. Suddenly feeling as if there was actually something to forward to after Dhaka; something...someone...who could keep him going even during the most difficult and darkest of days. Sure, the sex was good. It was incredible, in fact. But to find someone that understood your life and didn’t hold it against you or judge you for your past mistakes and horrible decisions? That was even better. They’d take some of the money from the Dhaka job and travel; wherever they felt like going or wherever they just ended up. And she’d spent time in Australia; willing to travel to The Kimberley and stay in that rundown little shack. And he’d head to Colorado; looking forward to seeing the mountains and just spending time with her. Seeing just...if anything...actually existed between them.

Only things hadn’t gone according to plan. Everything went to shit, and their entire existences changed. The path becoming much more difficult to tread than either of them could have possibly imagined.

She’d always trusted him. Right from the start. Without question or reservation. And she’d always told him that he made her feel safe. Protected. During both those early days and the seven years that followed. She’d confused that she’d never felt that way before; not even with the other men that had been in her life. Always relying on herself; her own wits and her own skills and her fierce independence. She hadn’t realized how much she’d actually wanted that; the feeling of security and, being able to trust someone to that extent, going to bed at night not only knowing that someone would do anything to protect her, but that they were more than capable of doing it. That steadfast faith and confidence in him sometimes the only things that kept him going; knowing that she trusted him and loved him THAT much. Even on the days when he hated himself and wondered if she -and even his kids when they came along- would be much better off without him and his bullshit dragging them down. She would tell him how ridiculous it was to think that way. That she couldn’t imagine her life without him. That she didn’t just want him there, she NEEDED him there. No matter how hard he made things on her, no matter how difficult he could be to love. It was the one constant that kept him alive sometimes; knowing that -beyond a shadow of a doubt- she truly felt that way.

So to hear her ask that -if he’d ever considered giving her up to Asif- had torn him apart inside. He can’t remember anything hurting that much; cutting straight to his core. No physical pain -not even the wounds he’d sustained in Dhaka- inflicting that much damage and agony. It killed him inside; wondering if he’d ever given her a reason to think he’d do something like that. That she doubted he would have done anything -even back then- to keep her safe. Alive. There’d never been a moment where it had seemed like a good idea, her life in exchange for his freedom. For money. And it makes him physical ill knowing she’d ever looked at him that way. That maybe she STILL does.

He forces himself to get his shit together; head down and sunglasses over his as he takes the path to the back of the kids’ school. Leaves and twigs and gravel snapping and popping beneath the soles of his flip flops. It’s not often that they pick the kids up; normally the last Friday of the month was the usual. A routine that they’d gotten into; grabbing the three oldest and driving into one of the other towns on the coast and spending time on their beaches and then going out to dinner. Returning after long after sunset and having to carry exhausted yet happy children into the house and upstairs to bed. Even in the later stages of the pregnancy with Addie they’d tried to hold onto that habit; family time away from the house and the chaos that sometimes ran amok within those four walls. Little moments and memories that their kids would hopefully hold onto it and look back on forty years down the road.

Going home had been the smartest thing he’d ever done. Not just for himself, but for them. Things calmer and less stressful. The arguing less frequent and much less intense. Before if had been constant; lingering frustration and hostility that lingered under the surface and would build up to the point of exploding. Since leaving Colorado things have improved. Tremendously.

Until she’d asked if he’d ever give her up a drug lord, that is.

****

The other parents are too chatty. Too nosy. The moms don’t hide the fact they’re checking him out; huddling together in little groups, nudging each other with their elbows, the sly little smiles that tug at the corners of their mouths, the whispers that follow. It’s flattering yet annoying as hell at the same time. The dads are another story; they stare and talk but try and hide it. The women will actually approach. The men will stay their distance. They don’t see the muscles and the tattoos and the scars the same way the ladies too; they see them as intimidating. Threatening, even. A guy with six inches and sixty pounds -if not more- on them, wandering into their ‘territory’ and taking all the attention away. He’s pretty sure his ‘resting asshole face’ -as Esme calls it- doesn’t help; he doesn’t want to be bothered and he doesn’t try to hide the fact. Maybe the guys see it as arrogance; him appearing overly confident and all the women taking notice. Suddenly they’re interested in the dad in the jeans and the ratty t-shirt and not on the ones with starchy golf shirts and the ironed pleats in their khakis. He sticks out like a sore thumb and likes it that way. He’s somewhat of a mystery to them; showing up out of the blue six months old with those haunted eyes and the stern face and all the battle wounds that bear evidence of a story to tell. One they’ll never be privy to but will always speculate about.

He plays it for all it’s worth. In his own subtle way. The longer he gives off the intimidating vibe, the longer people stay away from him. He’s not there to make friends. He has enough of those. He prefers his privacy; not allowing anyone outside of his immediate family -and a trusted few- past the walls he’s built up. It’s all way too fucking complicated; his past, what he did for a living, what he’s getting back into. And letting people in means letting them know ALL of that. And that’s something he wants to avoid. At all costs.

“Your Tyler’s dad.”

At first it doesn’t even register that someone is actually speaking to him. Lost in his own little world as she leans against the brick wall the door the kids will come out; one hand shoved in his pocket, the older holding his phone. Attention focused solely on the text messages that his wife has sent since he left the house. Apologetic. Remorseful. The regret obvious in every word she’s typed. He’s not angry; not at her. It’s hurt. Genuine hurt that sits in the pit of his stomach and makes his chest ache. Maybe Gaspar HAD been right; maybe she is his ultimate weakness. And he sends his own text back. Telling her that he loves her and they’ll talk later. TALK. Not fight. Then turns his attention to the man now standing beside him. A few inches shorter; slim, with tousled and unruly salt and pepper hair and dark skin. Aboriginal; he can see the dark and intricate tribal tattoos that travel up both arms and stop at the sides of his neck.

Tyler grins. “Before I lay claim to him, it depends what he’s done.”

“He’s friends with my boy. Ezekiel. He’s one of the few kids that are. He’s got some issues. My boy. He’s not like everyone else. And the people around here...between you and me...they don’t like anyone that looks different. Or acts different. They’re…”

“Judgmental pricks?” Tyler finishes for him.

The other man laughs. “I’m glad one of us has the stones to say it out loud. “

“My wife always tells me I’m imagining it. That it’s all in my head.”

“Mine says the same. Now I can go home and tell her that I’m not making it up and someone else feels the same way. Your boy, he’s a good kid. He’s got a huge heart inside of him. I’ve heard the stories. The way other parents talk. Saying he’s a troublemaker and has behavior issues and all that shit. He’s just a kid, you know? He’s got a lot of feelings and emotions going in there. He always sticks up for my boy. Always. Never backs down no matter how big the other kids are or how many of them come at him.”

“He’s fearless. And stubborn as hell.”

“Well, I for one appreciate it. Kids like mine...like my Zeke...they have a hard enough life without assholes making it worse. So when kids like yours come around, parents like me take notice. And we wish there were more like him and parents who would raise them like you and your wife are. World would be a better place for Zeke if kids were brought up like that. I just wanted to say thanks. For raising such a good kid.”

Tyler doesn’t know what to say. He’s never been good at accepting compliments; ‘thank you’ always seems so self-serving and fake. And it’s better to say nothing than come across as either socially awkward or a complete prick. So he gives an appreciative smile instead; and the other dad returns the gesture with a smile of his own and a friendly pat on the shoulder before wandering off the stand on his own. He sees the way the other parents look at the man; the color of his skin and the wild hair and the tribal tattoos. Australia has a long and sordid history of treating their aboriginals like shit, and even in this day and age the ignorance and racism continue. And he shoves his phone into his pocket and heads over, sidling up beside the other dad, crossing his arms over his chest.

“What grade is your kid in?” he asks. It sounds lame, but you have to start somewhere.

“He’s in special education. He has cerebral palsy. From a stroke at birth. He can speak, but he’s in a chair permanently. Has seizures and some other problems.”

“That’s gotta be rough.” He doesn’t want to say ‘sorry’; that will come across as pity. Give the impression that he thinks something is wrong and shameful with having a kid with issues. It is what it is. And every child, with disabilities or not, deserves respect. Not pity. At least in his eyes.

“Thanks for not saying ‘I’m sorry’. I hate when people say that. What’s there to be sorry for? He’s a beautiful kid. He’s happy. He loves and is loved. I wish we could all see the world through his eyes. He doesn’t judge or hate. He just loves. You have other kids, yeah?”

“Four other ones. Two boys, two girls. Millie’s the oldest. She’s going to be six in a week and a bit. Addie’s the baby; not even a month yet. The one before her, Declan, the doctors thought maybe there was something going on with him. They saw some things when my wife was pregnant with him; at the twenty-week ultrasound. Chromosome issues.”

“Downs?”

Tyler nods. “They wanted us to let them do more testing. To find out for sure. So we could ‘discuss the options’. They actually said that. There were no other options. Not to us. We didn’t need to know. We were going to have him regardless. Didn’t matter one way or the other. It was our kid.”

“And everything came out okay?”

“Well, he’s a ginger and can be a little asshole sometimes, but yeah…” he grins. “...it turned out to be nothing. Like I said, we wouldn’t have cared. It’s our kid, right? Obviously they’re meant to be here. Regardless if there’s something going on or not.”

“Shame some people don’t think like we do. They see kids like them as a burden. Say they’re never going to be ‘contributing members of society’.”

“Yeah, well people like that can go fuck themselves.”

The other man laughs, then holds out a hand. “I’m Anatjari. Everyone just calls me Andy.”

“Tyler,” he shakes the hand that’s offered. “Anatjari. That’s from Pintupi, right?”

“Not many people know that.”

“A mate of mine, his mum comes from the tribe. He speaks a little bit of it. Enough to get by, I guess. Your wife aboriginal too?”

“As white as the driven snot.” Andy laughs. “She was an exchange teacher. From New York City. We met and she never went back. Your wife from here?”

“Colorado.”

“From the mountains and the snow to this? That’s culture shock. How’d a guy from here meet a girl from there?”

“Work. We got contracted out to the same job.”

“Zeke says your boy told him that you used to fight bad people.”

Tyler gives a small laugh. “I guess that’s kind of true. The field I was in, sometimes I HAD to do that. I’d get sent places to sort out other peoples’ messes. Private security, I guess you could call it.

“Well you’re definitely made for that kind of shit. Doesn’t it bother you? That?” Andy nods in the direction of the group of moms huddled together, staring and whispering.

“A little. They’re harmless though. My wife would kill them if they ever tried anything. She’s small but she’s tough. Definitely puts the fear of God into me sometimes. As much as it embarrasses me to admit that.”

“Your secret is safe with me. It’s the same at my house. You know…” he scuffs the toe of his runner against the concrete. “...you didn’t have to do this. Come over and talk to me. I’m used to being the black sheep.”

“I know. And I didn’t do it because I felt I needed to. I wanted to. I don’t make friends easily either. The wife says I give off bad vibe. That I scare people. Something about the look on my face and my size. Makes me intimidating, apparently.

“I don’t know,” Andy shrugs. “You seem pretty harmless to me.”

Tyler chuckles. “I think that’s the first time anyone’s ever called me that.”

He’s been called many things over the years. Brutal. Violent. Aggressive. Even merciless and savage.

But never THAT.

****

“Daddy!” Millie is the first to greet him, sandals already in her hands as she races toward him in her bare feet; ponytail swinging wildly from side to side. And he scoops her up as she throws herself at his legs, pressing a kiss to her cheek and then settling them on his hip. “I missed you!”

“I was only gone one day.”

“Doesn’t matter. I still missed you. Look…” she gives a wide smile and points to the gap in her bottom teeth. “It finally fell out! At lunch. I went to eat my apple and it just popped out!”

“Didn’t swallow it, did you? Don’t want a whole bunch of teeth growing in your tummy.”

“That’s not what would happen!” she says, and then giggles when he tickles her stomach. “I put it in my pocket. So I can put it under my pillow tonight. I was worried you wouldn’t be there. That maybe you had to stay away longer.”

“I said I’d be here and I’m here. Have a good day? Punch anyone in the face?”

“Nope. No one tried to dull my sparkle today. It was an awesome day,” she enthuses, as he sets her on the ground. “Hi Zeke’s daddy,” she chirps to the man standing beside him.

“You already know each other?” Tyler asks.

“Everyone knows Zeke’s daddy. He’s awesome. He comes sometimes and teaches us art and tells us really cool stories about his people. And Zeke is awesome too. He’s so cute and so sweet and gives the best hugs.”

Andy gives a sheepish smile. “I think he might have a bit of a crush on her.”

“He’s so cute!” Millie gushes. “He’s coming to my birthday party. He loves to swim, right Zeke’s daddy?”

“He does,” Andy confirms. “And he’s very excited. He’s never been invited to a birthday party before.”

“Other kids are such dicks,” she declares. “Mommy and daddy said that we’re all the same and we should love each other no matter what we look like or what we can or can’t do. That’s the stuff that makes us different and unique and not boring. No one wants to be boring.”

“You are definitely NOT boring,” Tyler tells her, as he fixes her hair clips and tightens her ponytail. “No one can ever say that about you, that’s for sure.”

“That’s Zeke right there!” She excitedly announces, and points to where her brothers are coming across the school yard; one on either side of their friend as he’s being pushed in his wheelchair by a one on one aide.

At first it makes Tyler feel sad; a hint of pity that nearly brings tears to his eyes and a lump to his throat. Pissed off at a fucked up world that would do something like that to an innocent kid. But he notices the brilliant smile and the look of pure adoration and love in his eyes as he looks at one boy, and then the other. The way the twins hold his hands and laugh and talk to him as if he’s just like any other kid on the playground.

“Daddy!” Tanner breaks away first, tossing himself into his father’s waiting arms. “You’re here! I know you’d be here. I missed you!”

“I missed you too, mate.” He lays a hand on the side of Tanner’s head and presses a kiss to his temple. “I said I’d be here. I wasn’t going to let you guys down. I’ll never do that. Not anymore.”

“Hi daddy!” TJ greets. “This is Zeke. He’s my best friend. Other than Tanner. Zeke, this is my dad. Remember how I told you that used to beat up bad guys? He’s crazy big and crazy strong but I promise he’s not mean. Not unless you’re a bad guy. And you are definitely not a bad guy.”

Tyler gives an uncomfortable laugh. “Okay, no one needs to hear that. About me beating up bad guys. You ready to go? We gotta go and get something for mommy. A surprise.”

Millie frowns. “Did you do something wrong?”

“I can’t buy your mom something just because? Maybe I just love and want to buy her things. Ever thought of that?”

His daughter scoffs. “That’s not how you work.”

“Well maybe I’m changing how I work. Don’t be such a smart ass.”

“You helped make me. I’m half you. Where do you think I get it from? Blame yourself.”

Tyler smirks, then turns to Andy. “Almost six going on sixteen. I’m dreading actual teenage years with this one. You guys wanna come with? We’re just going into town. Grab some ice cream. You’re more than welcome to tag along.”

“Yes! Please?! Millie grabs a hold of the other man’s arm. “Please Zeke’s daddy? It’ll be fun. And Zeke will love hanging out with us outside of school.”

“I warn you,” Tyler says, as he slings their three backpacks over his shoulders. “They’re a little feral. I blame my wife. Just don’t tell her I said that. She has a different take on who made them that way.”

“Ice cream sounds good,” he enthuses. “Be nice to have another dad to talk to. One that isn’t...I don't know…”

“A total prick?”

“That’s pretty much what I had in mind.”

“Wait until you get to know me, mate. I’m not as harmless as I seem.”

****

“Daddy made a friend!” Millie announces two hours later, as she bursts onto the back patio, already clad in one of her many bathing suits and a Strawberry Shortcake towel hanging off her head. And she stands beside the chair her mother sides on as she nurses the baby, pressing a kiss to Esme’s lips in greeting.

“A friend, huh?” She gives Tyler a wink as he lingers in the doorway, waiting for the twins to rush past him before stepping outside. And they each give her a kiss before rushing off with their sister; racing towards where Ovi sits with Declan in the surf. “An imaginary one or…?”

He smirks. “Now I know where your daughter gets being a smart ass from.”

“It’s definitely not from me,” she says, and he stands behind her chair, giving the nape of her neck a gentle squeeze before dropping a kiss on the top of her head. “So real? Fake? Who’s this friend?”

“A real one. And he’s not a friend. Just some guy that started talking to me while I was waiting for the kids.”

“You know it’s okay to have friends, right? Not everyone is out to get you, Tyler. Don’t you think it would be nice to have someone to talk to you?”

“I have you talk to you.”

“Who do you talk to when you’re pissed off and you need to vent about me?”

“Myself mainly,” he says, grimacing as he lowers himself into the chair across from her.

“Because THAT’S totally healthy.”

“You don’t piss me off enough to make me bitch to other people about you.”

She arches a brow. “Not even today?”

“We’re not going to talk about this right now, are we? I really do not want to talk about this.”

“When is there a better time?”

“I dunno. When the kids go to bed. When we actually can pay attention to what the other one is saying. And I don’t want to fight. I’m just putting that out there now. We’re supposed to be working on getting past shit like that; fighting all the time. And I thought we were doing pretty good.”

“We have been. Things have a lot better since we moved here. In New Zealand, for that matter. We’re more relaxed and less stressed and we don’t have people sticking their noses in our business all the time. One fight is not the end of the world. We used to fight about everything. Even stupid, small shit.”

“Yeah…” he stretches his right leg out, attempting to ignore the pain in the knees as he places his foot in her lap. “...I don’t miss those days.”

“I don’t know. The making up was always fun,” she teases, and he grins. “I think Declan’s here because of a fight, actually. Millie might be too, but we can’t say for sure which of the five days it happened on. If it was the first day…”

“That wasn’t a fight.”

“Bullshit it wasn’t.”

“That was you not listening to a goddamn word I say and doing what you want.”

“Okay for the record, I didn’t listen because I thought your rules your stupid and no man was going to tell me what to do no matter how hot he was. Second, that was a fight. You were doing all the yelling, but that was definitely a fight.”

“You and I remember that day very differently.”

“I think you have selective memory. Because you were pissed, and you were losing your shit. Which makes it a fight.”

“Isn’t a fight two sided?”

“You grabbed me by the throat.”

“You liked it.”

She smirks. “Okay, I’ll give you that. But that was definitely a fight and it’s very likely that that’s when Millie was conceived. And if it was, then your swimmers are very lucky and very determined. That’s all I’m going to say.”

“I am telling you. Super sperm. I know you don’t believe me, but I think that’s proof right there. First day, first time. Boom. Got shit done.”

“You are so romantic,” she chides.

“There was nothing romantic about those five days.”

“No,” she laughs. “There wasn’t. But it was hot though. Crazy hot.”

He nods in agreement, then leans his head back against his chair; eyes closed, hands clasped and resting on his stomach.

“I didn’t mean it,” she says, as moves Addie up onto her chest, one hand on the back of her head, the other rubbing her back. “I especially I didn’t mean it the way it sounded. I wasn’t trying to make it sound like you would do something like that. I...”

“Stop, okay? Not right now. Later.”

“I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. I just...”

“Baby...” he cracks his eyes open and gives her a tight-lipped smile. “...not now, okay? Please.”

“Okay,” she agrees with a sigh, and then looks out towards the water; watching as the three oldest kids take turns on who gets to be the one Ovi hurls into the water. “Chloe left,” she announces.

“What? When?”

“This morning. I guess they got into a big fight last night. About the job. She’s mad that he cut ties with Nik. I guess she was getting really tight with her.”

“Oh, for fuck sakes. That’s what pissed her off? How old is she again?”

“I told her that Nik is not the person you want to get close to. That she’ll fuck you over the first chance she gets. She spent seven years trying to do it to me. Ovi tried explaining how things are better this way; you running the business and him working for you. I don’t think she realizes just what that world is like. She’s got some romanticized view of it. Like it’s some exciting, amazing life where the good guys always win and survive. I told her that I’ve seen a lot of good people die. G, Saju. Just for starters.”

Tyler nods in agreement.

“And you. Well, almost you.”

“I wasn’t a good person. Not then. I don’t even know if I am now.”

She frowns. “Don’t do that, okay? You’re not the horrible person you think you are. You made some shitty decision and you had to do some bad things. To BAD people. You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t deserve to be.”

“I’m here because YOU thought I deserved to be”

“I didn’t think it. I knew it. You didn’t die that day because you weren’t meant to die. If you were supposed to be dead, you would be. And you can’t convince me otherwise.”

“Well for what it’s worth, I’m glad you did what you had to do to save me. Even though I know it fucked you up.”

“Seeing you like that is what fucked me up. Not doing what I did. And can we not talk about this?” Tears well in her eyes. “I hate talking about this. About Dhaka. Because it brings it all back and I just can’t deal with that. I thought by now I’d be over it and I could talk about it and think about it. But I can’t. I just can’t.”

Pushing his chair away from the table, he stands; limping as he walks around to where she sits, slightly wincing as he crouches down alongside of her. “Look at me...” he gently orders, one hand on her knees, the other reaching up and settling on the back of her neck. “...look at me.”

She obliges.

“I am right here.”

“I know.”

“Do you? Because sometimes I’m not so sure. It’s like we’re right back there. Going through everything all over again. Like we never left.”

“I’m just having a hard time,” she admits. “Things are happening so fast and with the business. I didn’t expect things to happen THIS quickly. I thought we had some time to breathe before you actually got back into it. At least a couples. A month, even. It’s been two days.”

“I’m not going anywhere. I’m not even starting anything until after Millie’s birthday. We talked about this. You were okay with it.”

“I AM okay with it. I’m the one who told you to go back. I just didn’t think it would happen so fast. I mean Addie’s not even a month old. She’s still tiny. She’s still new. And now I’ve got crates and bags of weapons and ammo and all kinds of other shit in my garage. And there’s people calling all the time wanting you help them right away.”

“Baby...calm down...I’m not going anywhere for at least a couple of weeks. I told you that.”

“I’m just worried. And I’m scared. I’ve got a new baby and four other kids, and I don’t want to do this alone. I CAN’T do this alone.”

“Esme, everything’s going to be okay. This isn't like all the other times when I went back. Everything’s different now. You don’t need to worry so much. It’s all different. I’m different.”

“I just want you to be careful. I just want you to be safe and come home and...”

“I’m not going anywhere,” he stresses. “Not for a while. Maybe not ever.” He pushes his fingers through her hair and places his lips against her forehead. “It’s going be okay. There’s nothing for you to worry about, I promise. Alright? Just calm down. Just calm down and trust me.”

“I do. You know I do. It’s other people I don’t trust.”

“I’ve got a lot of good people coming on board. Believe me when I say you can trust them. And you know, something really good happened today. At the school.”

“With your new friend?”

“If that’s what you want to call him. He was talking to me about our kid. TJ. How he always sticks up for his boy. His little guy’s in a wheelchair and has some issues and...”

“You met Andy. Zeke’s dad.”

“How do you know...”

“Him and his wife used to volunteer at the school on the days I did. That guy is crazy talented. You should see his art. He’s known all over the world, apparently. All aboriginal stuff. Did you meet Zeke too?”

Tyler nods.

“He’s the cutest little guy. And he gives the best hugs.”

“Your daughter said the same thing. Kid must be a player. What’s up with him hugging all the women in my life?”

“It makes me realize how lucky we are,” she says. “We have five beautiful, amazing, healthy kids. And I know it wouldn’t have a difference if there’d been something wrong with Declan. It didn’t matter to you. And I wouldn’t have wanted to go through that with anyone else. But we’re lucky. So lucky.”

“Yeah, we are. And we must be something right if TJ is like that. It means we haven’t fucked them up as bad I thought. At least not yet.”

“You do a pretty good job. I’ll give you that.”

“We do a good job,” he corrects. “I didn’t make those kids alone. And last time I checked, I didn’t give birth to them, so...”

“Makes the thought of a sixth one not seem so daunting after all.”

He grins. “I thought we weren’t going to talk about that so soon.”

“I’m just putting it out there. We’ll see how we feel six months from now.”

“I was going to give it a year, but okay...”

She leans forward and presses a kiss to his lips. “I love you and I’m sorry for what I said. I know you said not to talk about it right now, but I can’t help it. I never meant it that way and I don’t even know why I asked you that in the first place. I just...”

“It’s okay,” he assures her, kissing her temple before drawing her head down to his shoulder.

“It’s not okay. That was shitty thing to ask you. I don’t know why I did. Because I don’t think that way about you. I never have. I was just shocked, I guess. I wasn’t expecting you tell me that. I mean, I’m glad you did because you shouldn’t have held onto that for so long and...”

“Baby...” he rubs her back comfortingly. “...you’re rambling. Take it easy.”

“I’m just so sorry. I never meant to hurt you like that.”

“I know.”

“I’m sure I’m the crappiest wife on the planet.”

“You’re far from it. Trust me.”

She pulls away to look at him, smiling through the tears. “You’re so biased.”

“Maybe a bit. But that doesn’t make it less true. And I didn’t tell you because I wanted to protect you. I didn’t think you need to know about it. What good is going to do? Now that you heard all that. Now that you know what Asif wanted and what he was going to do. Nothing good is going to come of it.”

“I just deal with it, I guess. Same way I’ve been dealing Dhaka shit for seven years.”

“Not very well?”

She frowns.

“I’m just saying.”

“Tell me this is going to go away. That one day I’m going to think about it and talk about it without feeling like I’m going crazy. That one day I’m going to wake up and it won’t bother me anymore.”

“You will. One day.”

“I hope so. Because I don’t know how much more of it I can take. How much longer I can go with it bothering me like this.”

“It’s going to be alright,” Tyler promises, then presses a kiss to her forehead and once more draws her head down against him. “Everything’s going to be okay.”

It sounds good. Even to his own ears. But he can’t stop that feeling of dread that forms in the pit of his stomach. There are so many unknowns; answers he needs but can’t seem to find. No matter how hard he tries.

#tyler rake #tyler rake fan fiction #tyler rake fan fic #extraction #best part of me #chris hemsworth character

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blackmist111 · 5 years ago

Text

Present

Warnings: swearing, self-degrading, injured, a bit blood, cheating, angst and shitty fic.

Word Count: 4565

A/N: This is my first fic. It’s shitty and bad. So….be kind! or be mean lol idk. Let me know what you think. So, this is bad because a) I’m not a writer, b) I’m not the type of a person that is good at describing feelings. I can feel things but not good at telling or describing them lol. Btw, I do not take requests. This is just an idea that has been in my head for like…forever I think. Forgive me if there’s any grammar error. Also! I was listening to The Christmas Song (Amazon Original) by JoJo while writing this (pretty fucked up of me writing angst fic while listening to a happy song lol). And Merry Christmas!

Notes: Reader is Jensen’s sister from The Losers. And the conversation between Natasha and Bucky is from American Horror Story : Hotel.

Summary: You got an early Christmas gift this year.

They are all blindly coming towards ‘you’ right now. Stupid. Smiling as you check all their cameras and leader’s coms in this cozy small café. Everything is going smoothly as you planned. Going on a mission like this really annoyed you because it takes patients, lots of plans and doing undercover. It’s not like you can’t do it, come on, you were trained by SHIELD and some of your fellow Avengers.

Watching them all went to one of the bunkers, hallways full of guarded armies ready to shoot. And with one click, all of that place explodes. Now their army’s busy dealing with that, all you gotta do is go to their leader and take the most dangerous microchip that can make the whole world chaos.

You pack your laptop and stuff, and pay your coffee. Your specialty is hacking, like your brother, Jensen. Only he’s more into military and you used to work at a tech company. The reason you being an Avenger was you hacked into SHIELD system after Loki’s tragedy in New York, trying to know who are these super heroes. Read all their information that you’re not supposed to know. And also stole three millions from Tony Stark. What? That man’s loaded anyway. One day before you’re going to work, suddenly all the electricity at your apartment were cut out. You open your bedroom door, and saw 15 SHIELD agents pointing guns at you. Turns out that nobody, NOBODY has ever hacked into SHIELD and Tony Stark system. Took 30 people to make the system unbreakable.

Turning off your car’s engine. Now you are currently at the leader’s mansion. Sneaking in from the back door to his office. Going undercover for ten months and got the access in this mansion, you memorised it like the back of your hands. Just as you thought, he is in there. knocking out the leader after taking that microchip and suddenly one of the maids saw you. Turns out she’s also a trained guard too. She picked up a knife and throws it towards you. Almost hit at your hand but you quickly turned to her and about to shoot her, but at the same time she already picked up another knife and running towards you. She threw herself at you but it’s too late for her because you already shot her. Actually it’s too late for the both of you because when you shot her, the knife is already when through your left side.

Pushing her body to the side, look down at place that you’ve been stabbed. Guess you got lucky because the cut didn’t deep enough to cause you to lose consciousness…yet. You try to stand up slowly while pressing the wound. Once you’re sure you can stand up properly, you making your way out of there.

“I got the chip and get Carlos ready with his medkit” you inform while driving. “Copy that. We’re almost there” after that, tossing the phone aside and place your hand on the wound. “Great. Just….great. Now how am I supposed to go to that party” talking to yourself.

When you arrive at the meeting point, the Quinjet is already there waiting for you. After you safely got in the Quinjet, Agent Carlos immediately by your side helping you to the chair that’s already look like a small bed. You don’t know how he did that but it is a bed now.

“Where is it?” Carlos asked, while his eyes searching you body.

“On my left side. Just a small stab” you chuckled “but you better hurry up ‘cause I’m starting to feel kinda dizzy”

Carlos help you laying down and getting started to treat your wound.

“Can you believe Stefani did this?”

“No way. I thought you were cool with her?” Carlos shocked.

“Uh uh. Swear to god, I think she was a ninja or something”

“A hot ninja” Carlos smirk at you. “Come on, man. She stabbed me” you whine. “Now, be gentle! It’s starting to hurt” you told him.

“I am! Now quiet”

After feeling like forever, you can’t stand the dead silent around you. So, you raise your head a little bit so that you can see Agent Kevin that’s flying the Quinjet. “Hey Kevin, would you please turn on some Christmas jazz or Christmas song or anything? I don’t wanna pass out in this dead silent” without wasting time, Kevin did what you asked him.

“You think we can make it to the party?” You asked to both of them.

“Hell yeah we can” Kevin said “When I’m flying, you bet your ass you’re gonna make it either early or on time” Kevin smiling at both of you and Carlos.

You don’t know how long you have been passed out but you wake up when Quinjet’s landing. Slowly you get up, you winced when you feel the pain on your side.

“Careful there. Y/n, I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to go to the party” Carlos said concerning, followed with Kevin said 'yeah’ behind, agreeing with him. “You need to get check that up in medbay” Kevin continue.

“No no no. It’s Christmas eve’s party guys. Pretty sure it’s gonna be awesome and I miss my girl” you smile at them, already making your way out of the Quinjet “plus, I think you patched me up quite good. Look!” With that, you do a lousy 'heel click’ jump they ever see.

Groaning, you immediately regret doing that. Both of them just sighs and follow you into the building.

After you cleaned yourself up, you making your way to the party wearing a simple cream thin turtleneck tuck in a navy pantsuit and white sneakers. When you got there the party is on full swing, some of them dancing, chatting and at the bar. You’re trying to look for your friends and your girlfriend, finally you found Steve, Bruce and Maria at the bar.

“Hey guys!”

“Y/n! You’re back!” Maria hugging you. “good to see you, y/n” Steve raising his glass at you. The four of you ended up chatting for awhile until Steve and Maria excuse themselves and left you with Bruce.

“So y/n, are you…okay?” Bruce asked you while sipping his drink.

“Of course. Why are you asking?” You asked back confusedly.

“Because since you got here, I saw that you’re always kept placing your right hand to your side” Bruce placing his drink on the counter. His attention is fully on you now.

You sigh. There’s nothing to hide you guess, and told him about your wound. Bruce almost drag you out of the party but you made sure that you are indeed okay. Sure, you still feel the pain and kinda dizzy but you’re missed too much of being home and not to forget, your girlfriend. Speaking of girlfriend, you ask Bruce about Natasha “do you happen to see Natasha, Bruce?”

“No…but before you came here I thought I saw her talking with some agents” Bruce looking around trying to find her.

“Oh okay. Well, I think I’m gonna look for her. See ya, green guy”

“A-are you SURE you’re okay?”

“100%! Don’t worry about me. Let’s just enjoy the party, pleaseee? It’s been like, what? 10 months?” you smiling at him “but-”

“Come on! It’s Christmas, Bruce. Enjoy a little bit” you cutting him and then leave to look for your girlfriend.

After 15 minutes asking your friends where is Natasha, you took a seat at the bar. “Can I have an ice water, please?” You asked, the bartender nodded and give you your order. All these walking and talking making you feel exhausted and thirsty “You look like you’re lost. Looking for someone?” The bartender asked.

You drink half of your water with a one gulp. “Actually, yeah. I’m looking for Natasha Romanoff, have you seen her?”

“I think I saw her, like 10 minutes ago. She left and went to that way and up” he’s pointing at the stairs behind you.

“Oh thanks! And the water too” with that information, you went up to the stairs. Looks like it’s gonna be a long night you think. 10 minutes looking for her in these meeting rooms and debriefing rooms, you stop for awhile and went to your office. Where is she? Is she playing hide and seek with me? You thought. Sitting at your office desk, sighing but winced at the pain, you look down at your sweater and found that there’s blood on it. You pull it up and see that the cut starts to bleed a little and blood soaks through the bandage and your sweater. Guess I really need to go to medbay. You thought. Pulling it down, you log on to your computer. Still not giving up, you went into a security cameras and looking 20 minutes before you arrived at you office.

Finally, you see her in the footage. It’s true she went to the stairs but she took the elevator to her room. With that, not wasting any time you get up and going to her room. You and Natasha has been together for almost two years and the mission you just got back took you 10 months without contact anyone except your backup, Carlos and Kevin. Forget this wound 'cause you’re missing your girlfriend like crazy. Your relationship is still not on the 'share a room’ level but when you were on that last mission, you actually thought maybe you could ask her.

Natasha is the first person that actually care about you. Not like your exes. They used you either for their ego boost or sex and most of them are narsissists. But Natasha, she cares about you, she listens and remember the little things about you that even you, don’t even realize that you always do. And it makes you for the first time feel appreciated by someone that actually loves you back. Not just one sided.

It usually took you at least three minutes to her room from your office. But this time seems like three hours. Maybe it’s just a dizzy thinking. You thought. Arrived at her room, you heard loud music coming from her room. Knocking on her door twice still no answer. Maybe she’s taking a shower. You thought.

You open the door slowly, you hear heavy breathing. What is this song Nat’s been listening to? You thought. And then, moans….you hear moans. You went in two feet from the door, and saw Natasha straddling and grinding on a guy in her bed. Both of them naked. You don’t know what to say or even do anything. That guy. That guy has a metal arm. You don’t know much guys that has a metal arm.

“Nat….” You whispered. You immediately get out from that room. Went to the elevator and pressing the first floor button. The dizzy have became a headache and you’re sweating but at the same time you feel cold. Besides that, you’re supposed to, you know, crying? Because you just saw your girlfriend cheating on you with your friend.

You’re not the angry or emotional type of person. But this is the time you’re supposed to cry or angry or FEEL something. You feel numb. Making your way out from the elevator to the front door. You need to get out from here. Now.

“Y/n?” Ugh not now. You thought. You keep walking to the door.

“Hey, are you okay?” It’s Bruce that found you here. “I’m okay, Bruce” He walks and stand in front of you, blocking your way. “Y/n, you look so pale” he’s putting his hands on your shoulders trying to get a better look at you “oh my god. You’re burning up, y/n” he said that after putting the back of his hand on your forehead.

“Let’s get you to the medbay” he’s about to guide you back to the elevator. But you immediately protest by squeezing his arm. “Please. Not here, Bruce. Please. Not in this buildin-” without finishing the sentence, you pass out in Bruce’s arms.

Opening your eyes, you realized that you’re not in medbay or in your room. This is someone else’s room. You began to panic and started to get up in a sitting position but winced at the pain on your side.

“You shouldn’t do that” Bruce walking in the room with a glass and a water bottle in his hands. Putting them on the bedside table, he’s sitting on the bed beside you.

“Where am I?” You asked him with a hoarse voice. Hearing that, he turned to the bedside table took the water bottle, pour it into the glass and hand it to you. “You’re at my place right now” watching you drink “you’ve been passed out for almost two days. And I already treat your cut and changed the bandage” Bruce explained to you.

Hearing this makes you feel a little relieved until “did you tell anyone?”

Bruce sighs.

“Bruce”

“No, y/n. I don’t because before you passed out, you looked so pale and you’re kinda begging me not to go to that building” you exhale loudly, closing your eyes feeling fully relieved.

“Y/n. Do you want to tell me why you’re avoiding that place?”

You close your eyes for a moment. Besides Natasha, Bruce is the closest friend to you. And that is why he did exactly what you told him before you passed out.

“Its okay if you’re not ready. I underst-”

“She cheated on me” the tears started to gather in your eyes. Trying to hold it by clenching your jaw, while looking at the wall in front of you. Your vision was blurry and it was difficult for you to see clearly

Silence.

Bruce looking you at shocked. There’s a million questions that he wants to ask but refuse to do so because looks like you’re not finish. A minute after a silence, finally you look at him “she cheated on me, Bruce” your voice crack. Tears slowly spilled over the sides of your eyes. Bruce holding your hands.

“With who?”

You sniffled, still trying to look strong. “Bucky” you whispered, looking at him. Bruce slowly pulling you hands and hugging you. “I’m so sorry, y/n” he comforts you. Pulling away from him, wiping your tears.

“You know, a small part of me already knew that this is gonna happen. It’s because I always have this bad luck when it comes to love. I don’t know what have I done wrong but when I think of it maybe it’s me. I’m the problem. I didn’t pay attention to her, hell I can’t even give what Bucky’s can, to make her full. I-I’m still not ready to do that stage in this relationship. After all these years, all my exes used me. I even told her about that and she said she’s completely understand and willing to wait. I loved her, Bruce. So much. Seeing her with him on her bed, I….I-I don’t know. When we were making it official, I know its too good to be true. Look at her. And look at me. She’s way WAY out of my league. And Bucky…they have so much in common. Make sense now. I was too stupid too realize it. To think that I have a chance with her. Stupid, useless, hopeless piece of shi-”

“Stop. Stop right there” Bruce cutting you off your rambling. Listening to what you’ve just said making his blood boiled “You are not stupid or anything that you said. You’re not the one to blame here, y/n. They are. And they’re gonna pay for what they did to you” Bruce told you angrily and his voice crack almost turning to Hulk’s voice.

Hearing this, you saw his veins starting to turn green too. And immediately holding his hands to keep him calm. “No no. Breathe, Bruce. Breathe” you tried to calm him down. He took a couple of deep breaths and rubbing his temples. “It’s okay. I don’t want to hurt anybody”

“But you’re hurting, y/n”

“I know…but it’s alright. I’ve dealt with this many times before. I can do it one more” you smile at him but all he sees is a broken smile with tears in your eyes. “So,” sniffing and wiping the remaining tears on your cheeks “how was you Christmas?”

“It was uh…it was good I guess” he said, sighing “and thanks to you because if you’re not here I guess I’ll be spending Christmas here alone” giving you a small smile.

“I’m sorry I’ve ruined your Christmas”

“No, you’re not. You never ruin anything. Come here” Bruce pulling you for a hug.

“It’s been three weeks, y/n. I think she’s getting suspicious and worry” Bruce said while both of you having breakfast.

“She even interrogating two agents that went to the same mission with you” hearing this, you only chuckled. Poor those two bastards. “Did she ask you anything?”

“Yeah, asked me if I saw you. I only said that I talked to you during that party. Steve also were there too to confirm that” he inform you, while cutting his pancakes to pieces.

Both of you talk about anything else after that. By the time you both finished breakfast, Bruce getting ready to go to Avengers Facility. And you hopping on the couch with your laptop, ready to watch your favorite show. “Alright. I’ll see you in…I’ll see you when I see you” smiling at you.

“Okay. Don’t forget to eat, Bruce” with that Bruce making his way to the door and off to work.

It’s 1 pm and you’re feeling bored. You got out from the couch and searching for some snacks and return back to your laptop. Staring at your laptop, you’ve thought about this since last week but can’t seem to do it. Hacking the Avengers building’s security cameras.

Feeling hesitant for a moment but when you think of it, there’s nothing harm doing it. It’s just a normal day for you, for them. Nothing’s weird gonna happen. You began your work hacking into the system. Took you five minutes to made into the system without they tracking you.

First, you see Steve training with Wanda. And then you move to another camera and saw Maria having a meeting with agents in the meeting room. Seems pretty normal. You’re about to move to the kitchen’s camera but accidentally move to another meeting room’s camera. That’s when you saw Natasha and Bucky debriefing agents in a bigger meeting room.

You feel like your heart stops beating. Seeing her for the first time after that incident with him makes you stop breathing and the world suddenly becomes five times slower. Turning up the sound a little bit so you can hear what they’re talking about. And hearing her voice makes it even worse. That voice used to be the most favorite sound of your entire life. For three weeks you’ve been avoiding this feeling, avoid all the tears, trying to be strong. Even Bruce worry about you not crying or screaming or something. You’re just sitting here, alone, staring and not talking. Bruce find it really disturbing that you’re acting so calm.

But you’re not calm. There’s so many emotions that are fighting in you and begging you to let it all out after all these years of being used. No, that’s a weak person would do. Emotions.

After 30 minutes watching them with tears on your cheeks, all agents finally done with the meeting and making their way out from there except Natasha and Bucky.

She followed the last agent to the door, closed it and locked. Wiping the tears on your eyes for you to see clearly. She turned around and walking back to Bucky. “How’s everything with y/n? Any sign of her?”

“Still nothing. Couldn’t find her anywhere. Seems like she’s disappeared” Natasha sighed, Bucky turning to her “Hey, it’s going be okay, Nat. Probably she’s on another mission?”

“No, she’s not. Agent Carlos and Agent Kevin’s reports said that she were injured during that mission. Even Steve and Bruce talked to her at the party” she said, frustrated.

“It’s going to be alright. She’ll turn up anytime soon, hm?” Bucky looking at her, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear. “I-I’m just….worry” she hugging Bucky.

Bucky hug her back but after that his hand move down to squeeze her ass. “Mmm I love it when you do that” she said. They began kissing passionately until Natasha slowly pulling away “and love that too” pecking his lips “everything” she smiling at him.

“But I thought you love y/n”

“I do love her. But at the same time you make me feel woman enough when I’m with you” Natasha explained.

“Natalia…you are woman enough for me. When I look at you, I see something of my vanished world”

“We can have that world again. Right now” with that they’re both started to kiss each other and you slam your laptop screen closed. Crying your eyes out like there is no tomorrow.

You wake up and your surrounding is dark. You fell asleep, exhausted after crying. Looking at the clock, it’s 12 am. Getting up and go to the kitchen drinking some water. Looking for something to eat but guess this morning’s breakfast was the last supply that Bruce have. You have to eat something because when your stomach’s empty, you’re going to get a headache and that’s the last thing you want. So, moving to bathroom washing your face. Remove tears stains. Looking at your pathetic self in the mirror that can’t make Natasha woman enough. Worthless. You sighed and take your phone dialing Bruce’s number.

“Hello?”

“Hey, when you’re gonna get home?”

“Uh probably late or just gonna crash here. Whats up?”

“Oh cool. Just letting you know that, there’s no food here!”

“Shit. I forgot”

“The hell you are!” You heard Bruce chuckled.

“Okay okay. Listen, there’s a 24 hours convenience store around the block. Buy anything you want, there’s some cash in the bowl beside the tv. Or order a pizza if you want”

Looking at the tv, you saw there is a bowl. Walking there, you took out the cash and count it. There’s four hundred bucks. More than enough. “Found it! Alright I’m going out”

“Be careful, okay” after that both of you said goodbye. Picking up you jacket and walking out the door to the convenience store.

Walking outside really make you head feels a little bit clear. Even though, your heart still hurts. She’s happy now, y/n. You’re just in her way. You thought. In the store, picking out some snacks, sodas and a couple packs of ramen. Wow, what are you? A college student? You’re at the candy isle still couldn’t decide what chocolate brand you’re gonna buy, there’s a boy not too far from you. Looks like he’s 10 years old, looking at all the candies in front of him.

He picked one of them and immediately putting it in his jacket. When he’s about to do the same, you walked to him “Stop” putting your hand on his shoulder. He turned around, eyes wide from shocked that he got caught shoplifting. You asked him why he did it, and he told you that he’s so hungry and there’s no food at home and he lives with his grandpa. His grandpa only can afford a meal for a day. Hearing this, makes your heart broken even more and told him to empty his pockets. And take anything he needs, and you’re gonna pay for him.

He hugged you and says 'thank you’ to you like 20 times, non-stop. You chuckled. “What’s your name, kid?”

“Lucas”

Both of you picking out things that you both needed together. When you’re about to walk to the cashier with Lucas, you see a man holding out a gun at the cashier. “Now and make it quick!”

The robber probably thinks that the store was empty because he didn’t see both of you not too far behind him. You’re about to take a step towards the robber but Lucas pulling back your hand. You look back at him, he’s shaking his head trying to tell you that its a bad idea what you are about to do. Seeing this, you handing him your cash “here, take this. Once I got his attention, you get some help” he quickly nodding his head. “Now go hide” Lucas turned away but you pull him back “and please. No more stealing”

“I promise” with that, he went back to hiding from the robber’s sight.

Slowly you making your way behind the robber, kicking the back of his knee and smacking your elbow to his head making him fall to the ground. But the gun is still in his hand. Stepping on his hand to make him let go of the gun. “Now, Lucas!”

The boy immediately ran out of the store, looking for help. Kicking away the gun from him and making sure the cashier is alright but once the cashier about to answer, the robber got up and body-slamming you to the ground. Unfortunately, your head hit the ground first, made you feel kinda dizzy and a bit disoriented. But you shake it off and got up. You tried to punch him but he dodged it and punch you in your stomach so hard that you fell on your back. The cashier turn on the alarm and hearing this, the robber panicked and hit the cashier until his unconscious. And he picked up his gun, pointing at you “stay down! Or imma shoot you!”

You slowly get up, holding up your hands out in front of you “you don’t have to do this”

“Shut up!”

“Don’t do it-”

Bang.

The robber ran away after he shot you. You feel slight stinging and look down at your stomach there’s a blood pouring out through your shirt. You started to slowly stumbling backwards and fell while holding your stomach. So here you are sitting down, putting a pressure down to your stomach. Suddenly you remembered what your brother told you what it feels like when he got shot “just a little pinch. Nothing’s hurt” his voice echoing in your head.

The thing is, this is nothing like a pinch at all. You feel burning radiating through your core. As you sitting there waiting for help to come, you began fading in and out of consciousness. Finally you saw Lucas coming in rushing beside you.

“Hold on, okay. The help is coming”

“Thanks, kid” you smiled at him “but I don’t think I’m gonna make it” you groan, the burning in your stomach started to feel worse.

“No no. H-hold on a little bit. They’re gonna be here any second”

You’re trying to hold on but his voice is getting further and further. And your eyes started to feel so heavy. This is it. You thought. There’s nothing you regret if you let go. Your brother’s taking a good care of your niece. Your friends are happy, Natasha is happy now. Lucas have the money that he can survive without having to steal again. Everyone around you is in good hand. With that one last thought, you took one last deep breath and follow into the darkness.

#natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #black widow #black widow x reader #natasha romanoff imagine #avengers #natasha romanoff fanfic #marvel #natasha romanoff x y/n #black widow imagine #this is bad i have warned you #present #christmas #christmas presents

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queen-of-deans-booty · 5 years ago

Text

Dark Side of the Moon: Part Three

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Word Count: 2,314

Warnings: typical supernatural violence, language, angst, blood, you know the usual

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Supernatural. All credit goes to their respective owners. Any and all comments on these are appreciated. I really want to hear what you guys think about this one!

Feedback is the glue that holds my writing together.

Tags at the bottom

When you first arrived at the shack, sunlight shone through the open doors and windows, but as soon as you left, it was nighttime. You three were on top of a hill, and Sam’s shack was nowhere to be found. You didn't know whose memory or vision this was until the same little girl, now a little older, came running up to you with a wide smile.

“Who the hell is this?” Dean asked when she gave you a tight hug.

There was nothing you could say, but you gave one look at Sam and he immediately knew. The little girl let go of you only to hug Dean, and he turned stiff since he didn’t know what to do. Once the little girl let go, she began running down the hill excitedly.

“Come play with me!” she yelled, her voice fading until she was gone completely.

Yep, this was definitely Amara’s way to make you feel guilty… and it was working.

“Why did she look like me?” Dean asked.

God, please. There was no easy way to tell Dean this, and it certainly wasn’t the time to get into it now. As if he was listening to you, the scene suddenly changed to a road, and Dean’s focus was on that now instead of the little girl. You silently thanked whoever was listening for the distraction. You were going to tell him eventually, and if the guilt continued, it would certainly be soon.

“What memory is this?” Dean asked.

“No idea,” Sam cleared his throat, obviously lying about it. “Alright, come on. Dean… Road. God. Remember?”

“Wait a minute. Wait a minute. This,” he looks at Sam accusingly, “is the night you ditched us for Stanford, isn’t it? This is your idea of Heaven? Wow.” He laughs painfully. “This was one of the worst nights of my life.”

“I can’t control this stuff,” Sam groaned.

“Seriously? I mean this is a happy memory for you?”

“I don’t know. I mean, I was on my own. I finally got away from Dad.”

“Yeah, he wasn’t the only one you got away from,” Dean scoffed.

“Dean, I’m sorry. I just--”

“I know. You didn’t think of it like that.”

“Dean! Come on, can we not fight?” you asked, tired of all the secrets and lies.

That’s rich coming from a woman who’s keeping the biggest one of all.

“C’mon! Your Heaven is somebody else’s Thanksgiving! Okay. It’s bailing on your family. What do you want me to say?” Dean yelled at his brother.

That stung deep since you knew he would be more pissed at you than anything else. Would you two even be okay if you told him? Should you tell him?

“Man, I never got the crusts cut off my PB & J. I just don’t look at family the way you do.”

“Yeah, but I’m your family. We’re your family!” Dean motioned to you and him.

“I know...”

“I mean, we’re supposed to be a team. It’s supposed to be you, me, and Y/N against the world, right?”

“Dean, it is!”

“Is it?” he asked after a pause.

“Seriously, shut the fuck up! Both of you! I am sick and tired of this fighting! God damn!” you yelled, fisting your fingers through your hair.

“Don’t think you’re little miss perfect!” Sam pointed an accusatory finger at you.

“What does that mean?” Dean asked, looking between you and his brother. “Is there something I don’t know?”

“No, there isn’t,” you gritted your teeth.

Suddenly search lights appeared in the sky, and you knew it was Zachariah looking for you once more.

“Go! Go!” Dean yelled, and you three immediately took off toward the trees at the side of the road.

You followed the brothers into the darkened woods, eventually jumping over a log and hiding inside of it. That took a lot out of you, but you tried to get your breathing in control.

“Wow. Running from angels. On foot. In heaven,” Zachariah spoke as he followed you calmly into the forest. “With out-of-the-box thinking like that, I’m surprised you three haven’t stopped the Apocalypse already.”

“Guys. What’s the problem? I just want to send you back to Earth, that’s all,” Zachariah said, snapping his fingers so that it’s suddenly daytime.

The sun was bright, and you shielded your eyes before they got used to the light. Taking a deep breath, you turned and peeked over the log. Zachariah is standing a few yards away with his back turned to you. You were dead so you didn’t have your powers to help you this time.

“I mean, that is, after I tear you a cosmos of new ones. You’re on my turf now, boys and girl. And by the time I through with you, you’re going to be begging to say yes,” he laughed.

“Go!” you whispered, and the brothers didn’t hesitate to argue with you.

You three took off running in the opposite direction, and Zachariah turned with a smile since he finally knew where you three were. There were a lot of trees, and you tried to zig zag your way through them when you came to a screeching halt. Zachariah was right in front of you, and his smile said that he was pissed and done with your shit.

“Guys, c’mon. You can run but you can’t run,” he laughed.

“Go!” you yelled and turned the other way.

Zachariah loved the game you four were playing since he let you run from him only to capture you. It was a sick game of capture the flag only you three were the flag. This time, however, you came to a halt when confronted by a slim figure in a colorful mask and a gold cape.

“What the fuck?” you whispered.

The figure put one finger to his mouth to indicate that you should be silent.

“Shh. Hurry! This way!” he encouraged you to follow him.

He lead you to a small wooden shack in the middle of the woods. When he approached the door, he scribbled some symbols on the rusted door then opened it and ran inside. There was nothing left to do but follow since he looked to be a lot better than Zachariah.

“Wait, who are you?” Sam asked when everyone was safe inside and the door was shut.

The room is much bigger than it should be since the shack you saw was tiny. Even though the inside is dim, the tables and chairs are visible in the light from the windows. The figure pulls off his mask and his cape.

“Buenos dias, bitches,” the man smirked.

“Ash?” you asked with a smile.

It’s been so long since you’ve seen him. Ash clapped his hands twice, and the lights come on.

“Welcome to my blue heaven,” he chuckled.

Now you know why this place looked so familiar. It was Ellen’s Roadhouse. The memories in this place brings a smile to your face, but then you remembered Ellen and Jo were dead and you grew more sad.

“Good God, the Roadhouse. It even smells the same,” Dean laughed as soft music played in the background.

“Bud, blood and beer nuts. It’s the best smell in the world. How 'bout a cold one? Up here? No hangover,” he chuckled, snapping his fingers which made the drinks appear.

You grabbed a seat in the middle of the brothers and grabbed the beer to chug.

“So… no offense,” Sam cleared his throat, not knowing how to say this.

“How did a dirt bag like me end up in a place like this? I’ve been saved, man. I was my congregation’s number one snake handler.”

“And you said this was your heaven?”

“Yup! My own personal heaven!” he shotguns his beer and burps to let everyone know that he finished.

“And when the angels jumped us? We were…?”

“In your heaven,” Ash finished for Sm.

“So there are two heavens?” you asked, clearly not doing too good.

He saw how tired you looked, but he decided not to comment on that right now.

“No, more like a hundred billion. So, no worries, it’ll take those angels boys a minute to catch up.”

“What?” Dean asked, completely confused.

“See, you gotta stop thinking of heaven as one place. It’s more like a butt-load of places all crammed together. Like Disneyland except without all the anti-Semitism.”

“Disneyland?” Sam questioned.

“Mm-hmm. Yeah. See you got Winchesterland,” he motions to indicate the bar, “Ashland,” he motions all around outside the bar, “A whole mess of everybody-else-lands. Put them all together: Heaven. Right? At the center of it all? Is the Magic Kingdom. The Garden.”

“So everybody gets a little slice of paradise,” you put the pieces together.

“Pretty much. A few people share—special cases,” Ash shrugged.

“What do you mean ‘special’?” Dean wondered.

“Aw, you know. Like, uh, soulmates. Anyway. Most people can’t leave their own private Idaho’s.”

“But you ain’t most people.”

“Nope. They ain’t got my skills. Hell, I’ve been all over. Johnny Cash. André the Giant. Einstein. Sam, that man can mix a White Russian. Hell, the other day? I found Mallanāga Vātsyāyana,” he laughed.

“Who?”

“He wrote the Kama Sutra. Huh, that boy’s heaven? Ah, sweaty. Confusing.”

“All this from a guy who used to sleep on a pool table,” Dean chuckled.

“Yeah. Now that I’m dead, I’m living, man, a whole lot more.”

“How did you find us?” you asked, taking the second beer he offered you.

“I rigged up my very own holy-rolling police scanner,” he pulls out a laptop from underneath the bar. He hits the power button, and it showed a mess of sound graphs and making this horrible annoying piercing sound once it started up. “That’s angels. Blabbing Enochian, okay? I’m fluent. I heard that you were up. Of course, I had to come find you. Again.”

“Again?” you asked, surprised.

Ash turned off the computer and place it back underneath the counter.

“This ain’t the first time here. I mean, you three die more than anyone I’ve ever met.”

“Really?” Dean asked, even more surprised.

“Ah, yeah… you don’t remember. God! Angels. Must’ve Windexed your brain,” he chuckled.

“Have you found anyone else we might know? Ellen and Jo?” you asked with a hopeful tone.

“Ellen and Jo are dead?” he asked, clearly taken aback.

“Uh, yeah. Yeah. A few months now. Sorry,” Sam whispered guiltily.

“Um, hmm. Uh, they went down fighting?” Ash spoke once he composed himself.

“Yeah. Until the end.”

“Yeah, a lot of good it did. How ‘bout our folks?” Dean asked bitterly.

“I’ve been looking all over for John Winchester, Mary too, but so far: nada. I’m sorry. But hey! There is somebody that wants to jaw with you. Hold up,” he grinned, leaving the bar to go into the back room that used to be his.

There are symbols on the door much like the ones he drew on the outside of the shack door. A moment later, he returns with none other than Pamela Barnes, and as much as you’re happy to see her, you couldn’t even muster up a smile.

“Pamela!” Sam grinned.

“Nice to see you boys again,” she grinned, winking at each brother to show that she had her eyes back.

She turned to you but frowned since she could tell you did something terrible. If only you could tell her without judgment.

While in waiting, Ash and Sam were trying to find out a way to the Garden--one that won’t get you killed or captured in the process. Dean and Pamela sat together to discuss whatever it is they wanted to talk about, but you were sitting alone since this guilt was eating you alive. You didn’t know how it was possible, but you might actually die in Heaven. Then where would you go?

Dean looks so normal talking to Pamela, and you wondered what he would look like if he knew the secret you’ve been harboring for weeks now. Would he be okay with it? Would he just suggest to try again? Would he be pissed? Would he hate you? Would you two even be okay? The longer this goes on, the worse it’s going to be. It’s going to be even worse if he finds out from someone other than you.

Pamela whispered something to Dean before she got up and made her way over to you. She sat down across from you in the booth you were in, and you managed to give her a weak smile.

“I know what you did.”

“Yeah everyone does except for Dean,” you sighed, not bothering to try and hide it.

“You need to tell him.”

“How can I? He yelled at his own brother for bailing on family. What’s going to happen when he finds out I killed his child?”

“There is nothing worse than keeping something from someone that deserves to know the truth. I said it before and I’ll say it again, I see a bright light within you. You’re a good witch, Y/N. You two will work it out.”

“I don’t think so. I think this is going to break us,” you whispered. “The guilt is eating me alive. I was fine with it at first because I didn’t want kids, but it’s different now. Dean deserves a family, and I know we could have worked it out with the Apocalypse and stuff. Pamela, he’s going to hate me. I know it because I hate me.”

“You two were meant for each other. I saw it when I was alive, and I see it now. I promise you that you’ll work it out.”

“Yeah,” you whispered with a shrug.

“Hey! Found a shortcut to the Garden,” Sam announced.

Ash gave you, Dean, and Pamela a thumbs up, and the older woman was the only one to return it.

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vanchlo · 5 years ago

Text

The Assistant / Chapter Twenty Five, “A New Hope”

// FIND OLD CHAPTERS HERE //

hi!!!! i hope you’re all doing okay and hanging in there during this crazy time in the world. please know that im thinking of you, and please stay safe and healthy!!! id love to hear what you think of this chapter so plz like reply with thoughts or send me an ask??? id love to talk to anybody about this story bc it sounds weird but i love this story too???? like tell me what was your fav part??? what do you predict is gonna happen?

thanks so much for still reading after all of this time, and i hope this chapter distracts you from some of the crap going on in the world ♡♡♡♡

*SNEAK PEEKY TIME*

“But some moments when I’m so deep into my work, a thought pops into my head making me think that I’ll look up and see him there. Or some days I even think I hear his voice. Or I think the text I just got was from him.

None of that happens.

And it upsets me far more than it should. Some days I’m just better at ignoring it.

I couldn’t have wished for a better “new job,” but sometimes I miss him. And I don’t know what to do about it. Because there isn’t anything I can do. I know I made the right decision to leave, but in the moments I get overwhelmed and frustrated with learning new tasks, I wish I could be sitting back in that desk down the hall from his office.”

PART TWO: THE STRANGER

The noises here are all new and hard to get used to. The printer works differently. It’s like a maze in order to find the department I work in. There are key codes I have to put in and doors I have to scan my badge at. There are so many more names to learn here, and new phone extensions to master.

But I like it.

And I think I’m getting the hang of it. Slowly but surely.

“It’s Becky, right?” a voice says, pulling me from my chaotic thoughts.

I blink, looking away from my steaming cup of tea and to the face smiling at me.

“Uh yeah, it is. And you’re . . . Molly, right?”

“Yeah, wow! You’re good at names!” she laughs before sipping from her own cup of tea and taking a seat beside me. “How are you liking it here so far?”

“It’s good so far, thanks,” I reply, picking up my tea and blowing on it. Avoiding her round brown eyes, I think hard about where I’ve seen her before. She must be in the same department if she’s in this break room. Hmmm. I hate it when I can’t remember things even though it’s on the tip of my tongue.

“You used to work for Styles and Lawson, did I hear that right?” Molly asks before taking a long pull from her mug. She crosses her legs clad in black slacks that end at the polka-dotted blouse hugging her large chest.

If I got a pound for every time somebody has asked me that here, I wouldn’t even have to work here.

“Yeah,” I say, trying not to sound how annoyed I am to have to answer this question for the hundredth time. I told my new boss this once, and somehow everybody in the Administration department now knows it.

“Interesting. It looks like you stayed in the same world coming to work at the courts,” she remarks and I nod blankly.

Yeah, as if I haven’t heard that one before in the last month, too.

I continue to smile and nod at her repetitive questions. I sometimes answer them and then listen to her drone on about her three kids until the small hand reaches the 6 on the clock and my break is over. I’ve never been so excited before to go back to work.

Sitting down at my desk, I almost smile at the way the cushion welcomes me back. Framed pictures smile back at me.

Skye and I. Robbie and I as kids in matching outfits. My dad. My grandparents.

The same ones I had on my old desk. At his firm.

My chin arrives in my hand and a heavy sigh falls from my lips. The little pink clock on my desk tells me it’s only 12:30 in the afternoon.

I wonder what he’d be doing right now.

My eyes fall shut with a groan. I try to shake my head free of those kinds of thoughts. The very thoughts I’ve been trying to push away this last month. But after so long, it’s almost too hard. I thought that the more time that passed would make it easier, but some days it’s harder than others.

I really like it here. Everybody is nice and helpful. My boss is easygoing, supportive, communicates well, and helps me with any questions I may have. My workload is realistic, it’s familiar, and I enjoy it.

But some moments when I’m so deep into my work, a thought pops into my head making me think that I’ll look up and see him there. Or some days I even think I hear his voice. Or I think the text I just got was from him.

None of that happens.

And it upsets me far more than it should. Some days I’m just better at ignoring it. I couldn’t have wished for a better “new job,” but sometimes I miss him. And I don’t know what to do about it. Because there isn’t anything I can do. I know I made the right decision to leave, but in the moments I get overwhelmed and frustrated with learning new tasks, I wish I could be sitting back in that desk down the hall from his office. I tell myself that I just miss the familiarity. But I know that I also miss him.

His sweet cherry smile.

His contagious laugh.

His bizarre outfits that I looked forward to every day.

His twinkling green eyes.

The taco dates.

The late-night hangouts in his office with wine coolers and take away.

The silly yet frustrating Scrabble games.

His smell. Sandalwood mixed with bergamot and cedar.

And his jokes.

His raspy deep drawl.

And his warm bear hugs.

Pressing my fingers into my temples, I blink hard. The thoughts disappear for a second, but not long enough. I lift my head and settle my fingers on the letters of the keyboard. The login screen is only blurry for a moment, and the moment passes. But the ache in my chest and the racing inside of my skull doesn’t stop. They only continue as I open up a document and continue my work, as I continue missing him.

I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to stop.

12:30 right on the dot.

The black second-hand ticks past the three nears the four, and then the five. Fat snowflakes fall against my foggy window, blanketing the rest of London in its opaqueness. The words of David Gilmour and Roger Waters tickle my ears, but I don’t listen to them. The thoughts whirring around inside of my head keep them out.

I wonder what she’s doing right now.

Is she liking her new job?

Are they being nice to her?

Did she already eat lunch?

Are any blokes flirting with her?

Does she have her own desk?

What kind of place does she work at now?

Is she happy?

That thought weighs heavier than the others, and I feel it. My lips part and a long sigh leaves them.

Knock knock!

“Yeah?” I call out, not bothering to turn around. The bustling of double-deckers, cars, and people on the streets are more entertaining than any emails I should be reading.

“Harry, are you going to join us?” I hear a familiar voice ask.

“Yeah, ‘ll be there inna minute,” I answer, ignoring the tone of Myles’ voice.

The sound of the door closing trickles past the music and into my ears. My head falls into my hands and I let my eyes close. My fingers find their way into my hair and I remain there for a second, feeling my breaths leave and enter me.

I miss you, Becks.

A few breaths later, my fingers fall. Now, they find the closed laptop sitting near me and the leather book atop it. Next, my feet find their way to the door. But they stop in front of it. All of the moisture in my throat suddenly disappears, and a giant old lump appears in its place.

Oh, not again.

I breathe in and out and wait until it passes.

My ringed fingers wrap around the handle and turn it. Swallowing past the lump, my feet move again and down the hall. Knuckling at my eyes, I round the corner and quickly wipe at my eyes.

“You okay, Harry?” Myles asks me, welcoming me when I sit down beside him in the large meeting room.

“Yeah, jus’ got somethin’ in me eye,” I tell him, gulping hard. But there’s something in his ocean blue eyes that says different. He’s been a blessing putting up with my shit and excuses, but I think he knows more than he lets on. He’s always cared more than he shares.

He pats my arm before he turns to face Jennings who begins to talk. “It’ll be alright, it always is,” he mentions in a whisper.

I nod and turn my attention to Jennings. But no matter how hard I try, I can’t. I can’t focus, and I can’t believe him. Because the chaos of my mind continues. And so do the pictures of her scattered around in there. And so do the feelings, because no matter how hard I try to shut them off, they stay. Even after a bottle of brandy. But the alcohol doesn’t make me stop missing her, and hating myself for messing up. And for losing Becks.

Alex Trebek’s voice welcomes my ears as I step foot into my flat. I jump when I hear Skye shout back at him.

“What is Little Women!” she nearly screams, and her arms fly into the air when she gets it right. “Yessssss!” she exclaims, cheering for herself. Her pigtails the color of snow and blue cotton candy dance in the air around her.

I laugh with a shake of my head, sighing as I shrug off my coat.

“Oh hey, Boops,” she greets me, garnering an eye roll from me.

“You know not to call me that,” I reply, closing the closet door that now holds my peacoat damp from the winter flurries.

“I think I’m one of the few people allowed to call you that,” she replies, and I give her a glare in return.

To no surprise, it doesn’t do anything, because she just picks up another gummy worm and feeds it between her lips coated in neon pink lipstick.

“What, did your clients cancel their haircuts and colors because of the blizzard?” I ask her, padding over to the kitchen island.

“Yeah, bloody idiots forgot how to drive in the snow or something,” she nearly hisses, but it doesn’t last long because she yells another answer at the tv. “What is the Mariana Trench!”

“Skye, we have neighbors you know,” I scold her as my eyes search the shelves of our refrigerator. “Also, would it kill you to do some grocery shopping, perhaps before we’re snowed in?”

“Yeah sorry, I meant to but I forgot.”

“What’s new,” I mumble under my breath. I grab the first thing of leftovers I see and pop it into the microwave. Rice and broccoli from last night. It’s just so exciting eating healthily. “You’re on grocery shopping duty next then.”

“Have you seen Harry yet at your new job?” Skye pipes up, ignoring my question. I truly wonder how many times I roll my eyes at her in one day or even one hour.

“No, I told you that I’m in like the way back in the admin department in the courts. He would be on the other side in the actual courtrooms where the cases are held, silly.”

“Oh well sorrrrrrrrrry,” she retorts and then yells another answer at the tv. “Who is Martin Clunes!”

The microwave beeps as I reach up into the cupboard and pull down a mug at random. It has superheroes donning its sides - Batman, Superman, and Wonderman. An old one of my dad’s. But that’s not who it makes me think of.

“Funnier is not a word!”

“Oh yes, it ‘s! Jus’ look it up in tha dictionary, or better yet, on yer phone,” he giggles in reply. Shaking my head, I type the word into Google and feel a smirk begin to warm my cheeks.

“Oh god, what ‘s that look for? I know that look’s no good.”

“So funnier is a word, huh?” I counter, feeling the smirk inch up my cheeks slowly. Turning my phone around, I show the Google page to him and watch his face morph into denial. A sneaky grin lines his lips as he resists to roll his eyes. His head falls next with a defeated sigh and he punches the pillow.

“Don’t you roll your eyes at me, Harry Styles,” I tell him, my lips letting loose a laugh. He joins me before groaning and taking his word off of the board.

“I needa break,” he huffs. The sofa whines from his shifting weight and I hear his footsteps trailing behind him.

“Tea break?” I ask and hear a pleased ‘yes’ in return.

“Here lemme, ‘s my turn anyways,” Harry insists, and I feel his hand on my back. Facing him, he winks a hazel-green eye at me. “Go pick yer word, Becks. Lemme take care of tha tea.”

I nod and begin to turn to walk away. I almost stop when I feel his long fingers rub a circle into my back. But I don’t, because they’re gone before I can blink. A silent sigh drops from my bottom lip as I walk away from him.

You have no idea what you do to me, Harry Styles.

The thoughts being sewn together in my mind revolve around something other than the Scrabble tiles sitting in front of me. Instead, they’re about how well the skinny blue jeans hug his legs and another asset of his. And how the black and blue flannel he wears makes him look insanely cozy. My God.

“Don’ think so hard, Becks,” Harry titters, and I pull my eyes away from the Scrabble tiles that were beginning to grow blurry. I look to him with a question on my face and find him laughing with those eyes on me. “Can’t find any good words, eitha?”

“No,” I say with a shake of my head. I let my head fall to the back of the sofa I’m curled up against.

“Tha’s fine. Why dontcha put it t’ tha side an’ we can do somethin’ else?”

“Like what?” I ask, moving our racks of tiles to the coffee table where the board sits.

“I dunno, you can pick,” he answers. As I grab for the remote, I hear the pouring of water and the clinking of spoons.

Yawning, I sink into the sofa and press the power button. The television screen comes to life in front of me and the last thing watched appears. I flip through the channels, and after a couple of programs, I arrive on a familiar scene.

“Oooo, Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince,” I hear, turning to find Harry arriving on the sofa next to me. I take the steaming Marvel mug in his outstretched hand with a ‘thank you.’

“I didn’t know you liked Harry Potter,” I mumble before blowing on my tea. After deciding it’s far too hot, I sit forward and set it down on a coaster.

“Oh, I love it. I read a few o’ tha books when I was younger, an’ ya can’t find a betta movie. There’s nothin’ like these,” he answers, eyes already glued to the screen. He sets his tea aside with a clud on the table. “Here,” Harry says, and I look over to find him draping my velvet black star blanket over me. And him.

“Mmmm, thanks,” I mumble happily, pulling it up to my shoulders. I feel him move around next to me before finally getting comfortable.

“Yer welcome, bug. I think this issa good way t’ spend tha resta tha night. Too cozy an’ tired t’ do anythin’ else,” he comments with a laugh ending his words.

I nod and tip my head to the side, not expecting to find his shoulder right there. I freeze and peek a look up at him. He notices and glances down at me. All he does is smile at me before his eyes go back to the scene on the television.

I decide to stay there and he doesn’t seem to mind, only intent on commenting on the scene happening where Dumbledore first meets Voldemort. “Oooo, I like this part here. They make it look so cool with tha wisps o’ memories, an’ tha lighting ‘s incredible an’ so spooky.”

“Mmmmh, I always liked Tom Riddle, because of how creepy he is. And he’s much better looking than Voldemort,” I comment.

“What?” Harry laughs, taking a peek at me. His thick eyebrows are scrunched in a disbelieving question as a smile pinches his dimpled cheeks. “But Tom Riddle ‘s Voldemort, ya goof.”

“Yeah I know, but like his younger self is far cuter than the noseless bald bloke he becomes,” I try to explain, but he only shakes his head with a few giggles.

God, I think I could listen to that sound for hours on end.

“Ya don’ make any sense, sometimes,” Harry chuckles.

“Come on, yes I do! Wasn’t it like with every Horcrux he made he just started looking weirder?” I counter, nudging his shoulder with my own.

“No, ya silly! It was cuz he was so deep into tha dark arts-.”

“Including making the Horcruxes!” I almost shout in argument. I watch the realization embed into his features, and I know I’ve won.

“Okay fine, yer right. Well kinda. From what I rememba it has t’ do with that, an’ cuz he was a Slytherin an’ Parselmouth so he wanted t’ look like a snake. Y’know, tha lack o’ hair an’ nose? I also read that it could also be cuz he was one o’ tha last descendants of Salazar Slytherin,” Harry continues, words of admiration falling out one after the other.

“Woooooow. I didn’t know we had a Harry Potter geek in the house,” I say, trying to stifle a laugh, but it doesn’t work.

Another eye roll.

Then possibly the most adorable pout I’ve ever seen as he moves away from me with a whimper.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” I laugh, trying to pull him back over to me. But he’s so tall and long, that I have little success with my noodle arms. “Harry, I was just kidding.”

“Sure ya were,” he pouts, keeping his back to me as he settles on the other side of the couch.

His name leaves my lips in a laugh. My fingers remain around one of his biceps, and I pull, but he doesn’t move an inch. I give up with an exaggerated sigh and my own whimper.

Plopping myself back in my spot, I hunker down underneath the blanket. Pretending to watch the movie, I wait.

“Yer not gonna get me with that pout,” Harry says all of a sudden.

Taking that as a dare, I slowly look over at him. With knitted eyebrows and my bottom lip sticking out. A smile appears on his lips and blush fills his cheeks. His hands fall from his shoulder-length hair he’s just put into a bun.

“Fine, ya got me. I can’ stay mad at that face,” he relents with words dipped in sugar.

“You’re not the only one who can do a good puppy dog pout,” I comment as the couch dips with his movements. I feel his shoulder bump back into mine. I try not to smile too big as I tip my head to fall back against his shoulder.

“Ya comfy, bug?” Harry mumbles next to me.

“Mmmhmmm.”

“Good, ‘m glad me shoulder’s all comfy for ya,” he says, and I can hear the smile in his voice. I see it in all its glory when I chance a look up at him and find him smiling down at me.

It’s like looking into the sun. And like all of the times before - I never want to look away.

I swallow hard, feeling the lump forming inside of me.

“Can you please not bring him up anymore? It’s not helping the fact that I’m trying to forget him,” I spit at Skye, setting the mug down hard on the granite countertop.

“Sorrrrrrrrrry. Goodness, what’s gotten into you today? I thought you were liking your new job, Ree.”

“I am, I just don’t want to talk a-about Harry anymore,” I reply, pressing the button to open the microwave. The smell of broccoli and garlic trickles past me.

“You can’t even say his name,” she laughs, and I groan as I stir the broccoli and brown rice around in the hot glass bowl. “Heeeey, I’m sorry, okay? I don’t know why you gave up on him, you could always go back and finish your . . .”

Skye’s words trail behind me as my feet pad down the hallway to my bedroom. You’re not helping me to forget him, Skye.

You’re only making me remember him, and I’ve been trying so hard lately not to.

My quilt several shades of pink welcomes my return as I plop onto my bed. Shoveling a bite of broccoli and garlic rice into my mouth, I grab the remote and turn on my tv. Reaching for the Fire Stick remote teetering on the edge of the table, I push it and instead of grab. It clatters to the hardwood floor and I groan in response. Setting my dinner on the wood table, I regrettably leave my bed to retrieve it. Flicking on my lamp, I squat by the table and peer into the space behind my table.

There it is. The long black rectangle waits for me there. But just as I’m reaching for it, another rectangle catches my eye. This time, it’s a white one.

“Huh?” I mumble, feeling the stiff paper welcome my hands.

I flip it over and the light catches on it. The long envelope stares back at me, and so do the letters on its front. My name in black pen interrupts the white expanse, but that’s not the writing that I’m focusing on. It’s the return address.

Styles and Lawson 418 Stevens St. London UK

Turning it over, I finger at the sealed edge. I don’t realize I’m doing it, but I bite at my bottom lip as I debate whether to open it. I can’t stop wondering what’s inside, and the postage date of December 18th only makes my curiosity burn brighter. And the fact that I’ve never seen this before in my life.

“Skye, why do I have a letter from Styles and Lawson that I’ve never opened or seen before?” I yell to her through my half-open door.

“Oh, that? I put it on your bedside table when it came that day. How am I supposed to know why you haven’t opened it?” she quips, as dumbfounded as I am.

“It was behind my table, so it must have fallen.”

“Ya think?!” she replies with her usual loud volume, followed by another Jeopardy shout.

I rip it open without another moment of hesitation. The paper makes a satisfying sound. A matte white paper looks back at me. The numbers and watermark on it tell me what it is. My fingers recoil instinctively when I touch the glossy object. I instead pull it out by its edges.

Splashes of red and green and long-forgotten faces stare back at me. Myles. Mickey. Rose. Jennings. Myles. Rory. And Harry. Their faces are followed by the words “Merry Christmas from all of us at Styles and Lawson. Wishing you a happy Christmas and a fantastic New Year!” in a blocky white font. Little holly berry branches decorate the corners of the picture. A picture taken months ago at one of their big meetings, I assume. The sun is shining in through the window, and Harry’s hair isn’t as long. Everybody’s arms are around each other and a big goofy smile sits on his face. Tongue out and all.

I do it before I can stop myself. My finger dances around the outline of his face, and down the black and maroon suit he wears in the picture. Probably the only printed picture I have of him, and one of the few I have in total. But there are enough burned into my brain that I’m already trying to erase.

I toss them both onto the floor, leaving them behind my table where I wish they would’ve stayed in the first place. I return to my broccoli and rice and play a new video on YouTube. It does a good job of drowning out his voice in my head, but not good enough.

I want ya t’ come back, Becks. I want us t’ try again . . .. . . ..

Shades of brown dance around in the steaming water. I watch them twirl together and meet one another. The water slowly grows darker and darker as steam rises off of the surface.

“If you stare any harder, I think your superpowers will come out and it’ll explode,” somebody says wryly.

“Wow, I didn’ know you were a comedian,” I respond, wrapping my fingers around the warm metal chain.

“I didn’t know you were eco-friendly all of a sudden,” Myles says, nodding his head towards my cup of tea. “Or a little kid, with that dorky thing.”

“Oh shuddup,” I respond, watching the brown liquid fall from the pink silicone pig tea infuser. “It makes me feel good tryna save tha environment, an’ this li’l thing ‘s bloody cute.”

“Sure, if you’re a bleeding first-grader,” he responds with a titter, pulling a mug down from the shelf.

“Yer jus’ jealous,” I quip as I pry off the pig’s head and dump the soggy tea leaves into the waste bin.

Myles laughs and walks around me to the black fridge to take out the carton of milk. I blow on my steaming mug, watching little waves form in the brown water from my breath. A little water tornado forms from my next breath. I watch in fascination as it twirls around in the mug before finally tapering out.

“You okay, Hare?” Myles asks, his voice taking on a softer tone. A friendly tone. “You haven’t seemed like yourself lately. You haven’t even been drinking coffee much, and that’s odd.”

“I’m fine,” I answer, bringing the mug to my lips and avoiding his eye contact. Setting the mug down on the counter, I chance a look inside the fridge and wonder what to have for lunch.

“Is it Becky leaving? Is that why you’ve been acting differently?” Myles prods, nearly pulling a sigh from my lips. Or a groan.

“I said ‘m fine, My,” I nearly retorted, my eyes glazing over the lone yogurts and forgotten sandwiches occupying the shelves. Slamming the door, I walk away and pick up my phone from the table in the center of the room. Maybe some takeaway.

“Hare, you know you can talk to me about it,” Myles insists, throwing his hands up in the air. I ignore him, typing something on my phone, but I can see him out of the corner of my eye.

Like he often does, he uses his hands to talk and they jump in the air only to fall with an exasperated sigh. Then they comb through his tousled blonde hair.

“I hate seeing you like this, and not knowing how to help,” he continues softly. I give up, pressing the lock button on my phone and shoving it into my pants.

I finally face him and look in his distraught brown eyes.

“I miss her, Myles! I connected with Becky, a-and I screwed it up. I called her a liar and Amber was harassing her tha whole damn time without me knowing!” I confess, feeling the weight of the words fall from my shoulders as I finally say them. But the emotion rises in my throat, no matter how hard I try to hold it back. “She was amazing! She put up with me shit, and yet she stood up fer herself when she needed t’. She was funny, she was smart, she was beautiful, an’ I fooked it up!” The emotion eats at my words and by now, the horses are already out of their gates. And I don’t know how to corral them back in. “I hate feeling this way, but I dunno how you can help or even how I can help myself, Myles. So ‘m not g-gonna be myself ‘til I learn how t’ get ova this.”

I don’t know what to do. I steal a glance at him and find the sadness in his eyes is worse than before. I can’t handle it, and so I lift my feet and soon I’m walking out of the room. Leaving my tea, and the god awfully cute tea infuser pig. The one she got me before she left.

“I saw it and immediately thought of you.”

“Wow, thanks, that makes me feel all warm an’ bubbly inside.”

“No, silly, I just mean it looked like something you’d like. And since you drink tea so much. And you’ve been buying metal straws and bamboo toothbrushes . . It seemed fitting. And isn’t the little piggy just so cute?”

“Yeah, I guess yer right . . . it really ‘s cute.”

Winding my way around coworkers, I suddenly find myself in front of the elevator stabbing at the buttons. I don’t even register which one I’ve pushed, because I want to be anyplace but here. Today is worse than most because anywhere I look there’s a memory of her stuck there. And they jump into my head and start playing before I can stop it.

The elevator doors open with a ding and I step into the empty four walls, gladly. Rubbing at my eyes, I stab at the button for the parking garage my car is at. With a sigh, I feel some of the tension boiling inside of me leave. I get rid of the warm tears painted under my eyes and blink hard until my vision is clear again.

Suddenly, the doors open and I nearly curse out loud when I see who’s waiting. The look on his face says that he feels about the same way. I step to the side, allowing him room to join me. He almost changes his mind, but he steps on and presses the button for 17. An awkward silence surrounds us as the elevator hums to life, dinging with each floor it passes.

“Can I ask you a question?” I blurt out loud, doubting myself the second the words pass the threshold of my lips.

His confused gray eyes rise and lock with mine, a question on his face. “What?” he answers, nearly annoyed with me.

“I’m sorry, we’ve neva really talked and ‘ve neva been very nice t’ ya-,” I try, but he stops me.

“Yeah, you haven’t, Harry, and so why should I? The last time I did a favor for you it didn’t really turn out too great,” Asher responds sharply, moving further away from me shaking his head. Pulling his phone from his pocket, he changes his focus to that.

I look away and bite at my bottom lip.

Way to go, Harry.

But then the words are being shoved past my tongue and I can’t stop them.

“I . . . jus’ wanna know if she’s doin’ alright,” they say, and I’m not even sure if he heard me with how quiet they were.

Staring ahead, I see his head of blonde quiffed hair rise. He doesn’t say anything right away, but instead, he seems to think about it before he raises his head fully.

“She’s okay,” he responds, with certainty to his words. And with those words, they take a little more of the tension I feel coating my body.

“Good, ‘m glad t’ hear that . . . Is she uh liking her new job?”

“Yeah, she said it’s good. I dunno if I should be telling you this, but uh she found a clerk job in town. The same sorta thing as what she did here, which is good and makes switching jobs easier,” he continues, and I soak up every word because they’re about her. I wish I could hear these words from her mouth. But I can’t, and that’s my fault.

“A-an’ they’re good t’ her there?” I continue, not knowing how to articulate the rambling thoughts in my head.

“Yeah, they are,” Asher says, looking at me briefly. I look back and I watch his expression soften. “She’s doing well, Harry. She misses it here sometimes, but she’s adjusting and I think she’s where she needs to be right now.”

He doesn’t get to say anything more, because the elevator doors glide open.

“Thank you, Asher . . I really mean it,” I tell him, giving a small smile. He nods and steps off and out of sight.

And thus began our random elevator talks. I looked forward to them, even if they only lasted a couple minutes. And even if I only got to hear a vague update about her. And even if it made trying to forget her harder.

The halls are quiet. A ghost town from earlier in the day where hundreds of feet traveled, and even just twenty minutes ago. But it’s the lunch hour, and everybody else has the same idea as me. To leave. Now, my black mod boots are the only sound on the speckled floors. The tall ceilings hide fluorescent lights and the gorgeous stained glass also hides, but from the snow. Identical snowflakes fall in the sky outside, and I pull my coat tighter around me in preparation to join it.

The snowflakes melt in my hair and try to fly into my face, the wind pushing them this way and that. My car takes forever to warm up, making me curse myself for forgetting my matching violet hat and mittens on my desk. It only has just begun to warm up when I pull up in front of the towering brick building. Flocks of people rush to the doors from their cars, and the other way around. The vents blasting out warm air hush when I turn the key, bringing the chill with it.

Well, this is it. My lungs heave a nervous breath and I try to sike myself up to even just open the door. But my thoughts get the best of me, and strings of what-ifs and doubts circle in my mind.

What’s the point?

What if it turns out the same way as before?

What if I can’t do it?

What if I’m not good enough?

What if I made the right decision to leave?

Why should I try again?

What if I don’t like it anymore?

How can I do it by myself again when I never could the first time?

What if I fail?

Finally, I open the door and get out before I can stop. And I decide to leave all of the what-ifs and doubts there. Behind me. I focus on picking up my feet and putting one in front of the other until I’m standing in front of the familiar doors I haven’t stood before in a long time.

The warmth welcomes me and so does the familiar smells of books and fried chips. The smells I always associated with this place. Lines of people fill the entrance and conversations paint the air. The Christmas decorations are long gone, and new knick-knacks and flyers replace them. Instead, cheesy Easter decorations line the bulletin boards. Yellow baby chicks. Pink fluffy banners. Easter eggs colored in patchy by tiny hands. Colorful signs advertise local events, reminders, schedules, and many more things I don’t have the time for.

Pushing back the sleeve of my coat, I peek at my watch. I have 20 more minutes until I have to be back at work. Oh goodness, I hope I won’t regret this.

But I don’t think I will, because I’m finally doing something about all of the nagging thoughts and ideas I’ve had the last few weeks. And I’m proud of myself for at least taking the first step.

Stopping in front of the Information Desk, I’m met with a cheery smile asking me how they can help me.

“Hi, I was hoping to speak with an advisor, a Mrs. Shepherd,” I begin, feeling the words roll off my tongue with hesitance. I’m surprised with myself for even remembering the name.

“Do you have an appointment with her?” she responds, looking away from her computer she types on.

“No, I uh was just on my lunch break and I was hoping to meet with her to speak about something.”

“Alright. I’m going to need your name and what your question is for her,” the lady replies, looking between her computer screen and me. I pause, focusing on the fake yellow chick sitting atop her screen. Her heavily lined eyes wait for me behind her pink framed glasses, and her curly brown hair dances in the wind from her mini fan.

“My name is Rebecca Holte, and I wanted to speak with Sally about finishing up my last 30 credits of my law degree.”

#the assistant #fanfic #writing #harry styles #one direction #1d #harry #au #harry au #alternate universe #lawyer au #lawyer #pa harry #fine line

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manggojooz · 6 years ago

Text

Take My Hands Now (Part 12 - Final)

pairing: Jungkook x reader

word count: approx. 3,250

genre: drama, angst, romance, fluff

summary: You were born with a condition that allowed you to feel the pain someone else was going through when you touched them. Jungkook, on the other hand, looked like he could not be any less bothered with other people’s feelings and was a well known playboy of the school. One night, at a party, while he attempted to turn you into his toy for the night, he grabbed your hand and pain crashed through you, making you wonder whether behind the facade of this pleasure seeker, he could also be hiding something.

warnings: none

Song rec: Euphoria - by Jeon Jungkook

Taglist: @competativekook @flamingorosette

Comments: it’s been a little under four months since I started this series. To everyone who has read, liked, commented on or reblogged it during this time; thank you so much for holding my hand in this journey. This will always remain a special story to me personally and I hope this ending is befitting enough.

“Ok, so basically all of your suggestions revolve around buying her something pretty? That seems a little lacking, doesn’t it? In terms of like creativity or sincerity…”, Jungkook complained as he sat next to Hoseok, mindlessly flipping through that same Winnie-the-Pooh book, ignoring Hoseok’s judgmental stares.

“Why are you even asking me when you aren’t going to accept any suggestions from me?”, Hoseok was increasingly annoyed at the relentless questioning.

“Because you are the only person I know who barely had a serious-ish relationsh -”, Jungkook managed to cut himself off before he went any further.

Hoseok looks up briefly, his mouth turning into an inverted triangle, evident of his downturned mood.

“Sorry man, I didn’t mean to bring it up again… it’s just that I have no one else to ask…”, Jungkook stammers. Hoseok looks back down at the pen he was twirling in his hand to occupy himself.

“Just do what your heart wants to, she’ll like anything you get for her anyway”, Hoseok muttered without looking up again at Jungkook.

Seeing his best friend now, Jungkook wonders, will there be someone who could share his pain too?

“Hoseok, it’s been so long, don’t you think you should -”, before he could finish speaking, his phone rings. He glances at the screen, reluctant to pick up but knowing that rejecting this call was not an option.

“I gotta go, catch you later”, Jungkook waves to Hoseok as he leaves the room. Hoseok saunters over to where Jungkook had left the book lying on the table, the words on the pages sending a pinch to his heart:

“Some people care too much. I think it’s called love.”

—

Jungkook walks into his grandfather’s office. He always disliked the place. He would never visit unless he was called up here.

“Are you seeing someone?”, his grandfather asks pointedly, without even looking away from the document that he was reading.

“I see a lot of people…”, despite the distaste he has for his grandfather, this was the only person who could truly struck some fear within Jungkook.

“If you see a lot of people it is not of concern, but if you get serious about one person then it becomes a concern”, his grandfather always displayed the utmost disdain for feelings of any nature.

“She’s -”, Jungkook opened his mouth to retort but the door bursts open, startling him.

Her heels clicked with a determination that was new.

“Father, let them be”, she walks past Jungkook and threw down a number of photographs on the table. Jungkook was not surprised, he always knew his grandfather kept a watch on everyone. Just seeing the silhouette of you in those photographs reminded him of how much he wanted to protect you even though he felt entirely powerless.

“What are you doing here?”, his grandfather snorted.

“To stop you from making the same mistake twice.”

The stern elder scoffs, “What mistake?”

She stares at him stoically.

“Am I not enough evidence that you made a mistake?”, there could have been a tear or two twirling in her eyes but she would never have admitted it. She steels herself to table a deal instead, “Are you really prepared to hand your company over to that man? He’s not your blood. But Jungkook is. I still hold ten percent of the shares and I can -”

“Jungkook’s far from ready. And if he’s going to let his emotions for one girl get in the way, then he’ll never be ready”, his grandfather stops his mother’s pitch before tilting his head to look straight at Jungkook. His mother stood between him and the aged chairman, it somehow looked like Jungkook was being sheltered by her in this moment.

“That was what you said to me too, twenty-three years ago. And look where we are today. The empire which you spent your entire life building… on the verge of being overtaken by your hand-picked son-in-law. Do you really trust him that much?”, she knew she was provoking a beast but there was hardly any other way.

“And do you really think I don’t know all of that? Two years ago, I set up a trust for all the shares I own in the group. Who do you think the beneficiary is?”, he taunted the mother and son pair. “It will keep my shares away from him, in case something happens to me. But… there’s a condition to obtaining these shares, Jungkook has to prove that he is capable of holding them, he has to become the CEO first”, his grandfather declares.

The poised lady felt a wave of relief mixed with disgust as she realises the ruthlessness of her own father. Even if she hated her husband, time has so passed, and she has watched him sacrifice everything for this company, yet at the end of the day, what did he gain?

“As my only grandson, do you know how powerful your marriage is, Jungkook? Do you understand the amount of benefits it can bring if you choose to marry the right person? The question isn’t whether you are prepared to lose all of this… it is what you are prepared to do to protect it”, Jungkook’s grandfather challenged him.

“I never had anything even when everyone told me I had everything. Maybe we are just different. Maybe you don’t feel it. But I do. And she does”, referring to his own mother. He took a few seconds to look at his family wistfully, understanding that he should also bear the burden of being born into such a position.

“Let me be with her, she is all I have. And I promise to do my best to become what you want me to be. I will do anything to protect her… please… otherwise I really don’t know if I might -”, Jungkook’s voice was shaking discreetly.

“Otherwise he might end up like me… then you will truly have no one left, Father. What are you prepared to do to protect all of this?”, his mother backed Jungkook up as she senses his need.

The two of them emerged silently from the dreaded office. For the first time since she could remember, he called out to her first.

“Mum…”, she turns around at his word, stunned, the term so endearing yet so estranged, “… thanks”, Jungkook mumbles, finding it difficult to meet her eyes.

And for the first time in his recollection, she smiled at him soberly and earnestly. “I just wanted to make up for all the wrongs I made in the past, to you. Don’t make the same mistakes I did”, she lamented.

—

“I’ll be starting to work in the company in summer, Dad”, Jungkook stood in front of his father’s wide mahogany office table. The desk plaque bore his father’s name and the designation of CEO.

“I heard”, his father replied coldly, typing away on his laptop.

“You must really hate me now, right? You must think that Grandfather wants me to replace you?”, Jungkook carefully probed.

The older man’s hands stopped abruptly on the keyboard, lifting his eyes up threateningly to look at his “son”.

“It still turned out this way in the end, didn’t it? No matter how hard water tries, it can never become thicker than blood…”, he looks down again, away from Jungkook. “You are his grandson and you are not my son…”, he spoke sternly, “… even if you were the one person I thought was mine...”, he thought internally.

“… now we will become enemies”, his father concluded.

Jungkook felt that awfulness budding in his chest upon hearing those words. He flashes back to his elementary school days. His grandfather often came to fetch him from school, but the old man never once left the backseat of that posh-looking car. Jungkook would always walk out through the school gates himself, towards the chauffeur who held the car door open for him. Everyone would marvel at the lavish sedan but all Jungkook could see was how the other parents walked their kids home while holding their hands, talking, laughing.

That was why he always looked forward to the days his father would come and pick him up. His father would wait for him inside the gates, greeting him with the warmest voice, and then lead him by his hand to their favourite ice cream hangout. Even if that all stopped when he was eight, those memories had kept him going.

Now, he stood here, hearing the same man declaring them as adversaries. Jungkook lets the nasty feeling settle in the pit of his stomach, bracing himself before responding, “I used to think that everyone were my enemies too. But then I only ended up hating myself more than anyone.

Maybe you don’t think of me as your son, maybe you hated me all these years, maybe you used me to bargain for what you have now… but you were the only person who held my hand back then. You are not my enemy.

You can choose to fight everyone now. But if ever you feel like you can’t do it anymore, if ever you feel like you have drifted too far away… I hope you know that I’ll always be here holding out my hand. You can take it anytime, Dad.”

He doesn’t know if his father will think it preposterous of him to be saying all this, but Jungkook is finally starting to understand…

We are all mirrors to some extent; the more resentment he had for everyone else, the more resentment he had for himself.

—

“So I guess you aren’t coming to the movie with us after your class?”, Mirae asked, Namjoon also turned to look at you.

“Uhh… Jungkook said there’s something important today so I gotta meet him after class…”, you smiled awkwardly.

Namjoon slow-nods while tossing a rhetorical question at you, “And you have no idea what is so important about today, right?”

“Mmm…”, you were just generally very bad with remembering dates.

“For ditching us on movie night again, tell us… how’s the progress with Jungkook? I’m surprised you guys even lasted this long”, Namjoon spoke sarcastically.

At his question, you felt a pang of guilt. To say that there was limited progress would be an understatement, and the reason is probably your stupid condition. There must have been a thousand times where Jungkook’s hands would brush your fingers but he never seemed to have enough courage to even hold your hand, let alone do anything else.

During the weekend that just passed, you had gone home to spend time with your family. That was when your grandfather had once again sensed something was bothering you. You were always certain he had superpowers in this aspect. After some probing you finally let on that you didn’t want to think of your hereditary condition as something negative but you also couldn’t help feeling bad towards Jungkook for all of this.

“Don’t just feel with your body, Y/N, feel with your heart”, that was all he advised you, his wrinkled eyes calming and smile reassuring as always.

“Kim Namjoon”, Mirae chided and gently hits him on his back, “can you be any less encouraging?” You were also jolted back to the present from your thoughts.

“Woman, this is known as reverse psychology”, Namjoon quips.

“Just ignore him Y/N, run on your own timeline, don’t rush it if you aren’t comfortable”, Mirae was in fact the one who had been more concerned when you first told the two of them that you were going out with Jungkook. But once she accepted that you were sure of your decision, she is and always will be your strongest supporter.

“But Namjoon’s not wrong Mirae… I’m surprised too, that Jungkook is still sticking around, despite… despite our lack of physical contact… you know what I mean”, you cringe in embarrassment having to say it yourself. Leaning back into the chair, you stared into space thoughtfully as the professor entered the room to start the lesson.

—

You hopped down a huge step that overlooked the school’s running tracks, towards the back-view that was now more than familiar to you.

“Jungkook-ah!”, you called out.

He stood up from the step he was sitting on, immediately turning around to beam at you. It still fascinates him that just hearing your voice was enough to lift his mood.

“Sorry for making you wait, some smart ass in class just wouldn’t give up on arguing with the prof about a totally inconsequential point”, you explained yourself.

“It’s not the first time anyway, I think I’m getting used to waiting for you…”, he jokingly griped.

It’s been a little more than three months. He would wait for you to finish your classes, he would wait for you to finish work, and he is still waiting for that nasty feeling within him to go away completely. But it was getting increasingly tormenting. Patience is a virtue, however, he was never a particularly virtuous person to begin with.

“Sorry, how should I make it up to you?”, you apologised again while sticking your tongue out a little at him, knowing that he is not truly angry.

Jungkook didn’t answer you and instead he took out a dainty box from his pocket, revealing a silver necklace bearing a tiny hedgehog pendant with a heart shape engraved on it.

“It’s for me? What’s the occasion?”, you gasped in delight.

“I knew you wouldn’t remember”, he was pouting slightly now, “we’ve been together for 100 days.”

You grow wide-eyed, partly surprised that he actually bothers about such milestones and partly because you felt even more guilty for not even remembering.

“Jungkook, I… I’m so sorry. I’m seriously bad with dates. That’s not an excuse, I know, I’ll definitely make it up to you…”, your words stumbled around as you tried your best to make him feel better.

His pout turns into a comforted smile and he removes the necklace from the velvet casing. He cuts short your awkward apology by leaning in to put the jewellery around your neck. You stopped breathing for a moment. You must have been blushing intensely given how your cheeks felt like they were on fire, your nose was almost touching his neck and you could feel his breath at the tip of your ears.

“That’s a lot that you have to make up to me…”, he whispers as he finishes fastening the necklace, cocking up an eyebrow while admiring it resting between your collar bones.

The distance between the both of you was probably measurable only in millimetres. His eyes fleetingly glancing between your eyes and your lips. You could hear his heart beating, or was it yours?

Jungkook thought he must be losing his mind. He has been wanting to do this since he started dating you. No, he must have wanted to do it even before that. There was but one thread of sanity holding him back from closing the gap between the two of you – he cannot hurt you again. He honestly had no idea whether that dreadful pain is gone or not, since he has grown so accustomed to it that he barely notices it sometimes.

He huffed the tiniest sigh as he looked away, and he started to yank himself backwards. In that split second when you notice that he was giving up, you tip-toed so that you could reach his lips, grazing it with a gentle peck. It startles the boy so much that every movement in him stopped, even his breathing.

No thanks to your sudden action, that one thread holding him back completely snaps. He puts one arm around your waist and pulled you towards him, his mouth pressing adamantly against yours. You couldn’t help but close your eyes, amplifying the fuzzy feelings. It was a strange mix of everything, a tinge of pain where he was supporting you, a tenderness where your lips met, and a fervor in the cavity where your heart pounded.

Through all of it, you reached out to hold onto his other hand which wasn’t snaking around your waist. As you grasped his hand, you felt it again, the feeling that started it all. It wasn’t as strong as you remembered it to be, but it was still strong enough to cause a reaction in you.

Jungkook felt you wince into the kiss and he immediately let go of your waist to back away, breaking the kiss. But this time, you used your free hand to pull him back to you by his jacket.

“No, Y/N… stop. I don’t want to hurt you again”, he murmurs, reprimanding himself for getting this far, the rim of his eyes turning a hue of red.

“No, you stop. Stop thinking about it. I will learn to feel you with my heart, so you do it too, feel it with your heart”, you encouraged him soothingly.

You strained your neck to place your lips gingerly on his again, and you could sense his will to separate from you slowly withering as he eventually returned your kiss. You focused on the exhilarating sensation, gradually drowning out your awareness of all other feelings.

Your hand that still held onto his moved to intertwine his fingers with your own. You felt him draw you in closer, his other hand moving to caress your face as his soft lips continued to moved slightly, eliciting an urge within you. You shifted your other hand which held onto the collar of his jacket to circle around his torso, bringing your bodies close together.

For the first time since you have known him, there were no thoughts and there was no pain. Maybe your own feelings overrode it, or maybe he just felt none in this moment.

And for the first time, there was no place for lust within him, for it never truly killed those detestable feelings anyway. With you it was all different, there were no feelings to kill, there was only a feeling to grow, a feeling which could probably only be described as… euphoria.

He didn’t even deepen the kiss any further. He was the one who was afraid, that it might be too fast, that he might not be able to handle all of the emotions. This much was enough for now, he will learn all of it anew, step by step, with you.

As he parted from you, you gave him the biggest smile ever, showing no signs of discomfort, much to his relief. He is always concerned about every feeling you had, more than his own. That is how much he cares about you; some people call it love. And thus, he learns…

People in love will become mirrors to each other; the more he loved you, the more he was able to love himself.

He squeezes your hand tightly and tugs you into a hug determinedly, “I don’t think I’ll be able to let you go now, there’s nothing you can do about it. Since you have so much to compensate me for, just let me keep holding your hand”, his voice was a mesh of querulousness and sweetness. It was the cutest threat you have ever heard.

“I’m not planning to do anything about it. I’ll be here, whenever you need it, take my hands.”

—

♫ Across the dream, over the horizon

I’m going to the place that’s getting clearer

Take my hands now

You are the cause of my euphoria ♫

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