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saturnville · 9 months ago

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on the frontline, major john egan

pairing: major john "bucky" egan x black fem oc (major lanessa "nessa" dixon) content: in an unlikely event, john meets another major during the war, but she isn't what he expects. warnings: medical inaccuracies. an: Nessa is inspired by major della raney jackson, first black major of the army nurse corps. tag list: @neeville @turn-thy-paige @ihe4rtisa @ineedafictionalman @lovebyceleste

The mess hall bustled with deep voices and the screeching of rubber soles against the dirty floor. The sun shone through the dusty windows and onto the leather-covered backs of the soldiers. An aroma of breakfast filled the atmosphere and wrapped its arms around them like a warm hug. The chefs made a large meal before missions. It was the last meal some men had to cherish.

At a long table sat 13 men; two majors, two captains, a lieutenant, and eight sergeants. The conversations were minimal, until a sergeant spoke, “Have you met the new nurse?” He whistled he guzzled down a hefty bowl of oatmeal. He grunted after swallowing the hot oats and slurped down the black coffee beside his arm. “She’s a beauty!”

There was a discourse among the men who tried to figure out when they’d see the newly hired nurses. The wages of war came at a high price. Death and injury seemed to be a suitable payment to the creditor. To combat that, the service brought on extra hands to give medical assistance to the troops, especially with more men being enlisted to serve. Hundreds of thousands of men prepared to put their lives on the line; the least they could have was efficient medical care.

“They all are,” another commented. “50 more nurses and half of ‘em are Black. Came in with them Tuskegee Airmen. Never seen anything like it.”

As the pilots bantered about the new nurses, Major John Egan kept his gaze fixed on his coffee, his mind elsewhere. The arrival of more nurses was a reminder of the harsh realities of war, the constant influx of fresh faces tasked with patching up the broken bodies that returned from the front lines. Dread settled deep in his stomach at the thought of encountering them under such circumstances. With a curt nod, he urged his comrades to focus on the day ahead. Meanwhile, the chatter of the mess hall continued, blending with the clinking of utensils and the low hum of conversations.

“Haven’t seen them,” he spoke from behind the rim of his coffee. “Hoping I never have to. Let’s get going, boys.” “Yes, sir.”

“Major Egan’s hit!” For a moment, there was silence. Then, it wound up again when the wounded leader crossed the threshold into the infirmary.

The infirmary was chaotic. Loud cries and deep groans filled the air. Trays and metal utensils kissed one another as they were tossed on carts filled with supplies. White coats here and there sifted throughout the room as green bodies wheeled more patients into the large room.

His breathing was ragged and heavy. With blurred vision caused by tears surfacing in the ducts on his eyes, it was difficult to navigate the infirmary without bumping into objects and solid bodies. His feet were heavy as he stumbled further into the infirmary.

"I got you, Bucky," Gale's voice was frantic as he hoisted the pilot on his body. "You're gonna be alright, y'hear me?" If he had the strength, he would have replied. His heartbeat was in his ears and his stomach was in his throat. He'd never been shot before. Would this be the end of his career as a pilot? He groaned in agony.

"I need a nurse!" Gale hollered, his husk voice reverberating off the walls. "He's been shot. Bullet is still in his shoulder."

In front of him appeared a nurse. A highly ranked nurse, at that. She was dressed differently than the others. There was no matching white skirt set with a pretty hat, no, she was dressed just like him. Dark leather jacket, heavy pants, and dark boots. On her chest was a multitude of badges and pins, including one that was similar to the one on Gale's chest. Major. Well, he'd be damned.

She didn't stay in his sight long, as she began giving orders to two other nurses, who were preparing a bed. She ushered her patient to another nurse and wrapped her black stethoscope around her neck. Around her wrist was a small hair-tie which she used to pull her curls into a makeshift bun. With a thunderous voice, she ordered, “Bessie, get him on a stretcher and bring him to me.”

A fellow nurse, Bessie assisted Gale in getting John on a stretcher. Gale stood behind the ladies, the tip of his thumb against his teeth. As the stretcher was rolled toward her station, she made a quick work of the gloves and ordered him to stay calm. “I’m gonna cut your shirt, okay? I need you to remove your hand so I can take a look. Take deep breaths for me.”

Beads of sweat trailed down John's forehead as he gritted his teeth. His nostrils flared and his jaw shook as he tried to keep his sounds to a minimum. The nurse above him chuckled, which caught his attention. "What's funny?" He managed to ask.

She pushed his stubborn hand to the side and used her scissors to split his shirt in half. She was unfazed as blood trickled out of the open wound. It was ugly, but she knew how to make ugly beautiful. The wound was a wicked one, but it was a clean shot that managed to miss the muscle. It would be an easy retrieval.

"No reason to play big man and conceal your pain here, Major. You got shot. The shit hurts. You can let it hurt here." She pressed her stethoscope against his chest. Heartbeat still strong, she noted. Wavering just slightly, but strong. She called for extra hands. "Administer the shot into the upper right shoulder."

John's eyes were on her as she worked. Her brown eyes were gentle and they remained on him as she poked, but her tone was stern as she said, "Major Cleven, if you'd like to stay, you must stay behind that line. Major Egan, you just received a numbing agent to reduce the sensation. The bullet is retrievable. If you feel anything unbearable, you let me know. I'll stitch you up good as new afterword, am I clear?"

John’s stomach twisted at her authority. His tongue scraped across the roof of his mouth as he nodded, "Yes ma'am."

"Wonderful. Scalpel, please."

"How is he?" Gale's voice was unclear. He felt groggy. His head was a boulder on his shoulders and he felt confined to the small, yet comfortable bed he laid in.

"He'll be just fine, Major. He took it like a champ. He'll be out of commission for six to twelve weeks and will be ordered to physical therapy upon return to base. Don't give me that look, now; he is not fit for battle right now, but he will be okay, I can reassure you that. My nurses and I will take good care of him just like we will everyone else."

John heard Gale's sigh of worry. "Okay, you're right. Thank you, Major..."

She chuckled lightly. "Nessa Dixon."

"Major Dixon. Thank you for all you've done."

"No problem at all. You come to me tomorrow if that wrist is still giving you problems and I’ll wrap it again for you, okay? Get some rest, you'll need it." They exchanged goodbyes and the sound of Gale's footsteps retreating became clear. Finally, John's heavy eyelids peeled open.

"Nice to see you again," she spoke after some time. She was leaning against the wall, hands stuffed into her pockets. and her stethoscope dangling from her neck. "How are you feeling?" She made her way toward him, sitting on the stool she set at the bedside.

John groaned as he tried to readjust. His shoulder was wrapped tightly. He couldn't move even if he tried. Amelia jumped up and propped a pillow up. "Easy now..."

"Thank you," he replied gruffly. "I'm sore. Tired. And I need a damn drink."

His response pulled a laugh from her. Not the small chuckle she'd release here and there, no, a hearty laugh. It made him smile. "You and me both. Let's get you up and moving first. Your procedure went well. You are to stay out of combat for--"

"Six to twelve weeks with physical therapy upon return to base," he repeated her words, clearly unamused. Nessa smiled, clearly amused.

"Good to know you listen," she replied.

John hummed. "I do, Major. Didn't know that was a thing for nurses." He hated to seem painfully ignorant, but it’s what he was at that moment. Nurses in his unit rarely received titles, unless they’d done something extraordinary or had been in service for an extended period. But she, she looked young. Like she couldn’t be much older than he was.

Nessa nodded. She was one of the first Black nurses accepted into the Army Nurse Corps after they began accepting Black women. She worked her way up the chain, she explained, earning the same prestigious he carried. On the same level as a white man whose life was in her hands. Who would've guessed?

"Nessa is just fine right now," she suggested. "I should let you rest. I'll do one more check before I head out. Major Cleven will be here in the morning, I'm sure. Do you need anything, Major?"

"John," he said gently, tired blue eyes gazing into hers. "And I'm okay. Thank you for everything."

She gave one nod before leaving him alone and releasing the breath she wasn't aware she held.

“Nessa.” The woman sighed heavily and dropped her clipboard against the makeshift desk. Silence wasn’t a thing during war. Constant movement, moaning and groaning, the calling of her name. All she wanted was a moment of silence. It was nonexistent.

“Yes?” She didn’t turn around. But, she recognized the voice. Deep. Full of rasp. The way he said her name. It was familiar. Her eyes dropped to her clipboard, scattered with notes and reports that needed to be sent to the leader physicians.

“Why are you awake? I thought you were leaving.”

Her eyes dropped to the watch on her wrist. 1:43am. She’d been up for almost 24 hours. She shrugged and picked up her pen to scribble on the paper more. “I can ask you the same thing, Major. You’re supposed to be sleeping. Why aren’t you sleeping?”

Finally, Nessa turned around. She regretted it. John Egan was a handsome man. She knew that, but she was too focused on ensuring he didn’t lose his arm to focus on his features. But in this moment, in the dimly lit infirmary with no one else present, she had every opportunity to do so. And, she regretted it.

He was tall. Much taller than she was. She assumed her head would be at his shoulder, still leaving inches of distance between them. Though his face was littered with scrapes and healing scars, it seemed to illuminate his beauty. His eyes were blue, a strong contrast against his dark, curly hair. A strong nose and straight lips that she was sure felt amazing. His upper lip was cut in the corner and dried blood remained. He must’ve begun anxiously picking at it.

He managed to change his clothes. Major Cleven must have had something to do with that. He was dressed in dark sweatpants and a sweatshirt. She was curious as to how he got his arm through the sleeve, but she’d heckle him about it later in the day. His curls were damp and tousled messily. God, he was beautiful. Bruised and all.

He chuckled and slowly sat in the chair opposite of her. He groaned softly and readjusted himself to come into a comfortable position. “I can ask you the same question.”

She shrugged, “I’ve got paperwork to do. Go to bed, John. You can’t heal if you don’t rest.”

“You gonna tuck me in?” John’s tone was teasing. Nessa’s eyebrows raised and the pilot threw his head back as he laughed heartily. It was the first time he laughed with passion in a while, and she couldn’t help but crack a smile as well.

“You’re in a good mood. Let’s go. You’re going to bed and I’m going to sleep in the infirmary just in case..” She pushed up from her chair and tucked her documents into a folder. She nodded toward the door and the pilot followed suit.

They walked side by side in silence back to the infirmary, which was near the resting area for the injured who didn’t make it back to their chambers. Luckily, everyone had. Nessa’s eyebrows raised as John lay on the same bed he was on earlier. “What’re you doing?”

“I’m your just in case,” he said simply. He laid his head against the pillow and watched as she stood still. Nessa swallowed thickly. It took her brain extra effort to tell her feet to move. She sat on the edge of the bed to pull her heavy boots off her feet. She sighed in relief.

Nessa swung her feet on the bed and allowed her body to mold into the comfortable mattress. Her eyelids felt heavy, but still, she found his gaze. “Goodnight, John.”

“Goodnight, Nessa.”

Though they did not say anything to one another after that, she found comfort in the silence. They found solace in the quiet of the infirmary that kept them through the rest of the night. Together.

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strawwritesfic · 3 months ago

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Joel x Female!Amputee!Reader: (Don't) Hold Your Breath [Ch. 8]

Summary: You’ve made a lot of monumental mistakes in your life. Cutting your arm off isn’t even at the top of the list. Now you’re about to learn a lot of life lessons at the hands of your savior and her brute of a guardian–and they’re not about to let you learn them the easy way either.

Challenge: "#32 in His Rulebook" by Edible Heart Monster on Lunaescence Archives

Rating/Warnings/Tags: M (post-The Last of Us; excessive swearing; sexual references; violence against children; infected children; references to abortion; references to cannibalism; references to starvation; references to riots; implied domestic abuse; implied grooming; implied sexual relationship between an adult and a minor; death of a parent; violence; gore; blood; gun use; ableism; amputee!Reader; enemies to lovers; not canon compliant)

Pairings/Relationships: Joel/Female!Reader; Tommy/Maria; Reader/Male!OC; Ellie & Reader; Ellie & Joel; Ellie & Maria & Tommy

Tag List: @imaginesfire

Master List (with important note!)

Rule #8: The villagers are always a little stupid. Try not to contract that.

Not very many days passed after that before Tommy called you—again—to the room he called all the troublemakers to. When you arrived, he wasn’t there yet. Only his beat-up desk and a couple of chairs that had clearly seen better days sat in the dim sunbeams shooting through the window. One of the men that had brought you there shut the door behind you, but you didn’t relax. Doubtless he was still out there, standing guard to make sure you didn’t leave.

You didn’t bother to try. Instead, you walked a small circuit around the chairs and desk. Your worn boots hardly made any noise in the dusty carpet. Tommy probably could have used a better place for doling out discipline, but it was a hard line to walk, being in charge of something democratic like Jackson was supposed to be. Probably the only reason he and Maria kept their seats was because, outside of assigning tasks and keeping an eye on relationships, they did the same jobs as everyone else, in the same way as everyone else. Sometimes they even forwent meals when supplies got low, so other people could eat.

The knob on the door across the way twisted, and you leaped away from the desk as though it had shot up sparks. Whatever paperwork was there, it was none of your business, and you didn’t want Tommy thinking you thought it was. Fortunately, it was not Tommy that stepped into the office, but Joel.

His brown eyes narrowed as he spotted you standing there, then found the carpet. Watching him, you were pretty sure he mouthed some four-letter-word upon finding you, but whatever concerns he had, Joel did not voice them to you. After a moment of awkward standing, you hastily took the stuffed green seat nearby and tried to ignore him.

Still Tommy did not show up. Though you weren’t nervous exactly, being left alone with Joel certainly wasn’t comfortable, a feeling that only intensified when you heard him start to make his way toward you. A second later, and Joel collapsed into the opposite seat.

A bead of sweat rolled from your temple and dripped off your jaw onto your hand. No air conditioner ran through the room. You felt as though you’d been called to the principal’s office; somehow, that memory made you feel worse. You twisted in your seat to look at Joel.

“What’re you in for?” you asked, perhaps hoping to alleviate some of the tension. His eyes darted toward you again, then away; the only answer you received was a shifting of his arms.

If there’d been a clock, you’d have been able to count off the seconds, minutes, perhaps even hours that it took Tommy to get there. As it was, when the door behind you opened a second time, the light streaming into the room hadn’t change at all. Both you and Joel twisted around to see Tommy walking inside. He smiled when he saw the two of you.

“Good,” said Tommy. “You’re both here. Won’t have to wait to get things started.”

Joel got to his feet before Tommy even made it to the chair behind the desk. “Tommy, now what is all this about?” he demanded. “I was in the middle of something, and then Larry just up and escorts me, gun drawn.”

“Yeah, sorry about that.” Tommy sat down and motioned for Joel to do the same. He did—but only reluctantly. “Larry can get a little trigger-happy.”

“If this is because you think I’m trying to take over—”

“I don’t,” Tommy cut in firmly. “You’ve been behaving yourself since we had that little discussion, and I appreciate that.”

Joel watched Tommy. You thought he might have been looking for any traces of lying, but you couldn’t spot any, and the next second, Joel was nodding, although he still looked displeased. “Then what is this all about?”

Tommy did not look as though he wanted to get into things so quickly. Unfortunately for him, he’d been the one to point out no one present had to wait. You pursed your lips as you watched him fidget with one of the busted pens on the desk. After a minute or so of stalling, he tossed the object away and folded his fingers in front of his face.

“I have a…proposition for you,” he said. “Well, mostly for Joel.”

Joel rolled his shoulders and tossed you an appraising look. “Then what’s she doing here?”

“Yeah, because I just decided to eavesdrop in plain sight, asshole,” you said angrily.

Tommy rolled his eyes.

Joel shifted so that he could look more properly at you. “Could’ve just walked in. ‘S not like Tommy is going to kick you out.”

“I’d kick her out if I didn’t want her to hear,” Tommy sighed. “Don’t make me take back my appreciation from earlier. She was invited, same as you.”

“With more guns, thanks a lot.” You crossed your arm and stump over your chest and lifted your chin as you gazed at Joel. Tommy did not even have the grace to look ashamed of himself. “You try killing a woman in the kitchen, I’ve got to take security measures. Besides, Ellie is busy.”

“Doing what?”

“Doing your job.”

That was enough to silence you. You didn’t blush and you didn’t look away from Tommy, but you decided not to respond.

Then it was Joel’s turn to roll his eyes. “Is that what this is about?”

“In a manner of speaking. The proposition I’ve got for you concerns [Name]. I don’t want to be offering anything she doesn’t want. She’s at least got some say in the decision.”

“You’re really too nice to have this job, Tommy.”

“Is that a threat?” Tommy asked, but without any heat.

The two brothers smiled at each other in such a fashion that made you half-believed Joel was going to start giving Tommy noogies across his desk. Even without that display of brotherly affection, you felt a roll of nausea in your stomach.

Soon they were back to being professional. “About the fungus detectors…”

“What about ‘em?” Joel wanted to know. He, too, crossed his arms over his chest. ��Thought everybody decided they were unnecessary.”

That much you were aware of. Even having been banned from speaking or voting at the meeting held two days after your “welcome” to Jackson, people talked. Well, Ellie talked. You couldn’t really tell what she thought about the affair, but she certainly hadn’t shut up about it. As you watched, Tommy drew one hand down his face.

“They don’t always know what’s best for ‘em.”

One of Joel’s large hands lifted to his ear. “What’s that? Don’t think I caught that admission of being wrong.”

“As if you’re one to talk,” Tommy grumped, but then he sighed and slumped in his hard wooden seat. “Look, you and [Name] were right, and so was Charles—not that I regret kicking the bastard out, after what he said ‘bout Maria and Ellie.”

Joel snorted his approval. This seemed to give Tommy heart. The most you could do was sullenly sit there, thinking longingly of dinner. You hated being out of the loop, but Joel was in close enough proximity that you didn’t want to rock the boat by saying something snide. More black eyes were not what the doctor ordered.

“Anyway,” said Tommy. “We need some. At least two.”

“That’s no small order.”

“You and Ellie are the best scavengers we’ve got—”

Tommy broke away to look at you. Your sound of scorn must have been louder than you’d planned to make it, because his lips pressed down in that strange way they had on the rare occasions that Tommy deigned to show his aggravation.

“Problem, [Name]?”

“Not for me, exactly,” you said with a smirk. Tommy’s eyes narrowed. “You do realize the only places you’re going to get those are Quarantine Zones? If that. They’ll have been looted, too. You can’t expect an old man and his daughter to slaughter enough hunters to chance upon a scanner.”

“Joel?”

“I wouldn’t say it’s impossible. Ellie did a good job clearing out that camp of cannibals on her own last winter without my help.” Your fingers whitened around your upper arm. “With my help,” Joel finished, “I’d say we could.”

“You’re a cocky son of a bitch,” you said, hoping the slight tremor in your voice would go unnoticed. As far as you could tell, it had. “Even if you do happen upon one, they’ll probably be dead. Where are you going to find the batteries?”

“We’ve probably got a box stashed somewhere in storage,” said Tommy. “I’d rather not go the route of slaughter, though. Could you and Ellie get into a Quarantine Zone?”

“Maybe,” Joel said, though his tensed shoulders said the idea didn’t please him. “There’ll be some group that’s holed up in there, though. If it’s Pittsburgh again—”

“Cut and run. You have my permission.”

“And the scanners?”

“We’ll figure out a way to keep them from Ellie.”

After another long pause, Joel nodded and fingered the strap on his bag. Like always, all his weaponry was crammed in it, or at least what you assumed was all his weaponry. You’d never seen him with less. Before Joel could stand, however, he paused.

“What’s this got to do with her?”

A part of you wanted to snap at him that her had a name. Then it occurred to you that you didn’t give a damn what Joel called you one way or the other. Sometimes you forgot that you were supposed to hate his guts, but never for long. You pulled a face at him until Tommy said:

“Could you still get into a Quarantine Zone with [Name]?”

The sudden tension in the air seemed as cold and brittle as ice. You sucked in a breath before both you and Joel burst out “What?” at the exact same time. The look he threw you was enough to indicate he did not believe you capable of asking such a fucking stupid question. He had no time to say as much, though. Tommy quickly jumped in:

“I think it would be good for you to get out, [Name],”

“Like, out out?” As much as you whined and moaned and complained about being in Jackson, being dumped out in the middle of nowhere wasn’t exactly the best plan either. Your heartbeat grew wilder as you thought of all the things that could happen to a one-armed fuck-up in the middle of a forest these days.

“Like, out out?” Joel echoed. He sounded much more satisfied at the idea.

Your fear broke apart on your anger. “Fuck you!”

“Pick a night,” he snarled.

“I wouldn’t do you if you paid me and money was still worth something!”

“You’re not even worth the paper it’s printed on!”

“Shut up!” Tommy shouted. Startled by his sudden frustration, you fell silent. “Both of you,” he added to Joel.

Joel pressed his mouth shut as tightly as he could, but he continued to glare in your direction. Your chest rose and fell rapidly with the combination of anxiety and temper rushing through your veins. Then Joel inhaled sharply.

“If you expect me to go out there to get you those scanners,” he said in a voice as quiet as the grave, “then you’re expecting me to do something more dangerous than usual. Now you want me to add her to the list of threats? Do you want Ellie to die, Tommy?”

“No,” Tommy said, just as calmly as if nothing had ever happened. “I think Ellie can handle it.”

“She put you up this, didn’t she?”

“If you mean it was entirely her idea to begin with.”

The look Joel shot Tommy would have boiled a lesser man. “The answer is no, Tommy. And I’ll tell Ellie that myself.”

“What do you think, [Name]?” Tommy asked you. “You’ve already proven that you can’t handle any of the other jobs we get you. Wandering is in your blood, seems like. Now, I know you and Joel don’t get along, but you seem to do fine with Ellie, and she’s willing to look after you, get you settled into working with your arm the way it is.”

“Don’t I get a say in this?” Joel demanded.

“Not really,” Tommy answered mildly. “‘Course, you can tell Ellie no, but I can’t imagine that’ll slow her down none. She’ll just get her way through different means, and they might not be means you like.”

“You ain’t her father.”

“Are you finally claiming that you are?”

Joel said nothing.

“Look, Joel, I’ve thought this through. I know that [Name] won’t exactly help, at least not at first. But that’s exactly why you need her. The vote to get these damn things didn’t go through. If I announce that we’re doing it anyway, we’re going to have a riot.”

“And why should I care?” asked Joel.

“Because Ellie might get hurt.”

“Wait,” you said. “You’re taking me because no one would think that I’d get to go on any mission this dangerous? I’m a fucking distraction?’

“The locals are always a little stupid. Try not to contract that,” Joel said, as an aside to you that had you snorting.

Tommy lifted his eyes toward the ceiling, but not without the ends of lips curling almost imperceptibly upward as well. “I’m not sayin’ you two have to get along. I’m just asking for your cooperation. That’s all.”

“And if I shoot her?”

“Ellie’ll tell me. Hell, she might even disown you.”

“Over [Name]?”

“You know how Ellie gets with her little projects.”

“Now I’m a project,” you said with an edge of annoyance on your voice. “Fantastic.”

“Hey, it’s more than you’ve been anywhere else,” Joel said, then looked back at Tommy. “Fine. We’ll try. But if I don’t think we’re going to make it, I’m dumping her ass back here, no questions asked, and,” Joel twisted toward you, “you put Ellie in any danger, any danger at all, you’re a dead woman.”

In answer, Tommy gestured at the space between you and Joel’s chairs. “Shake on it,” he said.

Hesitantly, you lifted your good arm. Joel took it; Tommy beamed. You could feel no such optimism. In Joel’s fingers were strength that told you if you fucked up—if you just thought about fucking up—you’d be dead.

And it wouldn’t be a pleasant death, either.

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strawberryys-stuff · 10 months ago

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𝘿𝙄𝙎𝙍𝙀𝙂𝘼𝙍𝘿𝙀𝘿 | Percy Jackson x Ares!oc

Introduction

The midnight blue umbrella snapped closed, releasing a gravity defying plume of small droplets. The defeated elementary school student pulled down her hood and tucked a lock of red hair that barely reached her shoulder blades behind her ear.

After she leaned the overflowing cloth bag of groceries against the brick wall beside the entrance to the block of flats that she had recently moved into with her step-family, Alexis shrugged her rucksack off her aching shoulder to fish her keys out of the front pocket.

"Crap," the redhead squeezed her dusty teal eyes shut and threw her head back with a groan, "not again.."

She pulled out her dying cellphone and unlocked it, sighing. Alexis dialed her step-brother while she was collecting her stuff from the muddy ground and blew strands of hair out of her face.

"Hugo?" she called out to her sibling when the obnoxious ringing got replaced by awkward silence. The young boy on the other side of the line hummed as he rubbed one of his squinted eyes and stifled a yawn. "Could you come down? I forgot my keys."

Hugo grumbled and pinched the bridge of his nose, slightly annoyed. "Come on, Alex.."

"I know and I am sorry, okay? Just-" the red-haired student exhaled heavily and glanced to the side- "come get me, alright? I'll make you a cup of hot chocolate in return," Alexis suggested.

"With marshmallows, though."

She pursed her chapped lips, unamused, but had to agree with his request in the end because she did not want to turn into a popsicle before the eyes of the entire neighborhood.

Alexis chewed on her bottom lip as the early humid autumn breeze swept past and tickled all the exposed spots of her pale skin. She continued to shiver and grew impatient.

"I will murder that boy," Alexis stated with a sarcastic smile as she searched in her jacket pocket for her cellphone once more.

While she was entering the password, a boy her age approached the entrance to the block of flats with earphones in his ears and a skateboard in his hand. Unlike Alexis, the blonde hadn't forgotten his keys at home before he left for school that rainy morning.

The jingling of keys startled the frustrated girl. She stumbled backwards with a shriek when the boy appeared out of thin air beside her. He was taken aback by her reaction, also flinched and dropped his keys in the process.

"Shit!" Alexis covered her rapidly beating heart with her ice-cold hand, her breath sharp and fast.

"My bad," the blonde apologized with a quick nod her way and bent down to pick up his keychain. He inserted one of his many keys into the keyhole, unlocked the door and held it open for Alexis to walk into the warmth of the building.

"Thank you." She bowed her head and gladly stepped out of the autumn weather with the boy on her heels.

The blonde pulled down his drenched hood in the lobby and shook his hair to gain some life back into his messy and undefined curls. With her adventurous spirit and undying curiosity, Alexis searched for his eyes and when their gazes collided, her jaw went slack.

"Oh.." The boy breathed out and scratched the back of his neck after he connected the dots and put a name to her imperfect face. "It's you."

Alexis laughed nervously and shrugged her shoulders. "Yep, it is me! The girl you spilled your apple juice on at lunch.."

"It was an accident," he clarified, "I swear!"

Alexis arched one of her eyebrows at that and looked down at her outfit. Instead of her favorite light blue jeans, she was wearing baggy gray sweatpants along with a black T-shirt that did not belong to her, but to the boy standing in front of her.

After he spilled his drink and some of his leftovers on her clothes, the blonde offered her his clothes, which he planned to change into for his PE class.

"I really didn't mean to-"

"Hey." The redhead placed her hand on his shoulder to stop his upcoming rambling with a tiny smile on her lips. The boy screwed his mouth shut. "I am just messing with you, blondie."

Her smile was contagious. She also had dimples, he noticed. "Yeah," he chuckled and shyly broke their eye contact, his cheeks flushed, "okay."

His gaze trailed a tad bit lower, to the handmade necklace she had around her neck - a thin leather string with three differently colored balls. It looked familiar, he was sure he had seen it before.

"Well," Alexis broke the awkward silence and adjusted the cloth bag that hung loosely on her shoulder. "I have to go.."

"No yeah-" the blonde shook his head slightly and brought his pure blue gaze up- "of course."

"Thank you for the clothes by the way," Alexis gestured to his gym class outfit with a smile. "I will give it back on Monday if that's okay."

"Sure, yeah. Whenever it's convenient for you."

"Okay.." She nodded and bit the inside of her cheek. "See you on Monday then?"

"Yeah.. See you on Monday.."

They shared one last awkward smile before she turned to the elevator and disappeared behind its doors.

The blonde squeezed his eyes shut, regretting that he decided not to follow the red-haired girl he found quite intriguing into the elevator. He was captivated by her playing the electric guitar and musical talent in general.

Alexis Driscoll was a hot-tempered, mysterious and brutally honest elementary school student with a passion for music, who also lived in the same block of flats as Percy Jackson.

Percy could tell she had an enormous amount of secrets and trouble hiding behind her in her shadow, but that was one of the reasons why she had caught his eye.

He didn't know her name nor why her cool grey gaze seemed to be something he would recognize anywhere in a heartbeat, but he knew one thing..

she had been haunting his dreams for quite a while.

How did he know?

Percy Jackson would recognize that necklace blindfolded.

That piece of handmade jewellery was what he had been wearing around his wrist in every dream and every spine-chilling nightmare of his.

For some unexplainable reason, Alexis Driscoll was the key to most, maybe even all, of his unanswered questions.

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celestialsister0918 · 10 months ago

Text

Someone's Dirty Bathwater, Chapter 3

Chapter Rated EXPLICIT, 18+

Jackson Lamb x OC

Catchup if needed here. Prefer to read on AO3? Link to latest chapter.

This chapter is LONG, folks. As in 10k+ words. So buckle up! It's also quite explicit. And, as indicated in tags, it's a love story. So prepare for a dose of (Jackson Lamb-style) fluff with your smut. Making this man crass and romantic at the same time is an absolute blast.

The Gristle is a very atmospheric, almost seedy looking pub with a great selection of beers. The staff are all surly; the regulars are all miserable. It's Lamb's kinda place— a place he feels comfortable. As he walks in, he catches a glimpse of himself in a dirty wall mirror. He hasn't washed himself at all and smells as grim as ever. But he doesn't care. He knows he's got this girl in the bag.

Adelaide walks in wearing a delicate white dress with tiny floral accents. It’s very thin and almost gauzy. Sandals adorn her feet since it’s nearly summer. She wears youthful makeup— lilac on her eyes and pink glossy lips. Her soft curls are pinned back rather messily and loosely on top of her head. She smells like her perfume— a mix of cranberry lemon tea, spring flowers, and patchouli. She’s about the most breathtaking thing to ever walk into that dive bar.

If this was meant to make Lamb feel insecure, it works. As she walks past him, he can't help but stare at her with a mixture of shock and awe as she turns every head in the place. She's even better looking now than these past two days at Slough House.

And just like that, she passes him and is ordering a glass of wine at the bar.

“Riesling, please.”

The barman nods and pours her a glass. Lamb takes a seat at a very nearby table, eyes glued to her as she leans forward to talk to the barman. The scent of her perfume hits his nose, and he can almost taste her like a cocktail.

Adelaide acts like she didn’t see him, but she did. The truth is, she’s pretty stung that he did nothing to clean himself up for her. It feels disrespectful, like he doesn’t think she’s worth it. She should have just turned around and left, but instead she decides to enjoy a glass of wine and see if he even has a prayer of redeeming himself.

Jackson stares at her as he watches her drink her wine, taking in the sight of those shapely legs and those bare toes in her sandals. She's certainly dressed differently from the other girls in the pub, who are more casual in jeans or short skirts. But this Adelaide Spencer– she's special. Classy. She's like a rose in an alley, her fragrance lingering on his senses as he watches her. He notices a few lads staring at her too. He feels like beating them senseless for such an offense. Lamb wants her all to himself. He’s watching her very closely— very intensely— as only an old spy could. He clocks the way she moves, the curve of her back, the length of her legs...

Adelaide stares into her glass, not looking around. Some stupid part of her wants to cry for thinking this bastard could actually romance her. He’d been pulling her leg all along. And not in the good way he’d promised.

It's only when Adelaide glances back over at Lamb that he realizes he’s been staring a little too long. He's never been one to play it close to his chest if he's attracted to a girl, and he's definitely staring at her way too intensely for it to seem innocent. It takes a moment for her glance to register on his radar, and he tries to play his own down. But it's too late. She's definitely spotted his close examination.

“What do you want, Lamb?” she finally sighs, just a few feet of dusty pub floor separating them.

"Nothing," Lamb says, shrugging off his embarrassment. "Just watching what it is you do when you’re not trying to flirt with me. You're fascinating. Even when you're doing nothing."

“How kind of you to say.” Her voice is dry and annoyed. She really wishes he’d put in some more effort to make himself decent. She loves his long hair, loves his pudge. She thinks his very uneven shave is sexy. But she won’t abide grease nor unnecessary, dirt-caked, foul-smelling sweat. Again, it’s just a matter of basic respect. She’s even delivered him everything he needed to clean up, right to Slough House. He just didn’t care enough to do it

"Don’t think of it as dirty," Lamb says defensively, reading her thoughts with rolled eyes. “I just want to give you the chance to see me in my natural state. I mean, you're probably already thinking way too highly of me, so I'm doing you a favor by being myself."

She finally brings her glass of wine to join him at the table, mostly to avoid the stares of other patrons as they overhear. But she still looks angry.

“Why is that even your natural state?” she demands. “It can’t be comfortable! No one enjoys feeling dirty. Do you do it for attention? Have you just decided that negative attention is better than none at all?”

"Don’t you bother your pretty little head with the ‘why’ of it all," he replies. "And you're not going to try and tell me you don't like the way I smell. It's a kind of musk that radiates off me, isn't it? Something primal, something you find appealing. I can read you like a book, girl. I know what you'll be thinking when that wine is done. Or even before it's done."

She gapes at him, open mouthed. “How are you even that cocky? Really?” She just stares at him in disbelief. She also notices he’s not drinking. That makes her jump a little with surprise.

"Just playing the odds, girl. In my experience, women respond to that kind of cocky attitude— even women like you. There's a little devil in there waiting to be released; I can see it in your eyes. You want me to come sit right beside you and whisper all the naughty things I'd like to do to you. Or am I still not reading you right?"

She swallows and lowers her gaze to her wine again.

He studies the way she swallows; he can see her tongue gliding over her lips as she drinks. The sight distracts him, and his thoughts almost start to slip.

"It's time for the next part," he says, leaning forward. "Now I get closer and smell your perfume, and I say all those things we've been thinking but are too polite to speak. It's the most enjoyable part: where you say nothing, and I do all the talking, and you just let it happen."

She keeps her eyes to the glass, doing and saying nothing– as if daring him to follow through.

He’s reading her mind again. “You don’t think I’ll follow through, do you? Well, let me tell you – I've got a whole script for the rest of this evening." He gets up from the table and moves around to sit beside her. "Let me show you what's about to happen here..."

Adelaide immediately slides down the booth in response, but she soon finds the wall has stopped any chance of escape.

"No point trying to resist, sweetheart," Lamb chuckles. "I can already taste your perfume, but I want to get closer. I'm going to lean in and brush my nose against your neck and breathe you in."

He does just what he promised. He leans in and brushes his nose against her neck and takes the deepest breath he's ever taken. Then…

Jackson bites her neck. Gently at first… then harder. It’s a playful way to draw her in, and he hears her gasp. “Just a taste," he whispers. "I want you all over me, but I'm going to be nice and slow about it.”

Her veins betray her by trembling and sending a shudder through her, but her shiver is what spurs him on. It's exactly how he wants her to react. He wants something primal in her to wake up and take over her rational reservations. Her mouth is shaking, and he's tempted just to grab it with his, to put her in her place. The girl obviously wants to be taken, not coddled.

He moves his mouth closer to her neck again, his breath hot and wet. He’s not going to waste time. He bites again. Not quite deep enough to leave a mark but firm enough to show some genuine passion. She grips the leather of the booth with the hand farthest from him.

She doesn’t shove him away. Instead, she allows him closer and begins to flirtatiously pull at his necktie. She's eager to touch him, to have him touch her. She wants to feel his radiating heat on her face, on her neck, on her pussy... she's craving him in some depraved kind of way.

Jackson doesn't waste that opportunity. He slides one hand down the neckline of her dress and pulls it lower. And she lets him do it. She wants it. That fact only deepens the desire he feels for her, until he's almost to the point of being overwhelmed by it. The whole thing makes his heart and his cock feel like it's going to burst.

“Mr. Lamb, this is a very crowded pub,” she reminds him quietly. “I think you may need to let go of my breast.”

For a moment, it takes him back a step. He looks around and sees a few other pub guests watching with a mix of awe and discomfort. Lamb’s no fool— he knows what they’re thinking: a washed up old hobo like him and a hot ticket like her… and he got to second base?

"Let’s fucking go somewhere more private then," he declares, smacking the table with both palms.

Adelaide has taken a few seconds to recover now and shakes her head. “Only one place— Slough House. With only one purpose— to get the bottles I brought you today and put you in the goddamn tub in that washroom. Which has probably never been used. I only asked for one simple thing, and you couldn’t respect me enough to do it. If you want to touch that tit again, you’re going to do what I ask.”

"You know I don't like being ordered around," Lamb hisses back at her. “No pair of tits is worth that.” As soon as he says it, he knows it’s a mammoth lie. He’s just felt her pair, and they are certainly worth her asking price. Her little game of playing hard-to-get is cute, but he knows she wants him to take the reins. She wants to be taken. So he's going to do exactly that. Even if he has to play it her way a little.

“And you know I don’t like being disrespected,” she fires back.

Lamb pauses, considering his options. He doesn't like being ordered around, but he also hates the thought of denying himself what he wants most in this world. Usually it’s just whisky or cigs or bowls of sodium-laden carbs. But right now it happens to be Adelaide goddamned Spencer. He finally lowers his head, almost in surrender, and whispers, “Fuck it. What do you want me to do?"

She doesn’t miss a beat. “Let me give you a bath.”

The words send a shiver through him. "You really think if you bathe me, I'll suddenly start behaving more... appropriately?"

“I didn’t say I wanted you to behave more appropriately. You can keep your behavior quite the same— just with the removal of some grime and the addition of some blood orange spice.”

The scent of blood orange spice is indeed rather pleasant, he admits to himself, but then he wants to punch himself in the face for the thought. She’s scrambled his entire mind. He considers the idea for a moment, then finally nods his head with the most defeated sigh he’s ever uttered. His cock has completely locked his personality in the closet, tied it up with a rope, and thrown away the fucking key. "Fine. Let's get this over with. Just don't take too long."

Adelaide stands and follows him to his car. Her eyes widen when her sandals immediately become buried in cigarette boxes, fast food wrappers, and beer bottles— which litter his passenger floor board.

"I've been meaning to tidy that," he notes. "I meant to do it yesterday, in fact. But then some girl just insisted on coming to visit me at my place of employment. Completely disrupted my routine.”

This brings a smile back to her face. A small one. She really does love his jokes.

Lamb looks over at the passenger seat before starting the car. She has a pretty smile, and the sight of it does something to more than just his cock.

Adelaide still feels the spot on her neck where he nibbled her. It’s damp with saliva, and there is blood rushing to it. Almost as if her body’s immune system knows it’s about to put up a fight to protect from whatever microbes the decades have inflicted upon him. Oh well— at least he agreed to a bath.

Part of her feels a strong urge to wash her neck, to get that sensation of his teeth and breath off her skin. But she pushes it away. This is the man she wants. She wants to feel that hot breath on her neck, those teeth nibbling her skin more deeply. She’ll even accept her immune system being triggered by his microbiome to the point of total surrender.

Lamb reaches Slough House in no time, and they climb to the top floor together. He’s only a bit winded when they arrive, showing that he’s surprisingly fit in spite of the beer belly. Adelaide proceeds straight to the washroom adjacent to his office and fills the old, neglected tub. She’s not convinced such an ancient piece of ceramic will do much for his hygiene, but she supposes it’s better than nothing.

Jackson is already stripping his clothes off with little ceremony. She can't help but notice his body as he strips himself, and she feels herself becoming aroused quickly… strangely. His trousers slink to the floor right after his shirt and tank. He immediately slips his thumb beneath the waistband of his white nylon y-fronts.

“Stop!” she cries and covers her eyes. “Don’t you want some kind of modesty?”

"I'm the only one in the bath. I think I'd have noticed if someone else walked in." He pauses a second, then smirks and whispers: "Or are you worried one of these old boxes of rubbish will suddenly spring to life and start snapping pictures?”

“What about me?” she hisses. “You don’t care about me seeing all your goods just right off the bat?”

He chuckles. "What's it going to do to you if you do? I don't think it’s anything you haven't seen before. You’re a young one, but not that young.”

And with that, the y-fronts find their way onto the floor with the rest of his clothes. She only catches a glimpse of said “goods” before he plods his way over to the tub and lifts one leg over the side. He winces and hisses as his body hits the hot water.

Despite the scald, Jackson manages to lift his other leg over the side and slump into the tub. He's in a position of extraordinary vulnerability right now, like a giant turtle tipped over on its back. This is precisely what Adelaide enjoys. She likes that she has this power over him. She approaches him now, holding the bottle of soap, and she leans down over the tub to apply some on the sponge. Her eyes don't leave his chest nor the glimpse of his thighs peeking above the deep water.

“Go ahead and dampen your hair… please,” she instructs awkwardly.

"Why so eager to get me wet, darling?" Lamb asks. But he leans his head over toward the wall of the tub, allowing the water to soak into his tangled hair.

She decides not to make any comment on her own state of wetness, though the thought is tempting. She simply rubs the sponge over his scalp, scrubbing in circles.

The way she scrubs — softly, so gently— almost makes him moan. There's something about being cared for so intimately by someone like her. She makes him feel oddly… safe. And the way she keeps her eyes on him the whole time... it makes his heart skip a beat. Even when she's cleaning his scalp, it's tender and erotic… sensual.

“You actually like it,” she muses with a twisted smile, popping his nose playfully with the corner of the sponge before scrubbing elsewhere on his face.

"I guess I do," Lamb is forced to admit. His breath catches in his throat as she drifts over his nipples with the sponge, and in a way he both loves and hates it. He loves it because she's so close to him, and he can feel her steamy breath. He hates it because he has no control over any part of this situation, and his body seems quite ready to let it all go.

Adelaide works diligently, moving to his neck and chest again. He of course is “dad-bod” to the extreme, even if he’s not actually a father. Is he? She doesn’t even know. But she does know she finds him irresistible, and she chucks the sponge temporarily in favor of running her hands over his skin instead.

Her fingers electrify him. They feel so small and nimble, and she's caressing him everywhere— the inside of his elbows, the sides of his torso, the backs of his knees. She's not being as tender as she was with his face. No, now she's really getting into it... and that's when he loses it. He feels the rush of blood and warmth throughout his body; the feeling of her hands running up and down his skin is almost intolerable.

She has her work cut out for her in places like his scalp, feet, and fingernails. She marvels in wonder and sadness on why a man would neglect himself so much. Still, she notices he’s not drinking tonight. Given what she knows about alcoholics, it's quite odd that he can simply switch it on and off at will. Almost as if the bottle and maybe even the lack of bathing is an act. He is certainly a curious kind of man.

After nearly a half hour, trimmed fingernails, a thoroughly splashed dress, and a couple additions of hot water, she’s made quite a bit of progress. Jackson is now a lot of moans and very little quip, though he’s allowed a few to drop here and there.

“All right, I am NOT washing your arse for you,” Adelaide declares. “The manhood’s up for discussion, however.”

"Fine,” Lamb huffs. “I can wash my own arse. Don't worry about it." He lifts himself from the water, turning his backside to face the back of the tub. "It's nothing to write home about, anyway. It's just a normal arse.”

“What exactly is a ‘not normal’ arse?” she asks as she gazes at his pale backside. “Don’t we all have a normal arse?”

Lamb rolls his eyes. “All right. For example, yours is normal. But if I were to show you a picture— a collage, if you will— of an enormous, bulbous, pendulous arse… one that perhaps even covers a good portion of the back of this tub, you might consider that a ‘not normal’ arse. I’ve seen a lot of bodies in my line of work, sweetheart.”

She grins and shakes her head. “Ah, point taken. But you and I are quite normal in the arse department?”

"I think we both fall firmly in the 'normal’ category, yes.”

She likes this pointless conversation between them. It feels relaxed and fun. Jackson settles back in the tub, rinsing the sponge. The question of who will be washing his cock still looms.

"Alright, Lamb. Now your manhood needs attention. The word ‘smegma’ comes to mind, though that’s merely a hypothesis.”

"A hypothesis,” he repeats, scrunching up his face. She clearly thinks she’s so clever.

Adelaide bites her lip and giggles.

"Okay," he admits. "It's a little more than a hypothesis, perhaps. What's your hypothesis on how you're going to handle my cock?"

Her heart skips annoyingly. This conversation should be the furthest thing from arousing, yet here she is. She grabs a new, clean rag from the nearby vanity and gets it warm, then she soaps it up with the spiced blood orange wash.

“Like this, I suppose,” she replies, taking a breath to prepare.

Jackson tries to contain his laughter at the expression on her face— half nervous, half excited, but all the better for it. She leans down over him, and the sensation of her breath on his torso is almost unbearable.

“Let me find it in here,” she jokes, knowing he’s going to crucify her for that one.

"What did you mean by that?" he asks, his laugh dissolving into a growl as he grabs her by the wrists and pins her hands against the wall of the tub. He leans down close to her, his breath hot against her neck. His eyes narrow, and his voice softens. His whisper sends shivers through her: "What... do... you mean by that?" he repeats.

His voice takes her arousal to extremes.

“Nothing,” she says quickly. “Innocent statement. I have to find it before I wash it, is all.”

"Oh, yes." He eases the pressure on her wrists, and his voice falls back to its previous level. "By all means, search extensively."

She snickers. With resolve, she reaches beneath the water, fully aware at this point that it’s a tub of stink and grime. Maybe a shower would have been more sanitary. It doesn’t take long at all to find what she’s looking for. It’s presenting itself to her fairly obviously by now.

"There it is," he whispers, the low sound of his voice sending more shivers through her. "You better wash it well. Even then it’s not exactly going to win a beauty contest."

She tries to put herself in the mindset of a nurse washing a patient, but that doesn’t really work. She’s certainly far more involved. Her fingers tentatively circle the shaft while she washes the rest. He’s girthy for sure, if average in length. She is nervous about the condition beneath his foreskin but is surprised to see it’s not nearly as bad as expected. Again, he must turn on and off his hygiene habits like he does his drinking. She’s feeling quite confident when she moves lower to his bollocks. Her eyes widen at the size she finds there. No wonder he’s such an arse. He’s certainly entitled.

"Don't give them too much attention," he says, trying to maintain his composure, but he feels the warm flush rising in his face, and his heart begins to pound faster. "Not that much to look at. And covered in hair."

She swallows. “I can see that.”

"Well," he grumbles, "Not a lot I can do about that. I can't exactly shave down there. Belly a bit in the way. So... just get it clean."

“I didn’t complain,” she reminds him quickly. “Just discussing facts.”

"You don't have to discuss it,” Lamb reprimands sharply. “You could just leave it and do your job."

She drops the wash rag into the murky bathwater. “My job? I didn’t realize I was getting paid for this. This is supposed to be a date. Some kind of twisted, pathetic date… since you couldn’t be bothered to do this yourself.”

"Oh, right. Date." There's an awkward silence for a moment between them. She's right, of course. If he were on a date with her, they wouldn't be having a conversation like this. They'd be having...

“Yes, well. I think we had better move this along— get this bath done and done with,” agrees Lamb. “No need to make the date any more awkward than it is. It is a date after all, is it not? And I don't imagine you'd want things to get more, shall we say, 'intimate'?" Jackson raises an eyebrow, his face almost innocent as it searches for her current intentions.

She sighs. On the surface, she ought to run. But he stirs something not just between her damn legs but within her heart. She feels sorry for him and has the strangest urge to satisfy and care for his needs. “I think we have a while to go to ‘intimate,’” she replies honestly. “Perhaps a drink to set the mood?”

"Perhaps..." he agrees, trailing a finger along her cheek. She stands and tries to shake her dress out a bit. He has soaked it quite thoroughly with his thrashing in the tub. She notices immediately that the white fabric does her no favors. Luckily she’s wearing a bra. She hands him a towel.

Lamb struggles with an internal debate as he takes the towel from her. A debate that is quickly won by his imagination as he eyes the way the white gauzy fabric clings to her nude-colored bra.

As he dries off, Adelaide notices that the tub is overflowing with a considerable amount of suds and grime. His clean skin almost sparkles as a contrast. His eyes are tracking her every movement— a certain gleam in them as they look her up and down.

"I have to say," Jackson finally says, securing the towel around his waist and taking a step toward her. "I'm finding this whole fast-paced, cockamamie scenario between us very…”

She looks at him curiously. “Very what?”

"Very... interesting,” he finally says, closing the distance between them and leaning down toward her. "And that's what’s intriguing. You’re a bloody stranger to me, really, and yet…” He trails off, eyes flitting almost nervously.

“Jackson Lamb? Speechless?” she muses.

"A rare thing to see, agreed,” he admits. “Let me tell you why I find you so... enthralling." He leans down further, so that he's only an inch or two from her face. Their breath now plays tag with each other, and with each exchange, the temperature rises measurably.

“Please, do tell.” She smiles and settles back against the bathroom counter, where his proximity effectively has her pinned.

"Right,” he nods with an almost nervous sigh. “Your eyes. It’s just something about your eyes..." He brings his hands to her cheeks to turn her face toward him. He then leans in even closer, so that his breath is hot against her ear. "They’re just so damn addictive. I find myself gazing so deep into them I feel like I might fucking fall right in..."

So he could be romantic. In his own way. This was… something.

“Thank you,” she says softly. “You have nice eyes also. Very clear blue.”

"Really?" He smiles, almost boyishly. "I have nice eyes?" They're so very close now, their noses just a breath away from touching. "You're not just saying that?"

She shakes her head. He’s so close that his wet belly brushes her dress.

"Tell me something," he breathes into her ear. "Are you nervous, darling? Is your heart approaching cardiac arrest?" She can almost hear the sly wink in his voice even though her eyes are fixated on the floor.

She moves to look at the towel around his waist. She can see the outline of his erection through it, clearly indicating where he wants this to go.

“I’m assuming you know the answer because you can hear my heart very clearly beating,” she returns, finding that her jaw even shakes as she speaks.

"Yeah?" He pulls back just a little, until the tips of their noses are touching but nothing more. "What do you think would happen if I were to just..."

She looks him in the eye. “Just what, Jackson Lamb?”

Their eyes lock on each other, and their lips are so close she can feel magnetism in the air between them. Everything seems to slow down. It's like the entire world outside has stopped, waiting for them to close the distance that little bit further. All over her insane, ludicrous attraction to Jackson fucking Lamb.

“What are you waiting for? A signed contract?” she mutters. And she knows it sounds exactly like a line he would say.

"Maybe a little affirmative response might be nice,” he shoots back with a throaty chuckle. He leans forward, their mouths almost touching, and he whispers, "Maybe tell me you want it?"

His breath is surprisingly not bad, she has decided. Smoky and liquor-tinged, of course, but no halitosis. Nor are his teeth that bad. Maybe all the alcohol keeps his mouth disinfected. She thinks she might enjoy kissing him.

“I— I want it,” she says shakily.

And that's all the permission he needs. He pulls her to him, their lips crashing together, and their mouths immediately find their stride. She melts into his kiss, letting him take the lead. It feels so good to him— like his insides are crying at lost chances and cast-aside dreams– youthful… forgotten. Jackson’s so lost in the symbolism of that first kiss that Adelaide is the one who eventually pulls away.

She struggles to catch her breath. That kiss was fire. She felt every ounce of his desire in it. His body is still wet, just wrapped in the towel and not yet dried off.

“We should dry you,” she reminds him gently.

"Is that really what you want to do?" he asks with slight disappointment. "You don't want to... continue?"

She smiles. “You’re getting me all wet.”

"A little soap and water never hurt anybody," he replies slyly.

“You should remember that one.”

"I might just do that." His eyes are still on hers as he backs away and starts drying himself off. "You're a lot of fun, you know that, kid? Just when I think I've got you all sussed out, you do something to turn it all on its head. I wonder what you have in store for me now..."

Adelaide watches as the towel drops to reveal his entire form, no longer hidden by cloudy bath water. His muscles are soft all over except for his legs, which are strong. Clearly he still moves a lot in the field. Everything else has quite a bit extra to pinch, to love. And he is indeed quite blessed, as she’d noted earlier, in the girth department.

"Are you checking me out, woman?” Lamb demands. “I suppose you can’t help it— I wasn’t exactly subtle, you know, with the kiss and everything. I bet you’re on fire.”

“No, not subtle at all,” she agrees. “Nor is your body subtle right now. It’s quite obvious what you’ve got on your mind.”

He looks down rather approvingly at his own cock, which she has roused to finally peek beyond the reach of his belly. "Well, yes. Why in the hell would it be subtle? That bath you gave me was straight up pornography. I'm just picking up the vibes that you're putting down. Am I mistaken?"

He’s adorably flustered, and dare she say, worried that he may have misconstrued the whole bit. She watches him finish drying and set the towel on the vanity. He stands there fully naked, drumming his fingers and waiting for her response. Her mind is racing with pictures of the two of them together and exactly how she wants to ride him into the sunrise.

“No, you’re not mistaken,” she answers truthfully. They never even got to that second drink she swore she would need to set the mood. Turns out she didn’t need anything but him.

Lamb seems surprised. His eyebrows raise as she says it then narrow briefly, as if a thought has entered his mind. But if it has, it doesn't stay long as he breaks into a wide grin. "Well, in that case..." He reaches for her hands and brings her to him. "What do you say we get to the fucking portion of this evening’s entertainment?”

Her clit dances with the thrill of his vulgarity, and she finds herself trembling as she eases away from her perch. “You might want to take my dress off first,” Adelaide reminds him. “Our state of undress is a bit unfair at the moment.”

"Well, it's your dress,” he points out. “I wanted to be a gentleman and let you take the initiative." He leans forward and kisses her cheek. "Now, my dear, would you like me to help you with that?"

She nods and turns around to grant access to the zipper in the back. She’s very conscious of the wet spot he’s left behind on her cheek. Every point of contact between them seems like an irrevocable tattoo.

As he unzips her in one fluid movement, Lamb realizes how long it has been since he touched a woman this way. He is very aware of his breathing and that his heart is beating rapidly. Her skin is still glowing warm from the humidity of the room as he lets his hands joyously roam her exposed body.

His hands are rough… calloused and enormously pleasant.

"You're very warm," Jackson says, his breath erratic. "Is that from this damp room or from me?” He presses kisses down her arm, and she’s too distracted to answer. “My nerves feel bloody electrical shocks where your body touches it,” he continues. “What about that? Is that me, or you?"

“Us,” she replies simply. Her dress finally slinks to the floor.

Jackson steps back and gazes at her. She’s even more stunning naked than he’d dreamed. But he’s glad to see she’s not perfect. His eagle eye can spot a few flaws in isolation. Taken together, however, she’s a fucking goddess. He runs both hands down her body slowly, starting from her shoulders and working his way down over those impressive breasts; she really does have fucking fantastic tits. He traces the curve of her waist and then over her hips until his fingers find the small of her back. Then he draws a line up her spine and down again until it ends at the beautiful bubble of her bum, which he squeezes roughly and unapologetically. That brings a moan from her parted lips.

Jackson’s touches are half man-handle, half caress. Adelaide can feel a tingling each time his fingers run across her, and she is very aware of how that tingling sensation is building up inside her as if her entire body is becoming one single erogenous zone. She allows her eyes to close and falls back against him for support as he continues.

His fingers travel across her breasts and stomach, up and down in a slow and rhythmic pattern. She can feel his breath against her skin, and his clean scent is intoxicating. Her back arches slightly as he continues his foreplay, putting his cock dangerously close to violating her from behind. Every time she ruts against him like that, his fingers press against her a little harder, a little lower. But still he hasn’t reached the spot that’s now weeping for his touch.

When he hears her moan and feels her arch against him with more enthusiasm now, he pauses. "Am I hurting you? Are you alright?” Jackson knew damn well she was fine. But torture designed as chivalry was a fun game.

“Of course I’m alright!” Adelaide snaps breathlessly. “Haven’t you ever heard a woman moan like this before?”

"Not that I can recall, no." He smiles, gently spinning her around to face him. "I'm actually quite out of practice at this, so you need to tell me if I'm doing it right."

She scrutinizes his face and finds him very sincere. Once again she’s sad for him, and for all the things she suspects he’s missed, at least for the past few years. “You’re certainly getting there,” she whispers with a wink.

"So I can continue, then?" He nibbles her fingers as his eyes widen hopefully.

“Mmm-hmm,” she nods.

"Should I suck your tender little earlobe, darling, or bite the back of your neck?" He moves down and kisses the nape of her neck, then he kisses the side, then kisses the back again...

Her body immediately emits more wetness along with more shivers. The one spot on her neck is like a button with very long wires, transmitting sensation rapidly downward.

"That's a good reaction, right? A good sign I'm on the right track?" Jackson asks, hopeful once again.

How did he know? “What’s a good reaction?” she clarifies.

"That. The shivers. I like your shivers."

“Oh… those. Yes. Good reaction.”

"How much can I do before it becomes too much?" he asks with narrowed eyes.

“Just keep going,” she replies hurriedly. “I’ll say the safe word if I need you to stop. It’s ’Cartwright.’ I figured that would make you shrivel up like it’s a sub-zero day in Siberia.”

He grunted. "And what does one do after that? If you say the word, I have to stop what I'm doing, right? We have to stop everything and I have to wait while you get dressed. I have to get you a coat. Then you run off into the night and send some other sassy tart to deal with me on Monday.”

He’s overthinking this. She considers asking whether he wants a new sassy little tart, but decides against it.

“Just get back to business, Lamb. I doubt I’ll be stopping you.” She moves her buttocks against his arousal again, hoping this time his hands will land where she wants them.

"Are you quite sure?" he insists.

“Yes, Lamb! Goddamn it!”

He grins. “Finally a language I fucking understand! In that case..." He kisses her neck again, this time with a feral hunger. He moves a step back and spins her forward to caress her cheek before kissing her beautiful lips. His tongue ravages hers, and their panting increases heavily between kisses, their bodies becoming increasingly tangled with each other.

"You know, you really are rather good at this..." he comments slyly.

“Thanks for the compliment. You’re not so bad yourself.”

His hands roam down to her behind, and he pulls her in toward him, pressing his groin against her stomach. His mouth returns to her neck in an almost vampiric fixation. He is enjoying this immensely.

“What do you say we move this from the washroom to the sofa?” she suggests quickly. “I think that’s the only option we have here at Slough House.”

“Is it comfortable enough?” Lamb wonders aloud. “It's been used as a dumping ground for as many years as you’ve probably been alive. I think it was constructed into the building itself.” He pauses as he ponders. “I think you might be right, though. It’s the best we’ve got.”

“I did clean it yesterday,” she reminded him. “Not that it helped much. But we have to do this somewhere, right?”

"Sofa it is, then,” he relents. “I'm sure it won't take long to be distracted from the foul stench.”

She takes the lead toward the old piece of furniture, pursing her lips to control her laughter. The irony of Jackson Lamb complaining about a foul stench! She indicates for him to lie down.

Jackson finds he’s more than happy to let her take control, when it comes to this. He obeys, and she places one knee on either side of his body. She lowers herself until she’s pressed tightly against him. Gravity is his friend. Gravity has her two very luscious breasts like soft pillows of heavenly perfection against his old, lonely chest. He closes his eyes and groans.

She kisses him fiercely, her hunger no longer masked. The fingers of one hand drift into his now-clean hair, finding it soft and silver and quite beautiful. She feels his hand kneading her behind almost painfully, but it’s glorious.

"I was right," Lamb moans quietly. "Forgot all about this minger of a sofa already.”

Adelaide lowers her hips so she fully covers him now, and she begins to undulate against his pelvis to get the friction she craves. She finds she appreciates the soft cushioning he has there, as it makes this particular act far more pleasant.

The sight and sensation of her moving over him is the most erotic thing he's ever experienced, and he begins to move against her in turn. He's no longer teasing or being playful; he's just as eager as she is to move this the hell along.

Adelaide is dying to ride him but also doesn’t want this to end too soon. She wonders… maybe if they have a quickie now, he’d be up for more encounters in the future. Encounters where perhaps they could explore all the little foreplay delights they’d missed. Her body truly needs to skip to the main event after all this flirting and tension, and she suspects his does as well.

It's clear that her instincts are right. The sight of her moving over him is sending his body into overdrive; her soft skin rubbing against his and her sweet tongue on his neck is aphrodisiac times fifty. But part of him wants this to be as long and fulfilling as possible, because it's likely to be the only time. Not because he isn't attracted to her or that he doesn't want future sessions like this— that would be lunacy, given the pleasure he is currently receiving with every undulation she makes— but because he's already expecting a rejection of some sort. What else should he expect?

“I’m going to… to do it now… is that okay?” she whisper-warns in his ear.

Jackson lets out a low chuckle. "You don't need to ask me. It's not like you're going someplace I don't want you to."

Adelaide slides her hips down and locks herself over his cock with little effort on her part, given how swollen and on fire she is for him. But her eyes soon widen at the stretch. She was right about his girth.

“Fuck,” she mutters, and she takes meditative breaths to adjust.

"Do you want me to stop?" He's a little concerned by her reaction.

She shakes her head quickly and grins. “You couldn’t really stop anyway, unless you threw me off onto the floor.”

"You're probably right on that account, love. You want to keep going?"

She lets her hips respond, finally beginning some blessed movement. Jackson bites down slightly on her breast, his breathing now very erratic as she begins to move. He's already finding it difficult to hold back.

His bite sends her senses reeling. His cock feels incredible inside her. Stiff and veiny with the circumference to hit every magnificent spot. She could get used to this.

He hears her make soft little whining noises in pleasure, each one like a little dagger to the old spy’s heart. He wants to dedicate every resource he has left to eliciting these sounds from her every night of their lives. They make him want to move faster, but he resists— he wants their lovemaking to be long enough that she remembers it forever, even if she tries to tell herself she hated it.

“Feels so good,” she whispers, the words giving his ego a stroke it desperately needs.

"It does, doesn't it, darling?” he replies against the skin of her neck.

She grasps his hand and places it just below his belly, right where she will hit when she moves forward. Jackson knows what she wants and he places his finger accordingly.

The sensation her clit receives feels as though she's been hit by lightning. Her hips begin a sort of erratic spiral at this, causing a squeeze like nothing Jackson Lamb has ever felt. He's beginning to have trouble breathing… seeing… existing. How he’s survived so long a dry spell is now beyond his comprehension.

“You okay there, agent?” she whispers.

"I'll be fine." He's panting. "I just need a little moment..."

Adelaide shakes her head with a grin. “I think you need more of this…” and she pivots in circles again.

Her pace is perfect, her rhythm intoxicating. Her pussy’s like a fucking vise gift-wrapped in silk.

"I don't know if I can hold off much longer," he admits, his breath shallow and rapid.

“It’s okay,” she assures him with a sweet kiss.

"It's definitely not okay," he chuckles. "You're doing this on purpose, aren’t you? You're making this more difficult because you see that I'm enjoying it so much." His hips move slightly to match hers, wanting to show her he still has what it takes.

“Would you prefer not to enjoy it?” she teases, allowing him to take the lead with the upward thrusts he’s able to manage.

The way she seems to unhinge her hips to meet him is causing all kinds of new sensations in his body that his mind can't seem to grasp. He's so close to the edge; no man should be expected to hold on through something like this.

Adelaide can see Jackson is truly close and won’t be able to make it. So she lowers herself down and embraces him tightly, increasing the pressure against his hand and pelvis with the sole purpose of chasing her own pleasure, since she knows his is already certain.

And that's all she needs to do. He is lost to her. Fucking lost. His entire body tenses, all at once— a moment of sheer panic that could only mean either orgasm or death.

The sound of his groan is so satisfying to her, like he’s finally surrendering in their neverending battles. That plus his warm flood is enough to rouse her to her peak quickly, and she rides it out even after he’s finished, giving him aftershocks that shake his entire body.

"Oh god..." he groans, his words becoming slurred. "That... was... incredible. Fucking, fucking incredible.”

She allows herself to collapse on his chest, her nose buried in his clean, soft hair. Their bodies are stuck together with sweat.

“Yes… it really was,” she sighs.

"If we had to get stuck together like this for the rest of our lives, it wouldn't be so bad..." He closes his eyes and squeezes her tightly. "I guess there was a damn good reason that the service has kept me on this long after all. So this high holy day would arrive when I could fuck you."

She laughs. “So you could trash this place and I could come in and clean it up? Then clean you up… and then…”

He grins almost gleefully.

She raises up, cupping her hand into a fist on his chest and propping her chin on it. “Yes. And how would you describe this moment… this culmination?”

"I'd call it... euphoric,” he concludes. “And I'd call you... divine."

She presses a sweet kiss to his neck. Just then, they hear a creak of a door. Jackson pulls her tightly against him, shielding her in a way that she finds very attractive. He simultaneously listens intently for any further sounds.

"Someone is definitely here,” Adelaide confirms. “Your team working late tonight?”

"Work?” he huffs. “What’s that?” All the same, he kisses her shoulder in an effort to conceal any noises with their own. But his keen old ears still listen closely.

“We need to get dressed!” she whispers insistently. “What if we get caught?”

He tilts his head slightly and kisses her again. "Then we get caught. What if I were to do this?" He leans into her neck, nibbling once again.

“You want to get caught?” she asks with surprise.

"I don't think they've heard anything. Not yet,” he scoffs. “You've seen how inept they are. We have plenty of time for one final, passionate moment. Don’t you suppose?” His amused smile is adorable.

She laughs again and begins bucking her hips. He’s only halfway stiff at this point, but his hand is still in place. She is fairly sure she can chase another climax from that alone.

Jackson returns to devouring her neck, because he’s addicted. Then he raises himself to a sitting position so he can better kiss her as she chases her next high. The kiss immediately deepens as his fingers begin working her very messy folds in a purposeful rhythm. She is practically shaking by now; each movement he makes sends tingling sensations and causes her to grip his shoulders for support.

"Come on, sweeting..." His voice is low and rough as he speaks the archaic term of endearment. Once again she’s distracted from pure carnality by the fact that Jackson Lamb touches her damn heart. She can hear familiar noises downstairs, and now she knows it’s one of the Horses, not an intruder.

She is panting, knowing Jackson is going to make her come quickly. His fingers slosh in their combined mess, twisting and curling against her front wall in the most delicious torture.

"That's it. Keep moving,” he encourages her. “Just keep enjoying it, love.” He catches her gaping, desperate mouth and kisses her deeply, filling her senses with smoke and whisky and his trademark taste. His grip on her hips is tight and possessive and borders on painful, but hell if she cares. The old spy’s fingers are magic, and they’re her singular thought. Soon her eyes are rolling, this impending orgasm even more pleasurable than her first, if that’s possible.

She hears his filth in her ear, “Come all over my fingers— sweet, wet cunt.” It’s enough to make her shriek and shake as everything explodes and surrenders to him.

"Well, wasn’t that impressive?” comments Lamb. “And loud… for a woman who doesn’t think we’re alone.” He wipes his wet hand on a nearby jacket, adding ‘pussy’ to the garment’s collection of smells.

They definitely aren’t alone. In fact, after her final shriek, the noises downstairs slow down. She’s pretty sure whoever it was is in shock.

Jackson grins triumphantly and pats her bum, encouraging her to dismount. "They must be mortified. Let’s go and greet them.” He trudges to the washroom to recover their clothes.

The man was delirious from sex. He was barely making sense as he threw his shirt back on.

"We could be fucking perfect, you know,” he continues. He's becoming a little frantic in his attempt to describe his feelings, and even though they’ve only just separated, he grabs both of her hands. "Everything exactly how it should be. You and me. Together. Setting up some pretty little life. Not letting a soul get in our way. Especially not the bloody service. Find some remote village somewhere, so picturesque it makes you sick. Live there as a family. Our son will have your gorgeous looks, and you’ll teach him how to be polite. Perhaps he could get my hair? Some of my sarcasm would be nice too… for when the polite doesn’t work. It just sucks royal bollocks that I didn’t find you sooner. I—”

Lamb pauses, realizing how ridiculous his words sound. If he hadn’t forced himself to forget how to blush years ago, he’d be as red as a garden beet. He clears a sorely unattractive wad of phlegm from his throat as he stuffs his shirt into his trousers. "Sorry. I got carried away there. Can you believe I'm the same man who told you to shut the hell up when I first met you? Fucking lunatic, I am.”

Adelaide places a hand on either side of his face, cradling him for a brief second before absentmindedly replacing her dress. She stares at him in awe. He’s positively animated, his skin glowing, eyes twinkling— his smile sheepish and sincere. His words sound ridiculous, yes, but she finds herself touched by them nonetheless. And of course she hears in them the regret for the life Jackson Lamb never got to lead. She’s made him remember all that, and the gravity of it isn’t lost on her.

“Don’t apologize. Please,” she says softly. “All that sounds beautiful. And I’m touched that the man who told me to shut the hell up would think of having those things with me. All because of one night of hot sex,” she adds with a grin, knowing he won’t want it too sentimental. “I really must be a damn good pussy.”

"In the most vulgar sense of the word," he confirms. "But it wasn't just that. It was you. It was every single thing about you. You may be an obnoxious little twat, but you're a bright, funny, beautiful one. And that's what makes this perfect."

Adelaide’s heart is racing again, not with desire but with emotion. Her brain can’t find any rational reason to deny them being together, and that’s terrifying.

“Yes. We do complement each other rather well,” she says carefully.

His hands stroke her cheeks, and one of his fingers finds her lip. "Tell me you’re mine,” he commands her. She knows he’s going for dominant, but she clearly hears the uncertainty underneath.

“So… you want me to be your girlfriend?” she asks, also unsure of what’s a game and what’s real.

His face spreads into a smirk that seems to shave a few years off of him with its youthful brightness. "Girlfriend doesn't even come close to it. But... yeah. I want you to be my girlfriend. And more. I want you to be my wife. I want you to be my whole bloody world. What do you have to say to that?”

The veins in her head were pulsing so hard she was convinced she’d die of an aneurysm right here on the Slough House floor. “You— you want to marry me? The same girl you told to fuck off?”

"Yeah. That one. An old bloke like me doesn’t have the luxury of time." His words are barely a whisper, though his eyes couldn't be more intense, like he wants to inhale her. His thumb is back on her lips, subtly prying them apart. Her tongue snakes along his thumb, for comfort if nothing else. He seems to know that particular touch will ground her. And it does, almost instantly, her breath catching in her throat as it does so. He kisses her again, his hand returning to the back of her head.

“I’ll need a ring,” she says defiantly, once she recovers. “Nothing fancy, but I want it official.”

"It'll be the biggest, sparkliest damn ring you've ever seen," he promises. "And you'll wear it on the finger I put it on, until I die and set you free, or you die and someone has to hack it off.”

Part of her thinks he’s toying with her. She swears she hears mockery in his tone. There’s no fucking way Jackson Lamb could be that sentimental to want all that, could he? Maybe he’s just never gotten the chance before…

As if reading her thoughts, he cups her face. He looks so sincere; maybe she should take him at his word? Because in some small part, she wants to. She wants to believe he wasn't teasing her, that he really is serious. She wants to believe this is her bloody insane happy-ever-after. She wants to be loved by this man.

“You mean it, don’t you?” she asks quietly. “And if you don’t… just know this is very very cruel.”

"I mean it,” he confirms with a sigh. "I've never meant anything more. I was never much for any of this shit... it never seemed practical. But just thinking of you as my wife... well, fuck it. It makes me happy, damn it. Happier than I've been in a long time, and not just because we've done bits. Well... mostly not."

Adelaide grins. This kind of conversation she can handle. “I fully plan on doing bits again regardless of nuptials,” she informs him.

He smiles. "In that case, I'm game too. But I do want more than that. It's not just the sex that's got me hooked. It's everything: the way you look at me, the way you push my buttons, the way you make me smile; the way you talk me into doing shit I don’t want to do..."

She runs her hand up the worn fabric of his dress shirt. She doubts he’s purchased a new one in decades, but the result is his whole body feeling comfortable, like a favorite old tee.

“Let’s do it,” she laughs, shaking her head.

He stares at her then slowly nods. "Let’s make it happen, Spencer.” A thought strikes him. "But before you wear the ring, there's one more thing I need to ask you."

Her eyes jump to him quickly. “Yes?”

"Will you promise to let me call you a cunt, once a week?"

She softens. “Among other things, I’m sure.”

"There we go!” Lamb proclaims. “Nothing like a healthy relationship." He buckles his belt with a wink.

“And I can call you a smelly fucking dick?” adds Adelaide.

"I'd be offended if you didn't." He kisses her.

She nods and picks up her purse. “I think I’ll like marriage.”

"And I think I'll love being your husband. Let's get out of here before anyone distracts us with their bullshit..."

That proves to be impossible. The moment Adelaide’s foot hits the bottom stair, she encounters Louisa. “Umm… hi, Guy. What are you doing here so late?”

Louisa freezes. She isn't a fool; she knows something is up the moment she sees an out-of-breath Adelaide way past midnight in Slough House. Jackson begins a clunky descent down the stairs.

“Lamb?” Louisa asks in disbelief.

“Guy?” he returns. “Don’t you have a one-night stand you should be tending to?”

“Seems you beat me to it… somehow,” she remarks, stone-faced. She looks at Adelaide, surveying her, then suspiciously at Lamb. “Are you alright, Miss Spencer?”

"I..." Adelaide’s at a loss for words. She knows exactly how this looks, but she can't think of a convincing explanation.

The awkward silence is broken by Lamb, who finally reaches the bottom of the stairs. "Guy? Quitting time was seven hours ago. Go home."

Louisa clearly doesn’t want to let this go until she believes this was fully consensual. And that’s very, very difficult to believe.

“Adelaide, you sure you’re alright? I want to hear you say it.”

“Oh, get on with it!” snaps Lamb. “She’s fine!”

"I'm fine," Adelaide affirms, trying to sound as natural as possible, but failing. There's nothing natural about what just happened. In fact, even though they're trying to play it off, this whole situation is bizarre, and the world will continue to let them know, unequivocally.

“I’m getting married,” Jackson announces jovially, and he pours a shot of brandy from the decanter on the hall shelf. He raises it toward Louisa in a toast motion with a smirk.

"You're wh... what?" Louisa stares at him. “To the new agent?”

“I’m— special projects, not an agent,” Adelaide manages to remind her.

Louisa surveys her dubiously. "Oh, yes. And clearly such an obvious match. Why, you're almost exactly the same age, right?"

Adelaide is pretty sure Jackson’s about 25 years her senior, if she had to take a guess. She supposes that is a bit icky to outsiders looking in. “He has a few years on me.”

Louisa just shakes her head and leaves Slough House without another word. It was clearly too awkward for her. Adelaide turns to Jackson with a shrug.

Jackson smiles at her as he downs the rest of the drink. All of the Horses would know by morning what had happened, but he’d deal with that bullshit Monday. He also wants to know what brought Louisa Guy back to work just before midnight. But for now, he wants to drink the rest of the bottle and pass out naked with his future bride. In the morning, he’ll wake her up with his kisses… kiss her until every other goddamn thing in the world fades away. And when she wakes up and looks at him, she’ll know it’ll be like this every morning after.

“You want to see my place?” Adelaide asks Jackson as they make their way to the door. “I gather it’s a hair cleaner than yours.”

Jackson chuckles. "Well, I am a grubby man, no doubt. I'd like to see your flat. Though I hope it doesn't smell like mine does. I bet it smells like... I dunno. Cake and sweets? All the good stuff."

She watches as he locks Slough House’s door behind them and grins.

“I don’t know… do I remind you of cake and sweets?” she laughs. “Maybe you should lick those fingers of yours and find out.”

He raises an eyebrow; there’s that sharp and sassy side that he finds so attractive. "I'll be doing a lot more than just licking my fingers,” he assures her.

She follows him back to his trash heap of a car. “Oh yeah? Sampling the wares first hand?”

His voice is silky. "I intend to get up close and personal..." He holds the car door open for her.

“I see,” laughs Adelaide. “I’m beginning to think I can envision my wake up call tomorrow. That is, if you’re sober enough to wake up first.”

"I'm an old spy, sweetheart. I could stay awake all night and still be up with the sun. Believe me." He winks and pulls into the empty late night streets.

#gary oldman #fanfiction #jackson lamb #slow horses #smut #love stories #ao3 #ao3 link #older man younger woman #original female character

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starlessskies94 · 11 months ago

Text

Consequence (Joel Miller x OC)

Summary: What if Joel survived his injuries from the Abby and Fireflies attack but ends up with really bad amnesia. He can’t remember his wife, Ellie, or the Outbreak; only before. How will his family bring back the man they once knew?

Pairing: JoelMiller x OC

Note: I changed my mind and decided to the join straight back in with Ada because the idea was fresh in my mind and I wanted to write it out before i forgot. I hope you enjoy this one is a little on the dark side. *Trigger warning: Torture..(Though it's nothing that you wouldn't see in the TLoU games/ TV Show)

Chapter Twenty Seven

Everything was a blur. Ada had been unconscious from the moment she’d been manhandled into the truck. Her wounds had stopped bleeding thankfully but every part of her body ached and stung. She was having difficulty breathing; it didn’t take a genius to work out that she’d probably cracked or broken a rib or two from Abby’s men. Or more accurately the little shit that had tried to threaten her with his pitiful behaviour. Michael had done more damage with his punch to her gut than anyone. He’d dragged her into this room without a word and then left her here.

Wherever here was. She was bound to a chair; wooden and sturdy. It was part of the set that apparently belonged to the larger table and stacked chairs in the corner of the room. On the opposite side was an old faded whiteboard with writing she could no longer make out. Though from first glance it looked to be bullet points listed. Attached to the walls on every side were large dusty bookcases. The books, now damaged or water stained and aged. The more she takes in her surroundings the more she realises that the room she’d been left in; resembled something of a meeting room. Like that of a council or committee. Perhaps she’s been brought to a courthouse or the town hall?

She didn’t have time to further ponder her makeshift prison when the door slammed open and the very last she ever wanted to see came stomping into the room.

“Hello Adaline. Long time no see.” greeted Abby, spitting her name like an insult. But Ada smiled sarcastically. “Abby.” she nodded. “I’d shake your hand to greet you properly but…” she gestured to her bound arms tied to the frame of the chair. “...I’m a little tied up at the moment.” The blonde scoffed a laugh at her attempt at humour. Staring her down with a blazing annoyance in her eyes. “Marlene was right; you are a sarcastic son-of-bitch.” She shifted her weight onto the back of the heels of her feet as she crossed her toned arms over her chest and glared down at the woman sitting in front of her. “Yes.” Ada said matter of factly. Before stopping herself short. “Oh sorry, did I interrupt? My apologies. You go ahead, say your little speech. Get it over with.”

She knew she was pushing Abby’s patience, from the look on her face alone she could tell she was pissing her off. But Ada found she no longer cared anymore. She was already beaten and bruised. What else could they do to her? She knew they wouldn’t kill her while she was their only source of finding out Joel’s whereabouts and even though she had no idea where he had gone specifically, she knew she could drag this out long enough to give him the time he needed to find Tommy, Ellie and Dina and formulate a plan to get her the hell of here and finally go home. She’d made the mental note to tell Joel that the minute they got back to Jackson there was no chance she’d let him ever leave town again. No patrols. Nothing. She’d be damned if she would lose him again.

Abby’s brows creased in further annoyance to Ada’s arrogance. And it was clear she’d pushed things too far when she felt her nose crack upon impact as the blonde’s fist connected in a harsh right hook. She flexed her jaw as her ears rang from the hit, her wounded lip bursting open again at the blow, bleeding along with her nose. She had no shame in spitting the blood onto the floor by Abby’s feet. “You don’t get to rush this, I will end this one way or another. But I’ll do it my own fucking way.” She stormed across taking hold of the older woman by the throat, squeezing just enough to make her wheeze. “There is something I don’t understand though. How the fuck did Joel survive?” She hissed. Blunt nails digging into flesh as she tightens her grip, Ada coughed as she struggles to breath. The blood running from her nose into her mouth making her feel nauseous, the copper taste bitter on her tongue as she curls her lip into a wicked smile. “I don’t know Abby, maybe you’re losing your touch.” She smirks cruelly, her words hoarse against her throat. The remark darkens the younger woman’s features as her nostrils flare in anger, she lashes out as her patience breaks and Abby wrenches her hand from around her throat and kicks out at the legs of the chair, sending it toppling over, taking Ada with it. Dropping to the floor with a dull thud, she grunts as her ribs scream in agony. Her vision is blurred and her head spinning as she's ruthlessly dragged back up again. The blonde leans down to stare her fiercely in the eyes, the hatred and anger still burning brightly. “I’ll give you a day. That’s all. One day to be smart and tell me where he is. If you know what’s good for you, you��ll be more cooperative next time.” With that she turns to leave the room but pauses just before she reaches the door, her shoulders tense and stern as she clenches her fists by her sides. “I’m giving you a chance here Ada. Don’t waste it.” She says without turning to face her.

Ada doesn’t bother watching her leave. She can tell she’s already gone from the slamming of the door behind her.

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

She didn’t know how long she’d been left alone in that room but it had been long enough for the wounds to scab over. Her nose was throbbing and itchy and she hated not being able to scratch it. After Abby had left the room, Ada had noticed that the chair arm on the right side was cracked from when she’d hit the floor. The wood was splintering and she’d desperately been trying to work her arm free of its binds. Her work was interrupted however when she heard the handle turning and the door slowly opening. It was the young man from before. The one Mike had scolded for beating her. She’d later learned that his name was Jordan. She remembered Tommy telling her of someone who matched his description from the group that attacked Joel. Though she hadn’t known every Firefly from that day in Salt Lake City, he still carried with him the arrogance and conceitedness all the others did. And if it was possible; it made her hate him even more. He crept towards her quietly as if trying to keep himself hidden as he slipped into the room and it was at that moment Ada knew he had no orders to be in here with her. He was acting of his own accord, which meant no one would be around for a while to check on her.

She glared at him harshly as he walked over towards her. “Hello junior, little late to be out, isn't it? Surely it’s past your bedtime. What would Mike say if he saw you sneaking around?” She hissed but Jordan just scoffed cockily. “Hmm that’s funny.” he smiled but there was no humour in his words as he said them. Reaching into his pocket to pull out a switchblade and kneeled down, pointing the blade into the bottom of her chin. “How’d you find us?” Ada said nothing, her resolve never breaking. The young man sniffed forcefully as he dug the blade in deeper. “How many came with you? Is it just you?” again Ada said nothing. She wouldn’t give in to what he wanted. Instead she gave nothing. Said nothing. He unexpectedly pulled away in a rage at her stubbornness. Tearing away his switchblade as it cut through her flesh, leaving a deep gash across her chin. “Say something for fuck’s sake!” he whined pathetically. The older woman stared cold and hard at him. Her jaw clenched. “You can’t stop this. No matter what you do, you have to pay for what you bastards did to my family.” She spat venomously. He backed up riled by her words. Thrashing forward and wrapping his hands around her throat and squeezing. “You think I’m gonna take threat’s from Joel’s bitch?!” He sneered.

Ada couldn’t breathe. She gagged and choked for air as Jordan squeezed that much tighter; as his anger grew, so too did his strength. Her feet scraped against the floor in a desperate attempt to find purchase. “Oh Mike told me everything…”He taunted. “You think you can marry that fucker and live happily ever after?! I don’t think so, it doesn't work that way!” The harder he squeezed the more she finds her vision starting to blacken, her head spins and her ears ring. She flails with her right arm against the broken chair, pulling at the wood in a feeble attempt to pull it free. It splinters the more she pulls, using the last ounce of strength she can muster. But still Jordan continues on with his strangling hold on her. “You never should’ve come here.” He hisses into her ear. She takes that moment to yank the shard of wood loose and wastes no time driving the pointed end into Jordan's neck. It finds its target as he falls to the floor, gurgling and choking on his own blood that pours from the wound in his severed jugular.

Ada coughs heavily against her burning throat and chest as the air heaves back into her lungs. She rubs at her neck with her free hand, soothing the now sore and bruising skin. Taking a moment to catch her breath, she twists to free her other arm from the chair. Finally free of her binds, she doesn’t even bother taking a second glance at Jordan’s body laying in a pool of his blood before she takes off down the corridor. Her legs are weak as she makes her way through. It’s dark and badly lit but from the style of the decor she can tell she was right with her assumptions. It's the town hall. Somewhat styled in grandeur but upon further glance it’s obvious it’s trying too hard to look more important than it is. No doubt the idea of a small town mayor to make his base of operations look more official and impressive. Nothing compared to the bigger cities, like Boston or Pittsburgh to name a few. Ada shakes the thoughts away as she focuses on finding a way out. The place is like a maze. All winding corridors and endless doors, with no way of knowing which leads where. She has to stop to catch her breath as her injuries wrack her body with waves of pain and aches unlike she’s ever had before. From potentially broken or cracked ribs to a broken nose and bruised windpipe, not to mention lack of sleep, water and food. She’s running on fumes as her energy drains, with all she has left.

Nothing prepares her for the strike on the back of her head as Ada loses consciousness.

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It's the sound of dripping water that causes her to stir. And the second she opens her eyes the pain returned three fold. Her body is on fire, it burns from the agony that plagues her. She turns wincing at the shooting pain that strikes her again, as she tries to move her arms. But one doesn’t give. She glances up with bloodshot eyes to see her wrist in handcuffs, chained to a water pipe. She’d been moved to the basement. It’s dark and damp, and smells terrible. She can hear the scuttling of mice moving through the darkness. Instinctively twisting into herself at the thought of them crawling over her.

“Hello Ada.” The voice makes her jump as a bare bulb is flickered on, the dull hum of it buzzes in the silence. Mike peers down at her from the steps before making his way over towards her. “Now, what do you think you were doing huh?” he taunted with a faux friendly smile. Tutting as he waggles his finger at her. “We give you somewhere warm and dry to stay. ‘Real nice of us to do that, I think. And what do you do? Throw that kindness back in our faces. Kill young Jordan…now that’s not very nice behaviour of a guest is it?”

It’s a rhetorical question and so Ada gives no answer. She watches him as he paces back and forth, just as he did before. Eyeing up his prey once again, but this time she can feel her resolve slipping. Doesn’t know how much more pain she can endure.

To the end of the universe and back, endure and survive.

She almost cries as she hears Ellie’s voice echo in her mind. No, she can do this. She can keep going. She straightens herself as she swallows the pain and leans herself back against the wall. Sneering up at Mike with defiance in her hard stare. “Go to hell.” She manages to bite back.

He smirks as he comes to a halt. “So goddamn stubborn aren’t you? I gotta admit, that was something I always kind of respected about you.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “But no, I’m actually not mad about Jordan. That little fucker always pissed me off, so you did me a favour there.” Her eyes grew wide at his words, to care so little for his own people was something she hadn’t expected. But if he cared so little for them, she’d have no chance of trying to appeal to a sense of morality he clearly didn’t have. He stepped forward and kneeled down to face her and Ada didn’t feel the least bit at ease with the smile on his face. “You know, I could do you a favour. Move you outta this basement and back somewhere warm, maybe even somewhere with a bed, food and water. Your choice. All you have to do is tell me where Joel is…”

“I don’t know…”

“Yeah, yeah…I know. ‘You don’t know and even if you did, you wouldn’t tell me.’ right?” he chuckled scornfully, rising to his feet. He waited, but Ada said nothing. Huffing in frustration he abruptly turned back towards the doorway that led to the steps. “Okay fine. Have it your way then! Bring him down!” he yelled towards the floor above as WLF soldiers dragged down someone fighting harshly against binds tied behind their back. A sack thrown over their head. Ada’s heart stopped when the sack was harshly pulled away.

“Jesse?!” She croaked in a wave of panic. The men threw him at her feet as he grunted in pain as he hit the concrete floor. She tried to crawl towards him but her bound arm stopped just shy of a few itches. “Honey, what are you doing here? Why aren’t you at home?” He smiled in spite of himself at her, “I wanted to help. You guys were gone a while and Maria was getting worried so I offered to come after you guys to make sure you were alright.” he said. Her heart broke at his kindness. She’d always liked Jesse, he was a good kid and she was grateful Ellie had such a great friend in him. She hated that he’d found himself here though. She didn’t want anymore people she cared about getting hurt. “Oh how touching. We found this one sneaking around the perimeter of the building. No doubt trying to come up with a way to rescue you. Ain’t that sweet. Pity it’s gonna get him killed.” Mike taunted with a twisted smirk. She could see the fear in his eyes but she was determined to get them both out of here alive. She just needed to think.

She pulled against the cuff on her wrist, twisting it as she leaned as far towards Jesse as she could. Her free arm outstretched and reaching for him, her fingertips only just brushing the shoulder of his jacket. “Don’t listen to him sweetheart, okay? He’s just trying to scare you.” She whispered. “Everything is going to be fine, alright? I promise.” She felt her lip trembling as Jesse nodded timidly. Mike broke the silence with his booming laugh, deep and cruel. “Oh Ada don’t lie to the poor boy!” Her entire body went cold as Mike took out his gun and shot Jesse point blank through the head. She didn’t hear herself scream but she felt it as she watched him go limp. His lifeless eyes still staring back at her. Anger boiled her blood. Her every fibre set ablaze with a deep roaring hatred for the man standing over her with a smoking gun still in his hand. “YOU…YOU MONSTER! HE WAS JUST A KID!”

The man just glared at her unbothered by the devastation he’d just caused, stepping one leg up onto a discarded box and leaning his arm on his raised knee as he gestured at her with the barrel of his gun. “You just don’t get it do you? I don’t give a fuck about any of these people Ada. Whether they live or die…but you do.”

He dropped his leg back down and walked towards her, unceremoniously kicking Jesse’s body to the side as he went. “So this is how this is going to go…You’re gonna tell me what I want to know. And the longer you don’t, the more I’ll keep killing the people you care about. I already started with this one. Next I think I’ll go for that brother in law of yours, been a while since I’ve seen little Tommy boy. And then eventually I’ll make my way over to that quaint little town you come from, and I’ll burn it to the ground.”

She sniffed against the tears that poured down her cheeks, her whole body aching in both pain and sadness. Smirking and satisfied with the hurt he had caused, Mike turned on his heel and made his way back towards the stairs. “Tick, tock Ada. Tick, tock. I’ll be back later and you’d better tell me what I wanna know.”

Throwing her head back against the wall, Ada let herself cry. She wrenched against the handcuff attached to the water pipe until she ran out of strength to pull anymore. It was no use. She was trapped with no way out and Jesse was dead.

And it was all her fault.

#the last of us #starlessskies writes #joel miller #writing #joel and ellie #ellie williams #the last of us part 2 #tlou #fanfiction

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biinkspacewp · 4 months ago

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I. The Disembodied Voice Knows Best

PAIRING: Percy Jackson x Fem!OC

SUMMARY: After spending the day with Annabeth, a weird dream sends Amara to the big house where she receives more than she bargained for.

WARNINGS: weapons, blood, verbal threat of death (gotta love siblings)

series masterlist

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Annabeth had been bothering Amara since she woke up. Apparently she overheard an Apollo kid mention something about a newcomer soon and now she was antsy with excitement that she’d finally get to go on a quest.

“I’m not getting my hopes up.”

Amara ducked as Annabeth swung her dagger at her head. She’d brought her out to the arena to train an hour ago, silently praying to Hypnos that it would tire Annabeth out and she would just decide to take a nap, but she’d had no such luck.

Amara rolled forward as Annabeth aimed at her head again, shoving her elbow into the back of Annabeth’s knee as she bounced back onto her feet. Annabeth stumbled, but she didn’t fall.

“You say that every time,” Amara huffed. She gave Annabeth time to turn back toward her before she continued. “You always get excited and then they’re not a child of the big three and then you spend a week moping about it.”

She lunged at Annabeth, narrowly missing the front of her chest plate as she threw herself back to avoid the hit. Annabeth swung down. Her blade smashed into Amara’s, sending a tingling feeling up her arm.

Desperately, Amara reached forward, grabbing Annabeth’s shoulder and locking her foot around her ankle before tripping her. She didn’t account for Annabeth grabbing her arm and not letting go, taking Amara down with her.

The pair landed with a thump. Amara grabbed Annabeth’s dagger at the same time she’d reached for Amara’s, each of them now holding the others weapon. Amara brought her new blade to Annabeth’s throat at the same time Annabeth got hers pointed to Amara’s ribs.

Amara grinned, climbing off Annabeth and holding her hand down to her. The girl took it and was pulled off the dusty ground.

The pair swapped back weapons with an unspoken agreement that they were done in the arena.

Amara helped Annabeth fix her braids neatly back into the low ponytail she’d had before they started sparring, two pieces left out to frame her face. Annabeth always went to fix her hair every time they ran into Luke, so it was now a part of girl code that one wasn’t allowed to let the other walk around looking like a disaster.

Annabeth thanked her, her eyes drawn toward Amara’s hairline.

“Your face is bleeding.”

Amara’s left hand went to her forehead where she assumed Annabeth was looking. She winced when she found the blood and the cut that it was coming from.

“Gee, thanks. If only someone wasn’t trying to take my head off.”

Amara tried to keep a straight face, but the corner of her lips kept twitching up, giving her away. Annabeth had swiped her with her blade when she failed to move out of the way fast enough. She forgot that she’d been hit, focusing on trying to win instead.

“Shut up. I did not try to take off your head.”

Amara scoffed, all attempts to school her face gone as her eyebrows shot up.

“You totally were. In case your brain’s broke, wise girl, when half of your attacks are above chest height, that normally means you’re going for the head.”

“I know that!” Annabeth retorted, shoving Amara forward on the path. “My brain is not broken.”

The two were now pushing each other back and forth as they made their way back to their cabins, laughing as they went.

From an outside perspective the two could almost be confused as siblings, both with stormy gray eyes and deep brown hair. Their only glaring difference was their skin tone, Amara’s a freckled tan and Annabeth’s a golden brown, but skin tone rarely mattered in relation to gods and demigods.

Annabeth even thought they might have been related when Amara first got to Camp Half-Blood, but after she failed to solve any of the riddles Annabeth gave her, she knew there was no way Amara was a child of Athena.

The closer they got to the center of camp the more Amara tensed up, her giggles quieting down. Annabeth stopped hitting her shoulder against Amara’s, returning to the collected image that most people knew her by.

It was getting close to dinner time. Most of the campers were heading back toward their cabins to clean up. They’d probably start the campfire earlier today, they normally did on weekends to give everyone something to do. Plus the Apollo kids loved being able to show off their singing.

“I’ll see you after dinner.” Amara turned, walking backwards toward cabin eleven and facing Annabeth as she spoke. “I’ll save you a spot at the campfire if you remember—“

“—Amara, look—”

Annabeth didn’t even have time to warn her before someone’s shoulder hit her back, nearly knocking her over. Connor, who’d been chasing his brother Travis back to the cabin, was now on the ground.

“Ow, what are you made of?” Connor groaned. He seemed to realize what had just come out of him mouth because he followed it up with a quick, “Sorry! I didn’t mean to. Didn’t see you.”

By now Travis saw that he wasn’t being chased and circled back to the group, Annabeth also joining to make sure Amara was okay.

“It’s alright. Are you okay?”

Connor just gave her a thumbs up, mumbling something about being peachy as he stood back up.

Travis gave a quick hello to both of the girls before grabbing some of the hair above Connor’s ear and yanking his head sideways. He’d let go and was already on his way back to cabin eleven when Connor began chasing him again.

“Travis, I’m gonna kill you!”

It wasn’t entirely uncommon to see the two messing with each other. Normally they liked playing pranks on others, but when they were bored or couldn’t come up with anything particularly clever to do to someone else, they’d just resort to picking on one another.

The two disappeared inside before anything interesting happened, Amara now turning her attention back to Annabeth.

“As I was saying, I’ll save you a spot if you remember to bring one of your architecture books. I wanna look at some more of the statues.”

It wasn’t just the statues that Amara liked, but that had been a current obsession. Where Annabeth like the math and the physics on how famous architecture was built, Amara liked the aesthetics of it. They’d flip through books together and Annabeth would go on a tangent about mathematical marvels and Amara would always comment about how exceptionally crafted pieces were.

Annabeth would believe that Amara was a child of Apollo if she didn’t know how much the girl despised the sun.

The two parted ways, Annabeth promising to bring a book with her, and settled into their cabins.

The rest of the night went relatively smooth. Amara got to listen to the Stoll brothers argue during dinner until Luke told them to knock it off. The pair just took turns grumbling under their breath about Luke until they were released from the pavilion.

Then Annabeth and Amara talked the whole time they sat around the campfire. They took turns flipping through the book until they found something they liked, spinning it around to share with the other while they spoke.

When it was finally time for lights out, Amara was exhausted. It wasn’t long after her head hit her pillow that she fell asleep, blanket half balled up in her arms.

That night Amara was welcomed into her dreams by a row of torches lining a dark forest path. She swore she could hear the ocean somewhere, waves crashing down angrily against the shoreline. Thunder boomed overhead, loud enough that her ears rung and the ground shook, but she never saw any lightning and she didn’t feel any rain.

Suddenly a voice echoed through the woods.

You must protect the boy.

It was distorted, but it sounded like it was a woman. Amara wasn’t sure who the boy she was talking about was though. She couldn’t think of any of the boys in camp that she’d need to protect.

The voice was getting louder and it was now coming from all directions. Different sentences overlapped each other, but they all had the same sentiment.

Protect the boy. Save the boy. See him through it. Make sure he succeeds.

Eventually Amara couldn’t hear the sea anymore or the thunder overhead. All she could hear was the voice. Where it once echoed through the forest it now echoed in her head.

She covered her ears, but it didn’t help. She could hear the words rattling around inside her skull instead.

There was one final shout, leagues louder than the rest.

Save him!

And Amara shot out of bed, crying out as she did.

“The boy!”

She quickly glanced around the cabin, making sure her outburst hadn’t woken anybody else up. Several snores filled the room and not a single person budged.

Relieved that she was the only one awake she shoved her blanket off, it was only covering one of her legs anyway, and stood up.

Before she had a chance to do anything, thunder abruptly cracked through the cabin, immediately sending Amara into survival mode. She couldn’t shake the panic she’d felt in her dream, anxiety swirling in her chest.

What boy could the voice possibly have been talking about?

She needed to get to Chiron. Surely he’d have some sort of insight about it. Maybe the Oracle had told him something that would tie to her dream. She didn’t know.

She did know there was no way she was going back to sleep tonight.

She slipped on her white tennis shoes and looked out the window. Despite the thunder that wouldn’t stop rumbling, camp looked completely fine, like it was any other average summer—sorry, spring—night.

She looked down at her cotton shorts and oversized camp hoodie and figured she’d be just fine.

She closed the door to the cabin behind her as quietly as she could. She could hear the storm a lot better now that she was outside, rain hammering against the ground and wind howling through the trees.

She’d never been happier for the camp’s protective perimeter. She loved a good rainstorm, but just the thought of walking to the big house through that made her shiver.

Camp was a lot more relaxing in the middle of the night than it was during the day. It was a little odd how quiet the forge was, but the strawberry fields suddenly looked like the most enticing place in the world without a ton of blathering teenagers milling around it.

The wooden porch steps creaked under her weight as Amara made her way to the front door. It was at this point that she realized she wasn’t sure if Chiron would even be awake.

She made her way inside as she shooed the thought of Chiron asleep out of her mind. She didn’t want to think of the logistics of how a centaur sleeps right now.

She nosed around the hallway. Most rooms were dark and quiet. She continued through the house until she heard hushed voices coming from Chiron’s study.

She glanced through the half open doorway and found Annabeth standing there, chatting with Chiron in her camp t-shirt and pajama pants.

Apparently this was an eventful night for everyone.

“I know you can’t tell me everything, but maybe if you just shared, just a tiny, little bit, I could help you figure out how to fix—“

“—Annabeth,” Chiron interrupted. “I’ve already told you all that I can. You can’t fix everything no matter how much you’d like to.”

The girl crossed her arms, her right hand coming back up as she went to make another point.

Amara knocked on the door before Annabeth could speak. She’d eavesdropped enough, she didn’t want to get stuck standing by the door while the two went back and forth all night.

Amara swore she heard Chiron let out a sigh when she entered the room.

Annabeth just smiled at her. Maybe with two people asking Chiron about what was going on he’d crack and share something with them.

“Amara, what can I do for you tonight?”

The air seemed a lot heavier now that she had to actually spill the inner workings of her brain out loud. She sucked in a breath, exhaling slowly as she made her way to Annabeth’s side, now standing across from Chiron.

“I was hoping you’d be able to help me understand a dream I just had.”

Thunder rolled through the room, almost like it was trying to help her set the scene before she explained everything to Chiron. The rain was so heavy now that it sounded like it was beating against the roof instead of the protective barrier.

Annabeth’s eyes lit up when Amara revealed she’d had a dream. Most demigod dreams have a meaning, either a god trying to contact them or a vision about the future. If Chiron wasn’t going to let her help with whatever was going on with the gods then maybe she could help Amara decipher her dream.

“Well I can certainly try. Why don’t you—“

Chiron stopped as a panicked yell echoed through the house. The trio was silent as another cry filled the air, this one filled with despair. They made their way to the front door, Chiron swinging it open as Grover collapsed on the porch with a drenched, blonde haired boy.

Annabeth grabbed onto Amara’s hand, dragging her to stand over the poor boy with her. He barely looked responsive, his eyes faintly looking up at them as she whispered to herself in realization.

“The boy.”

“He’s the one,” Annabeth blurted out. “He must be.”

“Silence, Annabeth,” Chiron instructed. “He’s still conscious. Bring him inside.”

Amara went to grab one arm of the boy while Annabeth grabbed the other, Chiron checking on Grover. As they pulled him inside and toward an infirmary bed, Amara thought about the fact that she no longer needed Chiron’s help figuring out her dream.

All she could concentrate on was the boy she was carrying.

NEXT CHAPTER ➜

#percy jackson #percy jackson fic #percy jackson x oc #percy jackson x fem!oc #pjo #percy jackson and the olympians #percy jackson series #riordanverse

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joelsrifle · 3 years ago

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ON THE ROAD AGAIN: JOEL MILLER

title: on the road again

pairings: Joel Miller x Lacey( OC daughter figure #2) make sure to check her character inspo

warnings: gore, angst, off script tlou2, happy moments(kinda), language, radio chats, surprise hug(prompt idea), Lacey is 13(looks like rose from resident evil 🧍🏻‍♀️)

summary: while on a trade hop with Bill, Joel Miller hears an SOS call made over the radio. Something in his heart tells him to go for it, to save the person on the other end of that radio, and that’s exactly what he planned on doing. Go down to Florida with only hope he’d be able to find the girl, only to find out how much she has in common with a person he once held close.

word count: 881?

Lacey’s character inspo: Lacey pt1 Lacey pt2 Lacey weapons Lacey supplies Lacey pt3 Lacey Jackson au Adult Lacey AU Lacey’s dog banko Lacey pt4

“You’re crazy Joel. You don’t even know the girl.”

—Those were the last words Bill spoke to the eldest Miller before he left Lincoln Massachusetts to go down to Florida. That was a couple of days ago. By now Joel had already listened to the radio for hours just so he could make sure the girl was still alive.

A small voice echoing through the other side of the radio attached to his belt asked, "How long will you be?". He gripped the reins tightly as he saw the Florida-Georgia border approaching, taking in a deep breath he put the radio in his hand, holding the PTT button down and sighed. "Not much longer darlin'. Why is—" he began to ask.

She replied nimbly before pausing, "It's just...tight and dusty in here." Joel closed his eyes and blinked a few times before continuing: "It sounds like they’re out there." As Joel rode his horse down the highway, he muttered, "Stay quiet, okay?". He knew that would be the best thing to tell her, "Just a few more miles and I'll be there. Get you and that dog out of there."

Lacey remained silent for a moment. Her chances of getting out of the closet seemed slim. “Banko.” With a sniff of her nose and a sleeve wipe, she replied quietly. "What?" Joel asked, his brows furrowed together.

“Banko, his name is Banko.”

"Hell of a name for a dog," Joel smirked, snorting. "Do you know what that means?" He merely asked for a strong no from the girl. "Back in the day, it was called a bank."

“A bank?” She repeated, oblivious to what the place would be. “What’s a—What’s a bank?”

“You know what money is?”

Lacey again was quiet, frowning despite the fact that he was unable to see. "That green papery stuff?" Joel gestured, "Mhm. Well a bank is what we used to keep it safe."

“How’d they do that?” She questioned, a bit of scoffing sound lacing her tone. “They’d keep it in a safe. Lock it up so no one else could get to it but you and them.”

“Like in jail?” Joel chuckled, “yeah—yeah like jail.”

Lacey shared his laugh, going to make another joke when instead she gasped and went silent as infected banged on the door to the closet. Gritting his teeth, Joel leaned forward and nudged at his horse to speed up. It was getting late, and he had to make it before it was too late.

{ }

A few hours passed before Joel arrived in Apalachicola Florida. He hopped off his horse when it finally slowed, and then, with a knife in hand, peeked into the front door of the ruins of a Family Dollar. The ground was decorated with infected, he couldn’t make out any up front so he went inside, the bell above the door chimed. Infected screeched, stumbling quickly from the back hall towards the echoing sound over the sound of Banko’s barks. It was five—maybe six of them. Many had bullet wounds in their chests.

But Joel didn’t make a second thought, stabbing and slashing at the ones who came at him with their flailing arms trying to grab ahold of him. He had managed to get into four of them before his knife caught on the fifth: the last clicker fought back and lunged toward him, forcing him to shield himself with the corpse, pushing himself, and the other fell to the ground.

The other clicker growled and snapped at him as he raised his booted foot above its head, repeatedly slamming it against its head as it laid under dead weight. In the midst of it all, a young blonde girl stood down the isle, watching the clicker struggling to reach the man until it went silent.

Breathing heavily, Joel raised his head and seen the blonde who had widened eyes revolver in hand. “Joel?” She muttered with parted lips, she knew it was him it had to be, relief washed over the man but so did weary. She looked so much like Sarah: the blonde hair, baby blues, and pale skin with rosy cheeks. But taller, longer hair, and just a fair bit older and maybe an attitude like Ellie’s.

In a rush of adrenaline, Lacey ran towards the man and embraced him engulfing him in a hug. He froze, his arms slightly open, as he glanced down at the young girl, "I didn't think you'd come." She muttered against his shoulder before she began to pull away.

In the next few seconds, Joel got a better look at the girl, whose skin was covered in two long scars. One from her forehead to her cheek, the other from her nose and meer inches from the corner of her mouth. He brushed aside the thoughts in his mind, flashing a weakened smile and replying, "Wasn't gonna leave you here." Joel’s tone was assuring to the young girl despite his hesitance, patting her shoulder her he spoke, “Now let’s get you out of here…get you to Jackson.”

Lacey nodded, calling Banko to follow behind her as she went out go out the front doors of the store, leaving Joel standing there gazing out the window before he looked down at the clicker’s smashed in head. So much like Sarah.

tags: @misspearly1 @misspearlssideblog @pale-gingerale @im-a-mcsimp-for-mchotties

to be tagged fill out this google form!

I’m back from the dead! YAY! ANYWAYS short first chapter but—I actually have big plans for this:)

#joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #tloupartll #imagines #joel miller angst #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x oc #ellie williams

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eddies-blunt · 2 years ago

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[A/N] a simple moodboard by me^^

summary: new student in Hawkins High, yes you guessed it, Eds is already drooling for her. the tension is immaculate, sexual frustration breaks the scale.

key words: eddie munson, eddie x oc! eddie x f! oc, fluff, eddie meeting the oc, dustin henderson, eddie x dustin stupid moments

enjoy it as you'd like and feel completely free to leave any kind of feedback, comment, idea, request, etc.. since I'm new one on here, it would me the world to me <3

Playlist for this prompt :

°Pisse- Fahrradsattel (a bicycle seat, remember this)

°Angel Witch- Angel Witch

°Black Sabbath- Hellraiser

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"Eddie! Eddie, guess what!"

Short bushy mess of honey-coloured locks rushed into the tin door of my locker, smacking against it rather loudly. I sighed, rolling my eyes yet going down to land him a hand.

"Truth be told, Dustin, I was gonna say that Ms. Jackson got in a car crash and our English test is cancelled- but I know damn well that not even then, you'd get this this excited."

He caught up on his breath and I helped him out on fixing the hem of his shirt, stealing his annoyingly stupid cap along the way. I hated his entire collection, but damn were they fun to be stolen! "We-we have a... Hey, give that back!"

I waved his cap round and around, enjoying the fact how easy this was. Dustin was the only one who remained way shorter than me- whilst Mike and Lucas actually stood a chance. Especially Sinclair.

"You want this? You want it back?" He was walking like a dizzy chicken, unsure of his balance whilst goofing around on his tippy toes.

Alas, my dear friend! This is not your battle to be conquered!

"Eddie, quit it!" His puffy face tuned to a pinkish colour, challenging it for me to mask a laugh with a pretty bad expression of remorse. I sunk my arm down and planted that foolish item on top of his curls.

His head was blessed with a dull *bonk*- toothing a smile out of me.

"You done, Munson?" He released a heavy sigh through his narrowed nostrils, an expression on his face telling me that he was trying to remember our previous conversation. "You were saying, Dusty... We have a-?"

"Yes, yes that's right! We have a new student, Eds!"

Disappointment I'd felt in my body was readable from any given angle. New student? Wow, what a joy.

"Seriously, Dustin? That's whats you're so excited about?" I pinched the back of his neck for fun, routing my walk down the hallway to drink some water- having his short creature following me in a step. I scooped my hair to the side as I hovered the sink, easing my throat with cold water that ran as a little fountain from the faucet.

Dustin's words were still audible, but they indeed became much less important from the part where I've comprehended he said, "A girl".

Seriously, what can a fifteen year old's standards even be?

"A girl? My my, I haven't seen one of those lately."

"Eddie, I'm serious. She's German and.." He was mumbling in the empty air, losing the attention I had on him just a jiff earlier.

"German? Oh, well that surely changes everything! Is she 6ft tall with jet-black hair and corpse-looking skin? Playing in a band and practicing witchcraft on Wednesdays?" He blinked in a surprise and took himself a moment to regain.

Dusty Bun, it's a long road to cross until you start to get it...

"Really? Those are your spots?" I leaned back against my locker and hooked my left leg straight to it. A casual smirk appeared on my face as I really felt like I was on the right territory, talking about this stuff with him.

"Either summon me to Satan and give my body as an offer, you hauntingly beautiful Witch..." He began to laugh as I hovered his short self and talked straight into his reddened face- "... or don't even bother enjoying this piece if forbidden fruit."

Dustin cracked out a very familiar snort-like laugh, unable to control himself even though he's seen me fool around hundreds of times. Two of my index fingers' gluing to the sides of my temples, eyes balled out and a tongue waving around- surely looking as demonic as ever.

"No, Eddie, seriously..." He patted my shoulder softly whilst panting for stable breaths- "She's even better than that"

Undeniable signals of disbelief and offence waved over my expression; myself beginning to doubt this little goblin's intelligence. Straight away, then and there.

Better, Dustin? Haven't you heard a word I'd just said?

"Listen, Henderson..." My leg fell down from the door of my locker, feeling kind of tingly when it finally felt the floor. Trying securely to wash it off, I began to walk towards my classroom.

"Nothing in this world can be better than..."

Dull sound of doors slamming against the walls on both sides electrified through the hallway of Hawkins High- freezing all of the present in agape. I was pretty sure that the doorknob did its job and marked a decent hole in the concrete. Damn, this should have been captured with a Polaroid.

"You were saying, Eds?" Dustin's arm nudged me lightly, tickling my ribs and in fact- awakening me into reality again.

I was gazing at the angel from disguise.

Tall, elegant figure with narrow shoulders and pale, slender arms. The hook of her left one was decorated with somewhat cold colours of a tattoo; which I was unable to fully pay attention to in this very state.

Long strains od wheat-coloured locks were gliding down the sides of her round face, the line that they were tracing hugging around her plump breasts just perfectly. Her waist was small and feminine, secured tightly in the depths of black leather jeans that fully shadowed her complete constitution.

My eyes were racing between the sight of her divine legs, steady as they got in a pair of platform boots that had me drooling in awe; and sheepish appearance of her face. Heart-shaped jaw was hanging loose just slightly, opening the gate to the most perfect set of pearl-white teeth I have even seen in my life. Plump, desirable lips were blissed with a pinkish, shiny liquid that contributed to the intoxicating effect, which I was already heavily under.

She had the most beautiful, innocent doe eyes that were piercing right through my being. Their colour of blue had me head over heels for this sweet thing.

"My excuses for this dramatic entrance; back in my old school you would really have to push like a maniac in order to open the door."

Just as I thought this could not get any better, the sound of her angelic voice vibrating through my ears got me feeling like I was on the cloud nine- levitating in pure bliss. Not for a second have her eyes left the gaze of mine, creating a tension so thick you could suffocate in it.

"You're the new German girl, yeah?" I proudly took a step forward, reaching my right hand out to her. Digits as pale as the shining of a raging lightning happened before me, making me gaze at the perfection of her blood-red nails. Or, claws, to be precise.

Serotonin fueled through my cells when her skin mixed alongside with mine, even if it was just for a handshake. We were only inches apart, holding hands for more longer than we should've.

Confusion and energy that boiled in me were perfectly mirrored in this angel's eyes.

"I am, yes." She grinned out a smile so big and honest, freezing my heart like an evil witch that I oh-so-sincerely wished her to be.

"Then I've got some big words to say; been saving them for a moment exactly like this one!" Again her blissful laughter massaged my ears, the urge to look just an inch lower from her face wilding inside of me like never before.

She cocked her little head to the side, with that movement scooping all of her hair back. Unintentional sight of the majestic, steady boob caged in a black shirt that was oh, so tight! - did a certain thing to my poor heart.

As if she wanted it to stop.

Her eyes were fully attentioned to my being, anticipation rising within every second. "Well, mysterious European girl..." I gently took her by the left hand and spun her around- having her safe and secured beneath the weight of my right arm- resting just underneath her lovely chin. Her small back were pressed against my body, fitting in like a lego piece does.

"Ich will dein fahrradsattel sein." Taking in a deep scent of her being whilst I apoke in hee ear with a much more lowered tone, I noticed a soft flinch of her eyelids. You cannot hide the ecstasy, baby!

As if she were burned with hot steel on bare skin, the moment of physical intimacy we've just lived through, broke in a wink of an eye. "You done showing off, American boy?" She softly brushed my arm off of her, gracefully stepping the ground with her platforms.

"Privacy is what it takes to sound flirty, not a whole-ass podium such as this one."

The last sight of her before she turned away and proudly swayed those golden locks as she cascaded- was a kiss blown my way.

#eddie munson #eddie x oc #fluff #eddie munson fluff #eddie x dustin #eddie x dustin fluff

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liannyeong · 4 years ago

Text

Unfinished #2

Summary: A collection of unfinished fics. The main theme is inequality between the rich and poor, and gender stereotypes, though poorly challenged lol. Also, mechanic!Jaebeom hehe

Word count: 3109

Pairing: Jaebeom X OC

Warning(s): Angst

A/N: I had this idea back in 2017, inspired by the song ‘Uptown girl’.

"Hey, Jaebum! Come over here for a minute!"

Jaebum sighs. He stares at the engine longingly, as if it could help him think of the solution to the car. He ran several tests on the vehicle, yet he seemed not be able to get the engine to function normally.

"Hey Jaebum!" Mark shouts from across the workshop again.

"Just a moment!" Jaebum yells back. Jaebum slams the hood shut and pulls out a cloth from his back pocket. He wipes his greasy hands and arms as he approaches the red-haired male. Mark has his crimson hair slicked back, the sleeves of his blue uniform rolled above his elbows. For a mechanic, he's probably the most scrawny person ever, but no one knows better than to mess around with him. Anyone who ever gets on his bad side will never look at people his size the same way again.

"Meet the new mechanic!" Mark says cheerfully as he gestures to the person next to him. Jaebum raises his brows at the sight of the new mechanic, before flicking his eyes back at Mark. The older male doesn't seem to get Jaebum's incredulous look. Or even he does, he doesn't show it.

"A girl. Nice," Jaebum spells it out for Mark.

The girl seems to be taken aback from his comment. Her smile previously faltered a little. Her mouth opens to say something but Mark beats her to it. "What's wrong with that?"

"It's just that... A girl... A mechanic... Sounds like a weird combination to me," Jaebum shrugs.

"Why, does my gender bother you?" the girl snaps this time, much to Jaebum's surprise. He stares at the female, wide-eyed, as if she just did something miraculous in front of him. How dare she speak to him like that? His expression schools into something like annoyance. He folds his arms, leaning in closer.

"No female works in a place like this."

"Hey, hey," Mark tries to intervene the heated atmosphere, a hand pressed against Jaebum's chest.

"Well then, I'm not like other girls!" Her face turns a little red, and Jaebum cannot help but laugh at her expression. She reminds him of a child who throws a tantrum when he doesn't get a toy he wants.

"Sure," Jaebum's tone lowers as he challenges the female, "let's see if you can stand working here for a week."

Eyebrows furrowed together, her tone sharper, she questions, "Are you looking down on me?"

"Why? Can't handle it?" Jaebum sneers. "Then why don't you go home and cry to your mommy if you're not up for this?" He waves his hand mockingly.

"Alright, that's enough!" Mark bellows, shoving the younger male away with a glare that means "I'll deal with you later". He then turns to the female, bringing her away from Jaebum. Her eyes linger on the black-haired male, her eyes darker and there's a flame behind it that Jaebum reckons as anger. Mark ushers her around the workshop, doing a tour for her.

Jaebum doesn't waste his time and heads back to the car he was working on earlier.

---

"The heck's your problem?" Mark snarls. He keeps his volume low, considering the female is in earshot. From the clinking sounds in the workshop, Jaebum guesses she has already started working on her first vehicle. There's no one else in the workshop apart from the three of them. Jackson, their boss and their friend, was out of town for a little business trip.

"The girl's the problem. She's not fit for the job," Jaebum spits, not bothered if she could hear him.

"How do you know that? You've never seen her work before!"

"She's a girl!" Jaebum growls. The red-haired male was about to argue back but Jaebum gives him no chance. "This is a car workshop, Mark! How is that puny kid gonna handle all the work here? She's probably gonna collapse one day! We're running a business, for goodness' sake! Not some stupid fairytale that has princes saving the princess' ass all the time!"

Mark scoffs. "Seriously? That's your reason? I'm starting to wonder who is the real girl here."

Jaebum rolls his eyes, mumbling curses under his breath. "How the heck did you even get this kid?"

"I didn't. She came to me, bringing a recommendation letter from Jackson."

Jaebum frowns. Jackson sent her? Then it would mean that-

"That just shows how good she is. Don't you think so?" Mark smiles, clapping his shoulder. "Give her a chance. Who knows, you might come around to like her." He winks, and Jaebum raises his arm across his chest as if he's going to hit the older male. The red-haired just laughs, ruffling Jaebum's hair, and walks away.

---

Days and weeks went by and Jaebum still doesn't change his way of treatment towards her. No, it's not that he hates her. In fact, it's their way of interaction. Jaebum has soften towards the female, that's for sure. He teases her a lot, and they do still bicker frequently too, but both of them knows that it's nothing personal. Their friendship was born on bickering and arguments, and it continues to stay that way.

He's no longer skeptical of her abilities for she has proven her expertise. She's able to diagnose the problem and provide the solution quicker than anyone in the workshop. She doesn't have any problems carrying the tires around or any other tools too. If anything, she's the most competent in the job, but Jaebum will never say that aloud.

Mark and Jackson has become more comfortable around her - in fact, way too comfortable - joking around with her. She smiles and laughs a lot around them too. Her laughter rings in the air, not as high pitched as Mark's or as hysterical as Jackson's, but it's there. There's elegance in the way she laughs, now that Jaebum realizes, and there's elegance in the way she moves and acts. While the girls in the neighborhood laughs normally, she doesn't. She has a hand over her mouth as she laughs. It's as if it's a sin if she were to show her mouth as she laughs. Jaebum finds it weird, but he decides not to care anyway. Besides, why the hell is he even paying so much attention on her?

"You like her, don't you?" Mark said one day, cheek resting against his palm, as he watched the black-haired does his work.

"What nonsense are you talking about?" Jaebum questioned back, annoyance evident in his tone.

"I see the way you look at her. It's obvious, Jaebum." A knowing grin plastered on the older male's face, and Jaebum wanted nothing but to scrub it away.

"Don't worry. Your secret's safe with me," the red-haired said as he patted his chest. He sent the younger a wink, to which Jaebum rolled his eyes and threw a dirty and greasy cloth at his face. Mark only laughed as he threw it back.

"Jaebum! Let's have dinner at the diner after this!" Mark yells from the other side of the workshop, breaking Jaebum from his reverie. His mind snaps back to reality and Jackson's screeching laughter finally flows into his ears. His eyes float from Mark to Jackson, who is playfully joking around with her. It's as if Jackson is just a child in the workshop, not the boss. Her lips are curled up into a huge smile, her eyes crinkling into crescents and Jaebum feels both warmth and a twinge in his heart. Jaebum's eyes fleet back to Mark, who already has a knowing look on his face. Jaebum ignores it, holding up an 'okay' sign and nothing more.

---

Jaebum hears her name being called by a voice rather deep yet calming and soft. He looks up to see a male standing over at their table, eyes blinking at the female. He's tall and lean, black shirt tucked into his denim jeans. His hair is carded back and a pair of glasses is perched on the bridge of his nose.

"J-Jinyoung!" she stutters, and Jaebum's attention is directed to her. Jaebum is seated across her, and he notices the stiff on her shoulders. Her face is so red, eyes blown wide at the sight of the stranger. "W-what are you doing here?"

Amused, the stranger named Jinyoung softly chuckles. "Eating dinner, of course," he says as he lifts his food tray a little.

"D-dinner?" she echoes. Jaebum notices how cautious and wary she is now with the sudden presence of the stranger. Why is she so flustered? Who is this Jinyoung anyway? Why does his presence affect her so much? Does she... like him?

She stretches her neck and looks around the diner, as if searching for something - or someone. What is she so scared about?

Jinyoung must have noticed this behavior too, for he says, "I'm alone." It's evident how relief washed over her: her body relaxes, her shoulders slumped downwards, and the dusty pink cheeks drained.

"I see," she lets out at last.

"Join us, then," Jackson cheerfully suggests to the stranger. If Jaebum could, he would love to kick his boss in the guts. Why should they let a stranger join their dinner table? He knows Jackson is a social butterfly, that bulky man loves creating new connections but why involve him?

"That's really nice-"

"No!" she interjects midway into Jinyoung's sentence, much to Jaebum's surprise. There's a hint of agitation in her tone, and Jaebum wonders just what kind of secret is she holding from them. Why else would she insist so badly that Jinyoung shouldn't join them? Of course, Jaebum is more than happy with that decision. But her behavior around this Jinyoung intrigues him. What's truly happening? Why is she like this? What is she desperately trying to hide away from them? "I need to talk to Jinyoung, actually," she says, grabbing the said male's arm and forcing him to move. She has never been a touchy person. To see that moment of skin contact surprises Jaebum beyond words. "I'll join back later!"

As Jinyoung leads them to his table, Jaebum just watches the duo with hawk eyes. She doesn't even let go of his arm until they reached the table at the far corner of the diner. Such a shady corner where couples would always be seen making out as if they are invisible. Disgusting, really, but Jaebum desperately hopes they don't do anything like that. That they aren't anything like that.

So Jaebum ends up glancing at the two from time to time. They're deep in conversation, and she doesn't even look back at them once, despite Jackson's hysterical laughter and Mark's high-pitched one. Just what's so important that makes her attention to be fully focused on him only? It's like they are in their own world, tuned out from the rest of the world.

Both Jinyoung and her stands up and the male just smiles at her warmly. Jaebum wonders if she likes that Jinyoung. After all, he is handsome. And that air of elegance around him, there's some class attached to him. He seems like a nice guy too, a gentleman too. Jaebum wonders if she's attracted to men like that. And for once, the anger surge within him once more. Why is he even like this?

The two part ways, the male leaving the diner while she heads back to their table.

"Who was that?" Jackson asks when the female takes the empty seat next to him.

"Just a friend," she answers as she grabs her abandoned glass, pouring soda into it. The drink sizzles. Jaebum watches as the air bubble rises from the bottom to the top, which then pops.

"Just a friend?" Mark echoes, curiosity in his face.

"Actually, he's a neighbor," she answers. "We grew up together, that's all."

Then why was she so eager to talk to him? She could have waited till they reach home. Jaebum wonders, questions burning in his head. He doesn't speak them out. Instead, he clenches his fingers around his glass. Why is she so secretive? So... unreachable?

That's when it struck Jaebum hard. She has always been far away. That same elegance, he has it too. His aura has never been the same like the others in the neighborhood. Just as she does, he laughs with his hand clasp over his mouth. Just as she does, he has the same prim and proper attitude. They're so similar, and Jaebum just can't work it out in his head. How can they be so similar? Yet so different from the people around him? Different from him? And it dawns on Jaebum. That thought irks him.

Mark nudges his elbow, nodding at his fingers around his glass. Jaebum follows his gaze and stares at his white knuckles. He didn't even realize how hard he was clenching around his glass. He loosens his grip, but picks the glass up and gulps down the contents. For the rest of the night, Jaebum pretends that everything's fine, even though his heart feels restless.

---

"Jaebum, are you okay?" she asks, drawing his attention from his thoughts. Suddenly, the air feels heavy and tense, as if it weighs on his shoulder. Jaebum just nods, making sure his gaze is straight ahead and not on her face. He doesn't know why he does so, but he just couldn't stand looking at her these days. His fingers fiddles with his mug, hoping that she leaves the pantry soon.

But of course she doesn't.

"Are you sure everything is okay?" she asks once more, slipping onto the empty space on the couch. "You're not sick or anything?" Her face is so close to his, and Jaebum can't help but suck in his breath. At the close proximity, he notices how her skin seems soft, almost flawless despite working at the mechanics. Her lashes are long and curled upwards prettily. Jaebum's heart beats faster, his body burns up, his palms turn sweaty, and suddenly he's so conscious of everything.

Even though she has been working with them for half a year already, only now did Jaebum finally realize.

He has fallen for her.

No wonder he's always annoyed whenever there are guys around her. No wonder he gets mad when she smiles at other guys. He's jealous. That's why he dislikes the idea of other guys getting too close to her. That he dislikes the idea that other guys can see her adorable smiles. That he detests the idea that she's not his. That she might fall for other guys. Guys who are more capable than him. Guys who are smarter. More handsome. Wealthier. Guys like Jinyoung.

"Yeah, I'm fine," he spits, disdain on his tone. It's more of a lie that he wants to believe in. That he didn't just realized his newfound feelings. That he didn't just fallen for the mechanic girl that he dislikes so much. Damn, Mark will laugh at him.

"Are you sure?" she repeats her question. "Look, if I did anything wrong, will you please tell me?"

"No, you didn't do anything wrong."

"Then why won't you look at me in the eye?"

Well, shit. Jaebum inhales sharply. He pretends he doesn't hear her. He stands up, dumps his mug into the sink and exits the pantry. He hears her calling after him, but he ignores her. He heads over to the car he's supposed to work on, trying his best to tune the girl's voice out. But the said girl storms over to where he's working, questioning him once more. "What's wrong, Jaebum? Tell me if I did anything wrong!" She has been so insistent that it pushes him to his limits. She slams his toolkit shut. A wrong move.

Irate, Jaebum shoves her away. "Can you back off? I'm trying to do my job here!" Jaebum feels a pang of guilt in his chest, seeing the mixture of hurt and shock across her face. Jaebum has never been so rough at her, despite their usual bickers. Jaebum has always been careful not to touch the female no matter how much she gets on his nerves back then. But this was the first. And rough too.

"What the hell?" is what she spits a moment later.

"Just leave me alone. I've got work to do," Jaebum utters coldly, turning his back on the female.

"Yeah, sure, but you needn't shove me away like that! What's wrong with you?"

Jaebum slams his hands onto the rim of the car hood. He turns on his heels to face the female once more. "What's wrong with me?" he echoes as he stomps forward, only stopping when he's a few inches away from her face. Jabbing a finger onto her chest, he shouts, "What's wrong with you? Why the hell do you even work here?"

"What are you-"

"You're an uptown girl, aren't you?" Jaebum spits. The way her eyes dilate tells him that it's the truth. Before she can even utter another word, he adds, "That guy back there. He's an uptown guy too, isn't he?"

"So what?" she snaps, after she musters the courage.

Jaebum sneers. "Why don't you just stay at your mansion and be a pretty girl and let those filthy rich bastards woo you? Why the heck do you have to come here? Are you turning us into a joke that you can tell to your whiny friends back there?"

"What the hell?! You think I would do such thing?!"

"Of course you would! You're an uptown girl! You're a spoiled brat who gets everything your way! People like you disgust me the most! People like you are the ones I hate the most!" Jaebum hurls those words at her without a second thought. His chest heaves, and as much as he feels satisfied for spitting such words to her, regret slowly blooms in his chest. But he decides to pay no attention to it.

"How could you- Even after all this while, you still think I'm that kind of person?!" she screams back. Jaebum sees how her eyes turn moist and her face turns scarlet red. By now, Mark and Jackson have rushed over to them, pulling them away from one another. "You know nothing about me! But fine! Since I disgust you the most, I'll leave! I'll freaking leave and disappear from your sight forever!" she yells. She pushes Jackson out of her way and bolts away into the direction to the locker room.

"Leave then! As if I care!" Jaebum shouts after her.

Mark grabs his collar, eyebrows furrowed in anger. "What the hell are you doing?"

#got7 #got7 jaebeom #got7 im jaebeom #got7 scenarios #got7 jaebeom scenarios #got7 im jaebeom scenarios #jaebeom #im jaebeom #im jaebeom scenarios #jaebeom scenarios

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