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ifanfictiondreamerworld · 1 year ago

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The Ultimate Story the Beginnings Chapter 15-Birthdays and Catching Up

On a normal day, Fox sat by and watched Lisa and Peach continue Misty’s training. At that moment, they stopped to take a short break. Misty: “Hey, Lisa, what’s today’s date?” Lisa: “Hm…I’m not sure; I’m not familiar with how the days are on Corneria.” Misty: “I was talking about on Earth. What day is it today on Earth?” Lisa: “Oh! I…I never thought of the days on Earth. Why do you ask?” Misty: “I’m just curious. I have spent so much time on Corneria that I haven’t even thought of how many days went by on Earth.” Lisa: “Hm…let me check.”

She then used her psychic powers to calculate what day it was on Earth. Lisa: “Hm…it seems that it’s been…several months since we…started our training…and…hm…now to analyze what the people there are thinking…oh, my gosh! Misty, I just read your sister’s minds! Your birthday is in another few days!” Misty: “What? Really? I didn’t even think about my birthday!” Fox: “You’re birthday’s coming up? That’s great! We should celebrate!” Peach: “I agree. This will be your first time celebrating your birthday on another planet.” Misty: “Yeah, that’s right. You know something else? This will be my first ever birthday with a much larger group of people.” Fox: “How did you celebrate your birthday, Misty?” Misty: “Well, we would have a small party with just the 4 of us: Me, Daisy, Violet and Lily. I don’t get much for my birthday, either. My sisters tried not to make a big fuss about it. I never really knew why until recently.” Fox: “You had a very uneventful childhood, didn’t you, Misty?” Misty: “Yes…I did.” Fox: “Well, I want to make this birthday celebration special for you. It seems like you needed it after having nothing remarkable happen to you.” Peach: “I agree. We should totally throw a big party for you. Oh, I can’t wait to get started on the party planners!”

Later on, everyone got together and planned Misty’s birthday party. They tried to figure out how they were going to throw this party. Peach went back to her castle in the Mushroom Kingdom to prepare the birthday cake. Everyone else was deciding on what gifts they wanted to give to her. After much decision making, they were able to prepare the party just in time for her birthday. They held the party in the large field on Corneria. There, she sat on a chair as all of her friends surrounded her. She was very happy to have all of them there for her birthday. Misty: “Guys, this is wonderful. I can’t believe you did all of this for me.” Bubbles: “It was our pleasure, Misty.” Ribbon: “Yeah, you have been working so hard. You deserve to have a day all to yourself.” Misty: “Thank you. I don’t know anything else to say.” Fox: “You don’t need to say anything, Misty. Just enjoy yourself.” Slippy: “Enough talk. Let’s party.”

And so, the festivities were taking place. Everyone enjoyed some cake and they all watched her open her presents. She was very pleased with everything that she had received. The party lasted throughout the entire day and into the night. Misty then went right back to her training the very next day.

Several days later, Fox, Slippy and Falco told Lisa about their childhood. She gave them a chance to return to the Mushroom Kingdom with Peach. Misty tagged along and returned with them. Peach: “Oh, it’s so good to have 3 of my closest friends back in the Mushroom Kingdom after that dreadful day.” Fox: “I know what you mean. I never thought we would see each other again.” Peach: “Yes, it was the worst thing I ever had to endure, but that’s all in the past.” Fox: “I know. I feel like a kid again, returning to the Mushroom Kingdom.” Peach: “By the way, there was something that I wanted to give you.”

She then had her servants handed them some of the mushroom delicacies to each of her friends. They looked at them in a concerning manner. Peach: “What’s wrong, boys?” Fox: “Um…not to sound ungrateful or anything but my mushroom…it has eyes.” Falco: “Dude, mine’s staring at me.” Slippy: “Mine just winked at me!” Peach: “Oh, come now. I’ve waited a long time to share these tasty delicacies with you. They’re quite popular in the Mushroom Kingdom. Go on, eat up.”

They hesitated for a bit. Then, they finally took a bite out of their mushrooms. As they ate them, they made terrible grimaces. Misty: “I don’t think they like them, Peach.” Peach: “Hm, they always seemed to enjoy all of our mushroom dishes. I wonder why they can’t seem to enjoy these.” Falco: “Maybe it’s because those mushrooms were cooked. These are raw.” Fox: “I hate to admit it but he’s right. We’re not use to eating raw mushrooms.” Peach: “Hm, good point. I’ve been looking forward to making you boys a nice delicious Mushroom Cake.”

Just then, they had startled looks on their faces. Falco: “You’re kidding, right? Mushrooms in cake?” Peach: “Why, yes. It’s one of our most popular cake recipes.” Slippy: “Uhhh…suddenly, I don’t feel hungry, anymore.” Peach: “Oh, come now, you don’t think it’s that bad.” Misty: “Honestly, Peach, I think putting mushrooms in cake is weird and not the usual kind of weird.” Peach: “Well, regardless, I think you should try some of this cake. It’s delicious.” Falco: “Alright, alright, we’ll try the stupid cake, will you stop pestering us?”

Soon enough, Peach got started on making the Mushroom Cake. She spent a lot of time making it. She got the ingredients together, including the mushrooms. She mixed together the ingredients, she baked the cake and decorated it. After much time preparing the cake, she brought it up to her friends. She prepared slices of the cake and gave each slice to Fox, Misty, Slippy and then Falco. They hesitated. Peach: “Well, go ahead. Try it.”

They were still hesitant, but then they tried a slice of cake. They made slight grimaces. Peach: “Oh, come on, don’t tell me it’s that bad.” Fox: “Um…it’s not that it’s terrible, it’s just…we’re not use to eating mushrooms in cake.” Misty: “Don’t get us wrong, it’s very sweet, even the mushrooms.” Peach: “But, of course, we use the sweetest mushrooms for our cakes.” Misty: “Yes, but…none of us ever thought of using mushrooms in cake. It’s something that never came to mind.” Peach: “Really? Well, mushrooms are something we use all the time, even in sweets. Like I said, they are a very popular delicacy here in the Mushroom Kingdom.” Fox: “Yeah, I remember the first time I came here. Even back then, I was able to see why this place is called the Mushroom Kingdom.” Falco: “Good one, Fox.” Peach: “Uh-huh…there is something else that I would like all of you to know. My birthday is coming up soon.” Fox: “What? Really?” Peach: “Yes.” Fox: “Wow, this will be the first time that we will be celebrating your birthday since we were kids.” Peach: “Yes, so I want this year to be special and I can’t think of a more special way to celebrate it than with all of my closest friends.” Slippy: “Aw…” Fox: “Well, that also means that you can’t prepare your own birthday cake. Someone else has to do it.” Peach: “I know, unfortunately, all of my best bakers will be busy for the next few days. I don’t know who will step up to bake my cake.” Misty: “Hm…maybe I should try.”

They all looked at Misty. Fox: “Misty? Are you sure about this?” Misty: “Sure, why not? I’ve been training extra hard on both my fairy training and my princess training. How hard can it be to make 1 cake?” Peach: “Well, if you feel that you can make my cake, you’re more than welcome to use my kitchen, just try not to make a huge mess in there.” Misty: “No problem. I’ll try. I can have Bubbles and Ribbon help me out.” Fox: “Great. I’m sure they would be more than willing to lend a hand. I, on the other hand, have things that I need to do tomorrow, but I will be there to see how the cake turns out.” Slippy: “Ok, so while Misty makes the cake, the rest of us will figure out what we want to give you for your birthday.” Peach: “No need, Slippy. The only thing I ever want is for all of my friends to be here for my birthday. Those are all the presents that I need.” Slippy: “Aw…Peach…” Peach: “Now, then, Misty, before you get started on making my cake, there is something that you need to know. There is going to be a lot of people attending my birthday party, so I want you to make a cake that’s big enough to feed an entire crowd.” Misty: “What!?! Are you sure about this!?! I don’t think I can make a cake for an entire crowd!” Peach: “Not to worry, I’ll stay and help you make a practice cake, then you will have to try and make one, yourself.” Misty: “Well…Ok…” Peach: “Alright, then, let’s get to work.”

A nervous look grew on Misty’s face. Falco: “Oh, this is going to be good.” Fox: “You know, perhaps we should stay and watch, just to see how this will turn out.” Slippy: “Yeah, I’m looking forward to this.”

Soon enough, Peach and Misty got into the kitchen along with Fox, Slippy and Falco. Upon entry, Misty was amazed by the entire kitchen. Misty: “Whoa, this is the biggest kitchen I have ever seen.” Peach: “Let’s get to work, shall we?”

They both walked in. The guys stood near the entrance. Peach and Misty walked towards some of the ingredients. Peach: “Now then, an important part for you to know is as a princess, you have to be willing to serve everyone however you can. This cake baking lesson will be part of your princess training.” Misty: “Oh, man…” Peach: “Don’t worry. If you learn to manage this process, making cakes will become easy, even fun. Now then, let’s get started, shall we?” Misty: “Oh…OK.”

And so, they got to work. First, Peach made a cake alone to show Misty how it’s done. Then, they both got to work on making another one. It was tough to follow through, but they were able to make a delicious cake. Then finally, she made Misty make a cake all by herself. It was tough and strenuous, but she was able to pull through. She was able to succeed and make a delicious cake. Peach taste-tested the cake and found that it was really good, then Fox, Slippy and Falco had a chance to taste it and they really like it. Fox: “Not bad, Misty. This is really good.” Misty: “Thank you. What do you think, Slippy?”

At that moment, Slippy was really digging into the cake. Misty: “I guess he really likes it. So, Falco, what do you think of my cake?” Falco: “(groan) I don’t usually say this a lot, but…it’s good…” Misty: “Come again? Even you liked my cake?” Falco: “(groan) Yes…”

Misty became very excited, she was jumping for joy. Misty: “Alright!”

She made a v-sign with her fingers. Misty: “I did it!” Peach: “Now that the practice run is done, it’s time for you to make my birthday cake.” Misty: “Alright, I’ll do my best.”

Later on, Fox, Slippy and Falco returned to Corneria while Bubbles and Ribbon joined Misty in the kitchen. This was truly the first time that Misty has ever made a huge cake so she was somewhat unsure of herself. Ribbon read the recipe book while Bubbles got the supplies and ingredients she needed for the cake. Misty spent a large amount of time mixing the ingredients together but she was able to make a delicious cake. Bubbles even had a chance to lick the spatula, which Bubbles thought tasted great. That filled Misty with an immense amount of confidence. After she pulled the cake out of the oven, the entire kitchen was flooded with the smell of the cake. Many Toads walked into the kitchen thinking Princess Peach was baking another cake, but became startled that it was Misty who was baking. She told them that she’s baking a cake for Princess Peach’s birthday. They all became very excited and left to tell everyone about Peach’s birthday and Misty’s amazing cake that smelled like their princess made it. She was able to make enough cake to feed an entire crowd. Fox soon arrived and was aroused by the overpowering aroma of the cake. Fox: “Wow, it smells good in here.” He soon caught Misty, Bubbles and Ribbon decorating the cake. Fox: “Well, what do we have here? You made the cake already?” Misty: “Oh, hi, Fox. You won’t believe in how much time we spent on making this cake.” Fox: “Whoa, it’s huge. I’ve never seen a cake this big.” Misty: “Well, there are going to be a lot of people attending Princess Peach’s birthday and I wanted to make sure that there’s going to be enough cake for everyone.” Fox: “Hm, good point.”

A few days have passed and it was finally the day of Princess Peach’s birthday. It was a big bash and a lot of people attended, but none were as close to her as her closest friends, Fox, Slippy and Falco. Others as well as Peppy, D.W. and some of the girls, including Misty were also there. It was a lot of fun; everyone had a really good time. They mingled, they had many hors d’oeuvres, they all even had the cake that Misty made for a whole crowd. Peach was the first to try it and she was surprised at how good it was. It was almost as if she made it herself. Peach: “I’m impressed, Misty. This cake is like an exact replica of a lot of the cakes that I have made many times before.” Misty: “Well, I never would have succeeded without your help. Thank you for teaching me how to bake cakes, Peach.” Peach: “The pleasure is all mine, Misty.”

They both smiled.

Soon enough, they heard a mysterious voice laughing from nowhere. Misty: “What? Who’s that?” Peach: “Oh, dear…”

Just then, a green Boo with red and yellow bows on both sides of her head appears right in front of them. Bubbles: “Hey! Who’s that?” Peach: “This is Bow. She’s a friend and former traveling companion of Mario.” Ribbon: “She looks kind of pretty.”

Ribbon then floated towards Bow. Ribbon: “Hi, I’m Ribbon, I’m a fairy from Ripple Star.” Bow: “Hm…Ripple Star, huh? I never heard of such a place.” Ribbon: “Very few people have. It’s in a far distant galaxy from here.” Bow: “Is that so…? Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Ribbon.” Ribbon: “The pleasure’s all mine. I love meeting new people.” Misty: “So, what brings you here, Bow?” Bow: “I just wanted to see what all of this festivity is all about.” Bubbles: “Well, today is Peach’s birthday and Misty here made a cake for her.” Bow: “Hm, you don’t say.”

She then floated towards Misty. Bow: “By the way, Misty, do you know that Peach is the best cake maker in all the land?” Misty: “Um…no, but she does make some truly amazing cakes. She even taught me how to make them.” Bow: “Well, now. That’s terrific. You don’t mind if I try a piece, do you?” Misty: “Well…no…I guess…”

Misty fed Bow a piece and she was enthralled by it. Bow: “Why, this cake is truly fantastic! In fact, if I didn’t know any better; I would have thought that Peach made this!” Misty: “Um…thank you?” Bow: “You know, I like a lot of you. I think I’ll stay with you guys for a little while. I really look forward to getting acquainted with you. Especially you, Misty; you’re truly one fascinating person.” Misty: “Um…great…I guess…” Ribbon: “Alright! Sounds terrific!” Misty: “Oh, boy…I didn’t see this coming…”

#The Ultimate Story #Lisa Simpson #Misty #Fox McCloud #Falco Lombardi #Slippy Toad #Princess Peach #Lady Bow #Bubbles #Ribbon #d.w. read #Peppy Hare

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oomisluvr · 4 years ago

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bathing together, a drabble

synopsis: you and sakusa share a romantic bath, prepared by him. something’s off, though, and you can’t quite put your finger on it. playful banter, lightly suggestive. kiyoomi is very shy in this. a quiet, comfortable romance.

the lights in the bathroom are on their dimmest setting, the low light from candles fill the room. the scent of vanilla swirls thought the air, a comfortable contrast to the lateness of the hour. kiyoomi has prepared a fancy milk bath, with dried flower petals sprinkled in the water. there’s a faint trace of epsom salt in the air, woven into the jazz notes that also float through the bathroom.

you don’t think kiyoomi’s face could get any redder. honestly, you don’t see what the fuss is about. you technically aren’t even naked yet. you’re both wrapped in towels staring at each other. damn kiyoomi and his damn cosmopolitan articles.

“this was much more romantic in my head,” he frowns, “ladies first?”

“since when have you cared about ladies first?”

“but I don't want you to see me naked.” he says softly, a wave of bashfulness hits him along with the reality of the situation he’s put himself in

“then why are we doing this in the first place!”

“cosmo says the intimacy of bathing together will strengthen the relationship between you and your partner,” he hisses. he closes his eyes and starts again, “what if we drop our towels at the same time?”

“kiyoomi,” you sigh, “you’ve seen me naked and i've seen you naked. you’ve literally been inside my body. hell, your dick was in my mouth this mornin-”

“that’s so vulgar! and this is a different kind of intimacy.” he clutches the towel even tighter, eyebrows tense. lately, he’s been acting extra nice. not to say he isn’t a nice person, but recently he’s just been acting out of character. but, you’ll endure this; he’s really trying to do something nice for the both of you.

“okay, how about I turn around while you get in the tub. I'll go in after you, deal? that way, i won’t have to see you naked.” you offer. he nods his head.

“okay,” he considers, “okay, that’s fine. now turn around before the water gets cold. please.”

you roll your eyes and turn away from him. you hear the scuffling of the towel and the sound of water sloshing around. “you can turn around now.” you turn around and undo your towel. again, you don't see the fuss; y'all are naked around each other all the time. you step into the bathtub and seat yourself in front of kiyoomi, facing his direction.

“what do we do now? and stop staring at my boobs.”

“cosmo says that this is the perfect time to have a heart-to-heart with your significant other and really talk about what we’ve been lacking from the other person. and i’m sorry i couldn't help it” he reaches out to poke your nipple. you swat away his hand.

“okay, you start. how can I be a better partner?”

“i, uh,” he thinks for a second, “i don’t really know. i think you balance me out really well. we’re doing alright for ourselves, don’t you think?”

“yeah, our relationship is pretty solid.”

he nods, a small smile adorns his red face, “okay, now what about me? how can I be better?”

“honestly, there’s not much for you to improve on.”

“thank god, i think i would've combusted if you said somethin-.”

“-but!”

“oh no.”

“you’ve been acting strange lately, babe,” you find his hands in the soapy water and hold them tightly, “i understand that you want to do something nice for the both of us, but I can’t help but feel like this is coming from somewhere.”

“well, i just,” he leans his head up, as if searching for the right words to say, “I know I can be a handful sometimes and I know people say that you could do better a-and I just wanna be good to you, y’know? I don't know; a-and today atsumu jokingly said that you’re way outta my league and honestly, he’s kinda right. I guess I just don’t want you to feel like I don't love you because I really do, even if I have some trouble saying it sometimes. you deserve better, I know you do, but I can't see you with anyone else, so I'll just have to be better.” he doesn't meet your gaze. sometimes heavy eye contact flusters him, and you really want to have this conversation. there’s a slight tremble in his voice.

“is that why you’ve been reading cosmopolitan articles as if it were the bible?”

“yeah. the cosmo writers are mostly women, so i thought: who knows women better than women? i needed to learn from the source.”

“kiyoomi,” you sigh, “i really love the effort you’ve putting into our relationship. I think the cosmopolitan articles have added spice into our everyday routines, but I don't want you to feel like you'll be a failure if you didn't do them, baby. and you aren't out of my league; you balance me perfectly. you shouldn't let the perceptions of other people get in the way of us. remember, they aren't dating me; you are. nobody knows me how you do.” he finally makes eye contact with you. his eyes are glassy, but you don't comment on it. he weakly smiles.

“thank you for loving me. i know i'm not the easiest person to get along with.”

“you’re right,” you smile, leaning forward to kiss him, “but you’re so worth the effort.”

he hums as your lips meet his. the kiss is gentle and slow, following the calm atmosphere of the bathroom. one of his hands are rested on your neck, the other one runs up and down your side. your hand is rested on his shoulder and you pull the hair at the nape of his neck. he groans and pulls you onto his lap, breaking away to look at your flushed expression.

“wait, but the sex has been good right? like you’ve been enjoying yourself?”

“oh most definitely. i'll have to send a thank-you email to the writers.” he rolls his eyes.

“don't act like we didn’t have good sex before cosmo!” he glares at you.

“touchy, touchy,” you give him another peck, “so what’s next on the agenda?”

“cockwarming.”

“oh my god. i'm so down.”

#sakusa #kiyoomi #sakusa kiyomi #sakusa kiyoomi #kiyoomi sakusa #sakusa fluff #sakusa fic #Sakusa x reader #sakusa msby #msby #msby sakusa #msby sakusa kiyoomi #haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu sakusa

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glowingbadger · 3 years ago

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Okay, so I had a thought for our dear fox boy, Kurama.... Imagine, "trying" to tease him by going down on him only to suddenly switch it up and go down on you instead, especially when you least expect it as revenge. You're on the phone with your best friend and suddenly he's there between your legs, but you can't say anything or let your friend know.

Oh-hoo, a most excellent concept, friend- and actually plays into a couple things I've written about Kurama before too, so I guess I should have seen this coming xD

Also this all just reminded me that I HAVE to do some sketches of the YYH boys in late 90's fashion. Ugh, what absolute icons.

Kurama (YYH) x AFAB Reader

NSFW 18+ v

Kurama's hair splays out across the pillow, making him look for all the world like a lounging ingenue in a romantic painting. Still, those emerald eyes level on you with a sharp cunning that tells you clearly where you stand. He wears a subdued smile that someone who didn't know him might find pleasant, charming- but you know what the grin of a fox spirit really means.

"Feeling rather bold today, aren't you?" he says, his tone light and conversational, even as your hands run down his chest and the toned contours of his abdomen from atop his clothing.

"Well, it doesn't seem fair for you to call the shots all the time," you reply from your position straddling his hips. You like to think you sound the part of the confident seductress, but your heart leaps every time you meet Kurama's calculated gaze. You may be in the "dominant" position, but you know you haven't nearly tamed him. For now, you'll just have to try to push him a bit further.

You kiss a slow and deliberate path down the center of his torso, undoing the buttons of his shirt one-by-one, and revelling in the feeling of firm muscle shifting and flexing at your touch. Kurama lets out an openly pleasured sigh, and doesn't shy away in the slightest as your hands reach the front of his jeans. With a playful little hum, you run your hand up along the bulge of his stiffening cock beneath layers of fabric. Very subtly, his hips shift up towards your touch, and you bite at your lip as your eyes flicker up to his yet unreadable expression.

"You must be much more sensitive than you let on, Kurama," you tease, tracing his length with a single finger, "You're already this hard, after all."

Just as you'd started to feel sure of having the upper hand, he props himself up on an elbow to observe you between his thighs. One hand reaches down to caress your cheek, ending at your chin, where his thumb runs the curve of your lower lip.

"Of course I am," he replies bluntly, "It's only natural when I desire you so ardently. Besides," he goes on, his grin curling into a smirk, "If your aim is retribution for all that I've done to you, then I imagine I have quite a thrilling evening to look forward to."

So much for flustering him, or even just getting him to act a little bit shy. Your cheeks burn hot, and you mumble,

"Should have tied you up. And gagged you, while we're at it."

"Hm. Perhaps you should have," Kurama replies casually.

This bastard. Is it really this impossible to gain the slightest bit of ground on him?

Impatient for results, you undo the front of his jeans, and tug them down with his boxers, freeing his impressive member from its confines. Kurama continues to watch you comfortably as you take the base of his cock in hand and slowly drag your tongue up the underside of his shaft. You can feel it twitching and swelling in your hand, hardening to its full size before too long. Frankly, you've half a mind to climb onto his lap and ride him then and there. He does so love to tease you- the chance to have him now without the usual exercise of restraint is undeniably tempting. For the time being, you satisfy yourself with gently licking and kissing his twitching manhood, letting the warmth of your breath and fleeting touches gently stimulate him.

He is clearly enjoying himself; aside from the soft murmurs of pleasure he grants you as your tongue circles the crown of his cock, his direct gaze hasn't wavered for even a moment. Still propped up above you, he absently strokes your hair in one hand as half-lidded eyes watch your attempts to provoke him.

"You mean to tease me, I see..." he says softly, his tone only hinting at his amusement. Even better concealed is the heady arousal building at his core- his desire to break this arrogant facade you've put on, to see you crumble back into obedience at his hands.

And as if by divine providence, his opportunity arrives.

The phone at the bedside table rings, and you pause to glance up at Kurama. Only the glint in his eye hints at his plan at first- but then, as you watch in disbelief, he picks up the phone before it's finished its third ring. He sits upright as he greets your friend on the line, and your body feels hot and cold all at once.

"Hm? Oh, yes- right here, in fact. One moment."

Kurama meets your eyes with a smirk and offers the phone to you with his hand cupped over the receiver. Your face is burning red, and you grumble near inaudibly,

"No fair!"

He gives a short laugh, tucking away his still-hard cock and then fixing his clothing with his free hand as he says,

"I apologize if I have ever given you the impression that I am 'fair' by nature." All at once, he catches you around the waist and pulls you down onto your back on the bed. You resist crying out in surprise, if only because when you look up at him and see the smouldering heat in his eyes, your breath catches in your chest. Then, without a word, he hands the phone to you. Biting nervously at your lower lip, you take it from him, clear your throat, and say,

"He-hey! How's it going?"

Your friend immediately launches into an excited ramble about the finale of a show she's been following obsessively for the last year and a half. Honestly, you should have expected this call- stupid of you to think you'd have the evening free with the finale airing. As she goes on about how "so many of her predictions were dead-on," Kuramas hands run indulgently down the contours of your body. Your heart races, and you can't help tensing, arching up against him just a little. Then, he's working your pants down off your hips, and you give him a pleading look that he meets like a stone wall.

"-- I mean, can you believe it?! It's like, exactly what I said would happen!!"

"Yeah, that's, uh," you struggle to keep up, but your eyes are fixed on Kurama lowering himself between your bared legs, "that's pretty wild..."

With a placade grin on his face, he kisses a trail down the inside curve of your thigh, his touches delicate and yet unreserved. Your eyelids flutter half-shut, but you force yourself to- more or less -follow the thread of your friend's rant. That is, until you feel the sting of Kurama's teeth at the soft flesh far up the inner curve of your thigh. He sucks a dark love-bite to your skin- one that you know will remind you of his presence there for days to come. Still, you manage to camouflage your gasp of shock and pleasure into a sudden cough.

"You okay?"

"Yeah, totally! Sorry, don't mind me- go on!" you babble out your reply in a hurry, knowing you won't be able to trust your voice when Kurama continues this torment. He chuckles silently behind his hand, and you pout uselessly at him. Rather than acknowledge this, he refocuses on his task as the phone rant continues. You do your best to keep a consistent stream of "Oh, yeah?" and "Wow, crazy!", all while elegant fingers spread your lower lips and warm breath teases your over-sensitive body. Then, without warning, his tongue glides firm across your aching clit. Your thighs twitch in around his head and you arch up from the bed.

"Woa--! That's... incredible!" you translate the gasp you desperately want to let out into a perhaps overly-enthusiastic reply. Fortunately, your friend is too caught up in her finale recap to police her own excitement, let alone yours. Still wearing that cocky smirk, Kurama pushes his hair back behind his ears, then returns to tease your clit with the tip of his tongue.

He doesn't let up after this, and frankly, your impulses are torn. Part of you wants to be as subtle as possible, to silently endure the slow, luxurious movements of his lips and tongue pulsing against your cunt and stiffened clit. Another part of you- the part you're fighting to subdue -wants to grab onto that silky red hair and grind against him, to rush yourself to your climax and to spare yourself further torture. But you and Kurama both know you won't be able to keep quiet if you do. So you fuss anxiously with the phone's tangled cord, shifting and squirming on the bed beneath him and biting back pleasured gasps and whimpers.

Your legs are trembling around him and you're positively soaked with your arousal and his saliva. Leaning back on the pillow, you scrunch your eyes closed and take a deep breath.

"Oh- you remember that one voice actor I told you about?"

"Yeah, uh," you struggle to pull your thoughts together, but Kurama nudges the flat of his tongue rhythmically against your clit, and your body is begging for release, "This show... was his first big on-screen thing, right?" you manage to choke out. As though pleased by your performance, your lover gives a soft hum that sends his breath fluttering over your vulnerable skin, then presses more firmly into you. His skillful tongue teases your entrance for a moment, rubbing into you while your muscles tighten, instinctively longing for friction, for something inside, for something to cling to. You're panting silently, biting at your finger to keep quiet while your friend tells you all about her latest celebrity crush.

So close. You're so dangerously close to the rush of your climax. But you hold on, every inch of your body aching with need and restraint. Kurama can obviously sense the desperate state you're in, and you know that he's savoring it. And yet, when you glance down to watch the erotic movements of his mouth, the way his eyes devour you, the way his hands grip at your hips- you realize that you don't have it in you to care about your pride anymore.

"Anyway, they're airing an interview with the cast soon, so I gotta go so I don't miss it."

The words are a beacon of hope, and while your friend apologizes for cutting out so suddenly, you assure her again and again that you don't mind.

"Really, you should... go- uh, go enjoy the thing!"

Kurama's lips seal around your clit and the dearly sensitive surrounding flesh. His tongue flicks across the hard little bundle over and over, his hands firm at your hips, holding you strictly in place. He's not holding back anymore. Your eyes roll back and your body burns, but you keep yourself silent. Just a little longer. Don't let him make you cum- not yet. He feels too good- and you know he wouldn't care if you screamed his name for your friend or anyone else to hear.

"Oh, also, we should totally grab coffee or something soon!"

"Yeah- that sounds really good-!" your back arcs up from the sheets.

"Cool! I'll call again soon, byeeee!"

You hear the click of the receiver on the other end. Your arms go limp, dropping the phone to the floor. Kurama leans over you, pushing himself against you while his tongue works your clit and you gasp aloud for him.

"Kurama! Ohhh... Oh, God- I'm-!"

A tingling, sparkling wave of pleasure explodes from your core and rushes across the surface of your skin. You can't remember the last time you came this hard, and you imagine Kurama can feel what he's doing to you. Your taste coats his tongue, one shaky hand weaves your fingers through his hair as your hips buck towards him. With one last desperate cry of his name, you relax back onto the bed, your boneless limbs making you feel like a puddle of mindless bliss.

Panting, practically gasping for breath, your unfocused eyes gaze up at the ceiling as the last tremors of your climax pass through you.

"Haa... Mm, Kurama..." you whimper out as he places one last kiss to your now soaked folds.

He crawls up atop you, and a gentle hand turns your face to him. His smile is warm and openly affectionate, and he caresses your cheek like a groom at the altar. Looking at him now, it's hard to imagine he's the same man who just put you through that unique form of torture. You're still catching your breath, and when he kisses you with all the tenderness in the world, you can hardly even reciprocate.

"Well done, my love," he says at last, "Do you think you can continue to behave for me tonight?"

Some distant part of your mind realizes that you've been manipulated- that he's utterly dismantled your attempt at dominance. You should be frustrated. You should try to regain the upper hand and show him that he doesn't always gets to be in control. Instead, your half-lidded eyes meet him and you murmur,

"Yes... I'll be good..."

#kurama #yu yu hakusho #kurama yyh #shuichi minamino #kurama x reader #yu yu hakusho smut #kurama smut #x reader #yu yu hakusho imagines

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seidenbros · 2 years ago

Text

I See Your True Colours Ch. 2

Requests are open | prompt lists for inspiration | Stranger Things Masterlist

Summary:“Is that… my shirt?” Eddie asked, a little confused. With Eddie awake now, everyone is a little more at ease. Still, Steve can't find sleep in his own home, not when he's alone. He still has to make sure that Eddie is alive, that he'd breathing, and so he does what he's done the last couple of weeks, and spends the night in Eddie's room. He's there when Eddie wakes from his first nightmare Who else than Wayne Munson is the one to ask Eddie about what is going on between him and Steve? Pairing: Eddie Munson x Steve Harrington - Steddie Word count: 3213 Warning/Tags: fluff, angst, canon divergence, everybody lives, nightmares,bisexual Steve Harrington, gay Eddie Munson, supportive Wayne Munson, end of and after S4 (let me know if I missed anything) Author’s note: Second chapter in 2 days, but I'll take more time with the others. I just thought this was necessary to get a better glimpse of where this is going - and I love the interaction between Eddie and Wayne Read on AO3 Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7

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It's hard to take courage

“You look like shit,” Dustin remarked as soon as they were in Eddie’s room, trying his best to not let the emotions overwhelm him, but they did. And so, Eddie found himself beneath Dustin, who’d all but thrown himself at the older one.

“Easy there, my body is a mess.” Eddie chuckled, but he endured the pain, because having Dustin in his arms, seeing that he was doing alright, made the pain ease a little bit.

“Yeah, they tore you apart, but the doctors say that you’re healing well.” Slowly, Dustin got up again and pulled a chair close so that he could sit down. Steve stood next to him, wearing a shirt that looked way too familiar.

“Is that… my shirt?” Eddie asked, a little confused. It wasn’t Steve’s usual style, and he highly doubted that Harrington was listening to Iron Maiden.

“Yeah Steve needed a shower and a new shirt, so we gave him one of yours.”

“Hope that’s alright…” Steve looked a little sheepish, because he actually enjoyed wearing Eddie’s clothes. They fit well, and they made him feel close to Eddie even when he wasn’t here in the hospital. It was a weird feeling, but a nice one as well.

“Yeah. It looks good on you. A little unusual but good.” There was a moment of silence between them until Eddie cleared his throat, thinking back on what Dustin had just said. “Wait, what are my clothes doing at your house?”

They hadn’t been able to break the news to him so far, and it looked like Wayne hadn’t talked about it as well while Steve had been gone. Dustin and Steve exchanged glances, but then Dustin explained it to him.

“You’re staying with me. Wayne and you. Your trailer… it was torn apart.” He gave Eddie a moment to digest the fact that he’d lost the place he’d been calling his home for the last ten years. While it hadn’t been a traditional home for most people it was the only real home Eddie had known. “Wayne got everything out that was still intact. Your clothes, tapes, some of his mugs.”

“And your guitar,” Steve added, because he knew that it was Eddie’s most prized possession.

“Oh thank God.” Relief washed over Eddie, and he was able to breathe again. Yes, losing his home was bad, but there were just some things that he couldn’t lose that held value for him, and while the guitar wasn’t a cheap one, it meant so much to him, because Wayne had gotten it for him as a present.

“Thank you, Dustin.” For letting them stay with him even though Eddie was still here. But they’d given Wayne a place to live, people to be around, and that meant a lot.

“My Mum agreed straight away. She knows that you protected me, and she actually likes having Wayne around. One more person to fuss over.” Dustin couldn’t help but grin. It was nice to see his Mum this happy, see her get out a bit. She enjoyed making food for more than just the two of them, and Wayne was always so grateful and polite, that Dustin’s mother even got a little flustered here and there.

“Thanks for taking care of him.” Because as much as Wayne Munson was doing fine on his own, always had, it was good for him to have someone around, who would make sure that he ate enough and got enough sleep. He was pretty sure that Mrs Henderson was doing a fine job of that.

Dustin nodded with a smile. He knew that both adults were helping each other, and he wasn’t the only one his mother kept an eye on. Having Wayne around actually gave him a little bit of leeway, and he didn’t have his mother’s eyes on him twenty-four/seven. “How long do you have to stay here?”

“Depends.” Eddie scratched the back of his neck, wanting to get out of here as soon as possible. They were taking great care of him, so he couldn’t complain, but he wanted to get out, get some fresh air, wear his own clothes again. Be himself. “They want to do some more tests tomorrow, and when I pass them all, I’ll be able to leave in two days. Just need to get my bandages changed every day until I won’t need them anymore.”

“So you have to come back here for that?” Dustin scrunched up his nose. He’d rather take Eddie home right now, get him out of here, but that seemed to be out of the question.

“I could help with that.” Steve looked at both of them and shrugged his shoulders when they gave him a questioning look. “I’ve got experience with these kinds of injuries.” Injuries that matched Eddie’s but were smaller. He’d taken care of them himself, because he’d acquired the knowledge a long time ago. It wasn’t the first time that he’d had to patch himself up. “Only if you want though.” He didn’t want to impose on Eddie, just offer his help.

“Are you kidding?” Eddie started grinning, even if it strained the healing skin on his jaw. “I’d rather let you do that instead of coming back here every day.” The sooner he could say goodbye to the hospital the better, and he wasn’t keen on coming back. He knew that he’d have to come in for a general check-up, but that would only be due in a week or two, he didn’t know yet.

“Then you can tell them that you’ll have your personal nurse.”

“OH, so you’re gonna wear a nice outfit as well?”

“In your dreams, Munson.”

While they were joking, and it felt good to see Eddie slowly becoming himself again, Steve couldn’t deny that his heart was beating faster again because of the way Eddie looked at him. That glint in his eyes, that mischievous grin… it made Steve smile to himself.

They stayed until Eddie was served his dinner, then they said their goodbyes, because Dustin was supposed to be home for dinner as well - and Steve was invited along with him, so that he got some real food. Wayne had talked to Claudia about him, so they’d made sure to have him around as much as possible, when he wasn’t spending time with Eddie in the hospital.

And that was what he did after dinner. Eating properly hadn’t been easy for him the first days, but ever since Claudia has asked him to stay or come over for breakfast, dinner, whatever, he’d gotten some proper meals, and now that Eddie was awake, Steve had even developed an appetite again. Still, sleeping was the other problem, which was why he’d been driving around town for some time, before he’d driven to the hospital again.

It was close to midnight by now, when he found himself in the parking lot. It was different now that Eddie was awake, and Steve knew that he was doing alright. Still, he needed to make sure that nothing would happen, because he wouldn’t be able to sleep otherwise.

He gave a little wave to the night nurse, who only smiled at him. She knew that Steve wouldn’t cause a racket here in the middle of the night, so she let him through. He’d behaved so well all these weeks, that she really didn’t have to throw him out.

As quietly as possible, Steve opened the door, slipped inside, and closed the door again. The room was only illuminated by the small lights close to the floor that were turned on for safety reasons. Eddie was sleeping in his bed, dark curls framing his face. He was here, he was okay, and he’d be able to go home soon. All that put Steve’s mind at ease, but he still stayed. Because he knew that he wouldn’t be able to fall asleep at home in his own bed anyway. It was too quiet, too dark, too lonely, so that all the memories came flooding back, no matter if he was awake or asleep. Taking care of someone else, watching out for them gave him something to do.

His attention was drawn towards Eddie again, when he heard the bedsheets rustle. Eddie began tossing in his sleep, his face contorted, but Steve couldn’t make out what he was mumbling to himself, so he stepped closer.

“Steve… Dustin… no!” quiet words that came over Eddie’s lips. His hands grabbed the sheet beneath him and it looked like he was in pain. Nightmares, Steve realised, because he went through the same again and again.

He leaned over Eddie, gently put one hand over Eddie’s, placed the other on his forehead. He felt a little hot, but maybe that was just Steve’s imagination. He was hoping that his touch would calm Eddie down a little bit, and it worked for a few seconds, but then he started again, whispering nonono over and over again, and Steve couldn’t bear it.

“Eddie you’re safe,” he said quietly, trying to calm Eddie down. He gently shook the other one’s shoulders, trying to wake him up, because when he couldn’t calm him in his sleep, he needed to stop the nightmare in a different way. “Eddie, wake up! It’s alright. You’re safe here!”

Eddie’s eyes opened with a start, his hand grabbed ahold of Steve’s and for a moment, he simply stared up at him in panic.

“Steve,” he whispered before he sat up and wrapped his arms around Steve’s neck, pulling him close. For a moment, Steve remained unmoving, but then he carefully put his own hands on Eddie’s back. “I thought you…” Eddie couldn’t finish the sentence, but he didn’t need to.

“I’m right here. Nothing happened to me.” Steve ran his hands over the back of Eddie’s head, through his hair, down his back, repeated that movement, until he felt Eddie relax in his arms.

Slowly, he pulled back a little bit, but reached for Eddie’s hands so that he could hold them, show him that he was still there and not a figment of Eddie’s imagination. Steve had needed that as well, when he’d woken up here. Then he’d walked up to the bed and touched his fingertips to Eddie’s hand, making sure that he was really lying there.

“I’m… sorry, I just…” Eddie tried to explain, but shook his head, not finding the right words.

“Nightmares,” Steve provided, nodding his head. So far, Eddie hadn’t had to deal with this, but now that he’d woken up, all these pictures were there. Maybe, he hadn’t been bothered by them because he’d been in the world of Tolkien, because Steve had read to him.

“I have them as well.” Steve swallowed hard, looked down at their joined hands. Eddie gave him a gentle squeeze.

“I didn’t have them when I was…” Eddie let go of one of Steve’s hands and made a gesture, not even wanting to finish that sentence, because all of it felt so surreal. “I was in the Shire… Because you read to me. You guided me in my dreams.”

Eddie felt his own heart pick up its pace at that moment. Steve had really done so much for him without even knowing it. Something in the air shifted when Steve’s lips curled up into a smile, and Eddie found himself staring at them. Steve had been on his mind even before he’d woken up again, had left quite the impression, but now even more so, and it made his skin start to tingle from where their hands were touching.

“Yeah, they told us that you might hear us, and since I wanted to read the books anyway, I thought I could read them to you. Dustin said they’re your favourite books and I thought maybe they’d help.”

“They did. More than you know.” A soft smile was playing on Eddie’s lips when Steve looked back at him. For a moment, there was silence between them, but it wasn’t an awkward silence. No, they both rather enjoyed it. Eddie couldn’t keep his hands still though, and started rubbing circles with his thumb into the back of Steve’s hand, who didn’t pull away. It was a nice feeling, he had to admit, but he wasn’t here to hold hands with Eddie Munson, was he?

“You need some sleep, Eddie.” he eventually said, still not breaking away from Eddie, from the bed. Instead, he kept his hand interlaced with Eddie’s and reached for the book with the other hand. “I’ll read you some more, as long as you promise not to laugh.”

“Promise!” As if Eddie would ever laugh at Steve in a situation like this. Maybe he’d mock Harrington a little once they were out of the hospital, but all in good fun. Right now, he was rather happy that Steve was staying here, reading to him. Because with Steve by his side, he felt a lot more at ease and was able to fall asleep in no time, Steve’s voice in his ear, still holding his hand. He felt safe, loved.

—

When Wayne Munson went to the hospital the next morning to have breakfast with his nephew before he could hopefully take him home, he found Steve Harrington there again. Not in a chair across the room this time, but right next to Eddie’s bed. Their hands were intertwined and Steve’s head was lying on Eddie’s thigh, the book right next to him. He must have fallen asleep reading to Eddie again.

“Hey…” Eddie whispered quietly, when he realised that he wasn’t alone with Steve anymore. He’d been awake for half an hour maybe, but he’d stayed as quiet as possible because he didn’t want to wake Steve. He looked so peaceful, just a little uncomfortable maybe.

“I see he read to you again.” Wayne couldn’t help but smile at the picture before him. He’d had a lot of time to talk to Steve, and he was glad to see him here. He was always welcome at the Henderson house, and if he was here, that meant that he was at least not alone. Wayne didn’t know Steve’s parents, and he hoped that he’d never meet them. They were probably not bad people, but they’d screwed up their relationship with their son and continued to do so.

“Yeah… helped me fall asleep.”

“He’s a good one.”

“He really is,” Eddie admitted. He’d said it before to Steve, when he’d hardly believed it himself, because Steve always seemed like he had it all, so of course, he had to be a douche. But he wasn’t. In the time they’d spent together - even if it had been really eventful and full of hiding Eddie from everyone else - he’d come to realise just what a good person Steve was. He was always there for his friends, put their well-being first, made sure nothing happened to them as best as he could. As much as he complained about being some kind of babysitter, he filled his role perfectly and took such great care of everyone around him, but didn’t really have anyone to look out for him. Eddie admired him for that, for the love and compassion he showed to the kids especially, but Steve also made him want to wrap him in a blanket and take care of him for a change.

“Let’s give him a few more minutes.”

And while Eddie wanted to grant him that, Steve woke up, slowly raised his head, and needed a moment to realise where he was. While he sat up straight, he let go of Eddie’s hand, rubbed both of his hands across his face.

“Mornin’,” he croaked, looking from Eddie up to Wayne. “Sorry… Must’ve fallen asleep.”

“No need to apologise, son.” Wayne patted his shoulder. “You know you’re always welcome.”

Eddie's heart warmed at seeing the interaction, the soft smile that appeared on Steve’s lips because of Wayne’s words.

“I should probably get going anyway.” Steve got up from his chair, but left it right there to offer it to Wayne.

“But you’ll come over for dinner, right? Claudia insists.” She’d reminded Wayne before he’d left for the hospital.

“Of course. Wouldn’t miss it for the world.” His eyes landed on Eddie again, a chaste smile on his lips. “See you later, Munson.” After all, he was sure that Eddie would get out today, which was all the more reason not to miss out on dinner with them.

“Yeah… see you,” Eddie called after him, but the door was already closed. He let out a sigh, reached for the book and closed it, put it aside to the other two Steve had already read to him.

“So…” Wayne said, sitting down next to Eddie’s bed. “What’s that between you two?”

For a moment, Eddie was at a loss for words. Wayne knew him too well, to not have picked up on the way Eddie had looked at Steve. Then again, Wayne was the one person Eddie had always talked to, so it was probably only natural that he’d realised how Eddie felt.

Years ago, Eddie had been so confused, so scared to talk about how he felt, whom he felt drawn to, but in the end, he’d opened up to Wayne. He was the only real father figure, he knew, and he hadn’t wanted to lose him, hadn’t wanted Wayne to kick him out if he knew, because that was what his real parents would’ve done. Not Wayne Munson, though, no, he’d always supported Eddie, and when he’d told Wayne that he liked guys, he’d simply opened his arms for Eddie and had told him that it was okay. There would always be people out there, who didn’t understand him, who didn’t even try to do so, who’d hate him for whom he loved, but Wayne wasn’t one of them. It’s okay, son, he’d said to Eddie and he’d immediately believed his uncle.

After opening up to Wayne, it had been easier. Some people knew, like his bandmates or Dustin, but not everyone. When someone asked him, he gave an honest answer, because by now, he wasn’t afraid anymore, but he doubted that Steve knew.

“Honestly… I don’t know,” Eddie answered with a sigh. “I have no idea what he feels or thinks, just…” He shrugged his shoulders, a little confused right now. There had been moments between them. Looks that lingered a little too long, the hand holding last night, gentle touches here and there… But maybe, that was just his imagination.

“What about you?”

“Do you really have to ask?” Eddie quirked an eyebrow at his uncle which was followed by a long, drawn-out sigh. Opening his heart for someone had never been easy for Eddie. Wayne was the first person who’d shown him love without wanting anything in return. In his life, he’d had one short-lived relationship, but apart from that, nothing serious. He was longing for it, to love and be loved in return, but letting that guard down was hard. Steve had managed to tear his walls down in a matter of days - leaving out the three weeks he hadn’t been conscious. It scared him on the one hand, but on the other, he simply enjoyed being in Steve’s presence.

Let me know if you want to be tagged for the Promises-series, Eddie x Reader stuff in general or Steddie-fics 💚

#steddie #steve harrington x eddie munson #eddie munson x steve harrington #steddie imagine #steddie fanfic #stranger things imagine #stranger things fanfic #staffi writes #steveddie #eddie x steve #steve x eddie

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deniigi · 4 years ago

Note

my supervisor fucked me over with all my other coworkers present. can I request a one shot from you to cheer me up featuring Sammy?

Did I give y’all the fic about the hotpot?

Well if I didn’t, I’m giving it to you now.

Title: hotpot

Summary: Ganke checks the comments for the Blindspot comic daily and there’s this one asshole anon who keeps talking shit about BT.

The Blindspot comic went live in the fall and Ganke couldn’t stop checking the hit count every five seconds. All night there had only been ten hits.

He told himself not to be disappointed. The only person who really mattered had read and loved the comic.

Miles said that BT had even forced everyone on the team to read an abridged version of Journey to the West, and had gone as far as to make a quiz to determine everyone’s character.

Miles refused to disclose who he’d gotten.

BT had clearly rigged the game to make himself Sun Wukong and Ganke was proud of him.

That kind of enthusiasm was exactly what he’d been hoping for, anything else now was just icing on the cake.

Even though it would be cool if it wasn’t just BT reading his own comics.

That would be pretty cool, right? Like. If people online all started reading BT’s comic. That would be sort of amazing.

Kind of excellent.

Definitely worthy of an A+ and double pats on the back.

Right?

The hit counter didn’t think so. But hey, five more people had opened the page since last night. That was something, wasn’t it?

MM: dude why not just ask Sam to tweet out the link?

How dare you, Miles Morales.

How dare you waltz into this place with logical thought.

GL: I can’t do that. That’s like. Idk. Inflating the views.

MM: okay yeah explain to me how appealing to the person in control of the largest part of his own fandom is inflating the views

GL: I see your logic and I’m banishing it

MM: I’m messaging him

GL: DON’T

MM: too late

MM: he says ‘gimme link’

GL: asdksjsjdks

@blindspot: hi I know y’all can’t get enough of me to the point of asking shockingly invasive questions and for you I say good news! Some amazing folks have gone through the trouble of making a Blindspot comic. it’s good guys check it out [link]

It helped.

A lot.

It helped a lot.

People, on the whole, had great things to say. The panels were screenshotted and tagged and sent all over social media and even though Miles was pretending to be chill and aloof about the whole thing, Ganke could imagine him smiling big and bright and white at his phone non-stop.

Mom and Auntie saw a few of the bits on Twitter and tittered over them in the kitchen like pigeons.

The pride rose like a wave. Ganke kept waiting for the crash.

It came two days later in the form of a comment that read ‘Christ, look at all this fuss. BT is fine. I hate his brother.’

It felt like someone punching the wind out of Ganke’s lungs.

He took comfort in the handful of people who leapt in to shout down the commenter. They emphasized that if the anonymous commenter didn’t like the story or the characters, then they didn’t have to read it and they, especially, didn’t have to say anything about it.

Ganke appreciated those guys. He got the feeling that a lot of the people on there knew that the whole thing had been done but a couple of kids.

Not that Anon cared.

Anon replied to all these comments ‘No, I’m gonna keep reading, thanks. Anyways, the brother is lame. The smart part is cool, but why’s it always gotta be a guy?’

The part that haunted Ganke even after he’d shut his laptop and had gone to stick his head out the window for some big breaths of cleansing air was that Anon was kind of right.

GL: should we have made Guotin’s brother a sister?

MM: no

GL: why not?

MM: cause BT’s always wanted a brother

Oh.

Okay. Then it was fine?

MM: yeah man ignore them. it’s chill.

GL: k thanks my ego is huge and fragile

MM: trust me I know

Asshole. Fine, moving right along.

It didn’t stop. Anon commented on every page. Every. Single. Page.

Ganke didn’t know what to do or say. On the one hand, clearly this person was dedicated and deeply engaged with the comic, on the other hand, they needed a Rude Alert button. Ganke wondered if Ned could code one for them and them only.

The latest of their fury was directed at the big reveal in the second issue—BT’s face.

Having now met Sam, BT, Blindspot, Ganke’s whole image of him had changed.

He was not conventionally attractive as far as like, K-Pop idols and famous Chinese dudes went. His eyes were puffy and narrow and his face was round everywhere but the jaw. He leaned more towards ‘cute’ than ‘sexy,’ which Ganke sort of loved about him.

He was friendly. Stressed and grumpy and feisty as hell, yeah, but first and foremost friendly.

Miles claimed that he called it his ‘number one asset in employability.’ Which was wild because hello, Blindspot.

Obviously, BT couldn’t help his face. But Miles and Ganke could help Guotin’s.

Ganke had sent Miles about fifteen different images of Chinese celebrities and had told him to do his worst. They’d reviewed the final few drafts and had picked one that was most like a young Chen Kun. His face was more oval-shaped than BT’s. His chin and lips were slimmer but more defined. He was pretty, but not so pretty as to be called ‘feminine,’ which Ganke thought was a solid compromise between ‘handsome as sin’ and ‘looks like he’s got a quirky sense of humor.’

Anon hated him.

Anon thought that he looked like an idol, and they were not here for it.

They told ‘the artist’ to give him a mole or something, anything to make him look ‘less pristine. God, I can smell him from here and he smells like Dior and staph habitat.’

Ganke had to look up what a staph infection was. He regretted it. He asked Miles if they should censor Anon.

Miles said ‘mmmmm, idk it’s not like they aren’t saying anything that isn’t true.’

Ganke resented that. Clearly this was defamation of BT. This person hated him and was taking their feeling out on the comic.

MM: I mean yeah but it’s not like they’re talking about the comic, man. They’re talking about the style and like, thinking about it, a mole or smth to help you tell him apart from other folks would kind of be helpful. Like, especially if we ever put him in a crowd, you know?

HHHHHH.

Fine.

Anon could stay. But they were on thin ice.

It was hard not to be bitter about Anon’s comments, especially when they arrived daily, as though Anon knew exactly what they were doing and which page they’d left off at. They couldn’t possibly be reading the comic one page at a time, this was intentional.

Ganke’s jaw hurt from all the tooth grinding he’d endured as of late.

This latest one read ‘yo, has BT ever mentioned fighting with a sword? I don’t recall him mentioning. Someone should take that thing away from him before someone loses an eye—or maybe even two.’

That felt like a pointed jibe.

That turned the churning irritation in Ganke’s gut into something much, much colder.

Did Anon know about BT’s black and blue eyes? How could they know? Was it a coincidence? It seemed to be more than a coincidence.

The pile of critiques was growing bigger and bigger, and now that Ganke thought about it, they all seemed to take issue with things that didn’t match the real Blindspot’s personality.

It was as if they knew him.

GL: miles did you read the new comment from AnonTheAsshole?

MM: lol yeah

GL: tell me if I’m talking out my ass or whatever but like

GL: you don’t think they could be Muse, could they?

Silence.

MM: oh no

Yeah. Fuck.

MM: chances are low.

GL: they know so much tho??

MM: might be stalker? Maybe someone who’s over-invested in BT’s social media pages?

GL: maybe.

MM: hold on let me ask Spidey to screen it

GL: does he know Muse?

MM: no, but he’s paranoid and he’ll get Wade to be paranoid with him, and then they can decide whether its worth giving to DD for verification. He knows Muse.

Ganke’s head was spinning. His fingers shook with guilt and the thought of Muse’s pale body hunched over a secret, cracked cell phone in a high security prison who knew where.

In Ganke’s head, he smiled wider and wider, until the skin on his cheeks cracked. He dug out scraps of paper and redrew Blindspot—Sam—with gaping holes for eyes and a screaming mouth and he drew dismembered corpses in black lakes and he laughed.

He just kept laughing.

MM: hey ganke

MM: it’s going to be okay. It’s just a comic. I’m sure AnonTheAsshole is a stalker. They’re not threatening anyone.

MM: Sam can deal with a stalker. And we can too, okay?

There was a reason that Miles was a hero. Ganke wiped at his eyes and swallowed.

GL: okay. Thanks for doing that.

MM: 👍🏾

It took a few hours because Spidey and Deadpool had lives outside of being Spidey and Deadpool, but not so long that Ganke ran out of nails to chew.

Miles messaged him back and said that Spidey had read through everything and ‘escalated it.’ This meant that whatever he’d seen had caused him enough concern to take it to DP.

Miles said that he’d get back to Ganke with DP’s verdict as soon as he had it. In the meantime, he’d run the comments by the other Spideypeople and they thought that it most likely wasn’t malevolent but was maybe something to keep an eye on in the meantime. He tacked onto all, somewhat stiltedly, that he had a weird feeling all of the sudden. The pink Spidey’s tone had changed. She’d shut down and gone cagey, which allegedly wasn’t like her at all. Then she’d told the taller guy to DM her and they’d vanished from the chat. Miles wasn’t sure what was going on there or if maybe they knew something about stuff going on that he didn’t, but he wasn’t super comfortable with it.

GL: crossing my fingers its nothing?

MM: same man, same.

DP escalated it.

Ganke couldn’t stay still in his room. There was no comfortable place to sit or stand or lay. There was nothing to do that would make him stop thinking about everything.

MM: It’s gonna be fine, man, DD always knows what to do.

Miles kept saying that for every step of the way, and yet here they were. Double escalated. Ganke wasn’t so sure he even knew what was happening anymore.

That was scary. Miles was supposed to be part of the in-crowd.

MM: Wade doesn’t think it’s anything that can’t be nipped in the bud.

That was easy for a contract assassin to say, wasn’t it?

MM: he says that you and I are fine. Doesn’t see any links there. Waiting on DD for confirmation of tone.

Hurry up, Daredevil. Your apprentice’s life might be about to take a nosedive into a heap of trash.

Two hours. One text.

MM: >:/

Ganke couldn’t contain the bubble of laughter.

GL: good news?

MM: [image]

He opened it.

SC: HANNAH YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE. STOP BEING A BITCH ON MAIN

HC: You can’t tell me what to do

SC: I CAN

HC: Mom he’s being MEAN

SC: Mom she’s scaring children online

HC: I scare children everywhere I go why are these ones special???

SC: Because I said so

HC: that doesn’t fucking work Samuel you’re not her

SC: I am your older brother

SC: your ELDEST brother

HC: YOU AINT SHIT

SC: THEY DON’T COUNT

SC: HALFSIES COUNT

What.

MM: so.

MM: she’s not Muse.

MM: Red’s laughing his ass off at all of us for taking this to a level three

GL: wait I don’t understand

MM: Hannah is Sam’s little sister. She’s found a new hobby in our website.

Blindspot’s little sister was reading the comic??? Holy shit.

GL: she hates him?

MM: no I’ve been informed that they would literally commit murder for each other but this is how they express love.

No way. Siblings were wild.

GL: so we’re good?

MM: [image]

SC: apologize 🔪

HC: eat my ass

SC: apologize or else

HC: or else what? You gonna come in here and sit on me? Huh? Huh????

SC: I know your email password. All 3 you cycle through. What was his name? Uuuuuuuuuh Jing?

HC: you fucking bastard

SC: Hi Jing, it’s me, Hannah. I’ve been in mad crush with you since sophomore year. Please notice me senpai 😖

HC: Die

SC: kill me

HC: I will.

The giggles that came this time were a mix of relief and genuine intrigue. This lady read the comic every day. She took the time to scroll through pictures of her brother being an absolute lunatic and fighting with a huge monkey. Then she hopped into that comment box and took him—not Miles, not Ganke, specifically Blindspot--down a peg.

She must miss him a lot. Ganke wondered if this was her way of keeping him in her thoughts.

MM: I don’t think we’re getting a sorry, man. DD says Sam’s been at this all morning and has been tricked into apologizing himself twice

GL: so you’re saying that she’s an evil genius

MM: idk but she’s def Sam’s main nemesis. I always thought that older siblings got like, rights or something over younger ones, but idk anymore. Angel says this is normal.

GL: do you think she misses him?

Miles took a long time to respond.

MM: yeah

Yeah, Ganke thought so, too.

GL: should we change Guo tin’s brother’s name to ‘hamish?’

MM: ASDLDSDSFKdsjf

MM: one moment.

MM: sam says yes. Hannah says that she thinks our comic is shit and we need to draw everything uglier

GL: she’s kind of funny

MM: 👀perhaps she would like to be a consultant?

GL: 👀👀👀👀

MM: brb asking

MM: sam says no. Hannah says she’s got better things to do than proofread comics on the internet. She’s also not sorry. She wants that to be clear. DD says that the conversation has moved from English to Chinese and to maybe duck and cover for now. He says all is good tho. Thanks for checking in.

MM: Muse doesn’t use punctuation and talks in riddles, so if we get any of that, we’re supposed to send it to DP right away.

Oh, nice. That was a relief.

MM: oh

MM: sam wants to put us in a chat. Can I give him your number?

Uh, only if he wanted Ganke to hyperventilate.

GL: sure

[GL has been added to a Secure Chat]

It was a page of characters and emojis that were somehow more menacing than Ganke had ever seen them before. Miles popped a little waving hand into the fray, as though testing the waters, but the characters just carried on scrawling around it.

Ganke wasn’t quite sure what to do.

GL: hi? Are y’all okay?

There was finally a pause. Then a few shorter lines of characters. And then finally, Blindspot switched from Chinese to English.

SC: yes we’re FINE. We’re GREAT. Aren’t we, sibling from hell?

HC: who’re you? Why are you in our family chat? This is a family only zone, can’t you read?

SC: God Hannah he’s Korean don’t be a dick

HC: I can’t not be I learned it from you

SC: fair but pretend in the face of company

HC: okay fine. Hello losers.

MM: adksadfadsdfldfsldf

MM: hi

GL: hi?

SC: go on

HC: UGH

HC: fine

HC: I didn’t mean to shit talk your creation. Only my brother.

SC: also a sin, we’ll get to that later

HC: no one cares about you Samuel, stop spreading lies

SC: you first. We both know this is no lie, my white dad cares about me a whole lot

HC: well we can’t all have white dads now can we

SC: don’t be jealous

MM: lol you really call Matt your white dad??

HC: who is this person and how do they know our mutual parent’s name?

SC: this is not a mutual parent situation how many times have we been through this. He’s mine. Get your own.

MM: hi! 👋🏾I’m Bitsy! Spidey no. 4

GL: I’m his friend. He draws the comic. I write it.

HC: oh. nerd children x2

HC: anyways yeah Matt is our dad

SC: ffs

MM: he’s sort of dadly ig.

HC: ?? oho

SC: mind your face. Think about your face. Think about how much you like your face.

HC: little spider, did you not hear?

SC: kay everyone out. We’re done here

MM: hear what?

HC: lol Sammy you didn’t tell them about how Matthew Mcconaughey adopted you in all ways but paperwork?

Ganke held his phone away from his face as far as it would go.

MM: …wait are you for real?

SC: no. okay out.

HC: awwww Sammy so shy now. What are you embarrassed about? It’s cute.

SC: Hannah literally shut up I’m not playing

HC: damn okay sorry

MM: can I be honest?

SC: no

MM: I’m going to be anyways: I think we all sorta knew.

SC: …

HC: right?

SC: what does that even mean?

MM: idk, it just felt right, you know? You two are always fussing at each other and red lost his shit that time you got shot. He doesn’t treat you the way he treats the rest of us and we’re his teammates. He doesn’t even treat spidey like he treats you. So like, yeah. It fits.

MM: I’m really happy for you guys.

MM: is there a reason it’s a secret?

Ganke eased himself back down onto the mattress. This was real. This was like, actual, real information. Something that he and like, four other people in the world now knew.

He kind of wanted to forget it. It didn’t feel right to know.

SC: I dunno.

HC: if sam has an honest emotion towards anything he has to calculate its weight so he can make space for it in his collection of satellites.

MM: wh

SC: you’re so not funny.

HC: it’s called emotional repression, darling. It’s all the rage in this family.

MM: oh

MM: so that’s why you and Red get on so well

SC: HHHHHHH

HC: HA

SC: okay but listen his is different, I’ve only seen him cry at his wedding. I cry at least 4 times a week. Obviously under the bed, but that can’t be emotional repression. That’s expression. That’s clearly expression

HC: I can make the old man cry watch me

SC: please don’t I’ll die

MM: awwwww

SC: shut up it doesn’t even matter.

MM: AWWWWWW

SC: LEAVE ALREADY

MM: no I like it here. I want to hear you talk about how much you love your white dad

SC: I don’t. He loves me. I’m fine with this because it results in food, shelter, and continued employment.

HC: uh huh

SC: I’m using him

HC: yeah because you’re like the most manipulative person I know.

SC: thank you

HC: /sarcasm

SC: I know I ignored it.

MM: so wait why do you actually pretend like you hate him tho?

SC: wh

SC: what the fuck am I supposed to do? Just go on up for a cuddle? Have you met Matt? The second someone starts crying, he finds trash to take out to the bins. Hell no. Life is easier for everyone if I stab him with a stick and he kicks my ass in training. It’s fine.

HC: Sam is learning how to be a Manly Man. This is step one.

SC: I’m plenty manly

HC: you’re what mom imagined as manly

SC: which is perfect. That’s all I need.

HC: mama’s boy

SC: must suck to suck, no one’s kid.

Wow. Ganke had never been more glad that he didn’t have a sister.

GL: That’s kind of cool, though.

GL: that you and DD are close like that I mean.

GL: Its different from all the other mentor/mentee superheroes we see who like, sort of hate each other.

SC: wh

SC: OH. you mean Peter and Kate. Peter doesn’t actually hate Stark, fyi. And Kate calls Hawkeye the Old bi-weekly to make sure he’s still breathing. It’s actually pretty normal.

MM: he doesn’t mean like that Sam. I mean, like those guys don’t associate with their Olds now that they’re grown up and stuff, but you and DD stick together. It’s like you’re family.

MM: and that’s super cool. Idk if Spidey would ever consider me family. I don’t think he wants that for us.

SC: I?

SC: oh shit

HC: CLARITY ON THIS FINE DAY. What was your name again, tiny spider?

MM: miles

HC: PRAISE BE TO MILES

HC: AN EMOTION WAS HAD

SC: get fucked

HC: An epiphany was obtained!

SC: would you shut up

HC: Something has finally permeated that non-porous, two-inch thick skull of my esteemed eldest brother

SC: I’m your only brother

HC: you’re not

SC: they don’t fucking count

HC: now will you FINALLY invite our mutual dad to hotpot?

SC: Hannah he doesn’t want to come to hot pot we’ve talked about this. it’s too spicy for him.

HC: I’ll make it 1/3 less spicy

SC: that’s still too spicy

HC: I’ll make it 2/5 less spicy

SC: 3/5

HC: listen

HC: I have all this fucking equipment that SOMEONE left here callously

MM: what’s hotpot?

SC: 👀

HC: 👀

GL: 👀

SC: well fuck

HC: EYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY

GL: have we never taken you with us for hotpot???

MM: no?? is this the sticks?

HC: can be. Where do you live?

SC: Hannah no

HC: Hannah yes. We’ll make one here. You’ll make one there.

SC: do you know how much shit I’ll have to buy? Where are we gonna put it?

HC: this wouldn’t be a problem if you’d taken your goddamn inheritance with you to SF

SC: HHHHHH

MM: you guys are actually being serious?

HC: I am. I am here all on my lonesome. Abandoned by my only kin. I require enrichment.

SC: try doing your fucking homework

HC: did anyone hear something?

MM: lololololol I like you

HC: 😊

SC: wh

SC: oh no. No no no.

SC: you two don’t get to be friends

HC: come here bb pspspspspspsps

MM: I’m here

HC: got ‘im. Let’s have hotpot. Sammy send me resippy. We’ll do it together over video so I don’t fuck it up.

SC: I’ve got to go. This has been traumatizing.

HC: byeeeeeeeeeeee

HC: is he gone? Hell yeah, he’s gone.

HC: hey thanks for making that comic thing. It’s hella rad. He loves it. Mom used to call him Monkey when he was little.

GL: omg aw

HC: ikr? P cute. He misses her a lot so I think it brought back good memories. Anyways, I’m actually going to make hotpot. Come over and have some with me, it’s more fun with more people.

MM: you’re not joking

HC: nope, it’s been ages since your whole team has gotten together, right? Ask them to do it. I’m a shit cook, but Sam’ll show us how not to screw it up. And he’s playin’, he’s totally down to hang out with us. We never had more than three people. It’ll be new. Exciting. Enriching even.

MM: are you secretly a nice person, Hannah?

HC: the fuck do you mean ‘secret’??? I’m a delight.

MM: Okay I’ll ask the team and my mom

MM: ganke?

HC: 👀

That—

Sounded kind of nice?

GL: I’ll ask my mom.

HC: nice. You can tell them that it’s a friends dinner or whatever. Idc. I promise I’m not going to kidnap and murder you. I’ve got like, class and work and shit. I don’t have time for that.

MM: 👍🏾

GL: 👍🏼

HC: great here I’ll message you my number. This is legit our sibs chat so Sam’ll freak if you’re still here when he gets back.

MM: thank you! And sorry for thinking you were muse!!

GL: yeah that too

HC: lol np ttyl

That…had really just happened, hadn’t it?

Ganke needed to sit down even though he was already sitting down.

GL: they’re so nice???

MM: ikr?

GL: are you actually going to ask your mom?

MM: Im gonna ask BT if its cool first. Then yeah. Why not? Our team really hasn’t gotten together in a minute. Everyone’s been super busy. It would be a nice change of pace, and if everyone brings smth then Hannah doesn’t have to pay for anything.

MM: ah, Sam says it’s okay. He says sorry his sister is weird and that he’ll make sure she doesn’t poison us.

GL: I kind of love her

MM: same

MM: okay will check in with the others. Talk to you later.

GL: yeah see you later

Damn, at this rate, Ganke’s family was going to triple in size, and all thanks to a comic.

Before he left for downstairs, he made a note to make Guo tin’s brother snarkier.

#fic #inimitable verse #blindspot #samuel chung #miles morales #ganke lee

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writeforfandoms · 3 years ago

Text

Merry Go Round of Life 8

Find my masterlist

I’m so sorry this chapter took a while. But! Things are happening. More things will be happening next chapter. I’m actually super excited to get the next chapter out to y’all to see what you think. This one’s pretty fun too.

This will be Din Djarin x f!reader eventually. Don’t hold your breath folks, this one’s a slow burn. Sort of.

Warnings: Raised voices. Din being Dramatic.

In which there is confrontation

For several long moments, nobody spoke. Djarin stepped over to you and the kid, his helmet tilting down to look at you. Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed Vanth approaching as well, and the helmet abruptly whipped towards him.

“Not a word of this,” Djarin growled, still holding the knife. He didn’t brandish it, but he didn’t need to.

“Easy, partner,” Vanth said, holding his hands out away from his body. “You two alright?” he asked, very clearly looking at and addressing you.

“I… think so,” you answered slowly. You felt slow. Actually, you felt a little dizzy still. The kid was passed out in your arms, but still breathing. You could feel his heartbeat if you focused on your hands, one of which was braced against his chest to keep him more or less upright.

“Give me the child,” Djarin told you. You looked back at him to find him crouching in front of you, both hands out for the kid. When had he done that? You blinked, and then relinquished the child over to the wizard instead. Djarin tucked the kid comfortably against his chest, the helmet dipping briefly to, you guessed, do his own visual inspection.

“C’mon,” Vanth murmured. Now he was next to you too, gaze concerned as he looked you over. “Let’s get you on your feet, hm?”

“Oh. Alright.” You took his proffered hand and started to your feet. He ended up bracing his other hand under your elbow when you swayed, unsteady.

“Right,” Vanth muttered. “Uh. Right over here, now.” He steered you over to a boulder of a convenient size and then let you sit on that instead. “Well, I don’t think you’ll make it back to town right now.”

“I just need a moment,” you told him, despite the fact that seeing straight was currently optional. “I’ll be fine.”

“Ma’am--” Vanth started, brows furrowing in concern.

“You said the crystals are near here?” Djarin interrupted.

Vanth looked over at him slowly, clearly debating something. Then he sighed. “Yeah, maybe half hour’s walk.”

“Show me.” That was clearly an order.

“But--” Vanth started to protest, looking at you again.

“She’s safe enough here for a few minutes,” Djarin interrupted. “Just show me which direction and give me a landmark.”

Vanth huffed out a breath but nodded, jerking his head. The two of them walked away from you, and you closed your eyes and focused on breathing. The sun was warm, almost uncomfortably so, against your skin. Your skirt was still damp where you’d sat in the mud. You could smell the creature the longer it sat in the sun, a musky kind of animal smell. Your nose wrinkled without your permission.

“Have some water.”

You jumped and opened your eyes to glower at Vanth, who, to his credit, did look apologetic.

“Didn’t mean to scare ya,” he murmured, holding out a canteen. He shook it a little, letting you hear the slosh of liquid inside.

“Thank you,” you murmured, taking the canteen. You took careful sips. You’d read somewhere, once, that you should sip water rather than guzzling it. You were pretty sure that had been about traveling, or deserts, or something.

“Feelin’ better?” Vanth asked, leaning one hip against the boulder you were still seated on.

“Yes, thank you.” You handed the canteen back. “Djarin went to get the crystals?”

A muscle in Vanth’s jaw ticked but he nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

You nodded. Well. You weren't entirely surprised by that. Djarin had certainly seemed upset, and you could even understand why. You'd put the child in danger, albeit unwittingly. And things had turned out fine.

Still. If you were in his boots, you'd be upset, too.

"I'm alright to walk back," you told Vanth, creaking back to your feet.

For a moment, you thought Vanth would argue. Then he sighed. "Alright, then," he agreed. He offered you a hand up again, and tucked your hand against his arm as soon as you were up. "Y'tell me when you need to take a break."

Your lips twitched. "I will."

The walk back to town was longer than the walk out had been. About half-way back, Vanth informed you that the wizard would meet you at Vanth's house, and from there you'd go back to the moving castle.

As good a plan as any, you supposed, although you were a little apprehensive of the tongue lashing you'd no doubt have to endure later.

Amazingly, you and Vanth beat Djarin back to town. As you passed by the garden, Vanth paused, frowning. You peered around him at the plants. Nope. Still just plants. Huh. Without a word, he kept walking, steering you inside and straight to a seat. Then he made sure you drank more water, fussing until he was satisfied. You eyed him with amusement - he reminded you a little of Omera, actually.

"I'm alright," you assured him. "Thank you for your help."

Vanth nodded and finally sat down as well, stretching long legs out in front of him. "Has anything like that ever happened before?" He asked carefully.

"Not that I've seen," you answered. "But that's hardly surprising. Surely all sorts of things happen around wizards all the time."

Vanth gave you a startled look but was prevented from saying anything further by three sharp raps on the door. He huffed but stood, opening the door.

"Ready?" Djarin asked, looking past Vanth to you.

"Yes." You stood, a little surprised at how brusque the wizard was being. "Thank you," you told Vanth again, pressing a gentle hand to his arm.

The walk back to the moving castle was silent and strained. Djarin carried the child the entire way, and he had a bag slung over his shoulder that you hadn't seen before. You couldn't see anything under the flap, but every so often when the bag bumped his hip particularly hard it would chink gently.

You didn't try to talk to him this time. He still seemed to be in a bit of a mood, so you decided to wait him out.

It always worked with Cara, anyway.

"Took you long enough," Peli scolded as soon as Djarin opened the door. "Hey, what happened?"

Djarin didn't answer her, instead ascending the stairs, taking the kid and the bag with him. You sighed and sank into the chair in front of the fireplace. You were now officially worn out.

"What happened?" Peli demanded, leaping up higher to be able to look down at you.

"Djarin killed the creature," you told her wearily. "The child… did something. He helped, somehow. I'm not sure how to explain it."

"Tell me everything." Peli settled into her logs again, flickering with impatience until you started talking. And you told her everything - finding the trampled garden, following Vanth and Djarin out into the desert, how the child had seemingly levitated the creature long enough for Djarin to kill it.

By the end of your tale, Peli's eyes were wide. "Wow. And the kid's been asleep since?"

"Yes." You leaned back into the chair with a sigh.

"Huh. Never knew the kid could do that."

"What?" It was your turn to be flabbergasted.

"Yeah. It's not like Djarin tells me anything." Peli huffed, sending sparks flying up the chimney.

"I thought it was a fluke."

You and Peli both jumped at Djarin's voice. (Watching a fire jump was both highly entertaining and deeply unsettling.)

"So you have seen the kid do this before!" Peli crowed, while your heart was still attempting to beat out of your chest.

“Something like that. Once.” Djarin stood next to you, helmet tipped down to stare straight at you. “Why did you follow us?” His voice was a low rasp, and you could just hear anger simmering there.

“You’d been gone too long,” you told him with a shrug. “And the kid knew something was wrong. He wanted to get to you.”

That made Djarin pause. Then he shook his head. “And you let a child decide this?”

“He wasn’t wrong,” you pointed out, your own temper sparking now.

“That’s not the point.”

“Then what is?”

“You were supposed to stay where it was safe.”

You snorted at that. “And if we had, who knows what would have happened to you.”

“You could have been killed,” Djarin growled, looming over you.

You found yourself on your feet, poking one finger into his armor. (Ow, that hurt.) “I wouldn’t let the kid get hurt,” you growled right back at him with a ferocity that served you well when you’d gotten into spats with your sisters. “It was not my finest moment, following you, but it worked out well in the end.”

Djarin stood there silently for several long moments, helmet still tipped down at you. Then he growled something (it sounded like a swear from the tone but it was no swear you’d ever heard before), turned, and strode away from you. He switched the knob to the black side, slipped out the door, and slammed it shut behind him. The knob turned back to green.

Taglist: @tibbietibbs @zinzinina @fandom-blackhole @pedrocentric @shoopidly @beskarprincessjenny @sarahjkl82-blog @cannedsoupsucks @liviiii98 @adriiibell @seasonschange-butpeopledont @princessxkenobi @thirddeadlysin @pbeatriz @oonajaeadira @kiizhikehn-cedar @withakindheartx @linkpk88 @pedro4ever @evyiione @janebby @anditsmywholeheart @ohheyitsokay @miraclesabound

#merry go round of life #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din is a drama queen #howl's moving castle au

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that-bi-bitch-writes · 4 years ago

Text

A Cursed Reality- JJk x Male Reader (Ch.6)

I love you all. But I refuse to proofread this. I hope it isn’t horrible. If it is I can promise the next one won’t be. This is kind of long but kind of short and has parts taken directly from the manga but I also switch it up here and there.

Last || Next

“[Name] i’m worried about you”

"Why?"

"Because you were hysterical over yuji's body and now you're just fine"

"My cursed technique doesn't fail. It just...doesn't. I’m Fine. Yuji's fine. i'm just waiting for him to wake up"

Megumi looked at him concerned before turning and looking at Kugisaki. They recalled how gojo described [Name] when he'd been sent out on a mission with inumaki

"He's my best student. A little unhinged but he means well. Do Not get on his bad side. if he learns how to fully use his cursed technique [Name] has a shot at dethroning me as the strongest"

They looked at him in disbelief. sure [Name] was strong. Strong enough to not fear Sukuna but they couldn't believe he'd be stronger than Gojo. That was god-like power and it didn't make sense for someone like [Name] who fights over cheez-its and dislikes people because they "felt wrong" to be in the running for the strongest jujutsu sorcerer. One of the strongest... maybe.

"Well..." Gojo interrupted their thought "That won't happen anytime soon" He gave a closed eye smile to reassure the first years. If they'd known him a little better they'd know he was lying. [Name]'s power relied on emotions. And with him increasingly getting attached to people like Nanami, Gojo and the first years—and Inumaki of course, he grew stronger and more out of control. To avoid a repeat of what'd happen a couple years ago, They'd begun honing [Name]'s skill within Gojo's infinity. It was the only way to release such a massive amount of cursed energy undetected.

[Name]'s dislike towards the higher ups would only prove a threat if he grew more powerful. Gojo was raised in the world of jujutsu, primed to be a shaman. [Name] became a shaman because of a terrible accident. Someone raised outside of their society with no desire to follow their hierarchy is a threat. He would be like Geto Suguru but worse. Especially since he had an attachment to the vessel of Sukuna.

"I hope [Name]-san will be okay"

"He'll get over it. by the way when did you switch to calling him [Name]-san Fushiguro?"

"He's been asking me to stop calling him senpai for a while now. But seeing him like that over Yuji's body. It really humanized him. He's only just 17 years old"

"[Name] honey"

"Satoru"

"Oh wow first name okay. how about we take a break and come back after Shoko examines the body"

"No i'm gonna be here when he wakes up"

"Okay"

Gojo gently pat [Name]'s head, leaving his hand to rest before walking closer to Ijichi who was shocked by the scene between the two.It was obvious to anyone that [Name] and Gojo were close, Gojo being the only one who could give [Name] orders without any pushback and [Name] being the only person since Geto who could truly make Gojo soft. What was more shocking was the state [Name] was in. Since he'd arrived in Tokyo they'd only seen the colder more composed aspect of him.

"Why are you placating him Gojo?You’re letting him sit there and believe his friend will just rise from the dead?"

"He needs this. He needs to grieve and if I tried to stop him he could simply tell me to go die and then what would I do?" (Probably not die you idiot. fight back)

Ijichi went silent after that remembering exactly how petty [Name] got when he was upset. He could and most certainly would tell someone to go and die. or fall in a ditch. The get lost one was a real nuisance.

Shoko looked at Ijichi’s face and realized it wasn’t worth arguing. It wasn’t her turn to say anything, she’d let the rest of their conversation play out before she makes her dramatic entrance. She could only hope they wouldn’t make too much of a fuss as she was getting anxious to dissect the vessel’s body.

“It was intentional wasn’t it”

“What do you mean?” Ijichi asked, his heart thumping audibly. This piqued [Name]’s interest too, but like Shoko he’d let the scene play out a little before speaking up. He wanted to wait until his two cents would help make a dollar.

“The enemy was special grade. Five rescue targets who weren’t even confirmed alive. There’s no way I’d send in first-years for that.” Gojo Answered “I had to pull some strings to get a stay of execution for Itadori. Those crusty ass higher ups used a special grade to get rid of him in my absence. If the other two had died that would’ve been icing on the cake right”

“But when the mission was planned… there was no indication of special grade” Ijichi nervously choked out. Gojo’s bloodlust was overwhelming and kind of scary. He’d much prefer if [Name] ordered him to get lost

“What they didn’t count on was [Name] seeing through their plans. He’s a genius, my student. It would be a pain trying to find the culprit so maybe I should just kill them all”

“You’re being emotional for once. You really had a soft spot for him, huh?” Shoko spoke as she made her entrance

“Sure, I’m a nice guy who looks out for his students.”

Nice guy. Shoko almost scoffed “Don’t pick on Ijichi too much He’s caught in the middle between us and the higher ups”

“Besides” [Name] spoke up “It’d really get on their nerves when they learned the plan failed. Especially because of me. They should suffer a little before they die, no?”

Shoko gave [Name] a quick glance before continuing, from the corner of her eye she could see Gojo smiling at the second year. He must have a couple more soft spots than she realized. “So.. this is Sukuna’s vessel. I can dissect him anyway I want”

“You better make it worth it”

“I will who do you think I am”

“Sorry puppy, endure it a little. We can get our revenge when you wake up” [Name] whispered

“What use is he dead?” Nobara asked with her chin on her hand “[Name] might be having some monumental breakdown but at least he’s still strong… and alive” she paused for a second. “Hey is this the first time a friend of yours has died?

“A classmate yeah”

“Really? You seem fine”

“Look who’s talking”

“Of course. I’ve only known him for two weeks. I’m not the kind of girl who cries over a guy like that”

Fushiguro noticed her lip quivering and chose not to say anything as she pulled herself together.

“Man it’s hot”

“Yeah I wonder when we’ll get our summer uniforms.”

“Sheesh. You’re more moody than usual Megumi. What is this a funeral?”

“Zen’in senpai”

“Don’t you dare call me by my last-”

“Maki! Maki!” Panda called “He really did die. It happened yesterday. A first-year boy”

“Fish flakes”

“You ARE A LITTLE LATE. Now I look like a cold hearted demon”

“Well you pretty much are”

“Tuna Mayo”

“Who are these people?” Nobara asked Fushiguro. He introduced her to the second years. Panda, Maki and the infamous Toge Inumaki”

“Ahh so this is [Name]’s boyfriend”

“HAH!” Maki laughed “The two of them are close but I think i’d prefer Inumaki with Okkotsu”

Megumi tilted his head at the suggestion “Okkotsu senpai isn’t here but he’s the only one I can sincerely respect. He’s abroad right now”

Nobara paid very little attention to whatever Fushiguro was saying caught up in Panda’s… pandaness.The only thing that truly broke her out of her curiosity was the mentioning of a goodwill event. Considering it was less of a charity event and more like a battle royale it was right up Nobara’s alley.

“You’re in right?” Maki egged on “Do it for your fallen friend”

“We’re in” Kugisaki and Fushiguro chorused

“But if I think both the training and the goodwill event are pointless. I’m out”

“Same here” Megumi agreed

“Heh. it should be fun putting you guys in your place”

“Fish flakes”

“Inumaki senpai.” Megumi looked away, finding the distance much more appealing “He’s not alright. But he will be.”

“Salmon” Inumaki knew [Name] would be alright. This was THE [Name] [L.Name]. He was the main character. When the MC disappears, they just come back stronger.

#male reader #x male reader #jjk x male reader #jjk x m!reader #jujutsu kaisen x male reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #male reader insert #jujutsu kaisen #x reader #reader insert #that-bi-bitch-writes #a cursed reality

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behindheremeraldeyes · 4 years ago

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damirae week 2021 Wednesday, May 5th - holiday & vacations title: love is in the air summary: When his brother decides to mess with him as a Holiday prank, Damian ends up having to travel in coach like the rest of the mortals. Eventually, though, he learns that turbulence can strike even before the plane takes off.

“What do you mean by coach class?”

His brows are furrowed when he asks her that, a puzzled expression taking over his face. Expectant, green eyes are on the flight attendant in front of him, as he waits for her to provide him a little more information on the matter. She’s growing anxious the longer he stares at her, a nervous tic making her left eye tremble whenever she tries to maintain eye-contact. Apparently, she knows who he is— of course she does— therefore; he believes it’s safe to presume she understands why he’s so confused.

“I’m really sorry, Mr. Wayne, but that’s what your ticket says.” She explains, her voice laced with nervousness as she shows him the printed paper with his name written on. Damian is not blind— far from that, actually. He can see all the information written on that paper, but no matter how much he tries, he still can’t comprehend the ‘coach’ part. He has been traveling by plane for as long as he can remember, and never once has he deliberately chosen a seat in coach— in fact, never once has he chosen a seat at all, since he has a secretary of his own. A very competent and well-paid one, for the matter.

Such a primal mistake like this has never happened in all the years they’ve been working together. Something must have happened, he knows.

“I believe there must have been some mistake.” He states calmly, his demeanor unaltered. “Could you please check it again? The people at my company would never make such a trivial mistake.”

“Of course, I understand completely. I’ll try checking it on the system to see if I can find anything.”

Her fingers move rapidly across the keyboard, and he studies her face, looking for a hint of what’s actually happening. She’s still nervous, he can tell, and if anything, that’s not a good sign. It means she’s not finding the problem in the system, and if she’s not finding it, it means the said problem doesn’t exist. And if it doesn’t exist— well— something must have happened at Wayne tech.

How odd, he ponders.

“I’m terribly sorry, Mr. Wayne, but there really has been no mistake. Your ticket was ordered last Wednesday night, and it is as I’ve told you, see?” She turns the monitor so he can see, probably so he won’t hold it against her or anything. “You know, it’s quite common for some of our clients to make this kind of mistake. Perhaps you forgot to select the first class? “

“Highly unlikely. My secretary always double-checks everything.”

“Well, both the coach class and the seat were chosen by your secretary last Wednesday night. Are you sure nothing unusual happened when he ordered the ticket for you?”

“I’m positive. It was a normal Wednesday and— wait.” He suddenly stops. His emerald eyes blink once, twice and a third time, a blank expression taking over his handsome face. ”Did you just say he?”

Once he allows her words to sink in, Damian questions the integrity of his ears. Perhaps, after all of those years fighting crime and handling explosives, they might not be working as perfectly as they are supposed to.

He must have heard it wrong because, last time he checked, Mrs. Miller was not a man. She’s a conservative woman who’s around her 60s, and even if that doesn’t mean a thing anymore, she has never once told him anything about switching genders. If anything, she’s always the one lecturing Jason about finding a kind woman such as herself.

Still, a stranger such as the woman standing in front of him could never know such personal things about Mrs. Miller’s life. Things are not adding up. And for he is his father’s son, he wants to know why.

“Oh, yes. I presume the name Richard belongs to a man, no? It’s the name of the account who’s booked you this flight.”

“Richard?!” He questions, and it only takes him a second to put all the pieces of that silly puzzle together.

Grayson, you bastard.

Now it all makes perfect sense. Of course he had to be behind this childish act. Who else would have enough free time to waste before the Holidays just to prank a busy, young man such as himself? His older brother might be respected by many of their super friends, but more than anyone, Damian knows he is but a child filled with hormones. He probably thought it would be funny to make his little brother travel for hours in coach as a commoner, where he would have to sit next to a stranger.

That worthless manwhore.

However, he won’t let his predecessor have the last laugh. Grayson did this solely to piss him off and throw him out of his comfort zone, therefore, the best revenge should be handling the situation without creating a fuss. Damian is going to accept the conditions without putting up a fight, and his brother’s victory will have a bitter taste.

Yes, that’s how a real man gets his personal revenge. He will endure a six-hours flight home in coach class like a pro, and he will show the first Robin not to mess with the newest generation.

A proud smirk, then, takes over his lips. That certainly should teach him a lesson—well, that and the explosives Damian plans to hide in his brother’s bedroom, of course.

“Mister Wayne, I’m terribly sorry about all this. I—“

“No need to be sorry. In fact, I should be the one apologizing for all of these questions now that I know what happened.” He starts, placing his hand on his chest as an apologetical gesture. “You see, Richard is my older brother. He’s not as smart as the rest of the family, so it’s highly likely that he’s made this mistake.”

“Oh, I understand. I guess every family has one of those, right?”

“You have no idea. Now, Karen.” He says, finally paying attention to the name written on her uniform. “I’m incredibly sorry for wasting your time. Without further ado, I will head to my seat.”

“Mister Wayne, you’re very kind, indeed.” She starts, a blush tinging her cheeks. With a staple, she makes small holes on his ticket before handling it back to him. “I hope you have a safe flight to Gotham.”

“Yeah, me too.”

His voice doesn’t sound as irritated as he feels, and that alone is a big victory. Without wasting more of his precious time, Damian walks towards the jet bridge so he can finally board the plane. A couple walks behind him, chuckling as they talk about how much fun it will be to go back home for Christmas.

Going home for the Holidays, huh?

An entire week at the Wayne Manor with his brothers and his father, sharing meals together and trying not to murder each other during their morning exercises. Though Gotham could not get any safer since the whole bat-family will be together, it is also the one time of the year when his murderous instincts are at their peak.

A tired sigh escapes his lips. That’s a problem for another time, he thinks.

Once inside the plane, his eyes search for the signs that will take him to his seat. For the first time in his life, he turns right instead of left— coach instead of first class— and suddenly, a small corridor is in front of him. For a moment, he feels like a cow heading for the slaughterhouse, as many other people are forming a line in front of him.

It’s hard to breathe and even harder to walk with all of those people trying to put their bags inside the upper compartments. He checks his ticket again. D21. According to the numeration pattern, he’s almost there, but he’s still not moving fast enough. All the simultaneous talk is driving him insane, and now he understands why some people choose to dope themselves as soon as they get inside the plane.

He doesn’t have any sleeping pills with him, but maybe if he punches himself with enough strength…

No. He can make it. Things will get better once he sits down and they take off. It can’t possibly get any worse than it already is, right?

Right?

A curse is muffled under his breath, and finally, he reaches his seat. For he knows how to travel light, Damian is quick to place his bag where it belongs and now he can establish himself. It’s a window seat, he notices, which means that soon there will be another person next to him, too close for his own liking. He knows there’s no use in picturing what kind of person it will be, but he can certainly hope it’s a nice one who knows how to respect his personal space.

If he or she doesn’t have vocal chords, Damian definitely won’t complain.

He closes his eyes for a moment, then, allowing himself to settle down and get used to his surroundings. It’s chaotic, he thinks, and he knows chaotic. Children are crying, some people are on the phone and others are just breathing too loud. He knows he’s whining like a brat, but it’s stronger than him. It’s annoying, and he swears if that lady keeps on talking about her 3 cats, he’s going to—

His inner monologue stops, his eyes widening for a moment. At last, he hears the one thing he hates more than Joker’s maniacal laughter. That unbearable sound that makes his head throb and makes his lips turn into a deep frown.

“Is that Damian Wayne?”

Teenage girls. And they know him.

Perhaps it’s the annoying giggle or even the way they keep on getting bolder every time they meet him, but Damian can’t stand them. They’re just too obnoxious— a real pain. He honestly doesn’t know why on earth they tend to approach him whenever they have the chance, especially since he’s sure he has never once paid them any attention. In fact, chances are he has even been rude to them on more than one occasion.

Trying to understand a teenager’s mind is beyond his capacity. Ignoring them, though doesn’t prevent them from returning, is the easiest way out, and when they come— because they will come— that’s exactly what he’s going to do.

“Excuse me, Damian Wayne.” One of them says, her voice laced with excitement. Two more stand next to her, but he can’t really tell them apart. “It’s you, isn’t it? “

Jesus, can someone please knock him out already?

He crosses his arms at her words, his brows now knitted in annoyance. He’s pretty sure there’s nothing welcoming in his expression, but that won’t stop them from continuing. It’s not like they actually care about his feelings or anything.

“Oh, my god! It really is you!“ She claps her hands, biting her lower lip. “Can I get a selfie? Can I?”

“God, Mary. Can you be any more inconvenient?” The one on her left asks, pushing her friend away so she can take a step closer. “Forgive my friend. She can’t read the atmosphere like I can. If you want, I can send her away and keep you some company during the flight.”

“Ugh, get out of my way, both of you!” The third one pushes through, using her elbows to force her way forward. “Hi, I love you and I really mean it, Damian! I love you so much that, if you want, we can meet at the bathroom cabinet and I’ll show you.”

His eyes widen in horror at such proposal, and he’s almost sure this girl isn’t old enough to be saying such things. From the corner of his eyes, he watches as a bunch of people lift their phones to point at him, all of them waiting to hear his final answer so the dirty press can judge him.

Grayson is going to pay dearly for this.

This girl is insufferable. All of them are.

They’re causing all of that commotion, preventing people from walking down the small corridor and embarrassing him in front of all of those eyes. They can’t possibly think it’s okay to do or say those things so openly like to a man they know nothing about. Though the initial plan might have been for him to at least talk to them, Damian can’t bear any more hatred inside of him than at this very moment, and if looks could kill, those three wouldn’t be breathing anymore.

His hands turn into fists and he closes his heavy eyes so he can stop himself from committing a murder. Justice, not vengeance. His father’s words echo inside his head, and he’s having a really hard time trying not to think only about the second part. He really just wants to go home right now. And thankfully, he’s not the only one.

“Hum, excuse me…”

His ears detect a fresh voice, calmer and more mature. Instinctively, he opens his eyes to look at this new stranger, and he’s impressed by what he sees. She’s beautiful, he notices. Dark hair, violet eyes and ivory skin, all together to form an ethereal beauty like he has never seen before. Damian can’t help but keep looking at her, curious to know what she’s going to say on this matter.

“Hi!” She continues, her thin lips turning upwards in a smile. “I know you’re all busy trying to seduce this man with your oozing pheromones and irrefutable proposals, but in case you haven’t noticed, there are people trying to get to their seats here.”

“So what?” One of them says, a hand on her hips and a lot of attitude in her high-pitched voice. She’s trying to be intimidating, but it’s clearly not working. “Can’t you see who he is, you emo? He is—“

“I couldn’t care less about who he is.” The raven-haired girl cuts in, clearly not in the mood for that drama. “He could be Superman or even the president himself, for all I care. My problem is with you three airheads who are interrupting the flow. There are people trying to walk here and the airplane hallway is not a place to flirt with strangers who won’t even remember your face once we take off.”

“What!? Of course he will remember!” She glares. “We are—“

“Annoying the hell out of him? That you are. I mean, just look at his face! He looks like shit!” She points at him, violet eyes now meeting emerald ones. Her though expression suddenly melts into a softer one, her head tilting a bit to the right. “No offense, though.”

“None taken.” He answers, an amused smirk now taking over his face. She nods at him before returning her burning eyes to those three girls.

“Like the rest of us, this man just wants this damn plane to get him where he needs to be so he can move on with his life and get drunk during the holidays. We don’t want to be here. So, without further ado, could please you get the fuck out of the way before I lose my temper? ”

He doesn’t know what happens next or even how a small girl such as herself could be so intimidating, but at her words, he notices his three fangirls flinching. They’re avoiding eye-contact, and for the first time, one of them seems to grow aware of the crowd staring at them. The one standing in the middle starts to tremble, and though they’re looking at him as if searching for some sort of support, Damian can’t bring himself to offer them anything slightly remote to that.

In fact, if he has to pick sides, he wouldn’t need to think twice before taking the brunette’s.

“I-I… I—“

“You what?” She asks, arching an eyebrow and crossing her arms over her chest. Her pose holds no hesitation as she stands her ground. “Do you need me to spell it out for you? “

With a 'tch’, the three girls finally walk away, returning to their respective seats with their heads hanging low, and he can’t help but feel incredibly satisfied by that. There’s a victorious smirk on her face, and it’s safe for him to assume she’s also feeling pretty good about what she just did.

What an interesting woman, he thinks. All that sass and eloquence are certainly eliciting his curiosity, and though he doesn’t want to admit it, he can’t help but feel slightly turned on by this stranger.

Interesting, indeed.

While Damian is still trapped in his thoughts, a round of applause takes over the airplane, as people congratulate the raven-haired girl. They pat her shoulders, thank her for getting rid of those girls, and she even laughs once the old lady behind her tells her they don’t make girls like her anymore. For a quick moment, she becomes the hero they didn’t know they needed, and for sure, this is going to be a pleasant story to tell during Christmas dinner.

They will portray her as the girl who saved their flight.

Damian, however, will portray her as the one who told his fangirls to fuck off.

He really needs to thank her for that. Fortunately, he will have over six hours to do that.

Before the Wayne heir can bring himself to form the words in his head, the girl is placing her small bag in the compartment above their heads. As she lifts her arms, her shirt lifts, momentarily exposing her belly. Even if it was just for a brief second, she catches him staring, and once their eyes meet, he looks away, his cheeks growing slightly warmer.

He sees as she slowly shakes her head before sitting next to him, and though he was not expecting a girl such as her, he’s currently thanking the superior forces for the partner destiny has chosen to be his seat-mate. She’s beautiful, her voice is not annoying, and the best part is that she doesn’t seem to give a crap about who he is.

Maybe he’s finally going mad because of— well— everything, but right now, Damian trulls believes that he might even fall in love with this girl.

A sly smirk takes over his lips, and he can’t help but stare at her for a little too long. She watches as he does so, and as expected, she doesn’t feel embarrassed or inhibited at all. Instead, she stares back, eyes squinting a bit in sheer mockery. A questioning look spreads across her face, and he decides that he should be the one saying something. Anything, really.

“You’re mean.” He states, as if that’s the biggest truth in the world. She tilts her head, but his words don’t seem to affect her.

“So what?” She asks, not really caring about his answer as she fastens her seatbelt. ”If you didn’t like the way I talked to your fan girls, you can go and apologize to them, be their hero or whatever. Though, if you’re really gonna go meet them at the bathroom cabinet, I suggest we switch seats so we don’t bump knees every time you have to go.”

She’s a spirituous one, he notices. And if he’s not careful, he might be the next victim of her graciously rude words. “Nah, don’t worry about it. As you’ve pointed out before, I don’t even remember their faces anymore. Your knees can rest assured.”

“Thanks, I guess?” She lifts her brows, not bothering to spare him another glance as she adjusts her dark clothes. There’s a book resting over her lap— Christmas Carol, for what he can see— and she uses her small fingers to tug a strand of her hair behind her ear.

“Yeah…” He shakes his head, forcing himself to focus. “By the way, I don’t think I’ve introduced myself. I am Damian— “

“Save it. I know who you are, Wayne. I might not be the most updated person in this world, but even Eskimos know your family. Don’t worry, though. I promise I’m not a disguised reporter or an annoying fangirl.”

“Not with that attitude, you’re not. Your clear lack of interest in my personal life can only be matched by only one other person I know.”

“Oh, really?” She asks, her eyes now turning to face him. Now that they’re so close to each other, he can see how bright they really are, and for a moment, he thinks she might even have hypnotic powers because he just can’t look away. There’s a curious tone lingering over her words, and he wants to believe she’s actually paying attention to him this time. “And who would that be, if I may ask?”

“My father.” He answers bluntly, and he notices as she she chokes back a giggle. There’s a soft smile decorating her lips now, and the surrounding atmosphere feels a lot lighter.

“Rachel Roth.” She sticks out her hand to him, and without hesitation, he shakes it carefully. Her hand is soft against his calloused one, and he notices the way she brushes her thumb over his skin. It’s a delicate and pure gesture, so fleeting that makes him wanting more as soon as he releases her from his grip.

“Well, Rachel…” Her name rolls out of his tongue as he tests the sound of it. It has a nice ring to it, he notices. “I think I need to thank you for saving me from a huge headache back then. Seriously, I owe you one.”

“Nah, don’t worry about it. I didn’t really do it for you, so you don’t need to thank me or anything. I just wanted them to get out of my seat, that’s all.”

“Selfish or not, you still got rid of them, so… thanks. “

“Well, if that’s the case, you’re welcome, Damian.” Rachel nods at him, the same smile still decorating her face. She picks up her book, then, flipping through the pages so she can pick up from where she had left. The way she says his name— so simple and unpretentious— makes his lips curl upwards, and all the bad feelings from before disappear.

This girl— Rachel— she’s showing what a life away from the streets and the business meetings must feel like. The conversation flows easily and effortlessly, to the point where it’s hard to believe they’ve met not even 30 minutes ago. It feels natural in a way very few things in his life do, and though he knows it’s not meant to last, at least he will cherish this moment before it turns into a fading memory in the depths of his mind.

Moments of pure joy shall fade into oblivion, that’s one of the most important rules of his life.

Thankfully, the internet is forever.

An unexpected buzz inside his pants breaks his train of thought. At first, he decides to ignore it, but after the third time, he gives up on the idea. Silently, he scoffs in annoyance, fishing his phone from his pocket. He presses the side button, then, the screen lighting up to reveal a couple of notifications. His eyes, though, land on three particular messages from his family’s group chat:

Grayson: I ship it

Drake : what happened, Damian? Are you okay?? Todd : hot and feisty. The best kind of girl, little bro

His brows furrow in confusion at his brothers’ messages. For what he can conclude, they’re talking about a girl he knows and has interacted with, but that’s pretty much it. The only female human in his mind right now is Rachel, and there’s no way for them to be talking about her. He’s not being followed or bugged, for all he knows— and he knows.

Something strange is happening, and he wants to know what. The youngest Wayne, then, texts them a single ‘?’ and almost immediately, Dick sends him a link to an Instagram page. He’s growing more confused with every additional information, but figures it must be just another one of Grayson’s stupid pranks.

He sighs at the thought. Isn’t he a bit too old for that?

An annoyed pout takes over his lips as a clear sign that he just wants to get this stupid thing over with. Once he taps on the link, though, it takes less than a second for his eyes to widen and his bored expression change into a surprised one. The video playing is muted, but he doesn’t need any volume or subtitles to know what the raven-haired girl in it is saying.

Oh… That angle does make her look nice.

He blinks twice as he allows the whole thing to sink in. Apparently, all of that show earlier was recorded by some cameras and posted all over the internet. There are many posts about it, with all possible captions and comments about them, and he has to admit some are quite creative. Apparently, they’re the new internet hits, not that Damian really cares about it. He’s used to all the lies and overreacted dramas, but if he were to be honest, this one is making him quite intrigued.

Not by the gossip itself, no. That would never happen.

This time, he’s intrigued by how the girl next to him will react as soon as she finds out.

From the corner of his eyes, he watches as she’s calmly reading her book, waiting for the plane to take flight. She’s immersed in Charles Dickens’ words, and it’s like the entire world around her can’t interrupt her. It’s just her and the book, and for she hasn’t touched her phone since her arrival, he’s quite sure she doesn’t know what’s happening in the digital world.

At least, not yet.

He’s definitely going to tell her.

“Uh… Rachel? ”

“Yes, Damian?” She answers, her eyes not bothering to leave the pages of the book.

“Just a quick question… How do you feel about being the center of attentions? “

“I hate it. Why?”

“Well, you might have to reconsider this…” His voice falters and he slowly massages the back of his head.

“Oh, and why would I do that?” She looks at him, at last, her brows now arched. Her expression is blank, and he suddenly wants to laugh because she has no idea of what’s coming.

“Here, check this out. ”

He gives her his phone, a smirk decorating his face. Slowly, he watches the video playing once again on the small screen, all life slowly fading from her pretty face. Her eyes widen, her lips part, and she places her fingers on her left temple. Her cheeks are growing redder than a tomato, and once the video ends, she is completely dumbfounded.

“Wha-what the hell!?“ A couple of seconds pass until she says something, her voice a little too loud, and her eyes filled with a mix of anger and embarrassment. “What’s the meaning of this, Damian!?”

“Well, I think people enjoyed your bossy words from many different angels”” He starts, taking his phone back and scrolling through his time line. His voice sounds too excited for her liking, and it’s easy to tell he’s trying to hold back a laughter. “You went viral, Rachel. ”

“No no no no.” She repeats, slowly shaking her head in denial and taking her own phone in hands. With trembling fingers, she opens her Instagram page and a rush of follows and mentions makes her eyes widen even more. “I can’t believe this is happening. ”

“Oh, come on, it’s not that bad.” Damian tries to calm her down, but the joy in his voice takes all of his credit away.

“Not that bad?!” Her eyes are glaring at him now, cheeks puffed in pure anger. “I got remixed, Damian!”

A sly smile takes over his lips, and he’s]really trying not to laugh in front of her. “And it’s a good remix. Besides, for what I can see, most people are on our side.”

“Our side? I was just trying to reach my seat. There’s no our side, Damian.”

“Well, apparently, there is. Look.” He leans towards her, absentmindedly, until he’s close enough to feel her embarrassment exhaling from her. Their knees are brushing, but neither of them seems to be aware of that closeness right now. He shows her his phone one more time, a couple of comments now displayed. “Some people are even shipping us already. #Damirae.”

A defeated whimper escapes her lungs, and finally, she locks her phone-screen. Apparently, Rachel can’t look at all that anymore, and decides to just sink into the seat. Her hands are covering her face, and her voice is muffled when the next words come out. “Ugh, this is a nightmare.”

“Try looking at the bright side. This video can make you famous. I’m sure the media already loves your sarcasm. “

“If you haven’t noticed, Wayne, I’m a goth.” She spreads her hands across her face so she can look at him through the space between her fingers, and he can’t help but find that utterly adorable. “I don’t do bright side. ”

“God, you’re so dramatic.” He also locks his phone, placing it back inside his pockets. His torso turns around so he can face her properly, that same smirk still planted on his lips. “It’s just a video, relax. Most people will soon forget about it.”

“Some people? And what about the others?” Her voice is lower now, shier, as if she’s really seeking some sort of comfort— not that he’s even trying to offer her any.

“Oh, we will remember this forever, don’t worry.” A dry chuckle escapes his lips, and he notices the way her expression melts in response, tension and nervousness now gone.

Damian is having the time of his life, not only because the video was, indeed, funny; but also because he’s getting to see another side of this interesting girl who’s sitting next to him. Even if she really is bothered by the whole thing right now, eventually, he trusts that she will get over it and realize that no one gives a damn about stuff like that.

It’s just a temporary thing. A funny story for the future.

Rachel will survive it. And he—well…

He’s just found himself an excuse to follow her on Instagram.

“You jerk.” She chuckles, finally placing her hands on her lap and adjusting her posture. She takes a deep breath, then, as if she’s trying to recompose herself, but he notices the way she shrinks a little once she realizes the couple next to them are staring. Her body turns towards his, a sign that she feels somehow safe with him.

And for that, he’s extremely glad.

“That’s a new thing.” Damian states, mockery no longer lacing his voice.

“What is?” The girl questions.

“You’re laughing.”

“So what?”

“It’s nothing, really. It’s just… cute.”

Her cheeks grow red once more and she bites her lips. For a fraction of a second, she turns away from him, but soon, her amethyst eyes are once more looking into his emeralds ones. “Shut up, will you? You’ll need more than that if you want your Damirae fantasy to come true.”

“Oh, so are you saying I have a chance, Rachel?” He teases, knowing very well she didn’t mean it like that. Still, he figures he can’t waste this opportunity. “Are you sure you’re not a disguised fangirl? “

“You wish, Wayne.“ She smirks, offering him a side glance as she picks up her book again. “And I never said that.”

“You didn’t say the other way around, either.”

“Good point.” She nods, acknowledging his words instead of trying to deny them. “I guess you have the entire flight to make sure I keep it that way…”

There’s a flirty tone in her voice, and instantly, the Wayne heir is up for the challenge. Their eyes meet again, and for a moment, he thinks she’s checking him out. They smile at each other, exchanging that you-know-what look, and right now, he doesn’t think this flight will be long enough.

He wants to know more about her. He wants to play this push-and-pull game, and more than anything, he wants her phone number. And Damian Wayne win’t stop until he gets what he wants.

At last, the pilot makes his announcements, and for once, they break eye contact when the flight attendant passes by their seats, closing the compartment above their heads. Seat-belts are fastened, tables are up, and the crew is ready. They’re ready to take off.

fin.

-----

a/n: Well, there are not enough words to describe how much trouble I had with these prompts. I gave up on so many ideas and got so mad at everything that I’m impressed I even managed to write something in the end. Still, I’m glad to have written this one. I had a lot of fun with the dialogues and with every smirk I wrote! Hope you’ve enjoyed it, and please, tell me what you think!

#damirae #damirae fanfiction #damirae week 2021 #damian x raven #damirae fanfic #mydamiraefics

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junicai · 4 years ago

Text

peaches.

| summary | aria’s hiding something. lucas figures out what it is. (partly)

| word count | 4.1k

| warnings | mentions of physical abuse (not real)

| era | November 2019, SuperM World Tour

6. “Isn’t that, like. Illegal?” “Potentially.”

15. “Sh. Stop fussing. I’m just braiding your hair.”

38. “Where did all those bruises come from?”

a/n: i was not intending on including this plot point so soon, but it really fit with the request and the next thing i knew it was written? so ill just leave this here to stew. first person to guess what’s going on, 10 points to ur house

Aria loved her job.

Aria loved her job, but not when she was sore and aching, and the only thing that was on her mind was burrowing beneath her blankets and sleeping for sixteen hours. The bone deep exhaustion was not something new to be experienced, but she wasn’t sure if it ever got easier to endure.

It was only two weeks into their official world tour and Aria had forgotten just exactly how taxing it all was on the body. Just yesterday, she’d taken a small spill across the stage - having not seen the protruding wire that was coming from the lighting at the front of the stage. Half asleep, her mind was elsewhere right up until the moment the world tilted and the floor came rushing up to meet her.

Aria had caught herself with her left hand, stopping her face from taking the brunt of the fall but her wrist had twisted beneath her body as her elbow gave out under the abrupt pressure.

Her cry had reverberated around the stadium and it wasn’t long before seven boys were coming around the stage curtains, making their way over with wide eyes.

Ten had wrapped an arm around her shoulder to hoist her up from the ground as her wrist was bandaged - Aria had insisted that it wasn’t necessary, but the red ring marking the skin left no room for arguments - and turned her head away from the darkening face of Baekhyun as he crouched down to ask what happened.

Glancing down at the now purple ring of bruises around her wrist, Aria sighed before reaching out to snag the roll of bandages from the countertop where she had put it after carefully unwrapping it from her wrist. She hadn’t wanted to get the wrappings wet under the shower head, but after struggling for a moment to put it back on, she realized that she probably needed a second pair of hands.

Aria winced slightly, already anticipating the admonishing look she was going to get from Taemin for taking off the support so soon.

She pulled at the towel wrapped around her body making sure everything was covered before bending over and tossing her hair over her shoulders. She caught the hair in an old t-shirt, wrapping it around once before standing upright and twisting the material onto the top of her head.

Having flicked her had up so quickly, Aria shot out a hand to steady herself as the world spun slightly. She stayed stationary until the world came level again.

As Aria sleepily shuffled out of the bathroom into her bedroom, she could have cried in relief when she saw Lucas sitting on the adjacent bed.

Aria loved her members, that went without saying. But Lucas here meant she didn��t have to shuffle out into the main living area to find someone to help her rebandage her wrist. Lucas would do it for her, and he could never scold her - no matter how hard he tried.

“Heyo,” Aria greeted, nodding her head at the lanky boy from across the room. “You mind giving me a hand?”

Lucas looked up, before quickly looking down with a pained look. “You mind putting on some clothes?”

Aria laughed at his face, eyes shut tightly closed and facing the wall. She told him to wait a moment or two, before pulling the folded pajamas and hoodie (she was pretty sure it was Ten’s but at this point it could have been anyone’s) off the duvet cover and quickly pulling them on. The wet t-shirt that had wrapped her hair on top of her head fell to the floor, and Aria picked it up before throwing it into the small basket in the corner.

“You can look now,” she teased, running her good hand through her damp hair.

Lucas turned back around with a scowl. “We talked about the towel thing, Riri.”

“Correction: you talked about the towel thing. I laughed at your misery.”

He glared at her from across the bed. The effect of his hardened stare though, was greatly reduced by the large yellow sweater that covered most of his body, and the way he had tucked himself in to a small ball shape on the end of the bed. “There was a good two and a half minutes of conversation, and I distinctly remember you saying that you’d be more careful.”

“And I distinctly remember you saying that you’d be staying in the living room to watch Iron Man with Mark, yet here you are.” Aria countered, moving to sit beside him on the bed.

“Yeah, like two hours ago!”

“Well how was I supposed to know the movie had ended?”

“Time perception?”

Aria snorted. “You know I’m bad at that.”

“Well get better at it?”

“But Lucas,” Aria whined now, throwing herself to lie flat on the bed, “I’m in pain and that means I’m not focused. I’m injured doesn’t that automatically mean you have to be nicer to me now?”

“You’re in pain?” Lucas’ voice dropped a tone.

Aria sat up rapidly, her head spinning slightly at the speed. “No,” She denied.

Lucas levelled her with a look before extending his hand out, turning to fully face her on the bed. His legs folded beneath him couldn’t have been comfortable, but he didn’t seem to mind. “Show me how bad the bruising is again.”

She looked into his eyes and saw nothing but concern. Perhaps a tinge of the humor remained from their previous course of conversation, but it was quickly swept away with a blink. Relenting, Aria held out her left hand and looked away when Lucas inhaled slightly at the purpling skin. His hands were gentle, but Aria still hissed slightly at the contact.

“You took off the bandages?” his voice was softer now, as were his fingers as her carefully cradled her wrists. Aria shook her head lightly.

“Nah, I just needed them off so I could shower. I wasn’t sure how they’d fair against a ton of deep-treatment conditioner, and I didn’t want them to go soggy or something.” Aria explained, still allowing her wrist to be held gingerly by Lucas. “It doesn’t actually hurt though, I was just teasing.”

“Where are they now?” Lucas questioned, dropping Aria’s wrist back to her own lap. “The bandages I mean.”

She gestured to the other bed in the room, where the beige-coloured roll sat on the pillow at the top of the bed.

“I tried to put it back on in the bathroom, but..” Aria trailed off, waving her hands around to try and articulate herself without the words. She wasn’t sure if she had made much sense, but Lucas nodded all the same.

Without a word he pushed himself off the bed, socked feet padding across the floor to the other bed. He snagged the tail end of the roll, pulling it towards him before flailing slightly and just grabbing the body of the roll itself when it began to unravel.

He heard a muffled laugh from behind him, and turned to look at Aria over his shoulder. The girl was grinning behind her hand, facing away into the corner of the room.

“Careful, or I’ll leave you to go tell Taemin-hyung why your wrist is un-supported right now.”

Aria promptly shut her mouth, pout naturally forming.

Coming back over, Lucas nudged her over with his knee to make room for himself against the headboard. The clean bedsheets folded underneath him, and he settled himself comfortably with his legs spread slightly. Lucas pat in between his legs, motioning for Aria to come closer.

“C’mere I’ll fix it. I wouldn’t leave you to hyung’s wrath,” he promised, a wide grin on his face.

Aria was still slightly untrusting of his smile, but her exhaustion won over her skepticism quickly and she shuffled up the bed to sit cross-legged in between Lucas’ extended legs.

His hands were more careful this time - having learnt from the first experience handling her tender wrist - but he made quick work of wrapping back up the bruised area. Aria could see that he was concentrated on getting it right, only muttering a hold that or a is that too tight? once or twice before folding the tail ends into the precisely wrapped material.

“Where’d you put the safety pin?” he questioned, looking back over at the pillow on the other bed incase he missed it.

Aria left her injured wrist in Lucas’ lap, using her good hand to fish out the metal clip from the front pocket of the hoodie she was wearing. She handed it to Lucas with a small smile, thanking him with a light punch to his arm once he pinned the strapping in place.

“Oh my god I’m tired.” Lucas leant back onto the bed, letting his head bang against the wall with a resounding thud. Aria winced slightly at the sound, but Lucas didn’t seem to mind the minor brain trauma so she refrained from commenting.

“Same. So so much same. Really just want to go to sleep right now, but if I don’t do something with my hair it’ll be horrendous in the morning, and I can’t deal with another scolding from the make-up noonas. Not twice in a week,” Aria complained, falling forward so her still wet hair fanned out over the duvet.

“Want me to braid it?”

“You know how to plait hair?” Aria stayed lying down, eyes trailing over the cracks in the ceiling paint.

“Yeah,” Lucas laughed slightly. “Kunhang wanted to see what he’d look like with little plaits, so I watched a few youtube videos on it.”

Aria bent her neck at an angle to look at Lucas’ face with squinted eyes. “Promise you won’t make a bird’s nest of my hair?”

Lucas looked at her with comically wide, sincere eyes and held up three fingers pressed together. “Scouts honor,” he nodded solemnly.

Aria coughed out a laugh, kicking at him with her feet. “Oh my god how do you even know that, you’re spending too much time with Mark.”

Lucas laughed with her, shoving her attacking legs away with ease. “Hey hey do you want me to braid your hair or not? I can’t do that if you break a rib.”

Despite his words, the broad grin never left his face, and he never waited for an answer before Lucas was wrapping an arm around Aria’s waist and tugging her around to face the opposite wall, sitting in between his legs again but this time with her back to his chest.

“Do you have a hair brush and a few hair ties?”

Aria nodded, reaching over the bed with a hand on Lucas’ knee to grab the aforementioned items off her bedside locker. She handed them back to him, before settling herself comfortably on the bedspread.

True to his word, Lucas was actually quite good at braiding - Aria was nearly sure he was lying but the three even strands of hair didn’t slowly become a tangled ball of mess as he worked his way down her hair. In all honestly, it was quite relaxing, letting someone else brush out her hair as she sank deeper into the duvet cover as he braided the strands together with ease.

Even despite Lucas’ hands calmingly carding through her hair though, Aria still shuffled back and forth, rolling her shoulders every now and again. At first, Lucas’ had deigned to ignore her small twitching, but after the seventh time she rolled her shoulders and nearly knocked the strands out of his hand, he stopped.

“Sh. Stop fussing. I’m just braiding your hair.”

“Hm?”

“You’re wriggling and it’s throwing me off.”

“Oh.” Aria looked at her hands. “Sorry, its just the hood - the tag is scratchy and its annoying.”

“Ah,” Lucas nodded. “It kinda looks like someone tried to cut it off not gonna lie.”

“It’s not mine, so I don’t care but it’s just annoying.”

“You want to take it off?”

Aria froze a little, before deliberately untensing her muscles. Now would be the worst time to work herself back up, especially right after relaxing so much. But she wasn’t sure if she could take off her hoodie, the top she was wearing didn’t cover enough of her back, the scooping backline stretched out after years of wear.

“Riri?” Lucas’ voice prompted her out of her thoughts.

“Hm? Oh- oh no it’s ok,” she fumbled, rubbing at the irritated skin on the back of her neck with a hand. “You’re almost done anyway, right?”

“I still have the other braid to do.” Lucas’ voice was confused now, hands resting on her shoulders. True to his word, only one of the two braids were completed, half of Aria’s hair pulled back neatly with the other half splayed across her shoulder.

“Oh.”

Reluctantly, Aria pulled herself out of Lucas’ hold slightly, turning to face him. “Yeah no that’s fine. I’ll just, grab a towel to cover my shoulders? So I don’t get my clothes wet.”

Aria let out a breath of relief when Lucas’ nodded at her, seeming unsuspicious of her quick shift in mood. She slid off the bed gently, only letting her feet touch the floor briefly before she was reaching forward and snatching the towel from the adjacent bed.

Sneaking a short glance towards Lucas and seeing him distracted, she pulled the hoodie quickly over her head. Aria wrapped the towel over her shoulders before he had time to look over at her, and held the two ends closely together as she shuffled back into the space Lucas had created again for her.

He hummed at her, before resuming his methodic braiding process, fingers gentle and hands pushing her head to the side. Unlike before however, Aria couldn’t find it in herself to relax, fingers gripping the towel’s ends closely together in an iron grip. She was so concentrated on ensuring the towel hadn’t flipped up to expose her back, Aria missed the short double pat Lucas gave the top of her head to tell her she was done.

In fact, she was so concentrated on making sure the towel didn’t slip from her grasp, Aria jerked away from Lucas when she felt him tug gently on the now soaked material.

Lucas instantly moved away, hands held up. “Woah, chill. I just don’t want you to get sick, the towel is wet.”

Aria nodded, not really listening and moving to shuffle away from Lucas but he had mistaken her nod as an affirmative, hands pulling more insistently on the soaked material.

This time, the towel slipped from Aria’s grasp, the same moment a gasp left Lucas’ mouth.

Time seemed to slow for a moment, ice trickling down Aria’s back, almost mocking her. She could feel the air around them drop several degrees, the happy, content atmosphere replaced with something else - something cold, something that seeped beneath your skin and stayed there. The air-conditioning didn’t help, goosebumps raising along the newly exposed skin, partially tanned but for the most part covered in purple and blue and green mottled colours.

Bruises.

Everywhere.

Aria heard more than felt Lucas’ hands clench, an audible crack coming from his knuckles. His hands had retracted from Aria’s sides where they were before, bringing them to his sides in fists.

“Aria.” Cold.

No response.

“Aria.” A little more insistent this time.

Still, no response.

“Aria. Where did all those bruises come from?”

Aria inhaled sharply for what felt like the first time in hours. With a single intake of breath, time sped up to meet her, and she scrambled out from between Lucas’ legs, giggling nervously.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she denied, shaking her head. Her hands were already reaching for the discarded hoodie - itchy tag be damned - but Lucas had longer limbs and was a good deal faster.

He snatched the hoodie from the end of the bed, standing up as Aria shifted her weight onto her back foot. Her eyes were looking over his shoulder, no matter how much he stared at her.

“Aria. What happened?”

She was wringing her hands in front of her, shuffling back and forth. “I - I can’t, it’s fine - it’s fine Lucas, don’t - don’t worry okay?”

Aria made towards the door, hoping that maybe she could crash in Taeyong’s room for the night, but Lucas’ hand on the doorknob dashed that idea into smithereens. His face was dark, darker than she’d ever seen it and when he turned to look at her his eyes were filled with a type of anger she hadn’t known he’d been capable of feeling.

“Miyazu Akari you tell me right now, what’s going on.” His voice was firm, body tense. “Is someone - Is someone hurting you?”

Aria froze for the nth time of the night. A disbelieving laugh broke its way out of her lips. “Oh, oh god no Lucas - that’s not what this is, I- I promise.”

Lucas only dropped his hand from the doorknob, coming to crouch in front of Aria on the floor.

When had she sat on the floor?

His face was stony, and Aria wasn’t sure exactly what that meant. Was he angry at her? She wasn’t lying, he was just assuming things that weren’t true. She knew it looked like that, that’s why she hadn’t wanted to tell anyone about it - she knew that this reaction was unavoidable without someone else there to back her up - oh god why did this have to happen right now, Aria was tired and she wanted to go to sleep but Lucas was still looking at her - his face was less stony now but Aria was too panicked to figure out what that meant - yes he’s definitely angry at her, please don’t let him get the hyungs, she’ll never talk her way out of it then, oh god oh god-

“Riri,” his voice was quiet now, the fire in his eyes poorly masked by worry. “Riri, it’s okay. It’s okay, but I need you to breath. Can you do that for me? Can you breath?”

When had she stopped?

Aria’s lungs expanded with a gasp, and she coughed on the first intake of air. Lucas only rubbed her back, tucking her face into his neck as she coughed her way through several more breaths - not letting go until he was sure her breathing had evened out again.

Pulling back, Lucas’ eyes bored into hers, both hands on either side of her face to make sure she couldn’t look away. His legs were bent uncomfortably underneath himself, but he payed no mind to the ache in his knees.

“Riri, it’s okay. If something’s happening it’s okay but I need you to tell me what’s happening so I can help. Or so I can get someone else to help. Who’s doing this?”

“No - no one,” Aria choked out, throat tight. Her hand banged against her chest as if to kickstart her lungs again. “It’s no one, it’s not that.”

Lucas looked at her like she was lying. He definitely thought she was.

God damn it, this was not how she wanted it to come out.

“Aria you can trust me, I’m not going to hurt you. But I need you to -” Lucas began, being cut off by Aria.

“No, no I’m not. I’m not being hit by anyone, I promise, Lucas.” she looked him in the eye. “I promise.”

“Then what is going on?”

Aria looked down again. “I just bruise easily, you know that.”

Lucas scoffed slightly, “I know you bruise easily Aria, but you literally look like you were body slammed into a wall.”

A moment of silence. A flicker of horror.

“Were you body slammed into a wall?”

“NO!” Aria near shouted, hands coming to cover her mouth in a gasp immediately afterwards. Both of them stilled, carefully listening out for any stirring of the other members.

After a few seconds, hearing nothing, Aria allowed herself to relax minutely. Downside of hotel rooms meant thin walls, so it was truly a miracle that Aria’s shout hadn’t woken the others.

“I can promise you, no one is listening to us right now. So I need you to be honest with me, Riri.” Lucas’ voice had lost the cold edge to it, now filled with warmth and worry, like sickly sweet honey.

Aria wanted to gag. She knew she couldn’t lie to him, not directly to his face.

“Can you please- I’ll explain in the morning. I’m tired, I’ll explain in the morning,” she tried.

“We have schedules all day tomorrow, I know full well you’ll avoid me all day and then room with someone else,” he countered.

Aria could pick up the hurt radiating from his body. He thinks you don’t trust him.

She bit her lip, not letting go until the pink skin ripped beneath her teeth and the taste of iron filled her mouth. Damn, that was going to take forever to close.

“Lucas, I’m fine. I swear to you, I’m fine.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“I’m fine.”

“And I’m not buying it. Not when your back looks like that.”

Ok. Half truths.

“Remember the last practice I had with Dream before we left on tour?” Aria’s voice was unintentionally smaller, but she thought it might work in her favour - something proved correct when Lucas leant forwards on his knees.

He said nothing, only nodded to assure her she was listening.

“Well. Okay you have to promise you won’t get mad at anyone.”

“I promise.”

That was absolutely too quick, he was so going to get mad.

“Jeno and I, were. Messing, right? And- and he picked me up, like the way you guys do all the time, except this time he knew I was kinda down about leaving - just because I was going to miss them, yaknow? - and so when he picked me up, he was real careful about it don’t get me wrong but he picked me up and I don’t really remember what happened because it all happened so fast but-”

“Breathe.”

Aria took in a gulp of air. “Sorry.”

Lucas nodded at her. It was rare to see him so serious. Aria hated it.

“Jeno, like, flipped me? Over his shoulder, the fireman carry thingy. But he lost his grip and I think I slid or he tried to catch me and flipped me over fully but. I just kinda remember looking up at the practice room ceiling with my back really hurting.”

Silence.

It hung in the air like something tangible, like you could take a knife to it.

Aria wanted to.

“So. You’re telling, me, that you look like you got the life kicked out of you, because Jeno flipped you over his shoulder?”

Aria winced. “Yes.”

“That happened nearly two weeks ago, Riri. The bruises should have faded by now.” His voice was torn, like he wanted to believe her but there were too many questions left unanswered.

“Well I-”

“Why didn’t you tell anyone?” Lucas whipped his head over to her.

Aria couldn’t meet his gaze, pulling at the hangnail on her right hand. “I knew it would land Jeno in trouble, and it wasn’t that big of a deal-”

“Aria your back is black and blue-”

“I knew people were going to overreact and-”

“I’m not overreacting I’m just worried-”

Aria held up her hand, halting the conversation in its tracks.

“Lucas.” the boy nodded slowly, giving her his full attention.

“Lucas, I swear to you. I swear, you know I’d come to you if something was wrong. You know I would.” Aria began, voice soft. Her good hand crept forwards to hold Lucas’.

“I bruise easily, you know this. You once threw a cushion at me and nearly gave me a black eye.” Aria reminded him ruefully. “My back, is because I fell; which is Not Jeno’s Fault. We were both clumsy, and we both should have been more careful, but it was a mistake, and I’m fine.”

“But still, why didn’t you tell us?” Lucas cut in.

“You know exactly what Taemin-oppa is like when it comes to worrying. I think he would have made me sit the entire two weeks out. And you reacted like this, how would I have explained this to Baekhyun and Jongin-oppa? They would have taken the entire staff team hostage to interrogate them as to what happened.”

“Isn’t that, like. Illegal?”

“Potentially.”

Lucas laughed. It was a nice sound, a sound that rang out through the stale-atmosphere in the room. It brushed away the tension, only leaving that in Lucas’ shoulders and the worry creased into his eyebrows.

Aria shuffled closer to Lucas, both still sitting cross-legged on the floor. She tucked herself into his arms, knowing that it was both for her comfort and for his.

“I’m right here, Xuxi. No one’s done anything to me. I’m right here.”

Lucas exhaled quietly, arms tightening around Aria’s body minutely. She could tell he was being mindful of her back now - the presence of the bruises still fresh in his mind. A few words were muttered into her hair, muffled.

Aria hummed, pulling away slightly.

“You trust me right?” Lucas’ voice was wavering slightly.

“110%.”

“Okay. Okay, okay. That’s okay. You’re okay.” Lucas seemed more like he was talking to himself moreso than anything else.

“We’re okay.”

“Ari-ah?”

“Yes?”

Aria padded into the kitchen, seeing Taeyong standing there with a small white box in his hands. He turned, and upon seeing her - held out the box for her to take.

Aria nodded in understanding, hands moving to take the box of medication from her leader’s grip. She turned it over in her hand, eyes scanning the blue label before she looked back up to Taeyong’s eyes.

They were kind, but around the edges there was a small colouring of pity.

Aria hated that he gave her the same look each month.

Nodding in thanks, she spun on her heel, going to put the box in the far corner of her chest of drawers.

On the box, the letters:

DDAVP, vWF

#*aria.writings #cassia: i hate eyes #also cassia: EYESEYESEYESEYES #this was not meant to be this long #nct 22nd member #nct 24th member #nct additional member #nct dream 8th member #nct #kpop!oc #kpop addition #kpop additions #nct additions #nct addition #nct extra member #nct female member #nct female member au #nct female oc #nct 2020

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michals · 3 years ago

Note

Can I request some Luther and Vanya scene please

I had a more solemn, angstier idea for this then thought, naw, I'm just gonna let 'em hang out, haha. This is the album in the fic btw.

Allison jokingly calls them ‘playdates’ no matter how many times Diego protests and rolls his eyes. But Vanya has to agree with her, they really are kind of like playdates. Since the big reunion that was the end of the world…ends of the world, the seven of them have spent plenty of time together as a whole – usually in the form of family dinners that turn into all night group therapy sessions involving a lot of booze. But besides that they’ve gotten into the habit of breaking off into twos, spending more time one on one with each other. Playdates.

There isn’t a schedule for it but somehow Vanya always finds herself with Luther on Tuesdays. This Tuesday the record shop down the street from her apartment reopened after a remodel and it just seemed like something he’d like.

She was right, Luther walks out of the store with a stack at least 20 records tall. She thinks he probably made the shop owner’s whole week. A lot of the talk of 80’s rock divas and synth bands were lost on her but Luther enjoyed himself.

“Seriously I’ve been looking for this forever,” Luther says excitedly, holding up the one on the top. Vanya’s never heard of The Hothouse Flowers but then again she’s more a Mozart fan.

“You’re gonna run out of space in your room soon,” she tells him.

“Oh I’m converting dad’s office,” Luther says nonchalantly. “Like a music library or something.”

Vanya’s surprised, the Great Purge of the Academy mansion has been extensive yes, but so far dad’s office and bedroom have remained mostly off limits. That Luther’s the one to finally take that step is a good sign, she thinks proudly to herself.

Luther walks her home without it being a question. It’s early November now and the temperature dropped from mild to ‘good lord it’s fucking cold out I had to actually wear pants today’ – as Klaus puts it – in a matter of days. Vanya’s already broken out her thickest coat that looks like she’s smuggling something underneath.

“Want a beer?” she asks when they reach her place.

“Yeah, sounds nice,” Luther answers, stepping in behind her. She doesn’t really need to offer anything, Luther’s welcome to just hang out, because they do ‘hang out’ now. She spent over a decade out in the world but she’s never had a lot of friends. ‘Hanging out’ with everyone has been a welcome addition to her life.

She shucks her shoes but not her coat when they get inside the apartment, Luther awkwardly attempts to unlace his boots until Vanya takes the records from him. She makes sure he sees how delicately she places them on the counter.

He takes a seat on the couch, the same place he usually sits, as Vanya goes to the fridge. “I’ve got grapes and some pretzels too if you’d like some.”

“No no, I’m fine,” Luther says unconvincingly. Vanya nods like she believes him but takes the bag of pretzels with her, the beers in her other hand. He takes the beer then eyes the pretzels for a second before taking a handful. Vanya holds back a sly smile, she likes that she knows him well enough now.

They sit for a moment in silence as they open the bottles and take a drink. Then Luther looks around, brow furrowed.

“Is it really cold in here?”

She laughs, she was wondering if he was even going to notice. Super endurance and all. “Yeah, it is, sorry.”

“Do you…not want the heat on?”

“Radiator’s broken,” she says with a shrug, “I’ve told the super about it and he told me he’ll get to it.” (She’d mentioned it to Diego a couple days ago at lunch and had to insist that no, she doesn’t need him to ‘intimidate’ him for her, thank you though.)

Luther looks to the radiator across the room like he’s trying to see what’s wrong with it from here. He points and tentatively asks, “Can I?”

Vanya’s a bit taken aback, she has no idea what he can do about it but she gestures, says, “Yeah go ahead.”

Luther goes to the radiator, looks it over and then unceremoniously drops to sit cross legged in front of it. He looks down at the gasket that’s covered in rust.

“You have a wrench?”

Vanya almost laughs at that. “The only tool I have here is a corkscrew.” She’s never been all that handy.

Luther purses his lips, kind of shrugs and wraps his hand around it and turns. Who needs a wrench when you have super strength?

“Bucket and a rag?”

Those Vanya can provide, she grabs them from under the sink and brings them over. Luther fiddles with the gasket for second, puts the bucket under it and with another twist a stream of air bursts out of it and water sluices into the bucket. Vanya just watches in interest. After a moment the air stops and Luther replaces the gasket, wipes the water from it.

“Try it now,” he says. She turns the thermostat on for the first time in nearly two weeks. “Give it a second.”

She brings his beer over, hands it to him with a curious look. “How’d you know how to do that?”

He shrugs, “The one in the bedroom hallway broke a couple years ago, I had to figure it out.”

She tilts her head as she considers this. “Luther do you know how to fix other stuff?”

He gives another shrug. “Well, yeah I suppose. The house is pretty old.”

She’s never had to consider it before but now that she hears it it makes perfect sense. She’d never actually seen a repairman or a plumber or any kind of worker in the mansion though she’s sure there must have been a couple, she can’t imagine dad debasing himself to fix a clogged sink. But Luther’s lived in that house his whole life, it figures he’d taken over the upkeep of it.

“Why?” he asks, taking a sip of his beer, “Anything else broken?”

She lets out a sigh that turns into a laugh. “Well, the intercom’s never worked, and the latch on that window broke off – that’s how Mrs. Kowalski’s cat keeps getting in. Oh and the oven never gets very hot.”

Luther frowns in confusion. “You pay to live here right?”

She smiles again and it’s her turn to shrug. “I do, yeah. I know I should probably pester Dillion – the super – more but…” Honestly she hasn’t thought about it much, those problems have been around for a long time and she’d just learned to live with them without making a fuss, she used to be like that. It’s not til right now that she realizes she doesn’t have to anymore. She’s gotten a lot better at making a fuss.

“I can fix those,” Luther says.

“Really? Even the intercom?”

Luther tilts his head, says humbly, “I mean I did rebuild the towncar’s engine, it can’t be harder than that.”

And now Vanya’s really surprised. “The whole engine?”

“I, uh, had a lot of time on my hands,” he says sheepishly. And that does make her feel sort of bad. He’d been hidden away in that house for so long, she hadn’t spared it a thought back then. For all her own isolation, even after she left, she’d never considered that her brother was feeling it too.

Luther holds his hand up to the radiator, “Looks like it’s working now.”

Vanya puts her hand by it too, relief hitting her as she feels it heating up, she won’t have to sleep in her coat tonight. Luther gets to his feet, Vanya pretends to help though she knows he outweighs her by her whole body weight. He makes to go back to his seat when Vanya asks:

“You wanna put the record on?”

Luther’s eyes practically light up, “Yeah?” He’s already starting towards the stack on the counter, “This is their best album, debut, 1988.”

She takes her seat on the armchair, takes some pretzels as Luther goes on some more about the record as he carefully places it on her (admittedly very cheap) record player and starts it up. He gives a satisfied little nod as the song starts then returns to his place on the couch.

Vanya sits back and listens for a bit, and yeah, it’s not quite her style but Luther’s smiling.

“Next Tuesday?” she asks, “For the intercom?”

He settles back into the couch, “Yeah, Tuesday’s good.”

#tua fic #umbrella academy fic #the umbrella academy #luther hargreeves #vanya hargreeves #there's no actual significance to me picking that album by the way i just like it #there's an easter egg in here i know no one in the world will get but it amused me #t.ua #my fic

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consumedkings-archive · 4 years ago

Text

WITCHING HOUR, a john seed/deputy fic. chapter twelve: the desire to devour

word count: ~10.3k rating: m warnings: naughty language, .000002 seconds of spiciness (but not really), john goes "we were vibing, right? we had the vibes? right?" for like the entire last half. also mentions of self-harm and elliot's previous trauma. notes: hi friends! i hope you enjoy this chapter! this is going to be the last sort of in-between chapter before we really get into it, and from here it's going to go faaaaast. i had a lot of fun writing it and feeling out these different dynamics. not to mention john being a gigantic fuckhead (but like what is new, lmao). special thank you as always to my wifey and beta reader @starcrier for your impeccable eyeballs, and also to @vasiktomis and @shallow-gravy for lending their eyes as well because i did fuss a bit with this chap. i would be lost without y'all. thank you everyone for your love and support, esp with comments! it really fills my heart so so much to hear back from you, and i am always in the market for friends so do not be afraid to reach out to me <3

She is twenty-five.

She’s twenty-five, and it's her first full day of work. Or, it was; now, she's sitting in the Spread Eagle listening to Pratt talk about everything that's happened while she's been gone, because he'd said, c'mon, let me take you out tonight. He grins a boyish, toothy grin at her—the same kind that's mimicked in the multiple school dance photos her mother covets—and tries to sound nonchalant when he asks how she liked being in the city.

It's hard not to think about how this is the first place she had ever met John Seed, then-Duncan, and how it feels like it's spoiled the whole place for her.

Elliot redirects her attention as best as she can to what it is Pratt is saying. He's fishing for information. They've always been each other's safety net, the person they can fall back on when all else fails. School dances. Picking partners in class. Graduation walking buddies. He'd driven her to the airport when she left for the Academy, even. But even though she knows he's trying to figure out if she's still a safety net, Elliot can't disguise the way thinking about Mason makes her feel—disgusting—so she brings the beer bottle to her mouth and takes a swallow.

The result is her face scrunching up. Pratt laughs.

“Geez, Elli, slow down,” he says, his smile crinkling at the corners of his eyes. “Bet money you're still a lightweight. When'd you start drinking beer, anyway?”

“I didn't,” she manages out around the taste, swallowing thickly. “I just won't let your money go to waste.”

He shrugs, as if to say, could, if you wanted, and swivels on the stool a little. He wants to press again—she can tell—but seems to have the good sense not to, instead busying his mouth with his own beer.

“Mama said Whitehorse let you right on,” Elliot says casually, trying to ignore the twinge of envy in her voice.

Pratt shrugs again. “He's known my dad a long time.”

“Known my mom too,” Elliot replies, dry.

“Yeah, well.” Pratt pauses, and sounds a little smug when he says, “Just because your mama likes me doesn’t mean I don’t know how she is to everyone else.”

“Likes you, does she?”

“Obviously,” the brunette replies confidently. “She still keeps all those photos of us. Remember senior year, she had all of her gal pals over when we were getting ready for prom—”

“Ugh.”

“—took us about 45 minutes before we were exactly where she wanted to take pictures—"

She rolls her eyes. Pratt grins, and then bumps his shoulder against hers. He says, “Aw, c’mon. Not so bad, is it? Having your mom like me?"

Elliot can feel the flush spreading under her cheeks. Not because she's embarrassed, or flustered, but because the beer sitting in her stomach feels rotten, and because Pratt's looking at her with the same kind of eyes he did before—always, always there's the before—and she doesn't know how to say I'm not her anymore, I'm not that girl, I'm different and changed and I don't know how to go back.

It doesn't matter. If Pratt can see it on her face, he doesn't let it show; just pats her shoulder and pretends he doesn't see the way she flinches from his hand swinging into her peripheral, pretends he doesn't notice the way she covers it up by swallowing another mouthful of beer she doesn't want to drink.

“Hudson’s really glad to have you back,” he says after a minute, when she doesn’t confirm nor deny that it’s not so bad knowing her mom thinks he’s a fine enough person. “Been talking about it nonstop.”

A smile creeps its way onto her face. “I’m glad to be back. With her, especially.”

“Yeah, you two always been thick, huh?”

She nods, swallows more beer, and Pratt rolls his eyes and snags the bottle out of her hand.

“Don’t keep drinking if you don’t like it,” he tells her, and then finishes it off himself, setting the empty bottle on the countertop with a grimace. “Can’t have people telling Whitehorse I bullied the probie into drinking.”

“‘Probie’,” she scoffs. “I could kick your ass.”

“Bullshit!”

“Could’ve done it before, Pratt.”

“Now that is lies and slander.”

Elliot only grins at him, the only time since coming back sans Joey getting her from the airport that it’s been a genuine thing; lopsided and a little sloppy but a grin nonetheless. Pratt finishes his own beer now, coughing a little into his fist before he blurts out, “I’m glad, too.”

She blinks. “Huh?”

“That you’re back,” Pratt clarifies. “Y’know—nice to have my friend back. Didn’t like sendin’ you off to the big city, anyway.”

He doesn’t know. He can’t know, because her mother won’t talk about it and Joey would never divulge what it was that had brought about her speedy return—but even though he doesn’t know about the way she has to swallow back a flinch every time he waves his hand in her peripheral, or the way the smell of beer on a man’s breath makes her stomach clench with anxiety, or how her hands are so fucking cold all the time because her heart hammers in her chest, the way he says that (Didn’t like sendin’ you off to the big city, anyway) feels a little like vindication.

“S’okay,” she murmurs, nudging his shoulder with hers. “Came back in one piece, didn’t I?”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The scent of roses wafted over her in waves. The sound of bathwater murmuring against the sides of the porcelain tub rippled each time she moved, each time she used the grip of her hands against the lip of the sides to sink herself under; her knuckles went cold with the ferocious grip, but when she went under she was submerged in quiet once more. Blissful, serene, quiet; just what she wanted.

Elliot pulled herself out of the water. Downstairs, she could hear her mother’s voice, spiking frantic even through the floors and the two closed doors that kept her separated.

“...years, Mr. Seed, I have lost years of my life agonizing over what she did to herself...”

She dipped below the water, closing her eyes. No sound; no shrill noise; just the heavy, bloated static that existed underneath the surface of the bath. Only her and the baby.

It occurred to her, absently, that she needed to start picking out names for the baby. Now that they had a guess at what the gender was, they’d have to decide about a name; not only a first, but a middle, too—the last name—

“...find it quite intriguing, actually, that the second she comes back to me after being involved with your kind that she’s got all this—this—”

Oh, don’t say it, Elliot thought tiredly, closing her eyes.

“��tear, just wretched wear and tear, Mr. Seed, don’t you? Don’t you find that intriguing?”

John was sitting down there, enduring a thorough verbal lashing, and she hadn’t even asked him to. She’d said, I don’t care if she thinks it was me, and he’d guided her upstairs and cupped her face and kissed her, long and open-mouthed, and swept his thumb over her cheek. Now, Elliot could hear the sound of his voice—calmer, empathetic, like just knowing that her mother was hysterical was giving him some kind of control over himself—but that he was speaking in a normal tone meant that his words didn’t come through quite so clearly.

She heard the sound of her mother saying, “I suppose you’re going to tell me why you’re not bothered in the least?” just before she dipped under the water again.

What was she going to name the baby? Did she even have an idea of what kinds of names she liked? Exhaustion pulled at the edges of her attention; she thought, I’m too tired to come up with a baby name, and gripped the edges of the bathtub harder. More fierce, more firm; grip and pull, maybe spill the entire bathtub over, tilt the clawed feet until it hit the tiled floor and the porcelain broke and the rose-scent water flooded the bathroom, her room, the hallway.

Then they’d have to leave. Then they couldn’t stay, surely, in a house flooded with rose water.

Fingers brushed over hers where they’d gone white at the edges of the tub. She pulled herself out of the water to find John sitting there, knelt at the side of the tub—not unlike the way he’d sat back at her mother’s house in Hope County, when she’d drank too much in the bathtub and said that he could mark her.

Because that’s what it had been. As much as she had wanted it, as much as she had enjoyed it, no matter what John said—he had been marking her as his. Like that Oscar Wilde poem.

The same sin binds us.

Elliot brushed the water from her eyes and settled her head back against the tub, regarding him. He looked less bothered than she thought he would, having sat through her mother’s grilling and interrogation—though he did look like he wanted to say something, like maybe it was sitting, burning into ash in his mouth, the way she could see the flex of his jaw and the way his free hand clenched and loosened.

Ignoring the nagging feeling that he wanted to ask her what she’d been doing under the water, and the even more bothersome knowledge that she had, at some point, become painfully aware of his body language, Elliot said, “We have to think of a name.”

John blinked at her. Less than an hour ago, he’d been saying Of course I’d come for you, I love you, with or without the baby I love you, and she’d been sobbing into his arms and clinging to him.

He said, “And a middle name.”

“I’m trying not to think about it.”

A smile finally ticked the corner of his mouth, his fingers uncurling hers from the edge of the tub. Reluctantly, she let him.

“Your mother’s upset.” He paused. “She still wants you to play nice for her Christmas party, but she’s upset.”

“I know,” she replied sullenly. The despair of her shame, which had at once both overwhelmed her and hollowed her out, had dissipated in the wake of her indignation. What would she know, that vicious thing inside of her said, replaying the way her mother’s expression had crumpled. What would she know of our suffering? What would she know of our pain? ‘Wretched wear and tear’, like we haven’t been torn up for ages, like she didn’t throw us to the wolves and scoff in disgust when we came back bloodied and battered.

She wanted to be angry, really angry, but like most things that had to do with her mother, Elliot found herself more exhausted than anything. Scarlet had always found it impossible to comprehend the scars she’d given herself, had always claimed to feel disconnected to the ways Elliot had searched out meaning and comfort.

Absently, Elliot wet her lips and let her gaze flicker up to where John had perched himself beside the tub. He looked mighty pleased with himself, having finally gotten his words out. I love you, he’d said, palm flat against her window, I love you, with or without the baby.

And John, I want a home with you.

And John, Marriage is hard work, but I know you’re just the woman for the job.

And John, No way baby, I’m fucking it for you.

Blood rushed through her head, thunderous. John was saying something to her, but the words felt distant, and far away, and everything felt like it was underwater when she moved—not just the parts of her submerged in the bath, but all of it, the air too-thick and dragging on her skin and pulling her down slow as molasses. She blinked a few times as she disentangled their hands and reached for the towel, but John pulled it off of the hook first.

She watched him. She watched his mouth move, and his brows pull and furrow together at the center of his forehead, and the way his breath rose and fell in his chest, pushing and pulling the Sloth scar scratched across his sternum. Just like me, dream John had said, gripping her blood-covered hands, you’re just like me.

His voice, muffled and bogged down by the blood rushing through her ears, quirked up at the end. Elliot’s eyes darted back to his, and she asked, “Sorry, what?”

“The water’s cold,” he replied, waving the towel a bit. “Aren’t you getting out?”

“Yeah,” Elliot murmured. She felt hollow. Her fingers itched. She wanted—

John caught her hand as she stepped out of the bathtub, steadying her while her free hand gathered the towel up against her front. Goosebumps prickled across her skin, the lukewarm temperature of the bath still lingering; his fingers interlaced with hers, and she used it to steady herself.

He was close. They were close. A part of her resented it—that she let him be so close to her, that she let him kiss her and fuck her but mostly that she let him hold her when she cried, miserably, that she wanted to go home. Because after everything, after all of it, Hope County still felt—

She closed her eyes. Of course it still felt like home. Joey was there; now she knew Pratt was, too.

And among all of that, if she waded through the weeds spreading in her mind, if she hacked and cut them away, there was John.

“What are you thinking about?” John murmured, his cologne washing over her, their noses brushing. Her eyes fluttered open and she let out a little breath, that wanton little creature in her head chanting it over and over. There’s John, there’s always been John, nobody will love us with this much red in our ledger. No one but him.

“You,” she managed. Her head felt swimmy, the words coming out of her mouth sounding like a stranger’s—thick with want. John’s eyes flickered up to hers, having fixed on her mouth.

“If you want something, Ell,” he rumbled, the pressure of his fingertips against the back of her neck guiding her forward just a little but not all the way, “you only—”

Elliot leaned forward and kissed him, her hand lifting so that she could curl her fingers into his hair, the towel slipping to the floor. His body had tensed, like he wasn’t expecting it—like he was waiting for something else—and she thought about the way he’d kissed her with Kian’s blood in her mouth, the way he’d been just rampant with desire, the way the way the way—

Her teeth caught his lower lip, a little sharper than she’d intended, and his hand gripping her wrist tightened and he moaned, and she felt that same little thrill as before surge through her. It’s my magic, too, the itch in her fingers subsiding when she dug her nails in and pulled his hair a little, parting her lips against his; John leaned into her, crowding her up against the counter in front of the mirror, the hand at the nape of her neck threading into damp hair.

“Ell,” he said against her mouth, his voice rougher than before and hands planted on the counter on either side of her, “what are you doing?”

She murmured, “Stop talking,” and kissed him again, fingers clumsily working through the buttons on his shirt—her voice came out even but everything else about her felt wobbly, unsteady, craving craving craving the way it felt to have him begging her. Anything, to feel in control. Anything, to feel whole. Dig, and dig, and when you hit the bottom you keep digging some more, right?

What do we do with grief, right?

Burn and erase the image of her mother’s disgust and horror at seeing a part of her she might actually like, scrape it from her mind, dig her trenches deep deep deep and hunker down where she could feel safe, where she could feel strong; soon she would be home and—

And John’s teeth snagged her lower lip in retribution, sparking violent and red-hot behind her eyes with pleasure lighting her neurons on fire.

“Off,” she ground out against his mouth, pushing helplessly at the shirt she’d only halfway unbuttoned. The brunette grinned; his hands resumed her work, and she instead devoted her attention to the belt at his waist, yanking at it as John’s face dropped to her neck, hot breath fanning across her skin teeth dragging against her pulse point to pull a moan out of her.

There was a split second between John discarding his shirt on the floor and gripping her hips to lift her onto the countertop, his mouth seeking hers out again as she wound her arms around his neck. She had never been completely naked and felt not vulnerable at all, felt more in control—but she did, now, when she grabbed a fistful of his hair and pulled and he moaned her name, a little frantic, Ell, Ell, hellcat, he said into their kiss, let me let me, greedy and wanting as he glided fingers up along the inside of her thigh.

He tensed, like he was going to drop to his knees, and she kept her hand in his hair and said, “Don’t.”

“Hm,” is what he replied, “pulling on my hair, ordering me to take my clothes off—”

“I’m about to tell you to shut up again.”

“—but won’t let me eat you out?” John grinned against her mouth, the scent of his cologne—expensive, stupid shit, but it never failed to feel like it was overwhelming her senses—washing over her. “What is it, baby? Want me to say please?”

Yes, something wicked inside of her said, John’s eyes lifting from her mouth to hers, narrowing playfully. Yes, I’d like that, I’d like to hear you say it like that.

“I know you,” he purred. He dug his nails into her hips, a sound—the wanting kind—trying to crawl its way up her throat. “Know exactly what you want from me. Yeah? So, Ell, won’t you please—”

There was a sharp knock at the door, a pause, and then: “Elliot?”

A near-silent laugh billowed out of John, stifled into her neck when her mother’s voice came through the door. Elliot’s eyes fluttered; her fingers, knotted in John’s hair, loosened and smoothed down the back of his neck, the intoxicating tension relaxing just a little. Heat had coiled in the hollow of her chest, spreading warm fingers at the same leisurely pace that John’s hand drifted up to her hip, his mouth finding the hollow of her jaw.

“I can’t believe her,” she muttered. “Yes?”

“Miss West is here, with her brother.” Scarlet’s voice was tight. “Returning your vehicle.”

Fuck. Elliot sighed, her eyes closing for a second while she tried to gather her thoughts. It was difficult to focus with John’s breath on her neck and his hands on her skin and that fucking cologne—and boy, did she not want to dwell on the fact that he’d shown up with barely anything but somehow also remembered to pack his stupid fucking cologne. But there was a different, special kind of warmth that spread through her when she realized that Sylvia was coming to check on her.

“Hair’s wet,” she called after a moment, “I’ll be down in a minute.”

“Fine.” There was another pause, and then her mother’s voice, scathing even through the door: “Ensure you are put together, Elliot.”

John murmured against her neck, “So no hickeys, then?” and she swatted his shoulder, rolling her eyes and sliding off of the counter. He seemed reluctant to let her disembark, thumb sweeping the slope of her hip before he dropped down—just far enough to plant a kiss on the gentle slope of her tummy. It was—sentimental, unseating her with incredible ease.

And then he ruined it by saying, “Your mommy won’t let me fuck her filthy, but I hear the second trimester throws a woman’s hormones through the roof, so we’ll see how long that lasts,” to her bump as he grabbed the towel from the floor to offer to her.

She snatched it from his hands, wrapping it around herself. “Don’t say that shit to the baby. You think I won’t end your life?”

“I wouldn’t mind,” he offered, head cocked to the side. “Leaving the hickeys, anyway, I mean. Well, and the second part too. About sex. Not the murderous part. Actually, you know I find it—”

Choosing to ignore the latter statement, Elliot narrowed her eyes. “You’d risk Via’s opinion of you dropping so severely?”

“You know what they say.” John spread his hands, almost in a gesture of helplessness; though she knew he was far from it. “Old habits die hard.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“She’s killing all of my angels!”

Faith’s voice was sharp, piercing; Isolde’s fingers fluttered over the bridge of her nose to fend off an impending headache, pen held poised above the notepad where she’d been writing down her thoughts but had paused in time for the girl’s interjection. She couldn’t stand a messy page—ink smears, jarred letters. Unacceptable.

Two hours ago, she’d had Jacob drive her out to where the service was strongest. A flood of emails and texts from her family had been waiting to overload her phone. Her dad, things are looking poorly, where are you?, her sister, I’ve been trying to reach you for days.

“Jacob,” the blonde plunged on, interrupting her train of thought, “you have to do something. They’re being—gutted like fish!”

“You should have locked them down,” Jacob told her. “And you’re not the only one losing things.”

“I put—” Faith cut herself off, clearly taking a moment to compose herself before she pitched her voice low and said, “I put just as much work into them as you do into yours.”

The red head’s voice bloomed with annoyance when he said, “Oh, did you?”

“No fighting, please,” Joseph called from where he sat next to her. His voice was even, elbows rested on his legs and fingers interlaced in thought. “I know this is stressful. But you must keep your faith in God.”

“Santi told me that—whoever she is has been leaving their corpses all around!” Faith’s voice pitched high with distress, now, sweeping around Jacob to come to where they had sat, big doe eyes wide. “We have to do something. Please, Father—I don’t want our people to wonder if they’re going to be next.”

Joseph paused, looking pensive for a moment; Isolde thought he might have been trying to figure out how he wanted to phrase something, but before he could speak, Isolde looked at Jacob and said, “You were going to hunt her down anyway, weren’t you?”

The eldest Seed’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t you start with me too, Sol.”

“Get some fresh air,” she replied curtly, “go for a drive, clear your head. Eliminate a problem. You’ve been wearing a hole in the floors anyway; put that energy into being productive.”

“P—” Jacob’s voice spiked, incredulous. “Excuse me?”

He was agitated. She could tell—Pratt, and the phone call with the deputy in Georgia, and the Hunter on some kind of one-man rampage. But more importantly, Isolde thought, Jacob was agitated because there had not been a single conversation between him and Joseph since their argument.

Well, not even an argument. Just a lashing. A public one.

Isolde scooted her chair back from the table that had been set up at the front of the chapel, setting her pen down and stepping away. Her hand landed on the crook of Jacob’s elbow as she passed, and though he made a noise that implied disdain, he followed—not without shrugging her hand off by the time they got to the front doors of the chapel, leaving the other two to talk in low, murmured voices.

“You have got to stop letting this get to you,” she hissed.

“Nothing is ‘getting’—”

“Listen to me,” Isolde interjected. “I’ve been keeping as close an eye on the news as I have been on you. Things are—” She paused, mouth twisting around the words. “There is no room for you lot to be bloody fighting with each other. Do you understand me? This has moved far past needing to prepare PR and build a legal defense.”

Jacob’s eyes narrowed. He looked suspicious. “So why are you still here then, Sol?” he asked.

The words burned insult in her chest. Why are you still here, stinging fresh and hot, because it was a fair question. It was the most fair question. Unlike any of these people, she had a family outside that she still loved. Her sister, and her parents. She should have told John and all of the Seeds to go fuck themselves, to enjoy the end of the world, while she went to be with her family.

But she wasn’t. She was here. Doing—this. Finding fresh new ways for Joseph to connect with his people to keep their morale high, keeping the infighting at bay to make sure they looked like a united front to everyone, second doomsday cult included.

“My parents will take care of Avery. You know they’re close with—government,” she replied after a minute, shaking off the unease. “And I told John that I would.”

He snorted. “John says jump, you ask how high?”

“No,” she bit out, “I say jump and you kiss the fucking ground I’m standing on because I cobbled together what the fuck is left of your congregation.” Before Jacob could say anything, Isolde added, “My hands are full, Jake. Do not add to my pile.”

Dark brows furrowed, his mouth thinning in disdain. He clearly wanted to say something. But true to his nature, Jacob straightened back and settled himself before he said, “Fine.”

“Fine?”

“Fine,” he reiterated with his eyes narrowed. “I’m going to the Veteran’s Center.”

“That doesn’t sound like where we heard about the killings happening last,” Isolde protested, eyes narrowing.

“But she was there,” he replied. “Or someone was. Someone was there enough to steal my files.”

“Your—” Isolde snapped her mouth shut, sucking her teeth as she glanced back at Joseph and Faith; haloed in the dim lighting of the chapel, she could see them looking back at Jacob and herself expectantly. She wondered how much they could hear, from there.

Turning her attention back to Jacob and pitching her voice down in volume, Isolde hissed, “I don’t think prioritizing files is the best move right now.”

“Thank you,” Jacob idled, “for your input.”

“Fuck you.”

“Have fun,” he added, opening the door and letting in a waft of biting, cold air, before gesturing to the Book of Joseph on the table that she’d had her nose stuck in. All the better to make Joseph’s sermons hit home harder, after all. “You know��with your light reading.”

Isolde narrowed her eyes, watching him trudge down the steps for just a second before she said, “Jacob—”

“Yes, Isolde?”

Her mouth pressed into a thin line. “Don’t get shot.”

For a moment, he looked almost surprised at her words—but it was only a moment before he said, “Don’t worry, I’m taking Vidal. He makes a suitable meatshield.”

“God, he’s a talker.”

A tiny ghost of a smile tugged at the corner of Jacob’s lips, before he said, “John and the deputy should be making their way here any day now.”

Isolde grimaced. “I was there for the phone call.”

“Are you going to leave?” Jacob pressed, expression stiffening again. “When he does?”

She paused, clearing her throat and shifting on her feet. I should, were the words that wanted to come out of her mouth. I should go. I only came down here because John wasn’t here. I should go, and get back to my life, and maybe get to my family and try to stay out of the crossfire and—

After a heartbeat, she said, “I don’t know.”

Jacob shrugged, as if to say, see? Told you, though to what he could be referring to, she had no idea; she only knew that she didn’t like the way he swung around and sauntered out of the chapel, leaving her alone in the tepid warmth with Joseph and Faith’s eyes on her in favor of the blistering cold outside. Snow had continued to dump throughout the day and night, and had only just let up recently; the members of Eden’s Gate—those who had survived the Family’s relentless assaults, and those that had been pulled from the bunkers—had been tirelessly shoving pathways, only to have their work tidily undone each night.

Fingers brushed the palm of her hand. Isolde startled; she glanced back just as fingers interlaced with hers to be met with sweet, bright eyes and Faith’s adoring attention planted on her.

“It means so much to me,” Faith murmured, “that you would help. Not just me, but all of us.”

Soli watched the blonde for a moment, trying to gauge. The physical closeness was not something she was accustomed to; carefully, she disentangled their fingers, skin prickling with unease. When she glanced up, Joseph’s eyes were on them, on Faith’s fingers falling from her hand but skimming the inside of her palm in a lingering touch of affection.

He was always doing that. Watching. Watching, and waiting, and pinning each movement and gesture and thought and word out perfectly like the wings of a butterfly, just the color he liked and just the shape.

“Don’t thank me,” Isolde replied, mustering a smile and brushing the hair from her face.

“It’s my job.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“Hey, Miss Honey, John!”

Wyatt’s cheerful voice broke through the late-afternoon chill; the sun setting early, people’s breath coming out in puffs of smoke. It all felt oddly normal, given the circumstances of the morning and the way she’d forgotten to call Sylvia once she got home, and that her friend had fished up a reason to come by the house and make sure she hadn’t—

Well.

Still, if there was any remnant of the morning in Sylvia’s heart, it didn’t show in her face, and it certainly didn’t show in Wyatt’s. Instead, both blondes beamed at her, radiant, the second she came out with fuzzy, fresh-from-the-blow-dryer hair and swaddled up to her chin in thick fabrics to fend off the cold.

And, truthfully, to hide the bump. John had reminded her of it, and even though the moment had been a...good one, it had also reminded her she hadn’t expressed this truth to Sylvia or Wyatt. As John closed the door behind her and jogged down the steps,

“Howdy,” Ell greeted, albeit a bit awkwardly thanks to her stuck-somewhere-nowhere-sort-of-accent. “You didn’t have to drive it back all the way out here, you know.”

“Sure we did.” Wyatt chirped. “Wouldn’t be very neighborly of us if we let it sit and the battery died out, now would it?”

“No,” John demurred after a moment even as Elliot’s cheeks went warm, “I suppose not.”

“You all recovered from this morning?” Via asked cheerfully, purposefully avoiding the actual question. Elliot shifted on her feet. John’s hand skimmed the small of her back, and even through the layers of fabric, it felt warm; she wondered if this was what it would have been like for them, had their life been normal. Had John been truthful with her from the get-go. Now, with everything laid out between them—the lies unearthed and only the brutal, unapologetic knowledge that they wanted each other, in one way or another—it felt like they might have been normal. Sometime, somewhere, someplace else.

It was still hard to swallow, all of it. The lies and the now-truths and the knowledge that she did, in fact, want.

“Oh, yeah,” Ell replied faintly. “Took a bath and...” She tried for a smile. “Decompressed.”

“That what smells so good?”

“Y’all get that tired from dress shoppin’?” Wyatt tsked, having pulled his coat out of the jeep and started to pull it on. He grinned at her and skillfully dodged a side-swipe from Sylvia; he had a good foot of height on her—and Elliot—so it wasn’t difficult. The siblings fussed for only a moment before Sylvia managed to fetch the Jeep’s keys from Wyatt’s coat pocket and held them out to Elliot, puffing.

She was in the middle of saying, “Your keys, madame,” when John’s head tilted and he muttered, “Now what is this?”, drawing her attention to the end of the drive. A police cruiser made its way slowly down the drive, carefully pulling up behind the Jeep.

Not beside it. Not further up toward the garage, not on the other side of the four of them chatting. Behind it. Blocked in.

Sheriff Pritchard stepped out, shuffling a little as he adjusted the black, fur-trimmed jacket on his shoulders and closed the driver side door. He’d come alone, which made Elliot certain he wasn’t here to arrest her—and what a ludicrous thought, that he might have considered it a possibility, because the mere mental image of Pritchard grabbing her arm and keeping his eyes in his head made a hysterical kind of laugh want to bubble out of her.

Not me, not me and not my baby, that thing inside of her said, lifting its hackles and baring its teeth when Pritchard began to saunter over. Not my baby.

“Afternoon, you two. And Wests,” Pritchard greeted as he drew closer. He’d earned himself a curious murmur from Sylvia. “Havin’ a little shindig out here, Miss Honeysett?” Elliot opened her mouth to respond, but he lifted his hands quickly in defense. “‘M sorry, forgot myself. Mrs. Seed.”

It caught her off-guard, sucked the air right out of her lungs. It was one thing to hear her mother say John is Elliot’s husband, to hear her say John is my son-in-law, but it was another entirely to hear herself referred to as Mrs. Seed. It had never, ever been that she was John’s wife, except out of his own mouth, but now—

John seemed eager to engage with Pritchard, because he said, “Something that you needed, sheriff?”

“Yes, actually. Believe it or not, I ain’t in the business of drivin’ out to the rich part of town just for shits and giggles,” Pritchard replied coolly. “Your mama home, Elli?”

“Probably resting,” Sylvia offered, smiling politely. “We just finished dress shoppin’ for her Christmas Party not but an hour ago.”

“Yeah,” Pritchard rumbled, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it. “Heard about your little trip to the boutique today.”

John asked irritably, “Do you need to smoke that right now?”

Elliot swallowed thickly. Her lashes fluttered, eyes desperate to close; the warmth that had flooded her face now felt like it verged on feverish, threatening to make her head swim again. This was bad. This was bad-bad, chop her hair off and run run run again bad, the kind of bad that made a girl change her name and burn her birth certificate and make sure that nobody would ever be able to find her again.

“I don’t,” she began, “think mama’s feeling up to visitors right now.”

Pritchard eyed her, taking a puff of his cigarette while completely glazing over John’s pointed question. “Imagine not. You know, you been a hot topic of conversation lately, Mrs. Seed. Gotten loads of questions about you. Lady from out of town, Federal Marshals. I don’t like folks sniffin’ around my town, you know, especially not the fuckin’ Feds, but it’s gotta make me wonder.” The smoke curled out from his nose, the smoke of a lazy, self-righteous dragon wafting around her.

“Sheriff,” John continued tightly, clearing his throat, “you’re going to need to put that out.”

“We’re outside, Mr. Seed. You ain’t ever seen someone smoke a cigarette outside?”

“Do you make a habit of smoking around pregnant women?” John snapped viciously, and oh, she thought, oh, I didn’t even think of that, because her brain was too busy kicking into overdrive and parse out the absolute confirmation that Federal Marshals were asking after her and strange women, too. Oh, I didn’t even think about the baby.

And then Sylvia said, eyes wide as saucers as she laughed, flustered, “Oh, John, that’s very kind of you, but I’m not—” and her eyes landed on Elliot, and she blinked rapidly.

Wyatt was looking at her, too. Big, big eyes, surely having not only learned that she and John were married but that she was also pregnant in the span of only a few minutes. At least, Elliot didn’t think Sylvia would have divulged that information, and if the shock he was clearly trying to cover up in his expression was any indication, that gut feeling was right.

No, she thought, no, this is not what I wanted. This is not what I wanted at all. It wasn’t his to tell, it wasn’t his to tell, it was mine, my choice, mine alone.

Her gaze snapped to Pritchard. She said, “It’s time for you to leave.”

Pritchard lifted his eyebrows. “That so? Well, good for me I ain’t here to talk to you, missy.”

“Get. Off. My. Property,” she bit out through her teeth. “Scarlet isn’t taking visitors, and I’ll cut the decay out of my own teeth before she makes anything close to the time of day for you.”

Now, his eyes narrowed and the cigarette sat between his fingers, still burning amber at the end. “Excuse me?”

“And tell the fucking Feds whatever you want,” she snapped, fingers curled tightly around the keys until the metal edges dug into the nooks and crannies of her hand. “But whatever you do, get the fuck out of my driveway, sheriff.”

Something flickered in the corner of her vision. John started, “Ell,” and his hand went to her shoulder, but she jerked back from him before he could make much more than a brush of contact.

“Don’t,” Elliot snapped at him, her voice wobbling and the tears—shameful tears—welling up and burning, “touch me.”

“Alright, okay,” Sylvia murmured, “Elliot and I are gonna go inside, and John can—”

“Ain’t here to talk to Mr. Seed,” Pritchard drawled venomously.

“If you’re asking questions about Elliot,” Sylvia replied calmly, taking Elliot’s hand with a firm squeeze, “I can imagine there is no better person to ask than her husband, don’t you think so, Sheriff?”

Pritchard’s eyes were squinted into poisonous little slits, and he took a long drag of his cigarette.

“Mrs. Honeysett won’t be any type of cooperative if you get her up now,” Wyatt chimed in, eyes flickering nervously to Elliot—perhaps both because of the news and because of her outburst. But she didn’t have time to think much about it, because Sylvia was tugging her out of the cluster of folks, ginger and reassuring even as her brother plunged on, “I mean, sheriff, come on—you know how women can be when they’re gotten up too early, let alone they’ve been shoppin’ all day—”

And Pritchard said, “You want I should put my cigarette out now, Mr. Seed?” as Sylvia opened the door,

and John replied with a slick, charismatic kind of venom, “No reason to anymore, smoke to your heart’s content,”

and the door clicked shut behind her and Boomer scampered out from where he’d been snoozing under the dining table.

She had to leave.

She had to go.

She had to get out.

Federal Marshals and strange women asking after her, and now her only two friends in the whole fucking world—

(well, not entirely true, since we still have Pratt, isn’t that right? Isn’t that right, Elli?)

—had just seen her almost go fucking bananas on an officer of the law, had watched her demand he get the fuck out of her driveway for wanting to ask her mother about her, had seen her.

“Hey,” Sylvia said, “you’re alright.”

I’m not, she thought, dropping the keys into the crystal bowl by the door, smearing red against the glass. Her hand stung. She reached with the good, unmarked hand for Boomer absently. His cold, wet nose brushed against it, and he whined, feet tapping against the wood as he bumped her for her attention. I won’t go. I won’t fucking go. I won’t pay the price for what they did to me, what they made me into.

“I’m sorry,” she blurted out abruptly, her voice coming out tight. “Sorry that I didn’t—um, tell you. About the—”

“It’s okay,” Sylvia told her quickly, “it’s alright, Elli, it’s not a big deal. You don’t have to explain yourself to me.”

Elli, she said, without knowing what the nickname meant. Elli, Sylvia said, it’s alright, and Joey, right now we need to leave, Elli, and Pratt, geez, Elli, slow down, an affectionate nickname saved only for folks who considered her their friend. Sans Pritchard. Fuck Pritchard.

“Lots of people wait to tell,” Via continued, one hand coming to rest on her shoulder and jarring her out of her thoughts, which were quickly and rapidly devolving back into the urge to march outside and ensure Pritchard was obeying her command. Out out out, something vicious inside of her demanded, we want him out we want him gone.

Elliot said, “Yeah, you’re right,” but she felt far away—not lost, not gone from herself, but thinking. She could pack fast. She could pack fast, and John had brought barely anything, and they could leave right now, her mother none the wiser. They could leave now and be gone and Cameron Burke would have to—

But are we sure it’s Burke? Are we sure it’s Burke and not someone else, come to haul your ass to a fucking psych ward, for what you did in Hope County?

For what you did?

No. She wasn’t sure. She could only hope it was one singular Federal Marshall on her tail, and not an actual piece of the government body. That was all.

But whoever it was that was asking after her—strangers, government officials—it didn’t matter. That old mantra had kicked in again; something has to be done, the same kind of calm before the storm that she’d felt when Joey had been killed, something has to be done.

Something has to be done and I’m going to have to be the one to fucking do it.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Pritchard dropped the cigarette into the snow and stamped it out with his bootheel, his eyes fixed on John. Sylvia had rushed Elliot inside, but he didn’t think that had been purely necessary—only in the instance they had wanted to keep Pritchard out of a blood bath. Elliot hadn’t been checking out, trying to keep herself together; she had been angry, and he’d had half a mind to let her say and do exactly as she pleased to the man now standing in front of him in the cold.

“She always been that volatile, Mr. Seed?” the sheriff asked.

“Not undeservingly,” John replied tartly, his eyes narrowed. “Did you have specific questions, sheriff, or did you just come by to terrorize my pregnant wife with your theoretical judgment of her soul?”

“More your speed?” Pritchard replied, lifting a brow.

“Pardon?”

“Heard about you Seed boys,” he continued coolly, “and your...” He gestured with a calloused hand vaguely, looking for the right word.

John smiled, with teeth. “Before I grow old, if you don’t mind, sheriff.”

“Proclivities,” Pritchard elaborated, “for religion.”

Fucking Burke, he thought, with no absence of venom; fucking Burke can’t resist the urge to try and fuck up my life when he’d be better off trying to find a place to hunker down for the end of the world.

“We’re red-blooded Americans,” John idled coolly, “freedom of religion goes hand in hand with that.”

“Mr. Pritchard, you wanna get that car started?” Wyatt cut in abruptly, glancing around like he thought maybe the rest of the patrol might be rolling in any minute. “It doesn’t sound like you’ve got any questions for Mr. Seed.”

“That’s sheriff to you, boy,” he snapped. And then, after a heartbeat, he fished his keys out of his pocket and said, “I s’pose I got all the information I needed, after all.”

“Mmhm.”

John had turned back to the house, spotting Elliot and Sylvia through the front window, when Pritchard announced, “You make sure Scarlet gives me a call when she’s recovered from your wife’s antics, Mr. Seed.”

His gaze returned to the sheriff, narrowed. “Certainly, Sheriff Pritchard.”

“But if I don’t hear from you, no worries,” the man continued, opening his car door, “I’ll make another special trip out here.”

“Goody.”

John flashed another grin when Pritchard’s eyes flickered over him. Wyatt said, “Have a safe drive,” and Pritchard slammed his door shut, his cruiser’s engine roaring to life before he began to slowly back out and make a u-turn to head down the long driveway again. There was a moment of silence, stretching between himself and Wyatt that he didn’t feel particularly inclined to break—after all, Wyatt had been taking liberties with Elliot that he shouldn’t have been—before the blonde finally broke the silence.

“Congrats,” Wyatt said after a minute. “About—uh, the baby, I mean. I didn’t know!”

Ah, he thought, feeling a strange little surge of pride at the way the man across from him shifted on his feet with discomfort, and that’s why Elliot’s mad I brought it up. Her friends didn’t know.

Well, it was better this way, after all. He wouldn’t have taken it back even if he’d gotten the chance, knowing what he did now.

“Thank you,” he replied amiably. “It’s certainly a blessing.”

Wyatt’s mouth twisted for a moment, looking like there was something he wanted to say specifically and didn’t know how to say it without foregoing social niceties, but the sound of the front door opening caught both of their attentions.

“Wyatt, you gonna stand out here like a lemming all afternoon or what?” Via called. “Get the car warmed up, you caveman.” She took a few steps down the front stairs and looked at John. “You’re wanted inside, Mr. Seed.”

A very polite way of telling him that Elliot, perhaps, was in the mood to throttle him with her bare hands. Though he didn’t really see the harm in spilling the news—perhaps with Via, sure, but Wyatt? The cowboy? Like that was ever going to be anything.

“Thanks for your help,” John said, clapping Wyatt on the shoulder before he made his way to the front steps. Via hadn’t moved. In fact, her normally polite expression was eerily cool—whatever amicable, feigned interest she had manicured for him in the past seemed to have evaporated in the wake of Elliot’s own fury.

As he neared, he said, “Something else you needed, Miss West?”

Via’s eyes narrowed. She looked at Wyatt, now inside the car, and then back to John. “You must think I’m mighty dumb, don’t you?”

John lifted an eyebrow inquisitively. “If you think I instigated that little outburst on purpose—”

“What I think,” Via replied, “is that you know exactly what she’s capable of handling. Just because you didn’t do it on purpose doesn’t mean you weren’t thinking of letting her physically assault a police officer.”

His easy-going expression flattened. Sylvia, and her seeing, the same kind of uncanny people-reading skills that Joseph had, too. Seeing his delight at knowing that Elliot would have taken on a man a foot taller than her, pregnant, if it meant keeping him away from the baby, if it meant keeping herself out of the grip of a greater power that wanted her in a psychiatric evaluation.

“I want to like you,” Via continued, taking the steps until she reached the bottom, “and I thought maybe you were here to make a real effort. But it seems like you’re the same person you were before, John Duncan.”

The name sent a jolt of red-hot anger flushing down his spine, filling him up suddenly with a sort of molten rage that only the reminder of his adoptive parents could have inspired in him. When Via went to move past him, he snatched her elbow, holding her in place.

“And where,” he ground out, “did you hear that name, Miss West?”

“It’s called a web browser, John,” Via replied coolly. “You ever heard of Google? Imagine how many John Seeds there are in Hope County, Montana. I don’t need to tell you that the articles regarding you and your brothers, though a bit old, are unflattering. And all I want you to know—” She paused, arm still in his grip. “—is that we’re aware of each other, and that I don’t want anything happening to Elliot.”

“Neither do I,” John replied tightly, “and I especially don’t want someone digging trenches where there’s not a war zone.”

Via regarded him with an even gaze for a moment, glancing back at the car where her brother sat, before she murmured idly, “Kindly take your hand off of my arm, John.”

“Ellliot’s already aware of the any of the information in those articles,” he continued lowly, “just so you know.”

“My point, John,” Via replied casually, “is that I know, and I can—and will—deal with it as I see fit. Now, you gonna take your fuckin’ hand off of my arm, or are we going to have a problem?”

He watched her for a moment—just long enough to consider the dopamine rush of killing her, grabbing a fistful of her hair and slamming her face into the top of the porch, doing something, anything to ensure that Sylvia West was not capable of messing up anything that he was doing—and then he planted a big smile on his face and dropped his hand from her arm.

“Careful,” he said, louder now so that Wyatt would hear, “it’s icy.”

The blonde didn’t respond. Instead, she brushed her hand absently where his had been, as though to brush herself free of his touch, and picked her way across the driveway and to the truck idling just on the other side of the jeep.

Well, that would be one less problem to deal with, in the end.

John made his way inside, closing the front door quietly behind himself and taking a moment to gauge. Just to see what was going on. The house itself was quiet, and Boomer’s little footfalls were nowhere to be heard, and Scarlet wasn’t sipping her vodka in the living room—so.

So.

Taking a breath, he started up the stairs, turning into the hall to find Elliot’s bedroom door halfway ajar. He paused in the doorway; she was rifling through drawers, pulling sweaters and long-sleeved shirts and jeans and sweats out and dropping them into a duffel bag, furious little exhales occasionally coming out of her.

“I was told I was being summoned,” John said, Elliot’s attention razor-sharp and snapping to him immediately.

“Pack your shit,” she said briskly, “we’re leaving.”

He blinked. Taking a step inside, he glanced at Boomer—perched protectively between himself and Elliot—and said, “I thought we were waiting until after the Christmas party?”

“You’re not fucking deaf, John, you heard Pritchard,” she snapped. “The Feds have been asking about me. The only reason they don’t know exactly where to look—whoever it is—is because Pritchard’s a fucking asshole and likes to be as obstinate as possible.”

“And if we sprint out of here,” he replied, “you’re just going to draw their attention.”

“It’s what Pritchard wants.” Elliot zipped the duffel bag shut and then brushed past him into the bathroom, gathering up her toothbrush and toothpaste and the sleeping pills. “For me to be gone. He’ll piss off if I go. And there’s no way he’s going to put up a big fight to cozy up to the government.”

“Elliot.” John watched her furiously gathering things up, and then when she came by again he caught her with his hands. “Ell, just slow down—”

“Stop,” she bit out, “stop telling me what to fucking do, John, and—I told you not to touch me.”

He lifted his hands from her, but not far enough that she could duck past. “Are you that mad about Sylvia and Wyatt knowing you’re pregnant?” When she didn’t answer, and instead hauled the bag over from the other side of the bed to be close to her so that she could dump the collections from the bathroom into it, he sighed. “I didn’t know you hadn’t told them, but I don’t understand what all of the secrecy is about. The baby isn’t—”

“I felt normal!” Elliot replied sharply, her voice pitching a little higher now, and John heard the wet wobble in it too—the way the timbre of her voice thickened and rounded out with the threat of oncoming tears, her cheeks flushed with anger and maybe shame and pain, too. “Okay? I felt—I f-fucking felt normal, for once, and it was enough that Sylvia knew you and I had been—that we’re married, which I don’t even want to dig into right now, but it was another to be like—yes, the father of my fucking child, who I’m actually married to even though I didn’t want it, is here and oh, by the way? He’s part of a cult. Yeah, a fucking doomsday cult. I’m carrying the child of a doomsday cultist.”

“How was I supposed to know?” he demanded. “How was I supposed to know that you didn’t want Sylvia and her brother knowing you were pregnant? You never said. And what does it matter?” And then, feeling the petulance well up inside of him: “I know it probably felt nice, to have Wyatt giving you attention—”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” she asked, incredulous. “You’re really pulling that now? So, what—you dumped the news because you wanted to make sure my friend found me as off-limited as possible?”

John crossed his arms over his chest. “I know this may come as a shock to you,” he said, feeling the tension peeling apart behind his eyelids, “I really didn’t want Pritchard smoking near my baby.”

“My baby.” Elliot jammed her finger into his chest, just above his heart, her words vicious. “It’s our baby, or it’s my baby, but there isn’t a single fucking universe where the only person this baby is beholden to is you.”

“He’s,” John corrected, tartly. “He’s our baby. And at the end of the day, whether you like it or not—”

“Have you ever,” she cut in over him, biting the words out between her teeth, “done anything for me that wasn’t for you too?”

Watching her, the words sat sticky in his chest. His instinct was to say, of course I have, but that wasn’t true. Of course it wasn’t. And he wasn’t going to pretend like it was, either—because he wasn’t ashamed that everything he had done had been for them, that if Elliot wasn’t his then there would be no point in it, that it was a zero sum game where he either had her or he had nothing.

He said, evenly, “No.”

Elliot looked unseated by his honesty. She swept her fingers across her forehead tiredly and turned back to her bag. “Then do me a favor and pack your shit so we can go.”

John sighed. “Don’t you think—”

“John,” she bit out, “I am making an executive decision.”

“Alright, Ell.”

“And—”

John had turned to the door to go gather what few of his belongings he’d had when Elliot cut herself off, drawing his eyes over his shoulder to her again. She looked unwell—stressed, feverish, her hands buried into the duffel bag maybe to hide the shaking and her face flushed and her brows furrowed together.

“Thank you,” she managed out after a minute, “for being honest. For once.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Pratt brushed the snow from his hair, teeth chattering as he waded through knee-deep snow out towards the water. It had been three days, and Helmi had told him to meet her out there—how she was going to get past the compound’s security, Pratt didn’t know, but he also thought it probably was best not to dwell on the things that Helmi would do (and could do) to get where she needed to be.

Which is why he found himself less and less surprised to find her standing at the edge of the water, in the middle of the night, swathed up to her jaw in dark, heavy fabrics. The only part of her that wasn’t covered were her hands; the closer he got, he could see she was turning a smooth, dark rock over and over in her hands, passing it between them as she watched him come nearer.

“You remembered,” was how she greeted him, most of her face cast in shadow thanks to the high position of the moon behind her. Pratt shivered and jammed his hands into his coat pockets.

“Yeah, well, kinda hard to forget,” he replied. “Considering it’s been looming over me for the last few days.”

“Poor thing,” Helmi agreed, not sounding sympathetic at all. “Did you call her?”

Pratt paused, clearing his throat. There was something that didn’t quite sit right with him, knowing that he had called Elliot not out of a cry for her help—not really, anyway—but because this other cult wanted her. This cult, which had tore its way through Hope County splitting and gutting its residents, wanted her. And Helmi didn’t seem keen on telling him why.

“I did. They just got word that she and John are on the road now,” he said after a moment. “What, uh—do you want her for, anyway?”

Helmi quirked a brow at him, the corner of her mouth tilting upwards. “Shouldn’t you have asked that before making the phone call, if it was going to bother you?”

A little lick of shame and embarrassment crawled red-hot into his cheeks, and he scoffed, turning his face away. “Well, you said you wanted her alive. Can’t say the same for the Seeds.”

“She’s carrying John’s child,” Helmi pointed out. “You think they’d kill her still?”

Pratt grimaced. It was still hard to stomach—the idea that Elliot was with John. Or had been, at one point. It didn’t sound like things were going great, and he could only imagine why. Still—

Still, he thought there was a lesser of the two evils, and Helmi sounded like it. Maybe not the others, but Helmi.

“They don’t have a problem killing babies,” Pratt replied after a minute. “What are you going to do, once she gets here? They won’t let her leave, and they definitely won’t let you in.”

Now, the blonde grinned—pearly teeth in the dark of the night, surprisingly satisfied with herself. “Big one’s pissed at me, isn’t he?”

“Yeah. Well, you know, Faith too. You've been killing her angels.”

She shrugged. “I’ve got a plan. You know exactly as much as you need to know right now. Are you eating?”

The question came so quickly that Pratt didn’t have time to register the oddness of it, replying on automatic the same way he had been with Arden’s consistent, gentle pestering: “Yeah, I mean—don’t have much of an appetite, but...”

His voice trailed off and he glanced back at the woman. Her head was cocked and her eyes were fixed on him expectantly. “What?”

“Eat,” she told him. “Take advantage of as much as you can. And most of all, listen. Any information you can get will be helpful.”

Pratt’s throat felt a little tight. He kept thinking about the way Jacob had grabbed his shoulder, laughing when he’d insulted the woman doing the heavy lifting for Joseph—grinning like a fucking wolf, like he was going to be dinner, next.

He managed out, “He’ll kill me. If he suspects. He’ll take—everything, from me.”

Helmi planted a hand on his shoulder. The gesture made him want to flinch, but he bit back the urge, and he thought maybe she’d seen but didn’t say.

“He already took everything from you,” she replied lightly, “and do you know what that means?”

The dark of her gaze was intense, piercing even in the late night; it made it hard to look away. Voices echoed back in the compound, and briefly, he thought maybe they’d noticed his absence—but he only shook his head.

“It means you have nothing to lose,” Helmi murmured, “and everything to take back from him.” Her hand moved from his shoulder to the back of his neck, the pad of her thumb sweeping up to his pulsepoint pensively. “See? Your heart is beating, and hard. Your blood knows it’s what you want, even if you don’t yet.”

Swallowing thickly, he nodded his head once. Nothing to lose, and everything to take back. Could he? Could he get things back? Is that what Helmi had done? What Elliot had done?

“And don’t fuck it up,” she added, dropping her hand from his neck and zipping her coat up. Leaving so soon. She grinned. “Or I’ll gut you myself. And I guarantee, it won’t be an Återfödelse.”

A nervous, almost hysterical little laugh bubbled up out of him. Helmi shot him a look and then brushed past him, heading back into where the brush became the thickest, calling over her shoulder, “See you in a few days, Staci Pratt.”

A few days. A few days, Elliot would be back, and John Seed would be back, and Helmi would be seeing him. Seeing them. Maybe it would be better to make a break with Elliot, once she got in—but what if she didn’t want to? What if she was one of them?

Pratt let out a puff of hot breath, digging the heel of his palm into his eyesocket while the pain bloomed just there, turning and beginning to trudge back to the compound before anyone noticed his absence. Each scrape and puff of snow fell in line with his heartbeat, the mantra on and off again.

Nothing to lose.

Everything to take back.

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dershloop · 4 years ago

Text

i wrote this while sick nd did edit it while slightly less sick so excuse and weird discrepancies LMAO

Title: Get Well Soon, Gumball

Words: 1698

Warnings: a bit of swearing, some self-esteem/body issues mentioned

Relationships: Glacier, background Plasma

“Are you sure you should be training today Cole? You don’t look so good,” Jay said hesitantly, looking over at his friend concerned for his health.

“Yeah dude, you look rough. I’m surprised Zane even let you get out of bed,” Kai chimed in, narrowly avoiding a hard blow to the head from the automated training dummy.

“Don’t say my name too loud guys, he didn’t,” Cole croaked, “I just can’t afford to take a day off.”

“What?” Kai exclaimed, purposefully being as loud as he could to try to draw Zane’s attention from inside the monastery. This time, however, he wasn’t as lucky in regards to dodging the dummy while also attempting to look after his best friend, letting it land a well-placed blow to his ribs. “Fucking hell, ow,” He groaned from his new position on the dusty ground, splaying out his arms in legs, letting out loud, long, laboured breaths as he attempted to lessen the pain.

“Oh my God, firefly are you ok?” Jay said, abandoning his kendo helmet and Shinai on the ground as he rushed over to his boyfriend to help him up. Cole walked over too, though with a lot less urgency, not even taking off his helmet or dropping his own Shinai.

“Ok you definitely need to get back in bed,” Kai said through laboured breaths to Cole, taking Jay’s hand and hoisting himself up with a wince as his side stabbed with pain “You didn’t even drop your Shinai. I’ve known you for years and even if you’re feeling rough you’re always one of the first to help us if one of us falls. You’re not well.”

“I heard shouting, is everything ok?” Zane called, walking out into the yard to the sight of Jay fussing over Kai and Cole stood, fully geared out and standing shakily, looking as if he wasn’t 100% sure where he was.

“You’re boyfriends being a little shit,” Jay said, looking over at Zane as he practically dragged Kai away from the yard and towards Nya and Pixal’s workshop to get some kind of medical help for his extremely bruised and possibly broken ribs.

“Yeah Z, he is not ok. You need to sort him out and get him in bed,” Kai wheezed, hobbling slightly.

“Kai shut up before you do yourself anymore damage. This dumbass probably just broke a few ribs and he still has the nerve to lecture Cole about being out of bed. I hope he feels better soon, I’ll come and see him after I’ve dumped him on Nya and Pix,” Jay said, beginning to attempt to drag Kai away.

“You know you love me really,” Kai coyly remarked, stilling wheezing slightly. Jay didn’t respond, but Zane could tell he rolled his eyes.

Zane panned his eyes over to his own sick boyfriend, who was still standing, fully kitted out in his Kendo training gear. Even his shinai was hanging loosely from his large hands. He looked genuinely awful, worse than he had that morning in fact.

“Before you say anything, I feel fine,” Cole croaked, letting out a long sniff afterwards.

“Cole Hence Brookstone I told you to stay in bed,” Zane said sternly, looking over at the quivering mess of a boyfriend who was currently stood in front of him.

“I know but-”

“No buts, you’re coming with me right now.”

Cole knew better than to continue to protest; in situations like this, Zane usually got his way. Whether or not it was rightly so was down to interpretation. He shuffled through the blurred hallways, not 100% sure where he was going. He knew a bed of some kind would be involved but the question of whose bed was a largely unanswered one considering his brain was 300% more concentrated on keeping him upright and at least semi-conscious. The room he was led into was dark; too dark to be Zane’s and it wouldn’t be Kai, Jay, Lloyd or Nya’s because that’d be weird. Even he was conscious enough to know it was his room.

“Here, I’ll sort out your gear and stuff just try to relax,” Zane spoke softly, taking the kendo helmet off and placing it to the side, doing the same with the rest of his gear and gi. He then began sifting through Cole’s wardrobe, pulling out a hoodie and sweatpants to change into. Only then did he let him back into bed. Cole frowned and looked up at Zane from his place in bed.

“Get in with me. I need my teddy bear,” Cole groaned, his voice gravelly and even deeper than usual. Zane smiled.

“Ok, just give me a second to change. I doubt I’ll be leaving here for a while so there’s no point in being in my gi,” He said, walking over to Cole’s wardrobe again and pulling out a t-shirt and shorts, quickly changing and climbing into bed with him, any thought of training for at least that day discarded. Cole quickly readjusted himself, scooching over onto Zane, wrapping his arms and legs around him, resting his head on his chest for warmth.

“Why’d you get out of bed? I told you I’d be back with tea soon.” Zane said softly, running Cole’s hair through his fingers, twirling strands around and watching as the light reflected off it, showing at least another 10 hues shining through. The deep blues, browns and midnight blacks mingled and danced with the golden light streaming in through the curtains. It was beautiful. He was beautiful. Even if he didn’t always think so. Zane would always be there to remind him that he was.

“I can’t afford a day off,” Cole said hoarsely, “I’m already not as thin as you guys, the more days I take off the worse it’ll get.” Zane furrowed his brow and thought for a moment, trying to fully process what Cole had just said.

“Are you… saying what I think you’re saying? Because if you are, I’m going to have to take evasive measures,” Zane said matter of factly. If Cole really did think him being bigger was a bad thing, there would have to be action taken.

“What? You know it’s true. If I stop working out I’ll just get fatter, I can’t take a day off,” He croaked sadly, biting his lip. His head was spinning but he couldn’t just lay in bed all day; he had to do something. He had to at least get a few reps in.

“Hmmm,” Zane hummed, “It’s worse than I thought. Cole, it seems you are suffering from a serious case of negative body image. There’s only one known cure,” Cole laughed a little and played along.

“What is it, doc?”

“500 kisses and a whole day in bed of cuddles,” Zane replied stoically.

“Oh well then, someone who spent 2 hours downloading every episode of greys anatomy must know what they’re talking about,” Cole replied sarcastically, a goofy smile playing on his lips.

“Exactly, and I know you’re being sarcastic so I see I’m going to have to crank it up to 700 kisses.”

“Oh no! How terrible!” Cole gasped, still being sarcastic, however, it backfired as he began to cough aggressively.

“That’s what you get for being an asshole, I’m also cranking your prescription up to 1000 kisses but seeing as this might go on for a while, I’m capping it at that,” Zane said with a chuckled, rubbing his hand up and down Cole’s back slowly, just waiting for Cole to say the word so he could administer the treatment.

“You know me too well,” Cole laughed weakly, propping himself up on his chin which admittedly was uncomfortable but he was willing to endure so he could look at Zane’s beautiful face, “So doc, when’s the treatment starting?”

“How… about… now!” Zane exclaimed, beginning to pepper kisses all over Cole’s head and face, making Cole laugh hoarsely.

Zane pushed Cole off of him, pinning his arms down and kissing all up his arms and onto his hands and fingers, before moving to his torso and making sure every square inch was covered in his love. Eventually, he made his way back up to Cole’s face, making sure every little bit of his neck was covered as well, in some places even leaving small red marks behind. Whether or not they were unintentional, Zane would never tell. The final kiss was placed on Cole’s lips, making sure to press extra hard to accentuate his point.

“Wow, Z, you’re meticulous I’ll give you that,” Cole said through laughs shaking his head at the nindroid currently sat on his lap. His hands sat on his waist comfortably, a true testament to how much they really were meant to be. It was almost as if the sweet tin can sat on top of him was made for him.

“Why thank you. Are you cured?”

“If I say no, do I get more kisses?” Cole said coyly with a smirk, massaging circles into Zane’s waist with his thumbs.

“Depends. If you’re good and get in bed properly and don’t leave until your better, then most assuredly,” Zane said matter of factly, his own hands idly drifting over Cole’s torso. If he could see inside his mind for just a moment, Zane was sure he’d see himself the way he saw him. He was the perfect size for hugs and cuddles, and his larger stature just meant all the more Cole to hold and love. It also meant he could pick him up which, in their 2 years of dating, Zane was sure he’d never find it the most amazing and adorable thing ever.

“Oh well then, it’s settled,” Cole said quickly, moving Zane off of him and getting under the covers, quickly snuggling back into his chest. He could hear all the mechanical parts inside him buzzing and whirring, turning and pumping, keeping Zane alive. There was something comforting about the soft noises that emitted from his boyfriend that just radiated comfort. The mechanical buzz was a grounding constant. Always there, always around, always keeping him sane.

Zane smiled and wrapped his arm around Cole, holding him close.

“Get well soon, gumball.”

#glacier #glaciershipping #ninjago #lego ninjago #ninjago kai #ninjago kai smith #ninjago zane #ninjago zane julien #ninjago cole #ninjago cole brookstone #ninjago fanfiction #ninjago glacier #ninjago zane/cole

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fortheloveoffanfic · 4 years ago

Text

Behind Closed Doors

Keanu Reeves x OFC (A/n- And now, I shall make it complicated)

Masterlist

Warnings- Jealousy

Chapter 2 All In a Long Weekend

Saturday

That Saturday morning, breakfast had been done a tad earlier than usual, and afterwards, Emma had stayed back in the kitchen, packing a picnic while Keanu oversaw the children as they got ready for the day's beach trip. Matt and Poppy had been raving about their trip to Malibu for the past two weeks, asking every night before bed if they'd still be going. Each time, Emma had assured them that unless it rained, they were certainly going.

"You look excited," an older woman came up beside Emma, setting down some sodas into the cooler, just as Emma continued preparing sandwiches for the container that was set to be packed into the woven basket. She and Zelda, despite the fifteen or so years between them had become fast friends, always eager to help each other out when possible. The older woman was also sometimes keen of giving Emma little snippets of advice that she thought my be helpful; never go into Keanu's office when he had the door shut, don't give the kids ice pops inside and possibly the one that had saved her the most trouble, always check the allergy list that Keanu had stuck to the fridge before making the kids something new.

Beaming absently at her comment, Emma carried on with her task, making cheese and turkey sandwiches; a favorite among Keanu and his kids, "I am, it's been a while since I've been to the beach, and even if I'm still working, it's gonna be fun." Closing up the Tupperware, Emma set it in the basket, moving on to prepping snacks, just as Zelda started on some frozen treats for the sizable cooler. In retrospect, it might have seemed like a lot, but when you were having a day trip with kids, it was best to prepare for anything. "Plus, it'll be nice to spend some time together, just the four of us."

Furrowing her eyebrows in confusion, Zelda paused for a minute, "Five dear," she corrected, a little shocked when Emma didn't understand what she meant.

Certainly, Keanu must have told her!

But really, he hadn't.

Just as Zelda was about to explain though, the sound of the front door opening and shutting, followed by a very loud, and an annoyingly exuberant; "Darling!" After that, it wasn't long before the sound of heels clicking against the floor drew nearer, and out of the long hallway emerged a woman, tall, blonde and just as famous as Keanu.

"Sweet-" Upon seeing the pair, the Miranda Riley, former Victoria Secret model and world famous actress, stopped in her tracks, scrunching her perfectly straight nose as if she'd smelt something terrible, "Oh," her made up face fell, "Its you; Zora and…….the new one."

A little annoyed by her obviously snooty behavior, Emma opened her mouth to speak up, "Actually it's-" Though, when Zelda grabbed her arm, squeezing warningly, she shut up immediately, sealing her lips tightly.

Though, it didn't really seem like any of it greatly affected Miranda, especially when Keanu jogged into the room from the other hall, still bare foot while his worn out t-shirt was soaked at the front, probably from herding the twins into a bath. "Mandy," he grinned, and Emma swore it was stiff and forced. Maybe it was just her imagination though, cause with barely any hesitation, Keanu was taking the woman in his arms, holding her in a more than friendly hug before planting a lengthy kiss on her deep, ruby lips, one of his hands reaching up to cup her face.

The world seemed to slow down as the entire scene unfolded before her; the way he held her, looked at her when they pulled away to speak. A soft, pained gasp seeped past her lips and Emma wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting when Miranda walked into the house, but she did know that the last thing she’d predicted was that it would hurt so much. Her lungs were set ablaze and a similar sensation prickled at her eyes. Rage, betrayal, jealousy, Emma couldn’t tell which it was, but she did know that she wanted to run out of the room and not have to face Keanu for the rest of the day. Hell, maybe even the rest of the month.

Slowly, as if she were just coming up from being submerged in an ice cold bath, Emma brought herself back to the moment, raising her gaze when Keanu sought to introduce them, “Mandy, you remember I told you about Emma, our new nanny.” That was what she was, the nanny; the woman who took care of his kids, nothing more. Even if quieter moments had suggested otherwise. The tension, the long stares and innocent touches that thrilled her nerves, they meant nothing to Keanu. “And Em, this is my girlfriend, Mandy.” Well that didn’t feel like a bullet to the chest at all.

“It’s nice to meet you,” the smile that she plastered on her face was probably the hardest one she’d ever managed, and when Emma offered her hand, it wasn’t difficult to miss the flash of disgust that crossed Miranda’s pale features. Never meet your heroes, they said. For as long as Emma had known herself, Miranda had been an icon in the fashion world, she was well connected, and had set most of the trends that Emma had her friends had desperately wanted to mimic in their teens. It was her, among other inspiring names in the fashion world that had prompted Emma to go to a design institute and not a conventional college. But right then, she might have been happier going back to a time where she’d never crossed paths with Miranda.

Hesitating before offering Emma a toothy, winning grin, Miranda took her hand, shaking quickly over the counter before letting it go again, “Mmm, yes, it's…….nice to meet you too, Emily.”

“Emma,” she corrected, having to bite her tongue so she wouldn’t say anything more. The last thing she’d want was to lose her job after telling off her boss’s out of touch bitch of a girlfriend.

“Right,” Miranda appraised her look, a bright blue sundress, raising an impressed brow, probably only complimenting her to appease Keanu, “Cute dress.”

Before Emma could speak up, Keanu interjected, “She looks lovely doesn’t she? Made it herself,” he didn’t seem remotely aware of the heaviness in the room, or the way Miranda clenched her jaw when another slew of praises for Emma left his lips, “She’s so talented, Poppy is already roping her into making princess dresses for Halloween,” he chuckled, shaking in his head.

After another minute spent gritting her teeth, Miranda sought to change the topic, clearly having had her fill of Keanu’s pride in his nanny, “Where are the little ones anyway? It's nearly ten, we’re going to be late.”

With that, Emma’s head snapped towards Zelda, who'd opted to finish the cooler and snacks in silence, so she wouldn’t have to endure any of the painstaking conversation, “She’s going?” She whispered when Keanu and Miranda weren’t looking, eyes wide and frenzied.

“Yeah,” she nodded, barely looking as Emma when she followed her to the fridge, while Keanu and Miranda spoke, or rather, canoodled in hushed tones, "I feel like I should have told you he has a girlfriend," Zelda paused, just after reaching for a half filled carton of strawberries.

"Ya think?" Emma hissed, glancing backwards at the couple, feeling her heart pinch at how lovey dovey they were. She could have sworn there was something between herself and Keanu. "How hard was it to say 'Hey Em, you know our boss has this girlfriend, and she's like, a total bitch.' What the hell does he even see in her anyway?"

"She's tall and gorgeous?" Zelda shrugged casually, "Look, I don't get it either, but he loves her, they've been together for almost two years and I think she's convinced him to go public by the end of this year." Her face fell at Emma's troubled expression, reaching out to rub her shoulder sympathetically, "I see the way you look at him, and if there's something between you two, then……and I don't mean this harshly at all, maybe you need to back down. Miranda, she's……she's not someone you want to mess with," sighing deeply, Zelda peered over to see if they were being overheard, "She gets what she wants, and right now, she wants Keanu and you don't want to be in her way."

Gritting her teeth, Emma pulled away harshly, "I don't know what the hell you're talking about," she squared her shoulders, "There's nothing between Keanu and I," maybe she was getting more defensive than she needed to be, but Emma didn't care. "I'm gonna go finish getting the twins ready," she announced loudly, stalking out of the room and down the hall, and hopefully, leaving behind whatever she'd started to feel for her boss.

As it turned out, Matt and Poppy had all but put their clothes on over their swimsuits, and they were so excited about going, that they got into their little summery outfits without fuss. Afterwards, tiny feet clad in colorful sandals, they raced each other downstairs, leaving Emma to collect their bags before she headed down.

She was walking towards the stairs, backpacks in hands, really just minding her own business, having just started to calm down after the whole Keanu/Miranda fiasco, when, just as she neared the door of Keanu's home office, she heard it. He was deep in conversation, and had unknowingly left the door just a sliver open, enough for her to catch on to some juicy bits. "I know mom," he sounded exasperated, and when she dared to peek in, Emma found that his back was to her, as he stood facing the window, one hand stuffed into the pocket of his jeans, "But I'm not getting any younger, what do you want me to do? Wait till I'm sixty?" He sighed heavily, shaking his head, "Matt and Poppy need a mother, and Miranda……" he trailed off, listening intently to what his mother had to say. Leaning closer, Emma wished she could be privy to the other end of the call, aching to hear what his mother thought about the succubus that he called a girlfriend. But alas, she'd have to settle for whatever she got.

After a few minutes had passed, Keanu spoke again, turning around, leaving Emma to dash for cover, though still within earshot. For a minute, she held her breath, awaiting the moment where Keanu would poke his head out the door and catch her eavesdropping. But it never came, and instead, he continued, "I think I'm going to do it tomorrow night, we're going to dinner, and the nanny will watch the kids. I have the ring already. I think she might like it."

Ring?

The sirens in Emma's head were going off so loudly that she barely registered his tone, the absence of excitement or joy, things that were usually there when someone was smitten enough to propose. There was too much going on in her head; the irrational fear of never having a chance with Keanu, the more rational fear that Miranda might become her boss too. Tuning out the rest of the conversation, not caring to hear anymore, Emma dragged herself towards the stairs, slinking down towards the kitchen, where she found Zelda entertaining the children.

“Everything okay?” She probed when Emma placed the bags on the counter, next to the cooler and picnic basket, her features still crestfallen.

“Yeah,” she mustered up a smile, inching closer to her friend, her voice dropping an octave, “I think Keanu’s going to propose to Miranda, like tomorrow night.”

“What?” Zelda’s eyes went wide, her jaw hanging slack, and she almost dropped the dishes she had just started putting into the cupboards, “How do you know that, did he tell you?”

“Tell her what?” Speak of the devil. Miranda startled them both, and for a second, Emma was worried that she’d overheard their conversation, though that too was short lived.

“Everyone ready?” Keanu strode into the room, and though Emma wanted to meet his gaze, she restrained herself, not even trying to respond, just going over to gather some of their things, her teary smile faltering when the kids excitedly started following her to the car.

At some point, Miranda had eased Keanu away from where they’d set up their picnic on the beach, urging him into a walk even though the kids had pleaded with him to stay and help them build sandcastles. Emma had taken his place, helping them with their little construction project, highly aware of how upset Poppy still was. “You okay Pop?”

The girl frowned, using her fragile fingers to sweep some hair out of her face, “I wish daddy would have stayed and built it with us,” she mumbled, dumping another bucket of sand to create segment of the castle, though doing it so harshly that the new section just crumbled, “He always leaves when aunt Mandy comes around.”

“I’m sure that’s not true,” even if she didn’t like Miranda, if she was going to be Matt and Poppy’s step mother, Emma couldn’t go around bad mouthing her to them, “I’m sure he still spends time with you. And aunt Miranda seems really like you two.”

“Not as much as you,” that was Matt, his expression skewed by his dark mane falling over his face, “She’s always telling us to be quiet. And she’s so boring,” he stressed, lurching forward, only half interested in ranting about Miranda, still very invested in their sandcastle, “She almost made dad stop my swimming lessons.”

“What?” That time, it was a struggle to keep her annoyance at bay. Even if it was just one side, even if Matt couldn’t possibly know the entire truth, it was still enough to rile Emma up. How dare she? Matt was the best on his team! Taking a breath, Emma knew it was time to shift the conversation, and cheer the twins up before she said something that she’d regret, “You know what? Why don’t we give this a break? We can go to the water, have a splash war!”

“Yeah!” They jumped up immediately, barely giving Emma a minute to shimmy out of her sundress, revealing her simple, floral bikini before joining them in the water. It didn’t take long to lift their spirits, and before long, Matt and Poppy were teaming up to out splash Emma. Their gleeful giggles were music to her ears and she adored seeing their wide grins. They’d waited almost a month for that trip, they deserved to enjoy as much as they could, even if Miranda was going to take up most of Keanu’s time.

They probably spent hours past noon in the water, and not once did anyone’s smile falter. Emma gave them ice pops, and insisted that they have some water once or twice, though each time, they accepted without fuss, and she couldn’t tell if was the sugar from their snacks, or just how immersed they were in the games, but even when Keanu and Miranda returned near sunset, they didn’t show signs of tire.

“You guys having all the fun without me?” Keanu let go of Miranda’s hand, standing where the water would wash over his feet, pulling the sand back as it receded.

A pang of anger flared inside of her, making Emma want to remind Keanu that he was the one that left, but she suppressed it. A fight wouldn’t solve anything. She was so caught up in being annoyed with Keanu, that she hadn't noticed how dark his gaze had grown when his eyes fell on her, kneeling in the water, rivulets rolling off her tan skin, the top of her bathing suit pressing her breasts together, a generous amount of her cleavage spilling out voluptuously. “Well why don’t you join in?” She made herself laugh, and while Emma was hardly as much of an actor as the two A listers before her, she’d liked to think she managed pretty well.

“Sounds great,” he didn’t even seem to notice Emma’s irritation, bubbling beneath the surface. In a flash, he was pulling off his t-shirt, tossing it to the sand, getting into water wearing just his swim trunks, and as he drew closer, his cheerful tone faltered, probably realizing that being in the water with her wasn’t going to do him any favors, “Do you guys wanna play chicken fight?” Keanu turned to his kids, only to be met with excited nods, “And maybe Mandy wants to play too?” He turned to her, eyes somewhat hopeful, “And we can let Em have a break,” swallowing thickly.

“Oh, I…..” Miranda seemed perfectly out of her element, smoothing a hand over her stylish, white sundress, and then pushing up the dark tinted sunglasses, which formerly guarded crystal green orbs. It took a minute, but eventually, she conjured up a tight grin, “Chicken fight isn’t really my kind of game,” she laughed nonchalantly, “Besides, the water will ruin my hair. You should let Emily play, childish nonsense seems right up her alley.”

Subduing the urge to roll her eyes and fire a few obscenities towards Miranda, Emma took a breath, gazing between Keanu, who’d gone cold, and Miranda who’s wicked mirth was reflected in her defiant smile, “Like I said this morning, it’s just Emma. And that’s fine, I actually love childish nonsense, its way more fun than sitting on the sand like a……” stuck up bitch, “Boring grown up.”

Amused with her half hearted insult, Matt laughed loudly, while Poppy just giggled, already trying to get up on Emma’s shoulders. Fuming, Miranda turned on her heel, stomping off towards the mat, and it wasn’t long before the rest of them had forgotten the almost-spat, getting on with their game.

Monday

As usual, Emma was up early, preparing breakfast for everyone. It was just past seven am, and since Mondays didn’t promise cartoon reruns, the kids weren’t up yet. Instead, Zelda had come in earlier than usual, saying that she wanted to get a head start on the housework, but really just looking to gossip. They were in the kitchen together, preparing for hash browns, eggs and bacon, working over quiet chatter, “So…” Zelda nudged Emma’s shoulder with her own.

“So?” Emma chuckled, nudging her back, the comfy cotton of her robe brushing against the sleeve of Zelda’s shirt. She knew exactly what her friend was seeking, but truthfully, she didn’t know how Keanu’s proposal had gone. All she knew was that they’d left for dinner around seven, leaving her to make something for Matt and Poppy, and hadn’t returned until the twins had fallen asleep and Emma had stolen away to her room.

“So, is the wicked witch of the west coast going to be out new boss or not?” Zelda teased, continuing with helping Emma shred some potatoes.

“Honestly-” Emma cut herself off when Keanu walked in, sans shirt and with low riding sweat pants. His hair was a mess, and his good morning was punctuated by a tired yawn. "Good morning Keanu," both women greeted in unison, sharing a look.

They both wanted to know so badly that the itch was almost physical, but it wasn't like they could simply ask. With their one question would come a dozen more from Keanu. Though, as faith would have it, the truth they were seeking wasn't far behind a still half asleep Mr. Reeves.

"Darling," an all too familiar voice purred, shuffling into the kitchen, her blonde hair held up in a loose ponytail and her elegant frame wrapped up in fine satin. Unlike Keanu, Miranda didn't even bother with pleasantries, going straight over to where he stood at the integrated refrigerator, holding him in a hug from behind, strategically angling her left hand so the large rock on her finger would be on full display.

"Still wanna know?" Emma whispered near Zelda's ear, their heads almost touching.

Scoffing, Zelda seemed caught between a sarcastic smirk and a frown, "Not any more."

And because the world was such a cruel place and open wounds would be pointless without a little salt, Miranda abruptly turned to them. "Ladies! Have you two seen my ring?" Without warning she thrust her hand towards them, making the engagement ring on her finger hard to avoid, "Gorgeous right? Keke loves to spoil me," her words were perfectly gag worthy and Emma was finding it difficult to keep down the half cup of coffee she'd had. It wasn't like she was opposed to love or affection or anything, she'd really liked to think of herself as well adjusted in that way, but during the one weekend she'd spent around Miranda, her affections for Keanu always seemed so dramatic that it was nothing short of an elaborate farce.

Yet, it wasn't like she had much of a choice when it came to going forward and having to endure it. Jobs in the fashion world were hard to come by and freelancing would hardly be enough to cover living expenses. So, alas, she'd have to put up with Miranda for a quite while to come. "Don't worry Emily," Emma hadn't even realized she'd zoned out until Miranda called her by the wrong name, for probably the dozenth time. At her next words, Miranda's voice dropped below what Keanu could hear, and there was a wicked glimmer in her gaze, "You're pretty enough, I'm sure you can trick a man into buying you a nice ring. Might not be as many carats, but you'll manage."

That little quip was definitely pay back for Saturday. Fuming, Emma longed to just let her have it, but she was growing so versed in holding her tongue that she did again, deciding right then and there that as much as she loved the kids, she was wholly willing to take the next sustaining job as long as Miranda was in the picture.

*****

Tagging- @harrisongslimited @magnificentclodpiebanana @keandrews @greenmanalishi @rdjloverxxx @danceoftwowolves @planetkt @wheretheriversrunintothesea

#keanu reeves #keanu reeves x reader #keanu reeves x ofc #keanu reeves fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #nanny au #au #ff #chapter 2

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quickspinner · 4 years ago

Text

He Didn’t Have Time (I’ll Never Not Know You)

Luka’s running on empty, and a flat tire just might be the thing that breaks him--until a pretty stranger steps in to give him a hand.

Inspired by the song She Didn’t Have Time by Terri Clark. Single parent AU, angst with a happy ending.

“Hey,” Luka grinned as he got out of his car. “Need any help?”

“Nope,” she said shortly, plopping her bag in the trunk of her own car. “Just one more bag by the door.”

“Let me just go put my stuff down,” he told her, pausing to kiss her cheek, but she bent over to adjust something in the trunk, and he missed. “I’ll grab it for you and come see you off.”

Luka went inside and put his work bag and guitar down in their small bedroom, hurrying quickly back out so that he could say goodbye. He thought he’d made it home early enough, but obviously she was anxious to get going. He couldn’t blame her, really, it was a good opportunity for her and she must be excited to go, even though it meant leaving them for a while.

Luka paused as he passed through the kitchen, and frowned. He picked up the ring laying on the kitchen table, the tiny little diamond he’d struggled to buy for her, because even though nothing happened the way they intended, she deserved at least that much. Then he ran out the front door.

The bag on the doorstep was gone, and she was about to get in the car. She ignored him when he called her name, ignored him right up until she opened the car door and he slammed his hand into it, slamming it shut again. “What the hell does this mean?” he demanded, holding up the ring. “You were going to leave and not come back, just like that?”

She looked at him impassively, a dead look in her eyes that froze his gut worse than anything else. He raised a hand to cup her cheek, but she pushed it away. “Luka, you know none of this was what I wanted.”

“I know,” Luka sighed. “But...we’re making it work. It’s hard but it’s worth it. At least I think so.”

“Well, I don’t,” she muttered, and he stared at her. “I’m sick of debating which gigs I’m allowed to take, and where I’m allowed to go and for how long. I’m tired of being here. I want to chase my dreams the way they were supposed to be.”

“You mean, without us,” Luka bit out, anger growing.

She shrugged, looking somewhere over his left shoulder instead of meeting his eyes.

“You’re better off without me. I’m not ready to get married. I never wanted a baby. I shouldn’t have let you talk me into keeping it.”

“Talk you into—I thought we agreed—”

“Well, we didn’t,” she broke in, frustration showing in her voice and her face. “You were just so excited, and I loved you, so I thought maybe it would be okay, but it’s not okay, Luka. I’m just—I’m not what you need me to be. I’m not a mother. I never wanted to be.” She took a shaky breath. “And I don’t love you anymore. I’m leaving, and you can’t stop me.”

Luka swallowed, and stepped back.

“Okay then. If that’s really how you feel, then. Just go.”

Face stone, he watched her get in the car. He stood there in the driveway with her ring in his fist, until she was out of sight.

She never looked back.

Slowly he turned around and went back into the tiny, cramped rental house. He dropped the ring back on the table as he passed.

Luka opened the door that he had meticulously oiled and sanded until it no longer creaked and no longer stuck, peaked in at the little figure curled up in the crib, and sighed. “Guess it’s just you and me now, baby girl.” He started to step back and close the door, but reversed his step instead, coming into the tiny room and closing the door behind him. He sat down in the rocking chair they’d picked up off a curb somewhere, and put his chin on his fist, and watched his little girl sleep as he tried to come up with some kind of a plan for the coming days. He didn’t have time to think about where it had all gone wrong, he told himself. He had a lot to figure out.

***

Luka was having one of those days. One of those days that where you knew from the get go that it was going to suck. The kind of day that, in the last three years and change as a single parent, he’d learned you just had to endure until it was over. Felicity, normally a cheerful, easygoing child, had been in one of those inexplicable sulks that children occasionally get that morning, and had protested everything, from Luka’s choice of breakfast offerings to the school clothes she herself had picked out the day before, and Luka, holding on to his temper by his teeth, had barely managed to get her ready and out of the door in time to rush her into her kindergarten classroom mere seconds before the bell. The teacher had shot him a sympathetic look as she took charge of his little chaos demon and Luka slumped his way back to the car for work, only to get a text that they weren’t going to need him today just as he pulled into the parking lot.

It had only gone downhill from there, so why shouldn’t his sister decide to call and tell him all the ways he was living his life wrong while he was busy pushing a rattling cart full of groceries across a busy parking lot. He was forced to stop short as someone popped out from between two cars in front of him, and then swerve to avoid a chunk of missing pavement, and he almost missed what Juleka was fussing about. “Sorry, say that again?”

“Are you sure?” Juleka repeated. “Because I could pick her up from school and take her over to t-ball if you just want to get some time to yourself for a little bit.”

“No, Jules, I got it,” he sighed, and he could practically hear Juleka frown.

“Luka, you’re running yourself ragged,” she scolded. “Speaking of which, why aren’t you at work?”

“They didn’t need me today,” Luka sighed.

Juleka paused. “Is that going to be a problem?”

“Not if it’s just today,” Luka replied as evenly as he could. “I’ve put in a good amount of hours this month, we’re fine.”

“Okay. You know I’m here if you need—”

“Yeah, but I don’t,” Luka replied shortly.

“Anyway,” Juleka said, “I’m just saying, you don’t have to do everything yourself. You know Rose and I don’t mind helping out. I can pick her up today. You sound exhausted, Luka. You’re not a bad dad if you let someone else help out once in a while.”

“I know that,” Luka protested. “I just like to be there.”

“It’s little league t-ball, Luka, not the Olympics. You don’t have to be there for every single practice. You need a break every once in a while. Go sit in a park and play your guitar. I know you haven’t been to a gig in weeks but—”

“I left the band.”

Juleka paused. “What?”

“I just—I couldn’t keep bringing them down, Jules. I’m skipping out of rehearsals all the time, it’s not fair to them. I really appreciate you getting me the in, I do, but I just—it’s just not a good time yet.”

“Luka,” Juleka said flatly, and he winced and braced himself for the lecture, biting his lip hard. “I got you into that band so that you would get out of the house every once in a while. Look, I know you love Felicity, and I know you feel guilty for what happened even though it wasn’t your fault and blah blah blah but. This isn’t healthy. You can’t make Felicity your whole life.”

“Are you finished?” Luka said harshly, cramming the phone between his neck and his shoulder as he fished out his car keys from his back pocket.

“I’m barely getting started,” Juleka said hotly, and Luka sighed.

“Well, save it. I don’t have time for going out, I don’t have time to give a band the attention it deserves, and I don’t have time for this conversation again when—” He stopped short, the cart rattling at the abrupt jerk.

“What happened?” Juleka asked, and Luka sighed again.

“Nothing,” he muttered. “Never mind. You know what, yeah, go ahead and pick Liss up for me and take her to t-ball practice, please. I gotta go. I’ll text you if I’m not going to be there in time to meet you at practice.”

Luka hung up the phone, and cursed, resisting the urge to throw it at something. He crouched down by the rear tire, like looking at it closer would reveal that it wasn’t actually flat. Because losing his mind would honestly be better than this.

“No,” Luka muttered, leaning his forehead against the car. “No, no, no, I do not need this right now.”

It was just...too much. Just one reminder too many of how his life had gone completely off the rails.

He took a deep breath, telling himself he was a grown man and couldn’t be crying in a parking lot while Felicity’s ice cream melted, and he needed to just suck it up, get up, and fix the tire, and he supposed it was a good thing Juleka had called to nag him because he clearly wasn’t going to be able to pick Felicty up on time because of this stupid, fucking tire, and he didn’t have time—

“Excuse me?”

Luka jerked back and looked up. There was a petite woman with black hair and sunglasses with metallic pink rims standing next to him, leaning down slightly.

“Can I give you a hand?” she asked, and Luka’s mouth dropped open a little and he blanked completely. That was...not the question he’d been expecting. He felt like he was choking on the reflexive oh no, I’m fine he’d been readying. The lady glanced at the tire and then back at him, tilting her head slightly. “You’ll be done faster with an extra set of hands. Um, we should probably move your groceries out of the sun first though...maybe in the shade under that tree?”

When he didn’t respond, just stared at her, her expression softened a little, and she crouched down next to him, pulling off her sunglasses as she placed a hand on his arm. Luka sucked in a breath as she blinked pretty blue eyes at him, her expression gentle and kind. “I don’t mean to pry,” she said softly. “I know a little bit about what it’s like to be so overwhelmed that every little thing feels like the end of the world. But you don’t have to do everything yourself. Let’s just take it one step at a time, okay? Let’s put your groceries in the shade, and then we’ll see about getting this tire fixed.”

“But—” Luka blinked and looked down at her clothes. She was wearing a business suit with a skirt and heels, and he suddenly felt self-conscious of his own ripped and faded clothes. He’d stopped caring what he looked like ages ago, not that he’d ever been particularly fashion-conscious, but he felt cheap and ragged next to this perfectly put together, sharp businesswoman.

Her laugh made him smile in spite of himself, though. “Don’t worry about that. I have some sneakers in my car, that’ll be good enough, and I’m done for the day, so I don’t mind getting a little dirty.” She stood up and walked away, and Luka stared dumbfounded after her, until he realized he was staring right at her very nice legs and turned his face away with a flush. God, what was wrong with him? He stood up and mechanically began moving his groceries from the cart into a pile in the shade of the tree as she’d suggested.

His benefactor returned after only a moment. She’d taken off her suit jacket and changed her heels for sneakers, and smiled brightly at him as she lifted two bags out of the cart. “My name is Marinette,” she told him, and Luka had to clear his throat and rip his gaze away from her toned arms to answer her.

“Luka,” he said. “Thank you, Marinette. For stopping. I guess I was kind of having a moment there. You really don’t have to stay though if you have somewhere to be. I can handle this myself.”

She gave him that same kind smile. “I don’t. Nowhere that can’t wait, anyway. Like I said, I know what it’s like, and I wouldn’t be here now if someone hadn’t stepped in when I needed it.” She set the last of his bags in the grass and straightened, hands on her hips. “Now, shall we see what we can do with that tire? Do you have a spare?”

Luka did, and together they got it out and rolled it into place. Marinette sat right down on the pavement despite his protests, holding out her hand for the jack, and Luka could only hand it over and crouch down beside her.

“Just one of those days, huh?” Marinette gave him a sympathetic look, and Luka chuckled, rubbing his neck.

“Yeah, you could say that. Though sometimes it seems like every day is one of those days.”

She smiled at him before turning her attention to the tire. “I know how that is.”

They chatted as they worked—mostly as Marinette worked, because she seemed determined not to let him do anything. He did reach over to help her when one of the lugnuts didn’t want to budge, and he thought he saw a flicker of admiration in her glance when she watched him. Probably wishful thinking, but it gave him a little glow. It had been a while since he noticed anyone looking at him like that.

When his car was fixed, the equipment stowed, and what groceries could be salvaged stored inside (Felicity’s ice cream was a loss; Luka would have to make it up to her later), Luka checked the time. If he hurried, he could still make it to part of Liss’s practice, but...Juleka was there, so he had time if he wanted it...

Luka glanced at the little coffee shop next to the grocery store, and then at Marinette. “Can I buy you a cup of coffee? It seems like the least I can do.”

Marinette looked at the time and seemed to consider for a moment, and then glanced up at him and smiled. “Make it tea and that sounds lovely.”

“Whatever the lady wants,” Luka agreed, gesturing her ahead of him. She gave him a slightly startled look, and then a pleased smile. Luka’s grin widened a little bit as he trailed behind her. She walked with a no-nonsense march, like she was still in heels. He bet she was something, clacking into a conference room like she owned the place. Hell, maybe she did own the place. She hadn’t really told him much about herself. Luka suspected she’d been sticking to light subjects that she thought would cheer him up, and it had worked, but now he was very curious.

They separated for a moment into their respective restrooms to clean the dirt and grease off their hands, and then met back up at the counter. Marinette ordered tea and Luka coffee, and they found a table near a window.

“I feel like I owe you a lot more than coffee,” Luka admitted as they sat down.

Marinette shook her head. “You’d have been fine without me.”

“As far as the tire goes, yeah,” Luka admitted. “But...you were right. I really did need somebody right then, and...you really brightened up my day. So thank you for that, Marinette.”

Marinette blushed, a pretty pink dusting along the apples of her cheeks, and Luka’s heart stuttered. She was really beautiful, Luka thought wistfully as she smiled up at him. Obviously kind and thoughtful and strong too...He hadn’t been out with anybody in a long time, but maybe...maybe Juleka had a point...

“So,” Marinette said, settling her tea bag in the cup. “Do you have kids?”

Reality kicked Luka in the gut and he swallowed. “Yeah, she’s five,” he managed, hoping his smile didn’t look too fake. What had he been thinking? A classy, driven business lady like Marinette wasn’t going to have any interest in someone like him, who could barely make ends meet and came with...complications.

“I saw the carseat,” she smiled, and then colored a little, looking down. “Mine’s um...mine’s three. Maybe you can give me some tips. I’m not sure either of us is actually going to make it to five.” Her eyes flicked up to his and then away shyly. “He’s definitely running me ragged.”

“Really?” he echoed, a smile growing slowly on his face. “You don’t look it.”

Marinette wrinkled her nose with a sheepish grin. “He’s been with my parents all week while I’m trying to close a deal at work. Normally I do a lot of my work from home, but I’ve been meeting some people I’m hoping to convince to invest in my business and it was kind of important. It’s been stressful and I miss him, but I haven’t slept this much in years.” She giggled, looking slightly guilty.

Luka grinned. “Sleep, man, I thought that was just a legend, not something that really happened.” They both laughed, probably a little louder than the joke really warranted. “Well, maybe we could—maybe we could have a play date sometime?” he suggested, face heating. God, he was so bad at this. Play date, God help him.

Marinette was still smiling, though, maybe even a little more than before. “That sounds like it could be really fun,” she said, toying with the tag of her teabag.

Luka leaned his elbows on the table and grinned at her. “So...know any good playgrounds? Liss and I are always looking for a good adventure.”

She looked down into her tea, still smiling, and Luka felt a sudden flutter of panic in his stomach and he wondered what he was doing, if he really wanted to put himself through this again.

Marinette looked up and her eyes met his, sparkling and so, so blue. “I maybe know a few,” she said, and as he stared into those eyes, Luka knew it was too late.

He left the coffee shop with Marinette’s number in his phone and a date for Saturday. A play date, yeah, but...it was a start.

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#quickspins #i'll never not know you #lukanette #endgame lukanette #lukanette endgame #luka couffaine #marinette dupain-cheng #miraculousladybug #miraculous ladybug #quickfic #single parent au

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