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obae-me · 4 years ago

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The Demons Inside- Part 2

Part 1 (Lucifer) Part 3 (Levi)

Description: Mammon’s Part of the request “The brothers reacting to an MC crying suddenly in front of them and then trying to act as if nothing happened”

Words: 2201

Mammon groaned, sinking down deep into the chair. He slumped down so far, his face was nearly eye level with the low table. How long had it been now? Two hours? Four? An entire night? The lecture his older brother was torturing him with was worse than being strung up on the ceiling. All of this over some dumb assignments.

“Mammon, are you listening to me?” The deep grumble of Lucifer’s voice snapped him back up in place. The demon of pride continued briskly pacing back and forth, gesturing towards the strewn papers on his desk. Even just a flickering glance over the parchment would reveal how poorly they were done. Red marks, endless corrections, poor letter grades. Oh how he hated the study. Lucifer only ever brought him here of his own volition when he wanted to chew Mammon out in private. When his brother was angry with him, he wasn’t afraid to let the entire household and Devildom know it, but when he was disappointed? He was forced to have one on one time, listening to Lucifer scold him with something darker than anger in his eyes.

“Yes, I’ve been listening to you prattle on for the past few hours now!” Mammon exclaimed, throwing his hands up in frustration.

Lucifer’s eyelids lowered as he stopped pacing to look Mammon straight in the face. “Mammon, it’s only been twenty minutes.” With a wave of his hand, he brushed that irk aside, slightly impressed he used the word ‘prattle’. “Diavolo addressed me directly to confront you about this, Mammon. Do you understand the position you’re putting me in, the situation you’re putting yourself in?” The words were coming out of Lucifer’s mouth through gritted teeth. With one of his gloved hands, he plucked up a single assignment out of the many, showing it to his brother as if he didn’t already know what a failure it was. “Why can’t you just be like your brothers and get things done?”

How many times had they been through this now? How many times would they go through this same song and dance as if Lucifer didn’t already know the answer. Why him? Of all his siblings, why him? He severely doubted his older brother dragged his brothers down to have an in depth talk about their sins. He knew none of them were as severely punished as he ever was.

“Because I don’t want to! Why always me, eh? When was the last time you had Beel in here to talk about his eating habits?” He had almost had enough, he was out of his seat, hand on one hip, his teeth almost grinding together out of anger. Another push and he wouldn’t be able to control his form. The aura around him was already starting to thicken, the air getting hotter.

“Diavolo doesn’t approach me directly about Beel’s habits, but he ordered me to talk to you!” Lucifer closed his eyes, took in a deep breath, then let it out slowly, his voice calmer. “Sometimes we do things we don’t want to do.” Lucifer normally wouldn’t have hesitated to always be towering above his brother. Typically, at this point, his wings would’ve been unfurled, his eyes glowing, his form large and intimidating. But for right now, he stayed in his normal image, the bags of exhaustion and worry unable to hide themselves under Lucifer’s eyes. The firstborn pressed both of his palms on the surface of his desk as he leaned forward. “I know it’s harder on you than the others. I know how hard you fight against your sin, but I know you have the strength to-”

“Ah, don’t bring up that sorry line again, I’ve heard it enough.” Mammon looked his brother in the eyes before turning his back on him. “What’s the point? I’m outta here.” Mammon ran a hand through his hair to clear his vision. He had half a mind to keep his vision blurred with them, it was preferable to seeing his brother like this. It was better when he was angry. He hated it when it was...too real, too personal.

Mammon turned to leave, and instead of Lucifer dragging him back to save his own pride, he only called out to him one more time, haughty plopping down in his chair. “I know you’re capable of it, Mammon. Get it done. You’re...dismissed.”

“Tch.”

* * *

His skin still prickled with irritation, but he thought he had a plan that would best suit everyone. He knocked on the door, adjusting the many books and papers under his arm to prevent him from losing his grip. He had that typical golden Grimm-making smile on his face when the entrance swung open. The rush of air from within the bedroom flooded out the door, and he felt his body calm down with the scent and sight of MC.

“Mammon?” MC rubbed their eyes, they hadn’t quite been to sleep yet, but it was very late in the night, and anytime now Lucifer would be doing his Light’s Out rounds. They were already in their pajamas, a pencil still lingering in their dominant hand.

“I have a favor to ask of you, MC,” Mammon started, assuring himself that this would bring about the best outcome. Lucifer would get what he wanted, he would get what he wanted, and MC would get whatever they wanted for their efforts. He pulled out the large stack of books and papers from the crook of his arm, presenting them to MC. Their eyes went wide in a bit of shock, and MC braced themselves for the question they already knew. “Can you do my homework for me? It’s not too much, just a few essays, reports, multi-question assignments. You do this for me, and I’ll--get this--pay you for the work, eh?”

“I-uh…” MC stuttered as Mammon practically shoved the books into their hands. He beamed at them, looking at them with hopeful pleading eyes. MC was always so nice, they never hesitated to extend a helping hand, and it was just what he needed. MC struggled to carry the books in their arms, maybe it had been more than he expected. “I…”

“I’ll help carry these to your desk, what do you say?” He didn’t give them much of a chance to say anything regardless. He plucked the books back up, heading into their room while MC still struggled with words. The desk MC was using was already a mess, covered in stacks of tomes, multiple notebooks, and a plenty of assignments, more than should be assigned to one person. He raised an eyebrow as he placed his own books alongside the rest. He went to question them. “Oi, MC, what’re-” He swiveled his head to glance back at the human.

They had their head down, hands covering their face as their shoulders shuddered. The hair on the back of Mammon’s neck immediately stood up on end, the heart in his chest felt like it sunk down to the floor. Without another word, he was at MC’s side. The room, for him, was almost moving around him in circles as he watched MC cry. He bent his knees and squatted down slightly so he could try to look at MC’s bowed face. He grabbed them by the shoulders, thumbs rubbing their skin in small circles.

“Hey, hey, MC...listen you don’t have to do it if you don’t want to. It was a joke! Yeah, a joke!” He forced out a laugh. MC didn’t laugh with him. Emotional walls he kept surrounding were cracking. Tonight had not been his night. He quickly left MC, taking heavy but quick steps back to their desk. Stupid, he was stupid. He grabbed his books back, talking to MC while he gathered his work. “So, I’ll-uh-just take these back, and-”

“No, wait.” He felt a hand touch his arm. MC tugged at the fabric of his sleeve. They were no longer crying, and for just a moment, Mammon wondered if he imagined the whole thing. Their eyes were a bit puffy, but already they had their usual smiles plastered over their lips. They were acting like nothing had happened. “I’ll do it. I’ll do your work.” They touched his hand and guided the stack back to the hard and cluttered surface. The gentle gesture caused his cheeks to go a bit red. Their actions were leaving him winded. Were they upset or not?

“I mean, if you want to.” With those words, Mammon saw MC’s lip twitch. As an avid and talented gambler, there was one form of body language that he was well acquainted with. Tells. Little physical involuntary forms of a lie. His eyes narrowed, and he took the time to actually get a closer look at all the work MC had. Assignments with MC’s handwriting but labeled with different names, multiple copies of the same book, even tasks from classes MC wasn’t even enrolled in. Nerves in his body jolted. His legs almost felt like shaking, what was he doing? Was he just another scummy demon dumping their work on a human? His human. What had he done?

“I don’t mind, Mammon.” MC placed his stuff to the side, alongside all the other works MC had taken upon them. They adjusted a pile of parchment, the tip of their finger fiddling with one of the corners. Their somber look of recognition that someone else would be taking credit for their work. “If it makes you happy, I’ll do it.” He watched the muscles in their throat strain to say the words. They didn’t want to. They didn’t want to do this any more than he did, and they were doing three times the work.

“And that’s what you want, huh? To do other people’s duties?” He found himself growling. MC looked up at him with mild shock. “So what happened, eh? Did they threaten you? Trick you?” He wanted to tear up everything on that desk, but he clenched his jaw and waited.

MC shook their head slowly, their hair falling in front of tired eyes. “Nothing like that, they just asked. Just like you did.”

Those words stabbed through him like a dull knife. He wanted to scream but the air in his lungs quickly went absent. He was finding it hard to breathe. “And you said yes? Why?” He took a few steps closer to them. He could feel their body heat, hear their ragged breaths.

MC squirmed in place, their lip betraying them. They were going to cry again. “Well...just because.” For some reason the lecture he had been privy to earlier reverberated around in his brain. MC’s gaze flickered around the room, avoiding him. He envisioned Lucifer and himself, the tough love his brother had shown him. He scoffed and shut his eyes as he silently thanked his brother for all that he taught him.

He gently took MC’s face in both of his hands and forced them to look at him. “Do you want to do it?” He knew the answer already, he just had to keep working on chipping away their stubborn wall. They continued to stammer, giving vague answers that avoided being a direct yes or no. “Do. You. Want. It?” He enunciated every word, wiping away a single tear that strolled down MC’s face. He was almost there. They grabbed his wrists, trying to break free, but Mammon wouldn’t let them go. He could hear their chest puff out suffocated sobs.

He watched their shields crumble down in front of him. MC leaned into his touch, tears unable to be held back any longer. “No...I don’t. I don’t want to do it anymore.” They allowed him to pull them close, and he let out a brisk sigh.

“You’re too selfless for your own good. It’s running ya ragged.” He fiddled with a strand of hair on the nape of their neck. “Can’t you be a little greedy?” They didn’t respond, they just kept on crying. He held onto them tighter. He tisked. “Listen, I’ve got a special one-of-a-kind deal for you.” He felt them start to calm down, slowly but surely. “Take some of my greed for yourself, eh? Greed isn’t always about money or power. Sometimes it’s about doing what you want, solely for the fact that you want it.” Their head swiveled up just enough so he could see their eyes. He almost choked up just looking at them. He cleared his throat. “You clearly don’t have a selfish bone in your body, so I’ll just have to do it for you. We’re tearing up those assignments. And…” He took a deep breath in. “Because I’m so great, this once-in-a-lifetime offer comes with me, Mammon, doing your work for you. IF-” He dried their eyes, thankful their fit had come to a close. His hand lingered on their skin. “You promise to do something for yourself in exchange.”

MC weakly agreed, and Mammon piled up MC’s work on top of his own to take to his room. He was unaware of the dark shadow lingering in the doorway that stepped away like a whisper. Striding away with a proud smile on their face.

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me headcanons #obey me imagines #obey me mammon #obey me mammon x mc #obey me mammon x reader

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ateezmakemeweep · 4 years ago

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richboy!yeosang (part 4)

word count: 7k

fluff

(part 3) (series masterlist)

when you look back on your pregnancy, you’re not gonna remember the rocky start you and yeosang both had.

your immense fear and yeosang’s anger and just an overall feeling of dread and hysteria that comes with an accidental pregnancy.

it’ll be all the little moments in between that stick with you, the cute stuff and the hard stuff and the wide range of emotions that didn’t even fully prepare you and yeosang for what was to come in parenthood.

three months:

“this is cute.”

you look over at yeosang holding a tiny pink onesie with the brightest smile on his face, strawberries and cherries scattered around the soft fabric.

you mirror his smile as you walk closer to him, cocking your head to the side as you narrow your eyes at him.

“just say you want it be a girl already. i know you do.”

it’d been the debate going on between you two for the past few weeks, you not admitting you want a boy and him not admitting he wants a girl; but you can just tell he does, little comments he makes and the things he picks out when you pop in stores during sunday errands.

“because it’s pink? it could be for a boy, too,” yeosang says, “that doesn’t mean anything.”

you bite back the smirk threatening to take over your face, not letting it slip that, sometimes, you’ll hear him talking quietly at night. speaking into the darkness about how much he’s wanted to have a little girl to spoil.

“but you can’t tell your mommy,” he teased, his voice in a hushed whisper.

he now also has a habit of slipping his hands under your shirt (or more often, his that you stole) and splaying his fingers across your warm skin.

your stomach is just starting to show, the slightest indication of a bump forming that made his heart warm way more than he ever expected to feel; he knew he’d love to see you pregnant but he had no idea how much it was really gonna effect him.

watching as your body transformed seamlessly in order to carry his child.

“not that we should keep secrets from mommy, she just already knows everything,” he corrects, grateful to have your face hidden in his chest so he doesn’t see you smile.

“i can’t wait for you to meet her. she’s gonna be a lot better at this than me but hopefully you like me, too, baby girl.”

and you don’t have the heart to tell him you hear him at night, nor do you have the heart to tell him the person growing inside of you won’t be able to hear him for a few more weeks.

but you love how quickly he’s grown comfortable with this idea of becoming a father, finding solace in speaking hushly and sweetly when no one but them are around to hear.

“it has nothing to do with that,” you squeak, poking at his chest and giggling when he grabs your hand. “i just know. i know everything, right?”

his eyes narrow suspiciously and you have to control the laugh threatening to bubble up from your chest, instead giggling more when he tosses the onesie in the cart and guides you in front of the cart.

your back is against his chest as you two push the cart together, lingering in the newborn section for far too long as you excitedly look through clothes, books, and toys you already know are gonna clutter the apartment before the baby’s arrival.

four months:

your eating habits before pregnancy were, admittedly, rather picky.

everyone in your life had always made fun of you for having the palate of a toddler, straying from anything that didn’t look appetizing or produced a mildly unpleasant smell.

that’s why, after tons of research and reading up on the journey of pregnancy, yeosang was humored to hear about ‘unusual cravings’ that come about in the first and second trimester.

“i don’t know, baby, i can’t see you eating anything too disgusting. you’re kind of picky.”

“you’re kind of picky,” you immaturely mock because if pregnancy brain is giving you anything, it’s a lack of witty comebacks and remarks to your smart ass boyfriend.

a snort leaves yeosang’s mouth as he piles fruit into the blender, being sure to add a few extra blueberries after the doctor told you guys it was a good power food to implement into your diet.

it was something that, no matter how hormonal and scatter-brained, you were noticing. how sweet and attentive and just... into the pregnancy he was.

it was almost shocking you, to be honest.

because you knew yeosang was sweet, that the tough guy persona he attempts to put up around others is just a macho act, but this whole journey is really making you see just how caring your boyfriend is.

how he’s so accommodating to you and will drop everything the moment you open your mouth to ask him for something.

how when your parents were, while in the end thrilled to be grandparents, hesitant and nervous and asked if you wanted to move back in for help, insisted he would take care of you and the baby and they’d have nothing to worry about.

how everything that should be difficult during this is just so easy because of him, your level of comfort and happiness exponentially high.

he places your smoothie on the table before leaving a parting kiss on your head, telling you that he’ll be home early and will see you later. you smile and wave happily before resting back on the couch, sipping at your drink as you catch up on school work.

and it’s that same sight that greets yeosang when he comes home a few hours later, emptied cup on the table and your closed laptop resting on your stomach as you nap soundly.

a smile lights up his face and a warmth spreads over his entire body upon seeing you, any stress or irritation from his work day quickly fading away as he makes his way over to you.

he bends down and brushes hair from your face, his eyes roaming every feature; he’s excited to see what your child is gonna look like.

if she’ll (because something is just telling him it’s a girl, or maybe it’s just his wishful thinking and hopes), have your eyes or his nose. if she’s gonna have your personality, sweet and gentle with just enough spunk, or be more like him.

his eyes travel down to your shirt-covered stomach, a small smile on his face as he recalls the first time you noticed the change.

it was after you took a bath, body aching and sore as your body adjusted to morning sickness.

it was something so small and subtle but you had noticed just before wrapping the towel around yourself, your eyes narrowing as you turned to the side.

“yeosang?” he heard from the bedroom, pushing his laptop and books away as he makes his way to the en suite.

there was no sense of urgency in your voice but he still felt the overwhelmingly need to get to you, some innate protectiveness in him spiking anytime you call his name these days.

“yeah, my love?” he hums, his eyes widening and a smirk crossing his face when he’s greeted by your naked body.

“oh?” he hums, making his way over and gripping your bare hips. “i would’ve joined you in here earlier if i knew you wanted to-”

“not that, you perv,” you whine, pushing him away lightly before placing your hand on your lower stomach.

he notices your placement and immediately snaps out of his lustful daze, his eyes watching you carefully for any hint of pain or discomfort; but instead, he’s greeted with the sight of excitement shining in your eyes.

“does my stomach look different to you?” you ask, the small smile on your face making his heat pang in his chest. “there’s a little bump.”

“well no shit, baby,” he teases lightly, his hands going back on your stomach as he looks at you through the mirror. “gotta fit her in there somehow.”

you bite back the smirk on your lips as you meet his gaze, your eyebrow raising before he throws his hands up innocently.

“or him. gotta find them in there somehow.”

you let out a huff before rolling your eyes, turning back to look at yourself in the mirror.

you knew you were gonna see some sort of change soon but it’s like finally seeing it begin is making it all sink in. that you’re gonna get bigger and rounder and really start to look and feel more pregnant.

and while you obviously know that’s a part of this, that makes you a little nervous, too. watching as your body changes and you become more-

“you look beautiful.”

you heart jumps at the compliment still, a small smile on your face as you meet his gaze. it’s soft and warm and sweet and only makes your smile grow bigger, your head cocked to the side as you stare back at him.

he didn’t know if you needed to hear that right now, if the way you were looking at yourself was just curious and accepting or if you’re brain was gonna start becoming insecure, but he just felt like he needed to say it.

you don’t know what to say so you don’t say anything, pressing up on your toes to peck his lips sweetly.

you giggle into this kiss when, after you try to pull away, he drags you back to him and deepens it. a squeal leaves your mouth when his hands grip your thighs and pull you up, your legs wrapping immediately around his waist.

your towel falls to the ground with a plop as he makes his way to your bed, throwing you down and smiling wider as your giggle rings through the air.

the gentle lull of fingers running against your skin stirs you awake, a quiet groan escaping you before your eyes flutter open. an uncontrollable smile crosses your lips when you’re able to make out yeosang, his warm hands on your stomach and his soft eyes staring at you.

“hey baby.”

“hi,” you mumble tiredly, your arms outstretched before he chuckles and collapses on top of you. he makes sure to hold himself above you to not crush yo entirely, burying his face in your neck to press short, ticklish kisses.

“you smell good.”

“i haven’t left this couch, i can’t imagine how.”

he pulls back to look down at you, his hand combing though your messy hair and a laugh threatening to leave his mouth.

“have you had anything to eat yet?”

and he has to hold back a gag when you tell him you’ve only had your peanut butter and cheese, the bizarre craving that left you both shocked and surprised.

five months:

“alright, everyone who thinks it’s a girl, say i.”

you roll your eyes when you hear yeosang’s voice boom the loudest “i,” quickly followed by mingi, hongjoong, seonghwa and san.

“alright, so now everyone’s who correct in thinking it’s a boy, say i.”

“i.”

“i-”

“i! will bet my entire bank account that it’s a girl,” san interrupts, nearly throwing his fork across the table as he points it threateningly toward the ‘boy side.’

it was the day before your 18-week check up and nothing could’ve prepared you for the chaos that was to come.

the boys had made it a point to come over once a week ever since you told them the news, swapping between ordering food and bringing home cooked meals to fully prepare for their new lives as uncles.

it was a healthy mix of of fun banter and arguing before an aggressive explosion of debates like these: guessing the sex of the baby, fighting for spots as godparents and seeing who’s meal is gonna satisfy your pregnant self the most.

“anyone need $40?” jongho asks, him and wooyoung the most confident you’ve ever seen that you’re gonna have a baby boy - you wish you were as confident as all of them, because you really don’t know what’s gonna come tomorrow.

“fuck you!” san whines, a giggle leaving you as your hand rests on your stomach and you watch the boys argue back and forth.

yeosang kisses the side of your head as he gathers the plates and cups, seonghwa and yunho quietly talking to you and asking how you’ve been doing.

they knew it was hard for you to make the decision to not enroll in classes for the spring semester, knowing that the later months of pregnancy and baby’s arrival were far too close to finals time.

but you seem to be happy about that decision it seems, basking in the easy going pregnancy you’ve had thus far.

“i’ll probably go back when she’s one or something,” you say absentmindedly, the plan you started concocting in your head when you and yeosang talked about what you were gonna do.

“my parents said they’d be more than happy to watch her on the days i have class so i think it’ll be okay. i’m definitely going back, though.”

seonghwa and mingi shared a look with matching smiles on their faces, something that went unnoticed to you before the other boys quickly came over and stole your attention away.

“looks like you got her thinking it’s a girl, too,” seonghwa mumbles to yeosang, the boy biting back a smile.

he overheard you and couldn’t control the happiness blooming in his chest, watching with a smile as he watches you giggle and hit san and wooyoung’s arms playfully.

by the time the boys left, absolutely overstaying their welcome as they do every time, you were exhausted. laid out on the couch with your head on the arm, eyes threatening to close before yeosang came over and leant down next to you.

“you okay?”

“yeah,” you yawn, running your fingers through his hair lazily. “they’re just a little exhausting.”

“a little?” he hums skeptically, a smirk crossing your face as you hold your arms out to him.

“what?” he smiles, eyes lighting up as he looks at you.

“help me up.”

he pulls you up before scooping you into his arms, a content hum leaving your mouth as he walks toward the bedroom. he places you gently on the bed before pecking your head with a kiss, mumbling for you to change while he gets you a glass of water.

this was the new night time routine like clockwork, yeosang more often that not carrying your exhausted body in before setting you up with water and waiting until you fell asleep soundly on his chest.

he comes in a few moments later to see you already in bed, a smile lighting up your face that has him speeding up to get to you.

your eyes are drooping with your hold on him tight, soft mumbles of “i love you,” in your ear, about to succumb to sleep before you hear his deep voice begin to speak.

“baby, you still up?”

“hm?” you hum sleepily, your chin resting on his chest as you stare up at him with tired eyes.

he smiles softly upon seeing your face, his hand reaching out to caress your cheek gently.

there’s been something about seeing you like this that makes it feels like he’s falling for you again, unable to fully grasp just how much he loves you sometimes. it’s a feeling he once thought was scary, one that he thought he wasn’t even capable of.

but he sees now that’s not the case at all; that, if anything, the feeling only gets stronger and more prevalent the more you two go through.

“you know i really don’t care if it’s a boy or a girl, right?” he asks, the softness and sweetness of his tone making your tired state lessen. “i’m gonna be happy no matter what tomorrow.”

you can’t even control the giggle that leaves your mouth, reaching up to place a kiss on his lips.

“i love you,” you tell him, humor and amusement heavy in your tone not taking away from how true it is.

and from the slight pinkness on his cheeks and the scoff that leaves his mouth, you think he knows you’re only making fun of him a little.

“of course i know that, silly,” you tell him, his eyes narrowing before you snake your hand down and play with his fingers.

“but i do think you’ve convinced me it’s a girl, too,” you sigh out, your head resting back on his chest and your eyes closing. “i’ll also be happy either way, though. i think...we’re gonna be good at this.”

the words are quiet and sweet and making his heart jump. but when he looks down to meet your gaze again, he sees your fast asleep against his chest.

“so....” san drags out at next week’s dinner, the seven boys around the table looking at you and yeosang expectantly. “did you guys find out?”

you and yeosang share a smile and nod at them, the table erupting into a burst of chatter and demands to be told who was right.

“you’re not gonna tell us, are you?” seonghwa asks, the twinge in both your eyes making him far too skeptical.

a smirk crosses your face as you shake your head no, groans of protest and silent curses filling the apartment. they harass you and yeosang for the rest of the night, going as far as to put up money and chore work to know the answer.

but you insist that you’re keeping it a surprise, not even letting mingi or yunho know even though you and yeosang decided that, if they want t, they’re gonna have to be the godparents.

six months:

"this is pretty," you say quietly, tapping your finger on a light yellow that has yeosang’s face falling into a grimace.

"it's not for a nursery, y/n," he mumbles from behind you, the close proximity of his voice causing you to jump.

you hadn't realized he had moved closer to you as you browsed, his chest now pressed up right against your back. you feel the breath of his words grazing your skin as he looks over your shoulder.

"how 'bout that?" he asks, his arm brushing yours as he points to the most hideous shade of brown you'd ever seen.

"that is so ugly," you bluntly state, his deep chuckle rumbling in your ear as he pulls his arm back to rest on your shoulder. you try not to jump at the open affection and touch he's giving you, his hand ever so often squeezing gently.

"oooh, what about this?" you ask, craning your neck up to show him the color sample.

your cheeks nearly touch from how close your faces are now, holding your breath as you watch him look at it before meeting your gaze. you resist the urge to swallow nervously, his teasing eyes now looking right into yours.

"pretty," he mumbles, "it'll do."

“pretty,” you say, laid out on the floor as your eyes roam the freshly painted wall yeosang just finished. “it’ll do.”

“oh will it? i’m glad,” yeosang quips sarcastically, paint on his face and his hair a mess of waves as you giggle into your hand.

keeping the sex of the baby a secret, unfortunately, meant that you and yeosang had no help in painting the nursery.

it was the second guest room that you two never even touched, the white and beige walls in desperate need of some color for your baby’s arrival.

today reminded you heavily of your and yeosang’s first official date, when you shopped around the store with him to pick out the paint for his pool house.

you remember feeling so nervous and out of your element during that time, his chest against your back as you pushed the cart making your heart pound in your chest.

your cheeks warm when your hear his chuckle, his footsteps moving toward you until his arms reach around you to grasp the bar of the cart.

"you know, you talk a lot of shit one minute and then get unbelievably nervous the next," he lowly mumbles in your ear. "quite easily, might i add."

"i'm not nervous," you snap, placing your hands in the middle of the bar as you to start to push it down the aisle. "what gave you that impression?"

“baby, can you hand me that brush please?” he hums softly, your eyes moving to him atop the ladder.

you nod your head with a small smile, doing your best to get up despite the size of your growing stomach; you had thought at this point you’d actually be a little tired of being pregnant but, much to your surprise, it wasn’t annoying you too much.

yet.

“here you go,” you squeak, throwing it up to him just for it to fly past him and clatter back onto the floor by your feet.

he presses his lips together so he doesn’t burst out laughing, his brow raised before you narrow your eyes. it’s a challenge but you eventually bend down and get it, yeosang’s deep chuckles in the background only making you pout.

“i was gonna start helping you again but i don’t think i should,” you say, defiance and a bratty edge in your tone that he’s secretly missed. “how can you laugh at me?”

“you’re just cute, love, i’m sorry,” he smiles, walking a few steps down and pecking a kiss on your head before continuing with the third wall.

you decided on three pastel blue walls with one accent wall of wallpaper, a mural of animals and pretty landscape where you’ll eventually put the baby’s name.

“we still have to decide on a name, you know,” you hum softly, looking around the room.

it stills fills you with a little disbelief that this is what you guys are preparing for, talking about a name for your child and preparing a room for the baby that’s quickly gonna make their appearance into the world.

“i know,” he smiles softly, eyes roaming your face to see it’s calm and tranquil. his number one goal during these past months was to keep you as calm and content as possible, the shaky start to the pregnancy still making him feel guilty.

he turns back to continue the last bit of paint, eyes tired and body aching from hours of painting up and down the walls. you insisted that they hire someone, knowing you wouldn’t be that much help, but he thought this was better.

because similar to you, he couldn’t help but think back to when you painted his pool house together.

when you two were just starting out and he was every bit as nervous and unfamiliar as you. he didn’t think he was deserving of you but he took you anyway, unable to control the feeling in his chest or overwhelmingly desire to see you.

watch your reactions and how you talk to him, even if most of the time you were yelling or rolling your eyes.

“this looks like the same blue we painted the pool house, no?” he asks suddenly, your head snapping up before a smile lights up your face.

you knew he probably remembered the date but you weren’t sure if he’d been thinking the same thing today too.

“it does,” you smile, walking over and picking up your paintbrush. you dip it in the tray and watch the bristles absorb the pretty blue, peeking up at him to see his eyebrows pinched in concentration.

“i think i like this one a little bit better though.”

“me too,” he hums back, a smile on his face that makes your heart jump.

he finishes the wall a few moments later, you still brushing the paint through the tray absentmindedly. his presence in front of you halts your movements, his hand reaching down to help you up gently.

you giggle and immediately accept his hand, pecking his lips as you apologize for not doing more.

“stop,” he chastises, voice soft and sweet as he places a gentle peck on your nose. “you didn’t have to do anything, i just wanted you with me.”

“yeah?” you quip softly, your bottom lip slipping between your teeth as you stare up at him. his eyes darken ever so slightly and you have to resist the urge to laugh, tightening your hold on the paintbrush hidden behind your back.

“mhm,” he hums lowly, his paint-covered hand reaching out to hold your cheek. “are you hungry? i can make you something or we can-”

and even despite his sweet words and even sweeter intentions, it doesn’t stop you from reaching out and smearing the paintbrush across his cheek.

and that's how the first tragedy started, you so boldly dipping your finger in the tray and poking two blue dots on his face.

he stared at you in shock for a second, like he was trying to decipher if you really just did that, while you held back the laugh desperate to bubble out of your chest.

"you didn't."

"i did," you say playfully, "and it shut you up for a few seconds so i just might do it-"

roller in hand, he's quick to smear it over your entire cheek, wet paint grazing your skin and the stray hairs that have fallen out of your bun. your gasp and open-mouthed stare causes his deep chuckle to echo through the pool-house, a sound so foreign to those walls.

"you got my whole face!" you yelp, holding your own roller out like it's a weapon. "i did two little specks on your cheek."

"two specks too many and now you look ridiculous. so i hope you're hap-"

you quickly roll the paint over both his cheeks now, first the right then the left, before dropping it in the pan and running over to the safe zone in the kitchen.

a smile crosses your face as you look at him with a giggle, the boy just standing there in disbelief before his neck snaps up to look at you.

"you're done," is all you hear his deep voice say, the dark teasing causing excitement to run through you until you see him going over to pick up the roller you dropped.

he only stares at you in shock for a few seconds, eyes flashing and face twisting before he shakes his head and grabs onto your waist tightly.

“you’re done.”

you shake your head as a teasing smile makes it way across your face, attempting to run out of the nursery to prevent another paint tragedy from occurring.

but he catches you gently around the waist before you can get further, his arms quickly scooping you up. he plops you down on the couch despite your protests, watching with soft amusement as you giggle and shake your head rapidly.

the rest of the night goes by in a flurry of teasing from him and giggles from you, sharing pizza and soda before it feels as if you hadn’t slept in hours; but this was one of the first days you’ve gone without a nap, your body on top of yeosang despite the ever-present fear you’re gonna crush him.

“if- if i get too heavy, just tell me to get off,” you mumble tiredly, your legs between his as your head rests on his chest.

he chuckles lightly against your head, wrapping his arms around your back and tightening his hold on you immediately.

“that’ll never happen,” he mumbles against your head, feeling your smile against his chest before your breaths even out and you’re fast asleep.

seven months:

it was at this point in the pregnancy you felt as if the happy glow was wearing off.

your stomach was huge, your back was aching, and any time you looked in the mirror, it’s like you didn’t recognize yourself.

your body wasn’t your body anymore and even your face looked different, cheeks fatter and nose wider in a way that, tonight in particular, was getting to you.

“he hates me. i know he does,” you cry out, mingi and yunho looking at you like you’ve grown five heads.

because after you slightly burnt the cookies in the oven you’d been craving, yeosang out with wooyoung and san helping them set up apartment furniture, you’d been on a hormonal, downward spiral since.

you felt big and ugly and undesirable.

you felt as if you looked miserable and depressed and like you didn’t wanna be a mother at all.

you felt like yeosang didn’t love you anymore, sick of doting on you and putting up with your naps and every thing else you’ve annoyed him with for the past seven months.

“i hate the guy most days, y/n, but i can tell you right now he loves you more than anyone else in the world. it’s the only reason i haven’t actually beat his ass.”

yunho lets out a snort, less at mingi’s words and more so at picturing his sweet fiancé beating someone up. but when the boy shoots his head toward him, he sends a smile and nod his way.

“mingi’s right, babe. he could absolutely beat him up and he hasn’t. because we know how much he loves you.”

“he might love me but he doesn’t like me,” you whine, tears brimming your eyes and threatening to overflow.

usually, the second these two boys see you on the verge of tears, they hate it. will do everything in their power to stop it because they hate seeing you so sad and upset.

but this is making them almost wanna laugh, knowing the hormones that come with the later part of the pregnancy can be very daunting.

“he likes you and he loves you, y/n, i can promise you that,” yunho says, the smile on his face making you pull your eyebrows together and let out more cries.

it’s upon yeosang opening the door a few moments later that yunho and mingi shoot up, rushing toward the boy who looks at them in surprise.

“what the-”

“she’s been crying all day and thinks you hate her.”

“actually, she thinks you love her but don’t like her,” mingi whispers, yeosang’s face twisting into one of confusion.

but before he can ask them to explain, or ask what the hell you even meant by that, he hears cries coming from the couch that have him rushing over before the two boys can say anything else.

“hey, my love. what’s wrong?” he asks, plopping down next to you and pulling you into him.

you slump against him immediately, missing him and his warmth despite the fact he was only gone for a few hours; you were usually clingy and needy at night but it appeared to get worse these days.

you only slump against him and shake your head, suddenly embarrassed and upset and just wanting everything to be over. you just want this baby out of you already, you want your body back to normal and you want to stop feeling like this some days.

the faint sound of the front door closing goes unheard by both of you, yeosang’s arm around you and your head on his chest before he pulls back and looks down at you.

“why’d they tell me you were crying all day?” yeosang questions softly, a frown on his face because the thought physically pains him. “and why do you think i don’t like you? i love you, baby.”

“i know.... i know you love me but i don’t think you like me anymore,” you whine, a smirk threatening to take over his face.

but he knows the last thing to do in front of a pregnant, hormonal woman is to laugh in the face of her emotional breakdown. so instead, he remains soft and gentle, pulling you on top of him and brushing his fingers through your hair as you whimper into him.

“i’m so sick of being pregnant, yeosang. i just feel like i’ve been annoying and tired and sleeping all day. i’m so big and ugly and my face has changed and i-”

“stop.”

his voice is deep and harsh and immediate, the command in his voice that you know means there will be no exceptions.

he sees your eyebrows pulled together in protest, his face softening before he cups yours and gently caresses your skin; he knows he can’t imagine how tiresome it is to go through this process but he also knows by no means are you ugly or incapable of doing this.

“i know you’re tired of this, baby, and i’m sorry. but you’re not ugly. you couldn’t be ugly if you tired, pretty girl,” he says, the pout on your lips making him smile and press a kiss on your mouth.

“and you gotta eat to keep my child healthy and strong, no?” he asks, his eyebrow raised as his hands lower to your round stomach.

he thought the transformation was amazing actually, what the human body could do and watching you become like this just to fit something he put inside you.

“so if you weren’t getting bigger, we’d be having problems. you’re doing so good, baby, you really are. and you’re gonna be such a good mom, too. you only have a little bit more to get through, okay?”

his words calm you as much as they make your heart flutter, the tears now swarming in your eyes one from happiness.

“so you do like me?”

and he didn’t expect that to be the next thing you say after that, a deep chuckle bubbling from his mouth that makes a wet giggle leave your own.

“yes, baby. i like you.”

eight months:

you thought nothing was gonna beat the panic you felt when you first found out you were pregnant.

your shaking hands and pounding heart and the overwhelming fear that you and yeosang weren’t gonna be able to get through this.

now, though, the fears feel much more real and much more terrifying.

knowing that, in just a month, a third person is gonna be a part of your little family. someone you’re gonna be completely and solely responsible for, making sure their needs are met and you raise them to be a good human being.

and it’s really hitting you tonight, after some mild cramping landed you in the doctor’s office where you were assured it was just your body’s response in preparing for labor.

but that was enough to completely scare you. leave you silent on the car ride home with your sweaty palm in yeosang’s and your mind racing a mile a minute.

“you’re quiet,” yeosang hums softly, the air between you thick as his thumb caresses your hand.

he felt a similar surge of panic rush through him when you told him about the mild discomfort in your stomach, all but jumping up and out the door to get you to the doctor immediately.

you make a noise of approval in the back of your throat, the only response other than the way you tighten in his hand in yours.

because right now, with all of these racing thoughts, you just wanna stop.

stop thinking about everything that could go wrong in the next month, the pain of labor and dealing with a newborn.

you wanna stop thinking about you and yeosang not handling the transition well, lashing out at each other after sleepless nights full of the baby’s crying as you try trying to adjust to this new life.

your walk up to the apartment is silent as well, going right into your room and plopping face down on the cold sheets.

the bed dips a few moments later and you make a tired groan when yeosang drags you up toward the pillows, placing you in front of him before leaning you back.

your back rests on his front for a few calming moments, his hands rubbing slowly over your stomach in a way he’s gotten used to over these past few days.

the moment you told him you had cramps, you weren’t surprised when he started doing that.

there hasn’t been a moment throughout this pregnancy when he wasn’t comforting you or assuring you in some way. holding your hand or stroking your hair and just making sure at all times, you were feeling happy and healthy.

but now it’s like you’re so beyond that point, tired and frustrated and just feeling so anxious about what’s to come.

“are you scared for her to come?”

yeosang’s hands stop on your stomach when he hears you utter those words, shifting your body until you’re sitting in front of him.

your eyes are wide and glossy and he can’t help but smile at how pretty you look, taking your face in his hands gently.

“of course i am,” he says honestly, not wanting to sugar coat anything or lie to you. “but i’m also excited to meet her. we’re as prepared as we can be, right? so we’ll just have to figure it out one day at a time.”

“i know,” you sigh out, that piece of advice everyone in your life is telling you. to take the early challenges of motherhood one day at a time; but you think it’s easier said than done, especially with a month left to just sit here and dwell on things.

“but i don’t know.... are we really ready? we’re not even married, yeosang. what if everyone at the hospital is like.... yikes.”

a snort leaves his mouth that he couldn’t hold back, not liking to laugh at the comments and exaggerations you make these days but sometimes not being able to help it.

“again, baby, if you wanna get married right now, i’ll go out and get a ring. but otherwise, no one is gonna say shit.”

“that’s not why i said it,” you whine, pushing him playfully and cracking a smile at his deep chuckle. “i’m just... scared about a lot of things again, yeosang. it was nice in, like, the middle of this. and it didn’t seem too bad. but now it’s all feeling very real again and i....i don’t know if i’ll be able to do it.”

“of course you’ll be able to do it,” yeosang mumbles softly, his fingers tracing shapes on your shoulder. “you made it this far, baby, and you’ve been doing so good. i already told mi that you’re gonna be better at this than me.”

a smile lights up your face as you hear him say your daughter’s name aloud, the long winded decision in picking your child’s name finally coming to an end last week.

you both had gone back and forth about what kind of names you wanted, discussing meanings and how it sounded and voting out what you absolutely didn’t want.

jang-mi was the name yeosang suggested that you immediately loved, could see it fitting right next to yours on a christmas card or shouting it through the apartment when she’s a crazy toddler.

“that’s funny because i told her the same thing,” you chuckle out quietly, letting out a sigh as you roll over and curl into him.

you were soaking in the bath one morning, all but demanding yeosang to sleep in one weekend when you felt her kicking inside you.

the first time you felt it all a few months ago, you remember nearly yelping. alarming yeosang to the severest degree and watching him rush into the living room to see you staring at him shock.

but he was just as fascinated and happy as you, feeling kicks from inside your stomach as prove that there really was a baby growing in there.

you’d gotten used to it though, every time you felt it talking to her quietly or giggling at the sensation.

telling her how excited you are to meet her despite your nerves, sharing stories or readings books and just informing her of the true chaos she’s gonna encounter with her father and uncles.

“i already know mingi’s gonna try to be strict with you but i think you’ll have him wrapped around your finger the tightest,” you predicted, above all else excited to see him interact with a baby.

“and your daddy’s gonna act like he doesn’t know what he’s doing or is bad at it. but i think he’ll be a lot better at this than me, jang-mi. he acts tough and strong and mean but he’s... the best man ever. and i’m happy he’s your dad.”

yeosang doesn’t have the heart to tell you he heard you in the bath that day, remembering how quickly tears were in his eyes and he was, for a brief moment, the happiest he’d ever felt in his life.

“then maybe we’ll both do a good job,” he hums quietly, already knowing full well that, whatever happens, she’s gonna have you both wrapped around her finger.

nine months:

your water broke two weeks early and nothing could have prepared you for the terror of that moment.

how one second, you were walking in the coffee shop with mingi and yunho and the next, wetness poured down your legs and onto the floor below you. the inside of your pink maternity dress was sticking uncomfortably, a confused expression overtaking your face.

“uhhh, guys...”

“i think i’m gonna get a scone,” yunho says, looking up at the menu despite going here for years.

“no, get the cookies again.”

“you never eat them, babe, why would we-”

“guys...”

“doesn’t he never eat the cookies, y/n?” yunho asks, his head turning to side-eye you before he notices your look of discomfort. “what’s wrong?”

and it’s at that that mingi turns his head, looking over your face before catching the wetness on your dress and at your feet. he looks from the floor to you several times, like he’s trying to put two and two together before his mouth hangs open almost comically.

but because he’s mingi, you should’ve known the words leaving his mouth were gonna be even more funny, even if you didn’t think it at the time.

“did you just piss?”

it’s yunho’s delayed realization that kicks everything into gear, his hand bouncing off mingi’s head before he exclaims that your water just broke.

excitement and shock and even a little bit of chaos erupts throughout the coffee shop in the minutes after, strangers asking if they could help and the barista’s you’ve come to know clapping their hands and looking on excitedly.

“call yeosang,” yunho says, flagging down a taxi just as the fear and anticipation start to build in you.

he answers on the 2nd ring when he sees mingi’s name pop up, knowing full well that the boy was spending the day with you; because he was actually guilty in demanding, with the due date just around the corner, that someone was with you at all times.

“hello?”

“yeosang...”

he doesn’t know how but the second he hears your voice, he can just tell something’s not right.

“what happened? is everything okay?”

you lick over your lips anxiously, knowing for the past nine months you guys have been both terrified and waiting for this day. just a few (or many) hours away from meeting your daughter.

“she’s coming.”

the line goes silent for a few moments, just the sound of his breathing before he starts to shuffle and rush toward his boss’s office.

you’re so lost in his words, assuring you that everything will be fine and that he’ll see you soon, you miss yunho and mingi share big smiles with one another, the former excitedly mouthing “it’s a girl,” just as the taxi pulls up to bring you to the hospital.

part 5

tag list: @mirror-juliet @toffee-hwa @valhoez @miatsubaki23 @mydaintydaisy @treasurehwa @markleeyeosang

#my laptop broke so i unfourt cant edit this #dont come 4 me #yeosang #yeosang fluff #yeosang angst #yeosang smut #ateez #ateez fluff #ateez smut #ateez angst #yeosang scenarios #yeosang imagines #ateez scenarios #ateez imagines

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nahimjustfeelingit-writes · 4 years ago

Text

Imagine:

This is a request from @dashhoney25

Erik and his boo, London, make up for lost time. 😈

Warnings: LOTS of Smut, Rough sex, dirty talk. This shit...had me wet AF.

There are four levels of assassins: the novices, dilettantes, journeymen, and lastly masters. The masters, men with military or paramilitary backgrounds who travel to their contracts have few local ties that law enforcement can use. They excel at their craft, and operate quietly and without incident. In theory, the whispered meetings will be held in secret, the job will be executed with precision and grace, and no one will witness the escape. As a class one type assassin, Erik Killmonger was genetically enhanced in order to perform physical tasks much more efficiently than an average peak-human. To keep his skills in balance, Erik Killmonger practices his combat, shooting, assassination, and stealth skills whenever he is not on an assignment. He has over his life become a myth in the underworld due to his skills. Many doubt Erik Killmonger’s existence because of his skills in completing impossible assignments to the point that the FBI and CIA denies his existence…

Erik Killmonger spawned on a beach in Miami from his F470 Combat Rubber Raiding Craft at approximately 9:30 PM. He’s wearing a Roka wetsuit that provides luxurious comfort and no restrictions. The ocean waters emit a bright blue glow as the waves crashed and the tide came in because of tiny organisms called Lingulodinium polyedrum. With him, Erik Killmonger has on a pair of thermal imaging goggles resting on top of his tapered locs. Frontwards, Erik Killmonger spots two armed guards pacing in front of the architect-designed luxury beach home. Erik Killmonger tugged on the goggles, bringing them down over his onyx eyes. Both of them are carrying a GLOCK 19 and wearing crisp black suits and polished black dress shoes. One beefy man and the other looking about his weight and height. Good.

Erik Killmonger has mastered the art of stealth, being able to terminate multiple enemies in the same area one at a time and sneak up on almost anybody and quietly neutralize them. Erik Killmonger also has an expert level understanding of the use of disguises in order to access unauthorized areas of a location. He needed the disguise of one of the guards to get inside of the home so he could grab what he needed for his Nightcall mission. Keeping low, his body hidden by the Lyme grass that sprouted from the beach, Erik Killmonger spots a pool on the left side. Moving quickly, He walks inside the pool room and finds a tool box sitting on a surfboard table. Walking back out, he went around to the left side of the house until he saw the garage. Erik Killmonger uses the screwdriver that he picked out of the tool box to short-circuit the signal box, which will allow him to open up the garage door for access. He rounded a corner and parkour rolled, finding a good hiding spot.

“Man, this is a bust...what exactly are we guarding?” The beefy guard with a Glasgow smile and a clean shaven head says before taking a quick puff from his cigarette. He spoke with an Australian accent from what Erik Killmonger could pick up while hiding behind a cherry-red sports car.

“All I know is I’m getting paid,” The other guard that sounded like a Florida native says before turning to grab the cigarette from his partner's hand. He runs a hand through his jet black hair that reminded Erik of how greasers used to wear it back in the 50s. Blowing smoke towards the sky, he chokes up a bit.

“Are these M-Marlboro golds?” He says between coughs and slight wheezes.

“Yep, the only kind I smoke...looks like you can’t handle it though,” The beefy guard laughs tumultuously.

“I’m more of a codeine guy,” The greaser says before handing the cigarette back to the other guard, “I prefer my prescription drugs.”

“That shit will have you on the floor, man.”

Erik checked the time on his G-Shock Casio Camouflage watch. He didn’t bring a lot of tech with him since this job is supposed to be silent, quick, and precise. He couldn’t leave any traces of himself behind. For Erik, these types of jobs were always the hardest for him, that’s why he took another week to survey the area with his Dragon X12 U11 Drone late at night before accepting the Nightcall mission. The two guards kept talking nonsense, wasting a breath with every word when Erik Killmonger could be in the luxury beach home. He only had thirty minutes left. Since taking out both of them will bring too much attention, he decided to take them down one by one.

“Hey...what was that?” The greaser says mid laugh. He shared a look with his partner before they both went stony-faced. He pulls out his GLOCK 19, checking the magazine for rounds before turning towards the garage, “I’ll be back, you know we aren’t really supposed to leave this post. If Alma asks, tell her I’m checking for a noise.”

“Gotcha, just hurry back, you know that bitch will have something to say,” the beefy guard reminds him.

With his gun pointed straight ahead with a two-handed grip and unwavering eyes, the greaser walks slowly past the cherry-red sports car, Erik Killmonger’s body no longer there. Making a left turn, heading towards the pool room, the greaser aims his gun left, right, behind, and in front of him. It was dark and anyone could be hiding behind the many shelves filled with storage bins and other miscellaneous items. Erik watched the greaser walk far enough into the pool room before stepping out from behind a cluttered storage cabinet.

Erik Killmonger got really close behind the greaser without being detected, grabbing him around his throat by putting him in a choke hold, the crease of his arm between his bulging bicep, tricep, and flexor, squeezing with ease before he went limp in his arms. He dropped him, getting down on his knees to remove his suit and get dressed. Once he was fully clothed and looking like the other armed guards, Erik Killmonger places the GLOCK 19 in the suit jacket pocket before taking a calm yet treacherous stroll out to the other guard.

_____________________

London’s eyelids fluttered open with a hassle around 3:18 AM, just five hours before she had to be to work. London is a Cyber Security Analyst for CSOC, a five-star rated computer security company in New York City, New York. The high and wide windows within the bedroom of her Penthouse gave her a nighttime view of the Midtown Manhattan skyline and at its feet is the whole geometry of Central Park. The high end silk bedding duvet cover set in black has perfect temperature-regulating properties that would usually help her sleep but with the absence of her man there was little to no chance for her to drift off again. London scoots over towards the edge of the left side of the upholstered platform bed in black to effectively turn on the side lamp. After rubbing her tired eyes, London grabs her phone to see if she had any missed calls or texts from him. Sure enough, the busy man himself sent her a text almost two hours ago.

Erik: I just boarded my private jet, I’ll see you when you wake up baby girl. I’ll be right next to you.

London and Erik have been exclusive for a little over a year. They met because Erik was a longtime client of CSOC and London would personally work for him whenever he needed it. She picked up on his flirtatious cues and the way his eyes blazed every time he looked at her. It was her round, sparkling topaz eyes with sweeping lashes; glowing honey skin; high cheekbones every time she smiled; glossy full lips; bouncy blunt cut copper hair; and trim frame with a plump backside. London didn’t expect anything to happen between them since Erik could be a bit emotionally closed off but he had a deep, and in the beginning, unexpressed admiration for London. He very rarely showed a liking towards anyone around him but for some reason, London changed that. Beneath his bad boy persona is a charming, mysterious, and intellectual man. London fell in love with him before she found out what he did for a living. Erik is an Assassin. Killing people as an occupation of course terror struck her in the beginning but she couldn’t leave him alone no matter how much her conscience tried to sway her.

The beginning of their relationship...let’s just say it was nothing short of wild. Erik used to take London on big trips to places like Dubai, Japan, Colombia, and Saudi Arabia whenever he had work. That changed when Erik almost had a near death experience when trying to escape from a mission. He ended up hospitalized in a secret facility for trained killers like himself somewhere in Arizona. London made up for his lack of being there by working more hours which led her to a position as a Lead Cyber Security Analyst. Her pockets swelled even though she didn’t necessarily need the money since Erik could afford to take care of both of them. London grew tired from working long and hard hours and whenever she would come home to find Erik there she wouldn’t feel up to doing anything sexually. He was always on the move and she was always at work back in NYC. A strain between them both began to form.

Erik didn’t fuss much about it, knowing how demanding his job is but whenever London felt a certain way about their situation he would let her vent to him, rubbing his baby girl’s back, kissing her gently, whispering reassurance to her; that things are going to get better; that she should leave her job and stay home. As easy as all of that sounded, London couldn’t bring herself to leave all that she worked so hard for behind her. To top it all off, London is a strong, independent woman who has done almost everything herself before Erik walked into her life. Yeah, he’s her daddy, but sitting at home waiting on his FaceTime call, his text, or to even simply hear his voice wasn’t enough. Also, she had to keep in mind that the future isn’t promised for the both of them. If things didn’t work out, London would be on her own again. The lack of sexual attention was indeed driving London crazy. Taking baths alone turned into London using her waterproof rabbit vibe or the faucet to make her cum. Other times she would mount her suction cup dildo that is an exact mold of Erik’s dick on the edge of the tub to ride. If she couldn’t have daddy’s long, thick, veiny black dick, then the toy would just have to make up for that when he’s not around.

London snatched the silk duvet from her body before walking to the master bathroom. With the lights on, London turned to stare at her reflection through the backlit vanity mirror. London gently touched one of the taps twice, the warm water flowing out and into the single copper basin of the bathroom sink. Cupping her hands, the white iced out diamond Cuban link 10k yellow gold bracelet on her right wrist twinkling beneath the lights, London watches with drowsy eyes as the water fills in her hands. A few times, London rinses her face with the warm water to calm herself down so she can go back to sleep peacefully without tossing and turning. Lifting her face from the sink basin, eyes closed because of the water dripping from her face, London blindly grabs a folded black cotton facial towel with gold trimming. She dabs her face, taking in the clean and soft fresh linen smell.

“Why are you up so late?”

London blanched, when Erik startled her with his large hands grabbing at her waist from the back. To this day, London still wasn’t used to Erik’s stealth. His feet are like feathers hitting the floor. London is wearing a black Sheer Marabou Romper that has a cinched waist, fluffy feathery trim, and thin straps. One thing Erik loves to see her in any chance he got was lingerie or nothing at all. Looking up into the vanity, London took in Erik’s appearance. He’s wearing his usual all black from head to toe; black cable knit long sleeve top that clung to his hulking frame and black drop crotch destroyed jeans. The layered diamond tennis chains around his neck matched the bracelet on London’s wrist and the Rolex on his left wrist with its diamond bezel didn’t go unnoticed either.

“I couldn’t sleep, it’s been that way for the past few weeks,” London rubs his strong hands with thick fingers around her waist, “How was this job?”

“Unnecessary, but I have another two million in my bank account so I can’t complain,” Erik’s thick lips circled London’s exposed neck, “You can’t sleep because of me, huh?”

“I’m used to you being next to me, yes, but I know you’re so busy,” London turns to face Erik. His hair from the dim lights of the bathroom looked almost raven, dreads messily resting against his forehead. London’s hands reach out to stroke his tapered waistline. She could feel all of the tiny raised scars beneath her manicured nails the more she lightly scratched him.

“I’ve been getting calls for jobs left and right. Nothing else matters when I’m with you...I miss my baby,” Erik’s hand makes its way to London’s copper hair, slicking back the pressed out strands from her face before placing some behind her ears, “Haven’t been giving you the attention you need, and then you’re wearing my favorite too, probably waiting for me to come home and properly take it off of you.”

“Properly taking my clothes off for you is ripping them to pieces,” London giggles before lifting to her tiptoes to kiss Erik’s thick, moist lips, “Why don’t you take a shower so we can lay in bed, I want you to wrap your arms around me,” London rubs Erik’s biceps.

“Aight, ma, let me take a quick shower and I’ll meet you in bed,” Erik traced the pout of London’s bottom lip before giving her another kiss with a little bit of tongue.

London walked back to the bedroom, pulling the silk duvet back and climbing back into bed. She propped herself up on her side to watch Erik undress. The standing shower system they have was London’s favorite. It has a square shower head with LED, remote-controlled LED, a detachable hand shower if you wanted to use it, and a thermostatic touch panel mixer with a digital display. The Rainfall mode made London experience the pleasure of a warm summer rain in her own bathroom. Her body was so tired but she couldn’t stop staring at him as he stripped out of each piece of clothing. Erik’s sinewy physique is so defined and well-built, so much so that you can even tell through his clothing. The raised marks on his torso, arms, and back caused her pierced nipples to grow taut as if she could feel his body rubbing against hers.

Stepping into the shower, Erik puts it on Rainfall mode before standing directly under the square shower head. As the water sprouted from the shower head it trickled over Erik’s body making lazy patterns. He grabs for his favorite peppermint and eucalyptus body wash with a soap sponge to clean himself. He must have known that London was watching him because his ridiculously big dick was swaying back and forth with each movement of his body. London hasn’t had that big black dick in her for at least a few weeks now. When she first saw that fat dick in person she was sure she wouldn’t be able to take it. All that dick you’ll end up with no walls, tangled intestines, and half a stomach. She paid close attention to the way Erik grabbed his dick at the base, bringing it up against his lower abdomen to wash his balls. That heavy nut sack on him had her drooling. It had to have been almost 5 AM now. She was going to be extremely tired at work.

________________

London arrived to work thirty minutes late with her daily homemade green smoothie in hand. She’s wearing a charcoal grey pencil skirt with a silk black top and black So Kate pumps on her feet. Her copper hair is swept to the side and bouncing with each step she took. When London woke up Erik wasn’t on his side of the bed. After freshening up and getting dressed, London went looking for him and found him in his weapons room unloading a few rounds to test out the new artillery. She didn’t want to disturb him too much so she gave him a quick kiss before leaving him alone until she made it back home. London walks past the rounded glass top receptionist desk before pushing open the commercial double glass doors to her work area.

Having her own office means peace and quiet now. London gave some of her coworkers tight lipped smiles before entering her work space, allowing the frosted glass door to close behind her. 888 Seventh Avenue provided magnificent views of Central Park and the Manhattan skyline. London takes a seat at her modern black wood executive desk with a Mac desktop computer and other office supplies. She has two meetings to attend and one will be starting within the next hour. London checks her work email for any important information from clients while sipping her green smoothie. Time trickled by slowly and London hadn’t noticed that Erik had called her a few times. After receiving a reminder about the meeting via company email, London checks her phone. Erik sent her a voice message which was rather unlike him. London listens despite her confusion.

“Hey what’s up, baby, how are you doing? I didn’t get a chance to really talk to you this morning since the new artillery came in, but...I’m sitting here just thinking about you and baby... I just want to see your face. Can you send me a picture or a video of yourself? I miss that pretty face….” he paused for a second, “I’m not gonna lie, ma...I’m feeling some type of way because I’m sitting here just thinking about you...thinking about tasting you...thinking about the other night when you watched me take a shower before you fell asleep…” Erik exhaled, “I miss that wet pussy, baby...I know that shit was wet last night...like goddamn...I know you’re panties had to be soaked, shit.”

London was seated on the edge of her seat while her free hand gripped the handle of her seat. She couldn’t believe he was saying this to her in her voicemail. She instantly needed her man.

“I’m saying...I’m not complaining at all because I love that wet ass pussy on my face and in my fucking mouth...grinding that pussy across my lips and my beard...Still tasting your pussy juices on my mustache...I wanna suck on that clit...that shit make you so goddamn wet, girl...spread them fat pussy lips and slowly guide my tongue up and down...up and down...fuck,” Erik hisses, “I miss that pussy gripping my fingers...you like that shit don’t you? Daddy’s fingers in your tight little pussy? Goddamn...fuck that I want you to take a picture of how wet your pussy is right now...yeah, I know that’s a little naughty but I know you’re my nasty little girl so you’ll do that shit anyway, right? I’ll spank that ass if you don’t send me a fucking pic, girl...I’ll spank that ass just how I do when I’m busting that pussy open from the back…”

London closed her eyes, praying to god that she would go through the rest of her day after this voicemail. She’s definitely wet alright; fucking soaked. If London pulled her panties to the side right now it would probably reveal a sticky, slimy mess. He had to be beating that fat ass dick right now.

“Man...now you got me wanting to fuck the shit out of you, London...put my hands on your hips and start off nice and slow in that pussy...shit, we both know that pussy good...puss will have me busting a fat nut so fast...hell nah, girl…” Erik’s voice lowered over the phone to a whisper that ran down London’s spine and straight to her clit, “I just want you to know how good that pussy tastes and feels baby...pussy so fucking good...I love when you say don’t stop daddy, you know daddy ain’t stopping for nothing. Daddy got something long and thick for your ass…and I want that fat pussy in my mouth…”

The voicemail had ended two minutes ago but London was so frozen with shock that she couldn’t move enough to close her mouth. She finally removed the phone from her ear before checking to see that no one was watching. They couldn’t anyway because of the frosted glass doors but London wanted to be absolutely certain. Scooting back in her black Sterling Leather Executive Chair, London gathers the bottom of her skirt, bringing it up and around her waist. London brings her left hand down between her legs to pull the crotch of her panties to the side. She scoots to the edge of the chair so her pussy is sitting nice a plump for a perfect picture. Grabbing her cell phone, London activates her camera from her lock screen, turning it to selfie mode before aiming it as best as she could to achieve a good angle so he can see everything. London takes a few pictures, one with her lips sitting nice and fat and the other with her lips spread so that he can see how hard and poked out her clit is and how much of her creamy wetness spilled from her pussy.

“There you go daddy,” London says before sending it off to Erik. She wasn’t happy at all that she had to leave for her meeting. London brings all the necessary material for the meeting before exiting her office for the conference room. When she entered the conference room, everyone was already in their usual spots so London quickly found hers near the front right across from the manager of CSOC, Linda Yeager.

“Goodmorning, London, do you have the contingency plans packet for the meeting today?”

London’s eyes swept over Linda’s appearance. Linda has her long strawberry blonde hair pulled back into a low ponytail and a navy blue women’s suit on with a white blouse underneath. Her veneer smile is wide and similar to that of a horse and her thin lips are painted red to bring out the heavy makeup look she went for today.

“Yes,” London opens her portfolio, handing Linda the packet that she created yesterday, “I made sure that everyone received a new one before today.”

“Excellent,” Linda stands from her seat before making her way to a podium situated in front of the conference room, “Okay...Good Morning everyone! I know today is going to be yet another stress-filled one but we all know this is a necessity,” Linda pulls out a laser pointer, aiming it at the presentation behind her, “Today we will be discussing contingency plans that the company will implement in case of a successful attack. Since cyber attackers are constantly using new tools and strategies, cyber security analysts, such as yourself, need to stay informed about the weapons out there to mount a strong defense.”

Linda went on and on for about an hour before everyone was dismissed to assist with clients to keep intruders, attackers or hackers out of networks in order to protect digital files and information systems against unauthorized access. London made it back to her office with a bottle of Fiji water, taking her seat again. Before she started any type of work, London grabs her phone from her desk drawer because she knew Erik had a response for what she sent him. Sure enough, he left her yet another voicemail. London prepared herself for a lustful ear full.

“Baby...fuck...I just wanna eat that pussy up...I might have to come see you for lunch today...Goddamn...mmmhhh...you know eating pussy is my shit, right? Ima tear that creamy pussy up, girl...make love to that pussy with my fucking tongue...put that whole pussy in my mouth...mmmh…damn, I wish I could eat that...Look at the lips on this pretty motherfucker.. gawd dayum! I’d slurp the hell out of them lips...call me back...call me the fuck back, London.”

London calls Erik back with no hesitation. She could feel her heartbeat in her throat almost with the amount of anticipation running through her veins.

“London...can daddy come eat that suckable pussy for lunch?” That was his greeting as soon as he picked up.

“In my car? baby, you know it’s an open lot...people will see,” London says with a sultry voice.

“London... I’m tryna eat that pussy… you gon’ make me wait?”

“I can try to get home sooner...that way, you can eat my pussy all day if you want to.” London’s tongue dragged across her upper lip, “it’s been a while, I know you miss this pretty pussy.”

“Yeah?” Erik says, “All day baby?”

“Uh-huh, all day...any way you like…”

“That’s a mouth full of pussy ima need a lot of time to eat that shit up,” Erik chuckles, “I guess that will be dinner then, swallow all that pussy juice and slurp up that clit, yeah?”

London ran her pink and white ombré acrylics through her copper hair. She could feel her clit poking against the crotch of her panties and her pierced nipples stiffen behind her silk top. She wanted Erik to suck on her nipples so damn bad that she thrust her chest forward like his wet mouth was wide open and waiting. London is a B cup so she could easily go without a bra. She wished she would have now because her nipples are rubbing against the silk of her shirt. They are so damn hard.

“Ima be face first in that ass as soon as you walk through the door, London.”

“I know, baby,” London spoke softly while using a single finger to circle her taut left pierced nipple.

“Yes, sit that fat pussy on my face.”

“Daddy, I gotta go,” London’s voice didn’t match her words.

“Aight...just Gon’ leave me drooling all over myself until you get home, huh?”

“I’m sorry, daddy.”

London knew Erik had to be fiending since they haven’t had sex in over two weeks. He would have another job lined up soon and from his words and the harsh, uneven sound of his voice, that told London everything she needed to know. Erik needed her. Part of it made London feel guilty because there were times when he would simply watch her masturbate in the tub. He would sit on the toilet after coming home from a job, his body just as tired. London would be in the jacuzzi whirlpool tub, her waterproof rabbit vibe going to town on her clit beneath the water. She didn’t mind him watching her, he didn’t even complain about her pleasuring herself instead of letting him do it. No, Erik would simply sit there with this sexy, devilish grin on his face, his eyes all low and seductive while they peered through the soapy water to take a look at how she worked that vibrator over her clit.

That’s it baby..make that pussy cum

Mhm, good girl...you making that fat kitty cum, baby?

Then, there were the times he walked in on her riding her dildo in the shower with it mounted to the wall. These times she hadn’t expected him to be home so soon. His sudden appearance would make her feel timid to finish but Erik would insist that she continue because he really wanted to watch her. He would stand outside of the shower, his eyes focused on the way the dildo that’s an exact mold of his dick would slide in and out of her creamy pussy. The look on her face is so beautiful while she fucked herself. She just looks so helpless and useless with each stroke. Water mixed with her creamy mess would drizzle down her inner thighs with each stroke and it made his dick chub up real fast but he didn’t intervene. He knew he wasn’t around often to take care of his baby girl, she deserved to play in her pussy.

You’re opening that pussy up beautifully, baby

Definitely A Greedy Pussy Indeed. I Love It.

His words made her cum in an instant.

________________________

[ Greetings Killmonger…..]

Erik heard the alert from his personal work computer all the way from the bathroom. He walked into his master bedroom with water still trickling from his body and a towel wrapped around his hips. His office was just in the other room where his laptop was located. He walked up to the laptop, tapped a series of keys and his Oracle message popped up in green letters with a black background that reminded him of the Matrix.

“Oracle,” Erik spoke lazily before taking a seat at his desk, “another mission?”

[Yes...do you accept the mission? ]

“...yes,” He says while stroking his goatee, “Lay out the details.”

[ Russia’s ambassador to Turkey named Andrey G. Karlov is supposed to be attending an art exhibit two weeks from now on Monday in Ankara, the capital of Turkey. Your assignment is to get to him and kill him before he reaches the art exhibit. We can’t have any witnesses. This job will require special gear and technology. We will provide a black Ducati sports bike and you have a suite booked at the JW Marriott Hotel Ankara. If the mission is successful, 3.5 million will be wired to your offshore bank account in Belize. ]

“Sounds legit...send me all the information I need on Karlov along with my hotel and I’ll be ready.”

[ Excellent. Happy killing Mr. Killmonger….]

His laptop screen blacked out which meant that whatever information that was previously mentioned would be deleted without a trace. Erik has two weeks to prepare for his next job. He trained all day to keep up with his skills. It’s never a good look to take too much relaxation time. Standing from his desk chair, Erik makes his way into his master bedroom to rub his body down with cocoa butter body oil and slip on a pair of lounge pants. The body oil softened and conditioned his body perfectly. He slipped on a pair of black joggers and walked to the bathroom to finish his facial routine. Erik believes in taking care of himself, in a balanced diet, and in a rigorous exercise routine. Erik applies an herb mint facial masque which he leaves on for ten minutes while he prepares the rest of his facial routine. After rinsing the mask, Erik applies a moisturizer, some under-eye balm to help alleviate the dark circles forming, then finally, he sets it with a protective lotion.

Back within his bedroom, staring out at Midtown through one of his wide, ceiling to floor windows, Erik realizes that London couldn’t make it home earlier like she promised. After their call ended, Erik decided to train so he could clear his head. He did his usual routine that involves jackknife crunches, crucifix push-ups, single leg burpees, jumping lunges, and other workouts. Then, Erik trained a little in combat; your fighting skills can always be improved. To end it, Erik let off a few rounds from his new Smith & Wesson pistol with a crimson trace sight. Erik walks down the modern stairs that ended within a corridor. He made his way towards the kitchen, turning on the lights and opening the fridge. Grabbing a box of leftover egg foo young, he places it within the microwave for 2 minutes. The front entrance to the penthouse opened and from the surveillance cameras in the kitchen Erik can see London removing her pumps before walking barefoot further into the penthouse.

“Hey, baby,” her silvery voice soothed his ears, “I’m sorry I didn’t make it home earlier, today was yet another busy day...what are you heating in the microwave?”

“It’s okay, I figured you were tied up,” Erik opens the microwave, grabbing the hot takeout container filled with shrimp egg foo young smothered in extra gravy, “Some Chinese I never ate yesterday, you wanna share?”

“Yes,” London places her black Louis Vuitton tote bag on the galaxy storm granite countertop of their kitchen island before taking a seat on one of the stools. She finger combed her blunt cut bouncy copper hair away from her face while Erik grabbed two forks for them and after that two water bottles. He sat across from her before passing her a fork. London hissed from how hot the food was against her tongue before blowing it rapidly.

“Mmm...I haven’t had egg foo young in so long,” she licked her fork before going for more.

“How was work?” Erik asks between chewing his food.

“It was alright, I’m exhausted,” London rubs her neck with her free hand, “How was your day?”

“Productive, did some training most of the time. I got an alert from my Oracle for a new job.”

“...oh, yeah?” London swallows her food, hoping that her eyes didn’t read disappointment, “I figured it would be happening soon. When is it?”

“Within the next two weeks. It’s a big job so I gotta do some research over the next few days…” Erik reaches across the counter to rub London’s chin, “Hey...it’s two weeks from now. You got me for two weeks before I go away.”

London played with a piece of egg with her fork, “I know...I just get really lonely when you’re not with me, daddy.”

“You sure about that? Still using the dildo I bought you?” Erik gave London a lopsided grin.

“I am...but there’s nothing like daddy’s dick,” London laughs, before yawning, “I didn’t get any sleep last night.”

“If you weren’t watching me take a shower and rub down with my body oil you would have,” Erik teased.

“It’s your damn fault, you’re so sexy,” London strokes a single vein on Erik’s left hand with her pink and white ombré acrylic nail.

“You know what I want, right?” Erik drags his tongue across the corner of the inside of his mouth to catch some food, causing a single dimple to form in his other cheek.

“Yes, let me shower first and I’m all yours,” London takes one final piece of egg foo young before grabbing her tote bag, walking around the kitchen counter to kiss Erik’s lips before walking away. Erik finished off the food before trashing it. He drank his water before tossing the bottle in recycling. Upstairs now, London is already out of the shower, her naked body seen walking into her walk-in closet to find something to sleep in. Erik brushes his teeth before joining her in the walk-in closet. London is wearing a sheer babydoll with berry-red trimming.

“I got you something,” Erik says while walking up behind her. He picked it up in Miami for her. Reaching inside one of London’s many drawers, he pulls out a Cartier box. Erik presses his crotch against London’s curvy backside while leaning over her shoulder. London watches him open the box to reveal a stunning 18k white gold necklace with 264 brilliant cut diamonds. London’s topaz eyes locked with Erik’s onyx ones. They twinkled and it made him smile. He grabs the necklace, opening the clasp before placing it around her neck. London touches it with her delicate fingers. Erik’s thick lips lightly kiss the baby-soft skin of her cheek.

“You look good in diamonds, girl,” He whispers to her before kissing along her neck, “icy just like your daddy.”

“Thank you, daddy,” London fought for oxygen when Erik’s hands began to lift the bottom of her baby doll up.

“Come sit on daddy’s face,” His nose was in her hair smelling the strands. Erik strolled back to the bedroom, laying back on the bed. London follows him, crawling onto the bed between his wide legs before climbing onto his lap to straddle him reverse cowgirl. Erik lifts the bottom of the baby doll completely up and around her waist to reveal her dangling fat pussy from behind. He takes his thumb to rub her protruding clit and labia that sat stunningly between her fat pussy lips. Lifting his thumb away, a slimy string of her fluids connected with it. Erik sucks it off before grabbing London by her thighs, roughly scooting her back towards him so that her pussy hovered over his lips.

“Mmm, I miss this fat pussy,” Erik brings his lips to her pussy. He starts off by placing soft, lingering kisses that caused her to let out little gasps. Erik continues kissing her outer lips until her hips start oscillating back and forth.

“Calm down, girl, daddy got you,” Erik spreads her pussy lips to reveal her cotton candy pink center, “had me wishing I could eat this pussy all day and I finally got it in my face,” Erik’s tongue poked out and he delivered stiff licks around her protruding clit. Erik could see her pussy contract with each lick and a single stream of slippery lubrication drip down to her labia. Erik dragged his thick bottom lip up to catch the fluid before sucking her labia into his mouth. His eyes closed one at a time after he got a taste of what he hadn’t tasted in two weeks. That sweet puss.

“Yes, daddy,” London’s toes curled, “Fuck, baybeee.”

Her drippy pussy was evidence that it missed his tongue among other things.

“Sweet, tasty, pussy...sit on my face, London...THAT'S it…yeah, baby,” he groans, “Yummy pussy,” He sounded out longingly with a deep, alluring voice.

Erik loved spreading London’s lips with his tongue and tasting the warm sweet juices from her pussy. He loves when she puts her pussy on his face and rides his tongue. The loud smacking sounds from his slurping and licking mixed with London’s quickening breaths were sounds unheard of in two weeks. The way she was dripping in his mouth she was ready for his big black dick but all Erik wanted to do was eat. Both holes honestly. Erik wets a finger with his spit before sticking it in London’s tight, virgin booty hole. He was gonna get in that tight ass one day but for now he simply pushed his thick finger inside. It was so tight that it sucked his finger in.

“Oooh, shit,” Erik says while watching his finger stroke London’s booty hole, “That ass is tighter than a motherfucker...you gon’ let me get in that ass?”

“I don’t know, daddy...fuck,” London looks back at Erik while he finger fucked her booty hole, “Damn, daddy, oh, my God…”

“I said, you gon’ let me get in that ass with this fat fucking dick?”

“Daddy it’s too big-

“If you’re used to this you’ll be used to my dick in no time, baby...taking that shit beautifully,” He wraps his lips around her clit and starts sucking.

“Oh my God, daddy, that’s my spot,” London started speaking in tongues, “Yes, baby, suck on my pussy…”

Erik brings a finger from his other hand to slip inside of London’s pussy. The soft, fleshy ridges of her walls massaged his finger. He found her G spot and started massaging it with the pad of his finger. Erik started loudly sucking on London’s pussy and licking it sloppy with a lot of spit in between. Each time he licked London could feel his tongue print still lingering.

“I’m gonna cum,” London says when she could feel her entire body spasm, “Daddy I’m cumming.”

Erik continued sucking her clit, fingering her creamy pussy, and fingering her tight ass. He was working the hell out of her pussy that London almost collapsed.

“You’re making my pussy cum,” Her voice grew louder, “Oh my God!!!!!” London started throwing her ass back, fucking Erik’s fingers before she started leaking all over his face. Her milky white orgasm covered his facial hair and lips.

“Yes, daddy,” London became overstimulated and lifted her body from Erik’s. She fell back on the bed beside him, stroking her hair from her sweaty face.

“I’m not finished...you said I could have it all I want, right?” Erik spreads London’s thighs before leaning over her body with a hankering desire. His tongue wiggles all over her pussy with exhilarating speed that strokes her clit in the right spot. London’s hips began to lift off of the bed but Erik held her in place. After licking it a few more times he went right back to slurping her up but this time he did it with fervor. Each suck came with a deep grunt. He was enjoying the hell out of her pussy on his mouth. He had London screaming his name. Erik was telling her through every suck and lick that this was his pussy and that she better cum in his fucking mouth.

“Unnffttt!!!!!” London moaned out repeatedly. She yanked Erik’s tapered dreads, “eat this fucking pussy,” London rolled her hips, driving her pussy in Erik’s mouth, “yesssss ima cum in your mouth so fucking hard keep doing that.”

Erik started sucking on London’s clit while swiveling his head back and forth. He was loving that pussy.

“Suck on my pussy...suck on my pussy...sucking on my pussy…” London’s mouth unhinges, “Oh, yes, right there, ooooohh, DON'T stop...Yep...right there, daddy, uh-huh...uh-huh...uh-huh...FUCK YES...you’re making your pussy cum...FUCK!”

London fisted Erik’s hair as she climaxed in his mouth.

___________________

The next day, London awoke to the sound of her alarm at 7:00 AM. She turned it off, sitting up in bed. Blinking her tired eyes, London rubbed her inner thighs together, feeling her pussy juices gathering in a puddle. She’s still wet from the repeated head she received from Erik last night. He ate her pussy three times before she fell asleep next to him then he woke her up at 2:00 AM with her clit in his mouth again. Spreading her thighs, London could see that her clit is still stiff and her inner folds are still engorged with arousal. The bed shifted behind her and London turned to find Erik stretching his built arms above his head. He blinked at her with low eyes before giving her a lazy smile.

“Good morning, baby,” Erik spoke before yawning, “You’re leaving me again, Princess?”

“Duty calls,” London stood from the bed giving Erik a tantalizing view of her slim-thick frame. She leaned over the bed to kiss Erik nice and gentle, “I’ll miss you.”

“Stay home,” Erik looked up at her through his long lashes, “We got some making up to do, girl...I ain’t have that puss in two weeks...we got some making up to do.”

“I know, I know,” London was pulled down into the bed with Erik, “Daddy-

“Hush, Princess,” Erik’s hand made its way between her thighs, “That fat puss is still wet.”

“Umph,” London shielded her face in Erik’s neck.

“Nah, look at what I’m doing...London,” Erik yanked her hair, forcing her to focus on him, “LOOK.”

Her eyes widened at his barbaric tone. The rough edge made her shiver. London’s eyes watched as Erik used two fingers to rub her clit side to side.

“Mhm, I got that puss,” He bites her jaw, causing her to squeal, “Damn, that clit stiff...you going to work and leaving daddy home to take care of this fat ass dick by himself? Hmm?”

“Erik,” She could feel herself leaking all over his hand, “Daddy stop...I gotta go to work...fuck,” Erik pushed three fingers inside of her, “Fuckkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk.”

“Princess, I plan on hitting this pussy from every angle imaginable,” Erik whispered to her before giving her sloppy kisses on her neck, “cum on my fingers, girl, you know you want to.”

“Umph, Yes-

“I see you girl…FUCK,” Erik aggressively bites his bottom lip while he watched London cream his fingers, “Thats a good pussy, baby...such a good girl,” Erik’s fingers slip out to smack her pussy. London jumps from his lap while squeezing her thighs tight.

“I’m gonna go take a sh-shower,” London lets out an unsteady breath while watching Erik suck her juices from his fingers.

“Go ahead, Princess, I’ll see you in there.”

London grabs her silk bonnet and shower cap before walking into the master bathroom. With her out of the room now, Erik grabs his cell to call London’s job. On the third ring, the receptionist picks up.

“Thanks for calling, CSOC, this is Taylor Bianchi, how can I direct you?”

“Hi, can I speak to Linda Yeager, please? This is Erik Stevens, a long time client of CSOC.” His eyes fall on London lathering up her soap sponge with her body wash.

“Okay, I’ll transfer your call.”

The line clicks over and there is a brief pause before Erik could hear the phone being picked up and Linda clearing her throat.

“Erik! How are you? Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, everything is fine...I’m calling about London...listen, I’m requesting that she has a few days off. She’s exhausted and London needs to rest her mind and her body. With her being Lead Analyst now it’s taken a heavy load on her.”

“I understand,” Linda sighs, “I wish she would have told me she needs time off, it’s never a problem. Of course, London can take however long she needs.”

“Thank you, Linda, I’ll let her know her vacation starts today.” Erik hangs up his cell before tossing the silk duvet back. He takes off his black joggers before walking naked to the bathroom. London has just finished washing herself a second time and now she is rinsing off. Erik opens the glass shower door, stepping inside the steamy shower, “Finished without me?”

“Sorry, baby, I have to go to work, I’m already gonna be late.”

“Nah,” Erik closes the shower door, “I called your job, you won’t be going to work for the rest of the week.”

“Huh?” London says with a perplexed expression.

“I requested for you to be off. Linda said it was okay.”

“Babe…” London blushes, “You did that for me?”

“You know I got you, Princess. We can use all this time to fuck as much as we want...and I’m gonna fuck you good,” Erik approaches her with a gait that had her week in the knees.

“Okay...it’s been a minute…” London was backed into a corner, “All I’ve known is my vibe and dildo…”

“Aww, I know,” Erik takes his thumbs to twirl her pierced nipples, “That’s why I gotta remind you how daddy does it...dig that pussy out.”

Erik snatches London’s bonnet and shower cap from her head before picking her up, walking with her until their bodies are beneath the squared shower head. Erik’s long dick began to thicken up beneath her pussy. He stuck his tongue down her throat, kissing her roughly while gripping her ass. London braced herself by wrapping her arms around Erik’s shoulders. From her lips, Erik’s kisses were on her neck now right along with his teeth leaving marks. He was so hungry for her, not even a grizzly bear could stop him from getting all of London.

“You want daddy to fuck you in this shower?” Erik sucked on her bottom lip.

“Please, daddy, can you fuck me in the shower?”

“You know how to ask daddy for what you want...good girl,” Erik used a little force to push London’s back against the shower wall. She sucked in a sharp breath, before raising a single brow at him. He was being rough with her.

“Being rough with me, daddy?” She questioned sweetly because she knew that drove him crazy, “It’s okay…I know you need this pussy.”

“You’re fucking right,” Erik growled before his mouth made its way to her erect pierced nipples, “This pussy hasn’t stained my dick in two fucking weeks...that’s way too long for me, girl...you know daddy gotta have this pussy any fucking chance I get,” With one hand, Erik places it around London’s neck, “those eyes are so sexy, baby...you better look at me just like that when I fuck this pussy,” Erik grinds his dick up against London’s pussy, “and when I cum on that pretty face.”

“Anything, daddy, just fuck me,” London tried grabbing his dick but Erik’s hand around her neck grew tighter.

“Is that how you ask for this fucking dick? Try again,” Erik spoke through clenched teeth.

“Can daddy fuck my little pussy, please?” London asked with a pout of her lips.

Erik smiles devilishly, “Yeah...daddy can fuck that little Princess pussy.”

With short, heated gasps, London watched Erik grab hold of his dick with the hand that was around her neck, rubbing it back and forth over her clit. It didn’t matter how much water covered their bodies from head to toe, London’s pussy is still drenched with her slickness. Erik strokes his dick against London’s entrance before pushing in just the tip, purposely stopping so he could watch the helpless expression on her face.

“Yeah,” he spoke smugly, “And that’s just the tip, baby,” Erik pushes in some more with just his hips, “Damn...clenching up already? You know how this dick can be,” Erik continues without stopping this time before licking away a single tear from her face, “you know daddy gets in there, ma...this shit ain’t new.”

“Damn,” London hisses, “You got my pussy opened up, daddy.”

“And you got my dick tickling your cervix,” Erik pulls all the way to his wide tip before pushing back inside deeply, “Like how I pull it all the way out? Huh?”

London could only nod her head.

“I asked you a fucking question, Princess,” Erik does it again. His thick, long, curved dick pushed back inside. London’s pussy is so warm and wet that it made his ass cheeks clench.

“What the fuck did I say?” He barked out.

“If I like the way you pull it all the way out,” London’s lower lip trembled between moans.

“Pull what out?” He asked her with narrow eyes.

“This big ass dick,” London’s head extended back, “This shit is hitting the bottom of my pussy.”

“Mhm,” Erik angles London’s hips with both of his strong hands, “That’s what the fuck I’m talking about,” He picks up speed, London’s hips loudly smacking against his, “This what you kept from me?”

“Yes!!” London’s eyes never left his, “God...you’re stretching me.”

Their tongues flicked wildly before Erik pressed his forehead against hers. He was still watching her, his hands moving her hips in a circle while he stroked her pussy long dick style.

“Unfff, if you keep doing that- daddy, shit,” London pouts, “Daddy it’s deep.”

Erik wasn’t listening, he was too busy moving her hips in a multitude of angels just so his dick could reach every single part of her pussy from her walls, to her cervix, to her G spot, and then her A spot. Warm, liquid leaked from her pussy and it made Erik smile handsomely at her.

“I got this fat pussy squirting,” Erik starts banging London’s pussy out harder, “Ima make you do that shit again...UH-HUH…nut on this fucking dick.”

With a silent scream and her feet nudging against Erik’s back from his forceful thrusts, London gave him exactly what he wanted. Erik’s dick left her pussy and he put her down. London has to brace the wall because her knees are wobbling.

“Get down on your knees and clean this daddy dick off.”

London was on her knees, grabbing Erik’s balls with one hand while wrapping her plump lips around the tip of his dick with just the power of her jaw muscles.

“You better suck it good too or I’ma tear that throat up,” Erik bites his bottom lip down at London. He runs his fingers through her loose curly strands, “feeding my pretty baby some dick...see? You needed that, right?”

“Mhm,” London hums whole slurping on Erik’s dick. She had to work extra hard since his dick hadn’t been in her mouth for two weeks. She worked her jaws overtime and her head moved in a circular motion.

“You’re such a good girl,” Erik licks his lips before leaning over, spitting on his dick. He watched London lick and suck his saliva into her mouth.

“You sucking this dick, girl, mm,” Erik shakes his head, “You want me to unload down your throat?”

London responded with puppy dog eyes and a harder suck. Erik thrusts his hips forward suddenly, causing London to gag. She removed her mouth from his dick to take a breath but Erik grabs a fist full of her wet hair, making her look at him, “Did I tell you to stop?! You know this dick is long, girl,” Erik slapped his dick against her cheek, “Open your fucking mouth, Princess.”

London opens wide and Erik didn’t waste anytime getting back inside. His head went back while he uses London’s mouth like a pussy and started fucking her throat. London’s nails clawed his thighs.

“Told you I had something for little ass girls like you who keep running from dick...don’t stop eating that dick up, Princess.”

“Mmm...mmmhmm,” London blinked away her growing tears, striving to finish until his cum was down her throat.

“I need it nice and sloppy like this. Make a mess like the good girl you are. You look so sexy when you get nasty,” Erik says between London’s sucking, “Yes baby...mmmh...fuuuckkk...make it nasty, baby, that’s it,” Erik’s face fixed into a mug, “Ughhhhhh fuuuckkkkkk, don’t ever stop sucking baby girl, make daddy bust a nut...ughhhhhhh…yes, empty me...mmmm...here it comes baby... getting the job done just drain your daddy and you never have to worry about anything...FUCK YES,” Erik’s entire body spasmed out of control. He gripped the back of London’s head before erupting deep down her throat. London welcomes her gift graciously with a flickering tongue. It was a lot of cum, definitely overdue.

“Good girl,” Erik says between ragged gasps.

___________________

After their shower, London and Erik had a nice breakfast that Erik prepared. Veggie omelette, turkey sausage, and a side of shrimp with cheesy grits. London did a bit of yoga, something she hadn’t done in a long while. Erik cleaned up before joining London in their personal gym for a morning workout. Erik couldn’t keep his eyes off of London stretching her body. After taking yet another long shower, London and Erik lounged around well into the early afternoon in complete nudity. Erik was supposed to start his research for his new mission but that wasn’t going to happen with the way London’s nude body was calling him. They were sitting in the living room, laid back on their luxury leather sectional sofa, music playing from the installed surround sound system.

London couldn’t keep her eyes off of Erik’s dick sitting heavy between his toned thighs. Unable to control the urge to slurp his thick pipe into her mouth, London leans over Erik’s lap, grabbing his dick in her hand, slapping it against her tongue, and then all in one motion, his dick was back in her mouth. London arched her back, her ass sitting high in the air now for Erik to reach over and slap whenever he felt like it. She massaged his nut sack while swallowing her man’s fat dick. He loved to see her with a mouth full of his meat. All he could do was simply shake his head at her. Before he needed to remind her, London’s topaz eyes connected with his and that’s when his dick swelled to cum inspiring proportions in her throat and unloaded a fat nut that she worked for.

“There you go,” Erik studied the way his balls tightened, “Got my nuts tight, girl, get up here.”

London climbed into Erik’s lap, squatting over him while bracing herself on the back of the couch.

“Nah, fuck that, grab daddy’s dick and put it in that sweet little pussy so I can fuck the shit out of you.”

London reaches between her legs, grabs Erik’s dick, and lines it up with her snug entrance. She gyrated her hips over him before lowering herself onto his third leg.

“Mmmm,” She locked eyes with him, “Big-ass-dick.” She tells him, even though he already knew that.

“Tight-ass-pussy,” Erik’s thick lips practically swallowed London's, the more he devoured her with his kisses. His saliva laden tongue battled for dominance in her mouth the more he kissed. London was like putty in his arms. London didn’t see it coming when Erik’s hips elevated from the couch to fuck her. His balls slapped her on the ass with each heavy, gut-filling stroke. Her thighs shook and her toes were beginning to sweat from the hot leather.

“Oh, shit,” Her lower abdomen clenched, “It’s deep…”

“Move your hands,” Erik ordered when London’s hands came down to press against his thighs to try and slow him up, “Move your fucking hands, London.”

“Daddy, nooooo,” She whimpered.

“Shut that shit up,” He wrenched her hands away from his thighs, “grip my shoulders...that’s it, girl,” Erik went back to fucking the shit out of her wet pussy, “I got this pussy gushing all over me and you want me to stop? You better take this big black dick...all I wanna hear is you moaning and saying how much you love daddy’s big dick, nothing else,” Erik tore his eyes away for a second so he could watch her cream his dick, “I’m beating this pussy up...shut that crying up, London.”

“Yessssss,” London chokes up, “Daddy, pleaseeee-

“Please? Please what?” Erik wrapped his arms around London’s body, holding her in place so he could work her pussy some more, “Please what? Huh?!”

“YES!!” London buried her face in the crook of Erik’s neck. She could feel a warm sensation overpower her body and then she froze. Erik’s dick was covered in her cream all the way down to his balls.

“Just making a mess on me, huh?” Erik sucks on London’s neck, “Daddy likes that shit...come here,” Erik lifts her from his lap. He stood up with his dick dripping cum, turning London over and arching her back.

“Mm-mm, keep that arch,” Erik strokes his messy pipe, “Push them shoulders down...good girl,” Erik slaps London’s clit a few times before he enters her with a long exhale, “Good fucking pussy...pass me my phone.” Erik barked out. London grabs Erik’s phone from her left before passing it to Erik, “You remember how we used to do it?” Erik opens up his camera, aiming it at London’s ass, “Bring that ass up, London, I’m not gonna tell you again.”

London was holding off on purpose because she knew how deep he can get in this position.

“How is daddy supposed to beat this pussy the fuck up if you don’t listen?” Erik pumped London’s pussy full of his fat dick with just his hips while holding the phone steady so he can capture it perfectly, “Wait until you see this shit, ummmmm, baby...widen your legs London,” Erik pushes himself in all the way, causing London to cry out, “It’s okay, Princess, here,” He did it again, “beat this pussy up…look at me.”

London looks back at Erik through her messy hair. She wished she hadn’t. Just one look at him had her squirting on his dick.

“You make that shit look so damn good...I’m spreading that pussy, baby?”

“Uh-huh-

“What else is daddy doing?” Erik smiles.

“Making my pussy feel good,” London smiles back before her face frowned with ecstasy.

“That’s the face I like to see...you got my dick pulsating in this pussy...got this good dick up in you all you can do is cum...I like that...too big, baby?”

She couldn’t respond but HELL YEAH. His dick damn near pushed her stomach out of her mouth in this position.

“Daddy…” London said so low.

“What?!” Erik asked while hammering London’s pussy. He angled the phone so that the length of his defined body could be in view while he stroked her. London’s cheeks clapped loudly and her moans damn near blew out the speakers of his phone, “this is mine and ima remind you any and everywhere,” London gripped his dick with her walls, “yeahhhhh, make daddy bust a nut!!!”

“Fuck me!!” London grabbed the back of the couch, “beat it up, daddy!!”

“Fuck,” Erik had to drop the phone. He was about to cream all in London’s sweet, tight pussy, “Look at this arch, girl, damn...you want me to really get in this puss.”

Erik’s mouth unhinges and his eyelids flutter. He gave London two deep, long, and filling thrusts before cumming deep inside of her. Erik slapped her ass hard a few times before pulling his dick from her pussy.

“Come suck this big dick up,” Erik said between heavy breathing. London was on her knees in a flash, grabbing Erik’s dick up in her hand before licking their mess off. Erik twirled London’s pierced nipple with one hand. He was thickening up again and all he wanted to do was bury himself back inside her tight, creamy pussy some more.

@tgigoldie @soufcakmistress @chefjessypooh @chaneajoyyy @pananegra @theblulife @becincere @blaqwidow91 @fish-outta-watah @eyeknowmywrites @crowngold @njadakillthiscookie @blktinkerbell @luvanxi @sheisexcellent1 @chocolatedippedinhoney @brandithecrystalgem @dababydababydababydababy @soulfulbeauty19 @btitannaaa @sunkissedebony97 @youngblackndgifted @harleycativy @rbhp @thee-germanpeach @thadelightfulone @palmstreesallday @skylahb @bakaris-shorty-deactivated20200 @nizzle-mo @truglori @queenflaws @ljstraightnochaser @theegoldenchild @scrumptiouslytenaciouscrusade @nickidub718 @vikkidc @thehomierobbstark @abluesforlyssa @abeautifulmindexposed @fd-writes @chasingsunlight @sickaddiktions @munteanhore @xo-goldengirl @tiava143 @33kiara @honeytoffee @asiasblackworld727 @momobaby227 @informalmelancholy @soulshinechronicles @hearteyes-for-killmonger @goddessofthundathighs @soulfxll @whazzzupmyhitta @seyven89 @lahuttor @janelledarling @shewritestheblues @fanfangal @kreolemami @thoughtsoftheantagonist @luvwitoutlimit1 @mygirlrenee @hippiesandpeacesigns @alittlejd @jaysaidhi @thewaysheis--awkward @walkrightuptothesun @shawnstacksss @theesotericqueen @mareethequeen @browngirldominion @ceeverse @therealmrsrhodes @sensitivelegend @teheeboo @yomiloo @msreshel-blog @bbygirrll05 @fahi0nanart @afteracouplepuffss @shaelyn102 @yaminax-kuss-a @lackbbaby @amyhennessyhouse @thattruckinwitch @dameshaemonique @glittermakesmesmile @justgetitoverwith0 @notavintagecliche @pariahcolored @cydneyrenee4 @ajjiiaaahhhh @naeelyniecee @ambthegamer @efonteno @mikesteel20 @wisenerdcreator @draggingstxns @eevolsidog @xoxomyaah @asweet-serendipity @therealmrsmbjordan @ajspencer1892 @queengodiva619 @niqui87 @quietpoeticheart @itsjustyazz @dasia21 @woah-express @bbgiirrll @backandbetter2 @megabriahall @forbeautyandlife @queenflaws @cecereads209 @queenbetter @yomiloo @daddys-baby-girl-t @lovinthemelanin @ladymac82 @ambitionwood @t3mporaa @toniilaney @iv0rysoap @sinfully-dope @lovehatecritique @chocolategirl605 @naysianaee @nyleveeee @erlebnissebliss @melinaasap1 @woahthatshitfat @that-chick212 @scarypumkin23 @sambuckyslayallday @vikki240401 @kuaua98 @enigmadivine @gingerylimonte @counterfeit-recherche @unholyxcumbucket @xdezaraex @missgigglesmoultrie @imrootingforeveryoneblack @dashhoney25

#killmonger smut #killmonger x oc #Erik Killmonger #killmonger imagine #nahimjustfeelingit-writes

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screamting · 4 years ago

Text

Winter in Kansas [80s AU] 2/2

previously: Bruce managed to sit on the bed for a full five minutes, hands held carefully in each other and breathing slowly, heart steadying, before he locked it in place.

And he left the room, footsteps quiet as he could make them on the carpet, and went back downstairs.

Clark wasn't there, but his parents were. Jon was in front of the TV drinking a cup of coffee while Martha hovered behind him, both talking about expected snow before they saw Bruce

“Hey honey, can I getcha something?” She asked.

Bruce’s mother had been dark-haired, like him, not blond and graying like Martha. It helped. Even if he'd been hoping to catch Jon.

“...I was wondering if I could ask some stuff outside?” he said softly.

Snitches get stitches. But these two knew. He was just entering the circle. Just confirming.

The two of them shared a look. Like they knew exactly what this was about.

Jon sighed and set his coffee down before getting it of his chair. “Sure, Bruce. Lemme just get my shoes on.”

Bruce nodded, waiting patiently and not making more sound than he absolutely had to for the few moments it took.

He saw the look. He knew what it meant, too.

At the very least, he wouldn't have to ease into this.

Once Jon had his dirty, mud-caked boots on and a thick jacket, he stepped outside and held the door open for Bruce to follow.

“So whaddya wanna ask about, son?”

Bruce followed, and stepped out into the field behind Jon.

He waited until they'd walked a little before speaking, hoping the crunch of his boots and the Kansas wind might hide his words from someone else.

“...how much can he hear?”

Jon turned to face Bruce and hesitated, his face hard to read.

“Pretty far last he told me. I don’t know the specifics.”

His voice was low too.

He gestured for Bruce to follow him. Lead him to one of the tractors, climbed on, and started it up, but then climbed right back down. He talked only loud enough for Bruce to hear over the constant rumble and shake of the machinery.

“More noise makes it harder for him as far as I know.”

The tractor was loud, but it didn't have the same bite as cars flying past on the freeway when trying to walk down the street. He could bear it.

“...so that's the only way to get privacy? Clutter the sound?”

“I wouldn’t think of it like ‘getting privacy’, Bruce. Clark isn’t trying to hear everything for the next mile. It’s just background noise for him. He tries not to pay attention to it. It’s only when he hears things that worry him that he pays attention, or his name.”

“... Think of it like… standin’ in the middle of a freeway. Your friend is right next to you talkin’, but not raising their voice. You can’t really make anything out unless you hear something like your name, or maybe ‘help’. Words you pay more attention to without even thinkin’ about it.”

...he listened, and nodded, but all the same--

All the same.

“...you called me a big name out east,” Bruce said. “When we met.”

“Yeah,” he shifted a little on the tractor to get more comfortable. “I know about Wayne Industries. Know what happened to your folks. Was all over the news.”

...he nodded, then. Okay. Jon had some context, then--

“I asked a girl out last month and three gossip rags picked it up,” he said. “...my friends tell me private stuff.”

And Clark could hear through walls.

Jon sighed, “Are you worried he’s gonna go around telling everyone everything?” He asked, sounding like he had this conversation before. “Before you knew about it, did he go around doing that?”

“He keeps everything he hears to himself.”

“That doesn't mean they trusted him with it,” he said. Looking down.

He wasn't… angry. And it didn't come out angry.

But he couldn't stop sounding tired.

Everyone, always listening in. Always hearing about him without him being the one to say it.

Even in Kansas. Jon knew. No chance to say things for himself.

Jon sighed, “No. You’re right.”

“... But it ain’t fair to blame Clark. He never asked for any of this. When it first started he used to lock himself in closets or hold his head underwater for… way longer than anyone was comfortable with. Don’t think he slept for at least a week.”

“I'm not trying to blame him,” Bruce said, and… he wasn't lying.

It almost surprised him. He wasn't trying to spare this man’s feelings.

“...I'm trying to find a work-around.”

“You know what the best work-around I’ve come up with?” Jon said, looking down at Bruce.

“Askin’ him when not to listen.”

Bruce looked up at him, expression confused.

Did Jon announce when he had private conversations?

Jon just shrugged down at him.

“Sometimes you just gotta take someone’s word.”

Okay. He would.

“That include taking his word he can't control it?”

Jon nodded, “I know you weren’t around to see it, but my boy went through hell just trying to deal with it. He’s a lot better, and I imagine he’ll keep getting better, but right now… that’s all you can really do. Take his word.”

The sharp parts of Bruce’s reply seemed to sail right over Jon’s head. Maybe the tractor’s noise hid the edges in his words. He didn't know.

If there wasn't any way to do it, though, then Bruce had… no other questions to be answered like this.

Or maybe Jon just didn’t have the energy in him to respond to it. He looked tired, like this song and dance had happened one too many times.

“That all?”

...he nodded. But still, he asked, “could I make a phone call?”

“Sure,” Jon said, and reached to turn off the tractor. But first--

“Bruce?”

Bruce looked up at him.

“... You could do my boy a whole lotta harm with the power you have. And while I can’t force you to do anything, I will ask that you keep this to yourself.”

And then he turned off the tractor.

“Mr. Kent,” he said, eyes and voice too steady for a sixteen year old. “I knew he was weird two months ago. I take care of my friends.”

He climbed off the tractor with him.

“I’m glad to hear that.” Jon said, and climbed off after him.

He lead him back inside and to the phone that hung on the kitchen wall.

Bruce thanked him quietly, and took the phone off the rack to dial.

He didn't have a tractor or anything else but the TV to hide his conversation, but still, he spoke softly into the receiver, enough that the Kents on the other side of the room wouldn't get more than a few snatches of conversation.

“...have the address already? ...okay. Thanks. Bye, Alfred.”

Hung up again.

Shuffled towards the couch.

“...I realized I forgot something, so Alfred’s going to send it in a few days,” he said, assuming that was fine but informing them out of politeness all the same.

“Okay.” Martha said, and did pass a look to Jon, who just gave her a nod.

They had a talk.

It was fine.

… There was still no sign of Clark.

Clark, he figured, was probably still in his room. He hadn't heard or seen anything to suggest otherwise.

So there was only one thing to do, in the handful of hours left before dinner.

He went to the guest room and dug through his bag, pulling out a clasped wooden box, folded with hinges, and headed to Clark’s bedroom door. And knocked.

It took a moment, but Clark did open his bedroom door.

The light was off and his eyes were a little puffy, like he’d been crying but stopped a short while ago.

He hesitated, but did step aside a little to let Bruce in.

“Hey.”

Bruce stepped in.

“So,” he said, skipping through pleasantries. “You are: stronger, faster, and have better hearing than me. And you can fly and reportedly burn people with your eyes.”

He sat on the floor without ceremony, and unhooked the box to let the game pieces all fall out, and reveal the pattern underneath.

“So, the next question is: do you know how to play chess?”

Clark flicked on the light out of habit whenever someone came inside.

“... Kinda?” He said, watching Bruce plop down on the rug. Like the question confused him.

Bruce nodded, starting to set up the chess board. “Kinda? You know how each piece moves?”

“Yeah.” He said, and sat down across from him.

“Cool. You fine if I take black?”

“Go ahead.” Clark shook his head.

Bruce took black and made the first move.

And they played chess.

Clark knew enough about chess to play, but he was by no means any sort of champion.

Eventually though, he did ask; “Are you mad at me?”

“Did you do anything I should be mad about?” Bruce asked, mostly focused on going easy on Clark and playing at his level.

He wondered if he could get this game to a draw.

“Be a freak.” He said bluntly.

“...” Bruce moved one of his pawns.

He has secrets bubbled up inside of him that he doesn't need to pour out. They aren't his to give. If he can find distaste in Clark overhearing secrets accidentally, he can't console himself in spilling them full-knowing.

So instead, he says, “I've met worse people.”

Clark just sighed, like what Bruce said didn’t mean anything.

But he didn’t say anything and continued to half-heartedly play chess. After each move he would pull his arms into himself, hugging them, like out of the two he was the most vulnerable even if it was anything but.

...Bruce watched. Saw Clark tugging his arms in on himself. Saw him curled between moves.

“...what are you so scared of?” he asked. Finally. When it was clear things weren't getting better.

“Everyone,” he said.

“... After the- the shooting, and whenever I’d do something that no real person should be able to do, Ma and Pa would sit me down and remind me that I needed to keep it to myself. That I had to be a ‘normal human teenager’, even if it was just an act, because what if someone told the wrong person. What if they came swooping down in helicopters to drag me out of the house and go seal me in some secret underground bunker somewhere to stab me with needles.”

“And I try. I try but it’s hard. I run too fast and hear too much. It’s like I’m constantly holding my breath and I can never breathe because if I did someone will hear and drag me away.”

….

Bruce nodded.

“Yeah,” he said. “...that's…”

God.

He hadn't expected to hear that.

Hear that fear out of Clark’s mouth. The same raw level of fried nerves that knotted in his shoulders and let him wanting to scream, but unable to.

“...I…” God. Fuck. He's spent one day in Smallville, away from Tommy and the pap, and he's falling apart like Gotham was a mould desperately trying to help him hold his shape. “I'm scared of everyone, too.”

Clark was trying not to cry again. His eyes were glazed over. He wiped at them before anything could come out and looked over at Bruce.

“Why?” He asked, confused.

He didn’t know of all the things his friend was scared of.

To be fair to Clark, it was a very long list.

“Everyone in Gotham knows me,” he said, face the same carefully controlled expression he usually had when he was trying to explain something on their homework, or when speaking to the teachers and adults. “...and they know what I'm worth. I wasn't kidding about kidnappings. They've happened before.”

“...I bribed someone when I was ten. To stay with Alfred,” he continued. “...they wanted to take me away. There's a lot of people who are counting down until I'm eighteen and have access to the money. A lot of people want it.”

“...I just want my family back. And to not feel like every street I walk down’s going to have a mugger with a gun on it.”

...he looked up, and met Clark’s wet eyes with his own, darker, exhausted ones.

“...it sounds nice. To have a friend I don't have to worry about being shot.”

Clark finally managed a little bit of a smile.

Friend.

“... Sorry. I didn’t realize having so much money would be such a problem. But it makes a lot of sense. To me that whole… life… just, they show it on TV like it’s anything but a problem. Don’t have to worry about the crop doing well or the cows dyin’ to depend on whether you’re gonna have to cut corners and stuff.”

“I try ‘n do what I can with what I have to help out. Heavy lifting. Lookin’ for engine problems where Pa can’t see. That kinda stuff. I tried to convince them to just let me fly to Gotham too, to cut on bus faire, but they said no.”

He made his move and swallowed.

“I wanna help people, Bruce. That’s why I went to that house and ended up…”

Clark didn’t finish his sentence.

“But whenever I do I just get scolded. And I’m scared that someone will find out it’s me, and then that’d be the end of it.”

Bruce listens.

He's still watching Clark’s eyes, and his mouth, and he can't imagine this boy doing what they say he's done.

“Kent,” he says, with steel in his tone. “I would've given anything for someone to get in the way and burn the man who killed my family’s arms off.”

Clark smiled a little.

Validation.

…

“I don't regret it. At all. If it happened again I'd do the same thing. Even though I'm scared of being taken away. It'd be worth it, I think.”

Bruce picked up one of the chess pieces he'd captured and threw it at Clark’s head.

“Don't be stupid.”

It connected but Clark just let it.

“Huh?”

Bruce gave him a glare, though it wasn't a particularly intense one.

“You can't do it one time and get taken away so the next guy has a clear shot,” he said. “So next time, don't get caught.”

Geez.

He blinked, “So like… do it and run? They'll still see me though and tell the cops.”

“No, like don't do it so they know you're an alien,” Bruce said, like it was obvious. “As much as they deserve their arms burned off, it might get suspicious.”

Clark gave him a look. “As soon as they shoot me and I don't die they'll know something is messed up.”

“Then wear a mask,” he said, leaning forwards, an odd light in his eyes. “Be so alien they can't imagine you're who you really are.

Clark looked a mix of shocked and excited. “Like… a comic book hero?”

Bruce wasn't sure what the expression on his own face was. “Sure?”

… He made his move and didn’t say anything for a few minutes.

“I used to pretend I was one when I was little. I think that’s why I learned to fly before, y’know, all the other stuff.”

What kid didn’t want to fly?

...Bruce looked down at the board and quietly moved his piece, too.

“...I lied to you before. About where I'm going when I'm eighteen.”

Clark looked up at him but definitely wasn’t mad.

“... You know where you wanna go?”

“...I wanna learn how to hunt people down,” he admitted, head low.

“... Like… a detective?”

That didn't seem bad or even a little out of character for Bruce.

…

“Maybe,” he said. He didn't really have a word for what he wanted.

But Clark used to pretend he was a comic book hero…?

Bruce dropped his gaze again.

“...I found a cave, when I was a kid,” he said. “I fell inside while walking. I used to pretend I lived inside it. A monster. Who would come out and hurt the people who deserved it.”

…

“It's stupid, now.”

He was stupid.

But he was still going to go.

Going to find someone dangerous and powerful, and say teach me how.

“That's not stupid.” Clark said, taking his turn.

“... Well, maybe the eating part. But wanting to track people down and make them pay isn't stupid. It's what we're doing now kinda. Looking into the Court of Owls.”

“...yeah,” Bruce said. Nodding. “...do you think we’ll find them?”

“... I’m not sure, honestly.” Clark admitted. “I feel like we’re finding something deeper but I dunno if it’s the Court of Owls.”

“Just gotta keep diggin’ to find out.”

...Bruce nodded.

He took a breath.

“....you're in check, by the way.”

“Oh.”

He made his move.

…

“You’re going easy on me.” He smirked.

“Yep,” Bruce said, moving a piece on the opposite side of the bored and giving Clark time to escape. “Don't feel bad. I've been playing Tommy for years. Only recently started to give him a run for his money.”

Clark huffed, “I don’t feel bad. I know you’re way out of my league.”

It took him a few seconds, but he made his move.

...he moved another piece.

“...does that bother you?”

‘Maybe a little,’ Clark thought.

But Bruce didn’t even like guys. He knew that after seeing what happened with Tommy.

“Nah,” he said instead with a smile. “I’m just glad you put up with the redneck from Kansas.”

Bruce huffed.

“What's that got to do with chess? You guys not play board games out here?”

Clark gave him a look.

“Do Kenny ‘n Pete look like they’d play chess?”

“Kenny ‘n Pete look like they play tic tac toe,” he said.

Clark let out a laugh that could have melted a room.

“Yeah, basically.”

…

“God. I’m sorry about them.”

Bruce gave him a confused look.

“...that they have big mouths?” He said. Because, yeah. He was sorry for that, too.

Or was it a flawed intimidation tactic? Hazing?

Not speaking to him for half the day?

“Yeah. Big mouths and I think they were just trying to throw you off. Maybe they were kinda mad I made friends back in Gotham and then brought them with me? They’ve been my friends for a long time. Probably know more about me than my parents in some cases.”

“They shouldn't have thrown you under the bus like that,” Bruce said, and that was all he could say about them without saying anything cruel.

He moved the chess piece.

“Yeah I’m-- I’m pretty pissed at them right now.” He sighed, watching the board.

“Really thought you’d hate me.”

“...” yet again, he found himself asking, “why?”

...Clark kept saying that. ‘I thought you'd hate me.’ Why was he so certain? Why…

… Clark shrugged.

“I dunno. I’m not a super interesting person or anything and then you throw the whole ‘alien’ thing into the mix. It’s just-- it seems easier to just… hate? I dunno.”

He made his move.

“I’m dumb.”

….yeah. Bruce nodded. “Yeah. You are, huh.”

He moved in kind.

“...I take care of my friends.”

Clark smiled.

“Me too.”

Made his move.

“So just let me know if you need to move something really heavy.” He joked.

Kinda.

Bruce nodded.

“I'll get you renovating the manor grounds in no time.”

“Check, by the way.”

He scoffed and watched it happen.

“That a job offer, Mr. Wayne?”

“...I can pay ya under the table, but it might damage my reputation,” he said.

He looked confused, “Why would that damage your reputation?”

Bruce looked up. “...it's black market activity,” he said. “Which is fine on a small scale, but if I was paying someone I’d have to report it.”

“Oh, I see what you mean.” He snorted.

…he managed a smile about it. “Yeah. I don't exist on a small scale.”

Clark didn’t say much to that, and made his move.

… Eventually their game would end and it would be time for dinner.

Bruce would go downstairs, and eat with the Kent family for dinner. And--

...and try to not feel strange. Or an outsider. But… it wasn't impossible, in a strange way.

...he knew Clark’s secret, too, now. And it made it easier to slide into a place like this.

Insular.

Maybe things were easier for now. They did certainly seem easier for Clark’s parents, and as they started to sit down around the dinner table Jon would ask; “Everythin’ good now, gentlemen?”

And Clark would look over at Bruce and then smile a little and nod.

Bruce nodded, “yessir,” and…

It was nice. Even with knowing Clark might hear anything.

Somehow, he still felt a little more free.

They had a nice dinner. Jon asked Bruce things occasionally, mostly about how Gotham was, how he liked it. He didn’t ask about parents or business. Just typical kid stuff like school and how it was going. They avoided talk of Clark’s incident completely.

Things around the Kent house were extremely ‘normal’ considering. It was like… bizarre interlaced with normal, and now that Bruce was in on it they didn’t need to worry.

After dinner Jon asked Clark to come help him get one of the tractors out from a mud hole it was stuck in, and if Bruce watched he would see Clark lift the front up and simply back the whole thing up.

...and Bruce would watch. From the porch, regular, hot tea in a mug. And he would watch Clark lift the tractor and say nothing.

His friend was an alien. And he wasn't sure, exactly, why he was taking it so well.

...when they came back in, they watched TV and got ready for the night. And… Bruce wondered, faintly, if Clark would hear if he had a nightmare tonight.

But he didn't.

Not tonight.

Clark could, but… Bruce had nightmares semi-frequently. It wasn’t polite to encroach on that or bring it up, so he didn’t.

Trust that he’ll give you privacy.

That morning the sun would rise and the day on the farm started even earlier. Jon was up and out of the house before the sun was up and when it did finally rise breakfast would start to be made.

Bacon and eggs with toast.

…

When Bruce came down Clark wouldn’t be there.

Bruce found he hadn't been given a time to wake up, and so he woke on his own--fatigued still, but only in the way of waking up in new places--with the clock saying an hour earlier than when he usually woke at school. It was still a dark, and he lay in bed, enjoying the ability to not have to get up immediately. He started his way downstairs when he began to smell food and an unusual amount of sun (in other words: any amount of sun) hit his windows.

“Good morning, Ms. Kent,” he began with, obviously. “...Clark sleep in?”

“No I think he’s up already.” Martha said. “He likes to sit on the roof when the sun comes up. He’ll come down soon now that you’re up.”

“How d’you like your eggs?”

“Scrambled dry,” he said, and… didn't have to question how Clark would know he was up.

“Okay.”

Martha nodded and cracked open the eggs for his breakfast. “You sleep okay?”

There was a small thud on the front steps before the door opened and Clark came inside wearing little more than pajama pants. It would be the first time Bruce had seen him in less than two layers.

It became obvious why.

He was… kind of jacked.

He didn’t look cold either despite the temperatures outside.

...what the fuck.

But Bruce kept his mouth shut. His heart sped a little, but slowed again a moment or two later.

“...morning.”

“Mornin’.” Clark mumbled, scratching his stomach and instantly rooting in the fridge.

Two cups.

“Y’want OJ or milk?”

For eggs?

“Orange juice,” Bruce says, watching him.

Clark shook up the OJ and poured Bruce a glass before handing it over to him, but he went for milk.

“Mind puttin’ some bread in for toast? ‘N get the butter out, please.” Martha said, and Clark did as he was asked without complaint.

Martha plated Bruce’s eggs and handed them over, then pulled the towel off the plate in the middle piled with bacon. “Help yerself.”

“Thanks,” he said, startled out of his observations for a moment, and--

He was watching two things, a little lost in them both, but at least they were all in this one place. Just--on one hand, caught in the mundanity, in a mother asking her son to pull out the toast and bread, and on the other hand, a small thing in the back of his mind which informed him that Clark’s stomach muscles twisted every time he moved his arm.

He waited until he was joined at the table to even think about eating.

Clark made some toast and put it on a plate for them to grab from and by the time he sat down too his eggs were finished.

Sunny side up.

He thanked his mom as he sat down and started to dig in.

“Just cover the bacon back up when you’re done, I’m gonna run out and help your daddy.” Martha said, taking a sip from her coffee before leaving the two eating on their own.

Bruce started to eat as Clark joined him, thanking Ms. Kent again, and…

…

“You always sleep without a top here?” he asked, losing his shit completely with a straight face.

Clark was busy shoving a strip of bacon in his mouth. “Uh-” He chewed and swallowed.

“Yeah. I like the sun on my skin when I get up.”

Oh. Okay. There wasn’t anything wrong with that, so he just--nodded and got his own piece or two of bacon.

And kept eating.

“...plans for today?”

Clark shrugged a little and put some ketchup on his eggs before breaking them up. “Dunno. Usually I hang out with Kenny ‘n Pete on my days off, but…” he glanced up at Bruce.

“Not feelin’ that anytime soon.”

…

“Thought about just… flyin’ around for awhile. Haven’t been able to do that in Gotham. But that’d leave you here unless you’re fine with coming.”

Bruce was ready to tell him he was fine with just reading a book for a while, but--

“...with coming along for flying?”

“Yeah. I’d carry you. Like, it’s fine if you’re scared though. It’s pretty weird. But figured it was impolite not to offer.” Clark said, pushing runny egg mess on his bread and eating it.

Bruce stared at him like he was crazy.

“Take me flying,” he said.

… Clark grinned with a mouthful of toast and a bit of ketchup on his lips. “O-kay.”

He was stupid and (buff, and Bruce wanted to lean over with a napkin and shove it on Clark’s lips to get rid of that dumb ketchup) absolutely intentionally being dense, because who didn’t want to fly, even if you had to be carried?

But instead, he said, “Shut up and eat faster,” and started shoveling his breakfast down in kind.

Clark grinned and did just that, shoveling his food down and eating toast and bacon before standing up and chugging his milk.

Shirtless.

He put the plate in the sink and wiped his mouth with his hand.

“Dress warm, it gets cold.”

Bruce felt something in his stomach flip, and he nodded, running back upstairs to tug on his winter boots and add on another layer and his heavy coat. Clark’s borrowed winter hat. His good gloves.

And he was ready.

Clark got dressed too and then met Bruce back downstairs a moment later. He opened the door out to the porch, stepped off the front step and… float there, spinning around as if in water to face Bruce with his hands in his pockets.

“Piggyback or in my arms?”

“Arms,” Bruce said, not wanting a piggyback--he was sixteen, not a kid, after all. It didn’t matter if Clark could carry him fine.

“Okay.”

Clark hovered close again and reached out, hand going around Bruce’s waist and pulling him close. He pressed himself against Bruce and locked his hands around the small of his back. Waited for Bruce to position his hands how he wanted.

… He might have been enjoying this a little too much.

“Ready?”

...somehow, Bruce didn’t realize he was going to be held like this in Clark’s arms. He knew they’d go around him, but--face to face, he guessed he hadn’t expected, and found his face close enough to smell Clark’s neck as he wrapped his arms around his shoulders securely.

Even through his heavy layers, he could feel Clark’s body, unusually warm against him.

Despite having just drunk orange juice, his mouth was dry. He told himself it was nerves.

“Ready.”

Clark smiled at him and then looked up.

And they started to rise, slow at first. Clark kept his grip firm and make sure Bruce didn’t slip, and soon they were over the roof of the the farmhouse. He started to fly away from it, legs angling as if to ‘push’ away from the farm.

Over the empty fields.

Once they were up in the air, Bruce… forgot.

He forgot about a lot of things. About how he was sort of uncomfortable being this close to anyone, or how he was fully clothed and Clark was half undressed in his PJs, or what was going on back home.

There was nothing under his feet. It was just-- a moment. A moment of disorientation, and realizing the air was cold and sharp with wind, and how empty the air was around him. That flying was just falling interrupted.

And Clark’s firm chest against his own was the only thing the world that felt stable at that moment.

He wanted to see the fields. The farmhouse. The long shadows, stretching over the yellow, frost-bitten fields.

But before that, before getting lost in wonder, staring-- he tightened his grip on Clark, and held himself close against him.

It was nice to be held so tightly by someone who wasn’t his mom or dad. He couldn’t even recall a time that had ever happened before. He kept people at an arm’s length for his own safety, and even when he did let them in there was still that fear of rejection. But last night Bruce had insisted and insisted that he wasn’t mad, that they were still friends, that it didn’t change anything.

When he got to the point he wanted and started to fly backwards gently, to really get in the whole view of the farm, he looked back down at Bruce with that award-winning smile.

“Whaddya think?”

“It’s big,” Bruce called back over the wind.

But he couldn’t… think of anything else to say about it. And maybe the new-day sun in his eyes said enough. The way it hit his ghost-pale face in the way it never could reach in Gotham.

There weren’t skyscrapers here. The long shadows ran only along the ground, far, far below them, cast by regular-sized objects, not buildings made by giants.

And the sky was in every direction he looked.

Big.

Blue.

Beauti--

Maybe looking back on this day when he was older would be when he said he started to love Bruce Wayne, but right now he still didn't quite realize it. Even as he looked down at the other boy rather than the scenery, watching how the light illuminated his pale skin and tired, sharp eyes. There was a fierceness to Bruce he had never seen from anyone else. Fierce and ironclad in everything he wanted to be.

“Yeah, it is.” Is all he said though, and would slowly continue to hover backwards, getting further away, then go a little left towards the trees that marked their property.

You could see the roads. The buildings in the distance. Cars driving along. Birds flew beside them a safe distance away.

And somehow Clark shined just like the sun, curls blowing in the wind and arms secure around Bruce's waist.

Bruce didn’t say much while they were up there, focusing on breathing in the cold wind and staring down at all the world below in a way he’d never really been able to before.

Not like this. Alone and secure, without airplane walls around him.

(Even if he wasn’t alone at all.)

...but Clark would still be able to hear his heart beat, strong and excited with the world below, pressed against his bare chest with just the coat between them.

...but Gothamite he might’ve been, Bruce still could only stand the cold against his face for so long before his cheeks started turning pink and windburnt.

Clark might not have been able to feel the cold like Bruce, but he could see it.

“Gonna start going down.” He warned, and did just that. A slow descent left and down…

… and they were back on the porch, feet touching down.

A little wobbly, Bruce pulled away once his feet touched the floor-- not because of anything bad, but because as soon as the wind wasn’t rushing him anymore, he realized he desperately had to wipe his nose, or it would drip out everywhere.

“Tissue,” he mumbled.

Clark was… a little hesitant to let go, but as soon as Bruce pulled away he let him go.

“... Oh! Yeah, c'mon.” Clark said, arm leading Bruce back inside.

There was a tissue box right by the door.

Bruce hid his nose in his face until he was able to get to the tissue box and snatch one out, blowing his nose.

“Danks,” he said.

“No problem. I forget that's a thing that happens.”

Clark's skin hadn't changed even a little.

Chalk that up to another power; resistance to cold.

Bruce noticed Clark’s immunity, but didn’t say anything about it really. He just focused on blowing his nose, and once he was done, rubbing his cheeks to warm them up again.

“...you never get sick or stuff, either?”

“Uh,” Clark began as he walked to the kitchen to make something warm for Bruce.

“Not since I was little. Mom says when I was a baby I struggled a lot. Like I couldn't breathe. But I don't really get cold anymore. I can't get burnt. Can stick my hand right in a fire and nothing. Can grab hot pans.”

“It's like--” he shrugged. “Invulnerability?”

...Bruce had honestly just been wondering if Clark was affected by bacteria at all, but… that was a lot more than he’d asked for.

“...not anything?”

It was nice to just… talk about it with someone. Sure his friends knew, but… they always asked him weird questions about it. Like if he looked at people naked.

“Well getting shot hurt, but other than something like that? Nope.” Clark put on some water for tea.

...Bruce didn’t question it, even if he did watch Clark a little longer, lingering.

...he realized now that he looked at Clark, that… he didn’t have any marks on his skin.

Not a mole. Not a freckle. Not a paper-thin scar.

And he’d been shot.

“...I can’t tell at all,” he said, maybe a little breathless, watching Clark’s back as he filled the water.

“Revolver hit me here--” he said, turning and pointing at his face. “Shotgun hit me here--” he pointed at his arm and chest.

“Gave me a black eye and broken nose and a lot of cuts. But they healed pretty fast. No scars or anything.” Clark shrugged. “Worst anyone's been able to do too me. I've fallen out of trees and moving cars and jumped out of two story windows and mostly been fine.”

He gave a sheepish smile.

Bruce found his arm going up to his neck, fist tight, and tried not to think about the hole that he’d seen punch through his mother.

He had scars on his arms right now. He had cuts healing right now. And Clark had jumped out of buildings and been shot and leapt out of moving cars--

“Why did you jump out of a moving car and a two story window??”

Clark laughed, “Well the car thing was I saw a dog and I was like… five. Really gave my folks gray hair for that one. And I jumped out of my bedroom window when they grounded me once and didn't quite have flying down yet. But I landed okay!” He gave Bruce a dumb grin and thumbs up.

Bruce buried his face in his hands.

Clark just laughed again and pulled the kettle off the stove to pour them both some tea.

“Genius alien from beyond the stars.” He joked.

“Really though I’m just…” he shrugged. “Just a kid on a farm who can’t get a date or pass his driving test, or… y’know.”

He didn’t know. But he nodded anyway.

“Yeah,” he said. And he wanted to say he was just normal, too.

But he could get a date, and wasn’t a farm kid, and could drive, just not legally.

…

“...wanna be lazy normal and just watch some TV?”

“Hell yeah.” Clark grinned and handed him his tea.

...the first day or two had been rough, but it grew easier with each passing day.

The Kents didn’t ask him about his family. They just… brought him to the table. Clark did alien things, and human things, and mostly reading-and-TV things.

They had a Christmas tree, and bit by bit presents appeared under it as the Christian Holiday grew closer. And, to Bruce’s relief, one such present arrived in the mail with a little bit of time to spare.

He’d been invited to Christmas parties before, but he’d never really celebrated with his family that he could remember--what he did remember was mixed up with Chanukah somewhat, with how young he’d been at the time. And though he was fairly sure the Kanes celebrated both, they only really invited him for things like Pesach and Sukkot.

So it was… the first time he’d really seen a family Christmas in person, rather than through every movie and pop culture magazine in the world.

...it was much quieter than he’d been led to believe, when the day finally did come, and he wondered, briefly, how the Kents had managed to tell Clark about a magical flying man in the sky when he was a child, or if they’d let him know Santa Claus was a fictional character to avoid accidental alien imprinting.

The day Christmas arrived there was a bit more of a set time to get up, but things still moved the same as they had been.

The sun rose and Jon tended to the cows, but then would be inside for the remainder of the day unlike his usual sparse appearances throughout. They made pancakes for breakfast and waited until everyone was sat around the table together to eat.

After breakfast was time for presents, a few under the tree for Clark, some for his parents, and…

Martha handed a little box to Bruce too.

...it was nice. It was still approximately like a regular day, which was a little strange, but it was nice. He ate the breakfast with his usual appreciation and followed to the livingroom around the tree once it was done, watching.

Bruce took the little box with a quiet ‘thank you,’ and smiled. Most of the gifts around the tree were for Clark, but that was fine.

...After a bit of confusion, Bruce had brought his presents down a day or two before. One for Jon. One for Martha.

Two for Clark--one of them being the little package that had arrived in the mail a few days earlier.

The first three presents Bruce had picked out while in Gotham, asked Alfred to purchase and wrap, and had brought them on the train himself on the way to Smallville.

He hoped they were fine.

...for Ms Kent, before knowing her name, he’d gotten a blue sapphire necklace with matching earrings. Not especially expensive, so it wouldn’t feel condescending or she couldn’t find things to wear them with. Not so cheap it looked bad coming from him.

For Jon, it’d been a little easier.

High quality black leather gloves with a matching sidebag.

… and for Clark, he’d… for the first present, he’d simply gotten him an autobiography of one of the muckrakers who’d lived through the mob wars of the 20s and 30s.

...it was the second present, in a much smaller box, that had Bruce anxious.

Jon and Martha kept insisting that he didn’t have to get them anything of course. They were very impressed by the gifts though, Jon giving a rather genuine smile and Martha leaning over to give him a hug in thanks.

Clark really liked the book too, and it actually took him a moment to put it down and pick up the second present that Bruce had given him.

“Another one?” He asked, a little surprised while pulling off the wrapping.

Bruce nodded and… looked down a little.

...inside the box, there were what looked to be hearing aids. Pale, thin, and mechanical.

“...they’re sound blockers,” he said softly. “...you said Gotham was too loud for you. And what you said about three miles, I figured…”

…

“You don’t have to use them.”

Clark clearly didn’t know what they were before Bruce said anything, but then the realization hit him.

“... Oh. Wow, Bruce.” He said, pulling them out. “That’s… really cool.”

“How do you put them on?” He asked, already trying.

Oh.

Bruce brightened a little, and shuffled closer, sliding until their knees knocked together.

“Here,” he said, taking the first one from Clark’s hand and brushing away his hair to get a good view of his ear.

He slid it in carefully, looping the hook that made it appear so much like a hearing aid over Clark’s ear.

“No one should question it, since it looks like a regular thing.”

Clark leaned in closer to help him and… maybe kinda stayed there a little longer just so he could be closer to Bruce while he helped put them in.

“This is really cool.” He said again, voice quiet.

“Finally gonna be able to sleep.” He laughed, a little joking and a little not.

Bruce smiled a little, glad Clark liked them so much. “They working?”

He went quiet and focused, a smile spreading over his face. “I can’t hear the cows.”

Martha looked like she might start crying.

Bruce grinned wide, something warm spreading through his chest.

“You like them?”

“Yeah. I really do.” Clark grinned.

…

He leaned over and pulled Bruce into a hug.

For a moment, Bruce was startled, freezing up in the sudden hold.

...then, he leaned into it, closing his eyes, and finding himself melting into the hold.

… Clark found he really didn’t want it to end, but… his parents were right there. So it had to. But while it lasted he held Bruce tight and whispered out another ‘thank you’ before pulling away.

“Wish you woulda had those when you were younger.” Martha smiled and Clark laughed.

“Yeah, really.”

Bruce smiled and edged away from Clark again, opening his own present quietly while the others talked.

...he felt a little better, now, knowing the gift was well received. That it wasn’t a bad idea.

...soon enough, though, January would come, and the hearing aids would be really put to the test as their return to Gotham grew closer.

Bruce’s gift was… less impressive, but…

“I know it ain’t your style, but…” Clark grinned.

It was a baseball cap.

A baseball cap with ‘SMALLVILLE’ embroidered across it.

“Least it’s somethin’ to remember us by.” Jon chuckled.

Bruce sighed deeply, eyes rolling up to the ceiling, and flipped the hat up to destroy his hair style by putting it on.

“You know what, Kent,” he said. “At least it’s not John Deere.”

Clark grinned and roped his arm around Bruce to give him a side-hug.

…

January would come eventually though, that was for sure. Clark would hug and kiss his parents goodbye and they would tell Bruce they loved having him, to come back any time. He was always welcome in their house.

Then it was a bus ride back to Gotham and Clark definitely packed his new hearing aids.

...he wasn’t sure why he was the one struggling to not get emotional once the Kents drove away, and he found himself in the bus seat, staring at the seat in front of him.

...but he was. For the first few minutes as the bus pulled out of the station, Bruce just… curled up in his seat and worked to keep his breathing steady.

And they headed back to Gotham.

…

He wouldn’t wear his ‘Smallville’ cap with him as they reached their destination late the next day, though. He’d return to the borrowed snow cap, and hide the ‘smallville’ one deep in his bag so that it couldn’t be seen.

...and as they returned to the dorms, he had a weight of dread in his chest that he wasn’t unused to, but…

It hadn’t been there the last two weeks.

And knowing Clark could hear his heartbeat just made him more anxious, now, about keeping secrets.

#aka the gay awakening #superbat #80s gay superbat #clark kent #bruce wayne

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s-creations · 3 years ago

Text

In Sickness, In Health Chapter 5 - Broken Arm

Fandom: DuckTales 2017 / The Three Caballeros Rating: General Audience Relationships/Pairings: José Carioca/Donald Duck/Panchito Pistoles Additional Tags: getting sick, being cared for, mental health, injury, sore throat, common cold, chicken pox, broken bones, whooping cough, taking care of others.

Part of a Series Called: We’re the Three- Sorry, Six Caballeros!

Author’s Note: This chapter is self titled with what's about to happen. But please keep in mind this contains talk of broken bones. If I need to put further tags/warnings on this story, please let me know!

“Dewey, I’m serious, get down!” Huey frantically called.

“Sorry, can’t hear you. Too high up and doing amazing!” Dewey called back as he reached for the next level of branches.

“Dewey!”

“Let it go dude,” Louie commented as he scrolled through his phone. Leaning up against the same tree that Dewey was currently climbing. “You’re not getting him down from there. Just let nature take its course.”

While Huey glared at Louie, Dewey was continuing his trek up the tall tree. Humming his theme song (version 236) while he reached for another branch. His plan for the day was to reach the top of the tallest tree in the backyard so he could see across the bay. To hopefully see across it, maybe even see the entire world and what it had to offer. Maybe he could even find some place interesting enough to visit! Some place close!

Ah, he was so eager! He couldn’t wait to find out what the rest of the world looked like. Entire body shaking with eagerness, Dewey moved a bit too quickly...

He lost his footing first. Webbed foot slipped and Dewey quickly reached out to try and grab something for support. Only for his hand to grab at air. The branch just a bit too far out of reach.

It was as if time stood still for a moment. Dewey got a brief thought of ‘Huh...maybe this wasn’t the best idea.’ before he began to properly fall. It was strangely exhilarating to hear the wind rushing around him. Sort of like flying. Except the opposite. Because he was, in fact, falling. So this was worse.

Dewey hit the ground hard, Huey shrieking while Louie let out a cry of ‘Holy Cow!’ as they rushed over. The triplet dressed in blue sat up slowly. Looking around, dazed, but otherwise felt fine.

“What were you thinking! You could have been killed!” Huey huffed. Fear being replaced by anger as he glared down at his brother.

“I was thinking how cool it would be to see the view from the top of that tree. But I guess it wasn’t meant to be for the moment. Oh well, I’ll try again tomorrow-”

Dewey let out a yelp of pain when he tried to put weight on his arm. Pain shooting through it, the duckling swearing he was about to pass out from it. Taking a deep breath to keep himself awake, Dewey looked down at said arm. Which was clearly broken. Sticking out at a weird angle, but nothing else seemed ‘wrong’.

“I broke my arm.”

“WHAT?”

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure it’s broken. Check it.” Dewey casually commented holding up the mentioned limb. Louie looked close to vomiting while Huey turned very pale.

“Oh… Okay. Um, Louie, can you get Uncle Donald?” The youngest triplet nodded and dashed back towards the house, happy to not see the arm. Huey, on his part, bent down to examine the damage as best he could. “Ah...so… I don’t think I’m supposed to touch it. But it looks so bad!”

“Dude, it doesn’t hurt. Just breathe and leave it alone.” Truth be told, Dewey wasn’t really sure why he wasn’t panicking. Maybe it was because everyone else was already freaking out. But, it was probably the fact that, since it didn’t hurt, Dewey wasn’t too worried.

“Dewey!”

Ah, someone else to worry about him.

“Hi Uncle Donald!” Dewey beamed while being faced with a panicked duck.

Donald looked prepared to start pulling out his feathers in panic. “Okay, okay, Dewey, how are you feeling?”

“Pretty good, all things considered.”

“Okay, can you walk? We need to get you to the car.”

“Sure...I’ll just need help getting up.”

Dewey was more than patient as the rest of the family rushed around him. Helping him into the car, getting the seatbelt on, making sure he was okay before they set off. A quick trip to the emergency room later and Dewey now had a sweet cast and a story to share with his other two uncles.

“This is so cool! Benny had one of his arms in a cast too and he got people to sign it. Do you think I could do that too?” Dewey looked up at Donald, freehand knocking on the hardened plaster.

“Of course. You can start carrying some sharpies when you’re at school. Just as long as you don't make everything messy and you don’t distract the class.” Donald commented, finally relaxed now that everything was taken care of.

At first, Dewey was honestly thrilled to have his cast. It was like getting a fancy new piece of armor in a video game. Wanting to constantly show it off. Happily retelling his adventure with so much gusto to whomever would hear him. It was great.

Until it wasn’t.

The first issue was how uncomfortable the cast was becoming. It was heavy and clunky. He couldn’t sleep because the cast was just dead weight. His arm started becoming both itchy and sweaty. Hot and bothersome with no solution as to how it was supposed to be fixed.

The second issue was that there was no one else to tell the story to. All his classmates knew. All his neighbors knew. And, even if his uncles would listen to him, Dewey knew they were becoming bored by the story. The once great armor was now dragging him down.

The last issue was that he couldn’t do anything. Uncle Donald made it clear that Dewey wasn’t going to do anything with the cast on. Not that the duckling paid that warning too much attention. Until he realized that the cast was preventing Dewey from, quite literally, doing anything. He couldn’t grab anything. Couldn’t put pressure on it in any way. Hold anything. It was basically a useless arm.

“At least you have some time to work on your homework.” Huey offered weakly. Which was only met with an unamused glare.

Dewey was becoming so bored.

He was currently situated on the sofa during one afternoon. Eyes barely open, barely focused, as he ‘watched’ the television. Dewey wasn’t fully taken in what he was looking at. He was also pretty sure there was a string of drool sliding out from the side of his mouth.

“Well, don’t you look charming.”

Dewey merely rolled his head to the side to look over towards Donald. “Hello…”

“Hello to you too.” The older duck walked over, claiming an empty seat next to the blue dressed triplet. “I see you’ve moved your pity party from the bedroom to the living room.”

“Not pity.” Dewey weakly argued back.

“No? Then what are you doing?”

“Bored?”

“Ah, I see. Nothing like being sad for yourself.”

“There’s nothing I can to with my stupid arm is it’s stupid cast.” Dewey huffed weakly.

“You’ve done nothing but watch t.v. since you’ve gotten that cast. Why don’t you try doing something new?”

“Broken arm, can’t do anything.”

Donald rolled his eyes. “You’re not in a full body cast, you can still move. And your dominant hand is still ‘free’. I don’t mean trying to climb something new. Why not find a new hobby? Read a book, go take a walk, something.”

“All sounds boring.”

Letting out a slow breath, Donald took a new approach. “Well, I have something you might be interested in.”

“Doubt it.” Even with a heavy sigh of boredom, Dewey still followed his uncle.

They entered a small side room at the back of the house. One filled with mainly boxes and other unneeded odds and ends. They passed the stacked boxes, going towards the sole window. Where an artist easel had been set up. Paints and other tools cluttering a small rolling cart that had been pushed against the wall.

“What is this?” Dewey asked as he looked over the pile of paint tubes.

“My get away, if you will. When I want a break from everything, I come here and just paint. Just...put on some music and paint.”

“I’ve never seen you paint before…”

“Well, I did just start,” Donald commented, taking a seat in front of the easel. “I was told it would help me relax.”

“So, are you telling me to start painting?” Dewey asked.

“Sort of.” Reaching into a large bag that was propped up against the wall as well, Donald pulled out two items. A small sketchbook and a mechanical pencil. “You have an active imagination. Why don’t you try giving your words some pictures?”

Dewey was skeptical at first. When starting, it was frustrating. Nothing was looking right and it was maddening to try and figure out what something was supposed to look like. Seeing it in his head to transfer it onto paper was difficult.

Tio José swooped in to save the day. When Dewey crumpled up another failure. The parrot was more than happy to give his expertise on how to start off a drawing. Getting the basic shapes, proportions, how to look at the whole and the parts of an object, how drawing from real life can help draw from the imagination. After that, there was no stopping him.

Even with the cast on, it didn’t stop him. If anything Dewey started using it as a weight to keep the loose paper still. The rest of the recovery melted away. The blue cladded duckling happily returned to school with a fully healed arm and a number of handcrafted books to share.

#donald duck #josé carioca #panchito pistoles #jose carioca/donald duck/panchito pistoles #The Three Caballeros #the three gay caballeros #s-creations #fanfiction

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jawritter · 5 years ago

Text

Your Dean...

Request: Heyy! I'm sorry to be a bother. I was wondering if you can do a one-shot where the reader is prone to severe panic attacks and her husband Dean is the only one who knows how to calm her down? She gets a really bad attack but Dean for some reason ain't there, and no one is able to help her but eventually, he comes back and takes care of her. Sorry if this is a lot haha.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Warnings: Trigger Warning... Anxiety, Panic Attack, Angst, Some fluff. That’s about it I think.

Word Count: 1447

A/N: As always all mistakes are mine! Please don’t copy my work! Feedback his golden! I hope you all enjoy this one!!

Want more? Check out my Masterlist!!

****MASTERLIST******

It doesn’t start out hard and in your face, not always…

Usually, it’s a slow build over a course of days, sometimes hours, depending on what brought it on.

Not this time…

This time it felt like it hit you out of nowhere, and you didn’t even see it coming, not until it had already started to take hold of you.

The feeling like you’re being watched, paranoid over every little thing. That spine-tingling feeling that someone is following you, or watching you, judging you, and you know for a fact that no one is there.

The way your mind overplays things, making them out to be worse than what they are. Constantly playing over and over again like a broken record things that normal people wouldn’t even pay attention to, but you, it drives you crazy.

Every little mistake on a constant repeat in front of your mind’s eye, not letting you let it go…

Like this morning when you were in the gas station for a supply run. Dean would be home today, and he needed beer when he got home from a hunt because he liked to have it, and you knew it.

So as a good girlfriend you always try to be, your OCD says you must have beer at the bunker by the time Dean got home.

They had the counters cluttered, you set your purse down on the counter, in a hurry to get home before the storm hit and the rain started, and in your hurry, you knocked over a small display of candy bars onto the floor.

There was a line of people behind you…

They saw your clumsy moment…

That was all it took…

Your mind hyper-focused on that one moment, playing it over and over again. It wasn’t your fault really. They shouldn’t have had all that shit stacked up on the counter, but your mind wouldn’t let it go.

It just kept playing the way people stared at you as you fumbled and tried to pick up the candy that had fallen over.

Even though they weren’t really staring at you, your mind made you think that they were, because that’s how anxiety works. It takes a situation that’s small and just makes it seem like this unforgivable, insurmountable thing.

Everyone that was in there had probably forgotten all about you and the candy display by the time they got to their cars.

You though, you could feel judgment that wasn’t there.

You know the signs, you dealt with anxiety all your life.

You know what’s coming….

You need to get home to Dean… He’s your distraction… Your grounding… Your safe space… He knows how to pull you out of your head before it goes too far…

Your Dean…

When you finally made it home and walk through the doors of the bunker Dean still wasn't home…

You slip a level deeper into your spiral, this time you don’t even notice it, your mind still hyper-focused on what happened in the gas station. Your subconscious now mixing with the gut-wrenching questions on top of your own humiliations…

Where’s Dean?

He and Sam should have been home an hour ago?

Has something happened?

Are they hurt?

Did they get in a wreck?

Should you go look for them?

Taking a deep breath you shove it down and try to rationalize it…

They just ran into traffic or stopped for lunch. They’ll be home soon…

So you put away the supplies and go take a shower, trying to relax yourself and stave off what you know is coming.

Your heart rate feels higher than normal. Your hyper-focused state doesn’t allow you to see that it’s just stress and you’re doing it to yourself.

“Oh God, something is wrong with me. I’m going to die. I won’t ever see Dean again…”

Your Dean…

Just that simple thought causes your hands to shake and your chest to tighten around your lungs.

“There was so much I wanted to do, and now I won’t get to because I’m dying..”

“I wanted to see Dean one more time. Let him hold me one more time. See his smile. Feel his warmth… But my heart rate is up, and I’m going to die before he gets here… Now I won’t get to see him again…"

Your Dean…

You just wanted to see your Dean…

Your heart is now pounding in your ears as you try to dry yourself off and make your way to the bedroom you shared with Dean…

You feel a little dizzy.

“Oh, God… Is this it…”

“How will Dean find me?”

“On the floor in the hallway. On the floor of our bedroom… In our bed? Would he think you were just sleeping… Leaving your dead body there for hours?”

“Will he burn your body? Give you a hunter’s funeral?”.

“Will he do something stupid to try and get you back?”

Your chest grew tighter and tighter as your mind continued to reel. Your breaths felt like they were becoming harder and harder to take as you slid down the wall not three feet away from the door of your shared room.

Everything started to sound like it was underwater. Your world started swimming around you. Your vision is blurring as you start to lose consciousness.

You could hear a roaring sound like someone was yelling, but you couldn’t be sure everything sounded so far away…

Out of nowhere thick, strong arms wrapped around your shaking form and Dean’s cologne invaded your scenes…

Were you hallucinating?

Did you die?

Is this your Heaven… Dean shouldn’t be here… He should be alive…

"Y/N, sweetheart, breathe, you got to breathe for me okay? Breathe with me baby.”

You heard Dean take a deep breath, and you desperately wanted to do what he was telling you to do, but you couldn’t make your body do what your brain said you need to do.

Dean’s large hand came to the side of your face, making you look at him. His piercing green eyes invaded your vision, making you focus on him.

“Y/N/N, come on sweetheart, focus on me. It’s not real, whatever happened to you is not real. I’m real. I’m right here with you. You need to concentrate. I need you to breathe, baby girl.”

Dean was real. He was there… You weren’t imagining it… Your Dean was there… He was home…

You take a deep breath with him this time, your lungs burned in protest, but you did it; counting to five in your head before letting it go. Then again… Every breath becomes easier…

“That’s it, baby…That’s my girl… I gotcha just breathe," Dean’s deep voice vibrated through your body as he held it to his thick chest, his hands making a trail up and down your spine, calming you, grounding you like only your Dean could.

Slowly your world came back into focus after a long time of just sitting the hallway in Dean’s lap as he brought you back down from your panic attack. Probably the worst one you’ve had in a while.

Dean whispered comforting words to you until he was sure you were completely out of it before standing up with you in his arms like you weighed nothing at all, bringing you into your shared bedroom, and laying you down on his bed. Sliding in behind you, and wrapping his arms you, pulling you back to his chest, your head laying right over his heart. The sound of its steady rhythm helps to calm your own racing heart.

"That was the worst one I’ve seen you have since the night we got married, baby girl. What happened? Do you want to talk about it?” Dean asks as he plays with your hair, placing little butterfly kisses on your face, letting you know he was there, and that he loved you.

You thought back to that moment in the store when it all started to happen. When you knocked the candy display off the counter, but that really wasn’t what triggered it. You could see that now.

You’d been in your head for days, and you knew it. This hunt was a long one, and time away from Dean always was stressful, making your anxiety levels higher than normal.

“I really don’t know Dean… Guess I was just missing you… Got all in my own head… Blew little things out of proportion. You know me,” you tell him, and you nuzzle yourself into his neck, breathing him in and letting him feel all of you and wash it all away like only he could.

Your Dean…

Dean placed a chaste kiss to the top of your head and tucked the covers around the two of you tighter. Exhaustion was pulling at you, and he knew how much a panic attack on that level took it out of you.

“I’m right here sweet girl. I’m not going anywhere. I’m safe, you’re safe, I’ve got you, baby girl. I’ll always be here."

Dean started humming slightly, and everything faded to black as consciousness gave way to a peaceful sleep.

The first one in days.

Your Dean… Your world. He was home. You were safe. He was safe. Everything was right again…

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Tag List:

@deanwanddamons @imabitch4jensen @rvgrsbrns @bi-danvers0 @onethirstyunicorn @i-love-superhero @akshi8278 @alanegaming @magssteenkamp @lemondropirwin @squirrelnotsam @hobby27 @spnbaby-67 @mrsjenniferwinchester @defenderrosetyler @screechingartisancashbailiff

#dean winchester #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester fanfic #dean winchester one shot #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #dean x reader #dean x you #always keep fighting #panic attack #fanficiton #spn #spn fanfic #spn fanfiction #jawritter #jensen ackles

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mcheang · 5 years ago

Note

Lila Salt Lila tries to lie to Luka to impress him he just shrugs not really interested and rejects her she snaps and tries to get him kicked out of Kitty Section when ask why she would do this he didn't do anything Lila snaps at him for rejecting her and now he'll pay Alya records updates it on her blog and let's say Karma's gonna come collect Lila's debt

Sore reject

Post-Miracle Queen

It pained Lila to have to obey Gabriel on his new edict to leave Kagami be, but to be honest, Adrien hated her. She got what she wanted from Gabriel: stardom. Best not to rock the boat.

Speaking of boats, Lila was currently on Juleka’s family boat. The band was going to start shooting their first music video. Alya was doing the camera work. Lila was just there for support with Mylene.

Marinette sadly couldn’t make it because she was currently shopping at some Chinese herbal store for her Mother (potion ingredients)

While the band set up, Lila skipped the grunt work in favour of a self-guided tour.

Ugh. Everything here is so cluttered, it’s practically a pigsty. On the upside, Lila can easily trip and sprain her ankle.

As Lila headed downstairs, she heard the fine tuning of a guitar. Entering a double bedroom, she saw the guitarist.

Woah. If Adrien was droolworthy, this boy was the manifestation of cool.

Blue hair graced the handsome cheekbones of the stranger. He was tall and slender, dressed in laidback style.

Lila just found her new Adrien. Imagine if she dated a guitarist? How awesome would that be? She knew girls who would be envious that she had a musical Boyfriend. And he’s older too, bonus! To get the interest of a senior boosts Lila’s own attractive level by curiosity.

Time to turn on the charm. Lila plasters on a friendly smile and leans in.

Lila: Hey. You must be Luka right? I’m Lila.

Luka looks up briefly before flicking his eyes back down. “Hello, Lila.”

Lila beamed and took that as an invitation to continue. “You’re a serious Musician, aren’t you. Juleka told me all about you.”

Luka didn’t look interested in her conversation. Time to reel him in with some fabricated connections. “I actually know this music producer from Hollywood, and I gave him a copy of your band’s music. With any luck, we’ll hear from him soon. Fingers crossed!”

Lila expected Luka to at least show some gratitude, but he just kept strumming his guitar like he was trying to tune her out. Rude!

(Beneath Luka’s serene nonchalance, he refrained from wrinkling his nose and gagging. Lila’s inner melody sounded oily and off-tune. It made him long for Marinette’s vibrant and beautiful song.)

Lila gave one more try. “I can’t wait to hear you perform. Hey, do you think you could give me guitar lessons? I’ve never been taught anything beyond the triangle.” Lila gives a laugh, hoping for something.

Luka has by now completely zoned out. He had been tired of listening to Lila jabber jabber jabber. And the mention of producers reminded of his experience with Bob Roth...bad memories.

Lila stared at this stupid boy before turning around with a huff and stomping off. Before she left the room, she noticed that near Luka’s bed were a few photographs. One of his family. One of Kitty Section. And one with Marinette.

Lila gritted her teeth. First, Adrien, now Luka. What do these boys see in her? Here was a perfectly gorgeous Italian flirting with them, and they go after Asian girls with no social charisma.

As Lila stewed on her thoughts, it suddenly struck her. If Luka was on team Marinette, he’ll believe Marinette over Lila. Luka holds sway with Kitty Section, and having no real reason to dislike Lila since he is very reasonable and not to be swayed just by Marinette’s opinion, he might actually sow a seed of doubt in them.

Like hell Lila would let that happen.

Putting on some sniffles, Lila walked back to the band.

Rose: What’s wrong, Lila? Did you hurt yourself?

Lila shook her head. “I just saw this boy downstairs. I tried to be friendly, but for some reason, he just brushed me off.”

Juleka frowned. “That’s my Brother Luka. He gets absorbed in his music sometimes, to the point where everything else is white noise. Don’t take it personally Lila. My Brother is a really nice guy.”

Lila nodded sadly, inwardly frustrated. White noise? Time to change tactics. “Why is he in the band again?”

At everyone’s surprised looks, Lila quickly explained. “I’m just surprised. Luka’s in a different grade, don’t your schedules clash?”

Ivan: Yeah, but we make it work.

Lila: Is he in charge?

Rose: Actually Marinette organizes our schedules, she’s really good at that. She knows everyone’s schedules ahead of time anyway.

Lila saved that bit of alarming information for later. “But don’t you think it’s weird that he’s the only one from a different grade?”

The band are getting tired of her criticism on Luka. “It’s not weird. Luka’s the soul of our band. He understands music the best.”

A bass voice interjects, “I am more curious about why you’re singling me out the way you are, Lie-la.”

Lila turns around, wide eyed. She hadn’t even hear him arrive.

“What? I’m not!”

Everyone’s eyebrows are raised skeptically.

Lila flushed. “Ok, so maybe I am. But you were really rude ignoring me the way you just did. I did something nice for you and you didn’t even say thank you. You barely even said a word.”

The others were wide eyed, this was the first time they were hearing Lila sound angry.

Luka just strummed his guitar, looking more interested in the notes coming off it than the upset girl in front of him.

It made Lila see red. As the music continued to pour forth, everything else faded away and Lila just focused on Luka. It was like he was a snake flute player, only Lila was the snake.

Luka: And that gives you the right to criticise me?

Lila: Of course, it does! It’s called payback.

Luka: that’s a pretty harsh payback for not talking to you. The way you were talking about me, it was like you were trying to convince the band that they would be better off without me.

Lila: It’s what you deserve.

Juleka: Lila!

Shocked, Lila snaps out of her confrontation with Luka. Crap, the music got into her head and she forgot she had an audience, one of whom held a camera with a blinking red light.

Needless to say, Lila was asked to leave, despite her begging and dry tears.

As the band rehearsed, Alya finally did her research.

Jagged Stone’s pet kitten- false.

Prince Ali’s Friend- false as proven by Rose with a single text

Lila’s disabilities- false due to the fake kitten

That night, Alya posted an apology to her viewers for not checking her sources beforehand. In this apology video, she posts Lila’s true colours as the cause for her suspicions, followed by screenshots of proofs disproving Lila’s claims.

Alya’s viewers forgive the novice reporter and instead criticise Lila.

Notably, one of the subscribers to the Ladyblog is Owlman (the man loves anything hero-related), and he decides to check on Lila’s health records and gives a call to Mrs Rossi.

A lot more truths come out (including Marinette’s expulsion) and Lila is expelled.

Lila tries to get Adrien or Gabriel to back her up but why would they? Lila has been nothing but horrible to Adrien’s friends and she is no longer useful to Gabriel.

Good news for Luka: Marinette is impressed by the way he handled Lila.

#miraculous ladybug fanfic #miraculous ladybug fic #ml fanfic #ml fanfiction #miraculous ladybug fanfiction #ml fic #adrienette #lila gets exposed #lila karma #lila is exposed #lila salt #post miracle queen

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hyperions-strap · 4 years ago

Note

for the abo prompts?: rhys and jack have been trying for a baby for a while. nothing seems to be working until one morning jack wakes up with his scent different and sweeter, and as it turns out, rhys is prolly a little too into the pregnant jack smell.

✨💞 Done and posted over on AO3 💞✨

Feel free to send any more prompt ideas 💘

Jack lets his head hang like dead weight, trying to enjoy the feeling of Rhys' knot swollen inside him. His body is aching, only the sweet bliss of endorphins from his alpha knot relieves the pain. They've been having sex every available moment, it's only just starting to become tiresome and more of a chore than a pleasure. Jack always feels content afterwards, when Rhys is practically ready to pass out, and they just stay together, quiet, enjoying the release of their bonded pheromones wrapping around them both like a blanket.

It's more enjoyable for Jack when he's laying on his back, of course, but they've tried that dozens of times, they wanted to test other positions. Admittedly, appreciating how thick Rhys' knot is works best when he's sat up straight, riding him.

He rests his hands on Rhys shoulders, watching the younger man's chest slowly rise and fall with each steady breath. He doesn't even notice the touch of Rhys' flesh hand against his hip - not until there's an accompanied voice to match.

"Jack," his voice is barely even a whisper. It's wrecked from exhaustion, cracking under the weight of itself, but still manages to be quintessentially Rhys' at its core. Jack lifts his eyes to look at the younger man. His heart flutters when he sees him smiling. "How you feeling?"

There's a sorrowful silence for a mere second, before Jack exhales the heaviness cluttering his chest. "I'm fine, kiddo. How's your dick feeling?" He does his best to act normal, but the withering corners of his smile are more of a give away than he realises. Rhys extends a hand to stroke his cheek - the cold metal is surprisingly soothing against Jack's bare cheek, nice against the rough edges of his scar.

"It'll happen, Jack. These things just take time for some people."

Rhys' optimism is warming. It does surprisingly help Jack feel less broken, but it can't work miracles. They've been trying for months to get pregnant, but to no luck. They've seen doctors, fertility specialists, voodoo witches, and hippie love gurus claiming to know the secrets to a bountiful fertile bond, but nothing. There's nothing wrong with either of them, they're both perfectly fertile, everything is in working order, it's just a lack of lady luck, so to speak. Jack doesn't want to admit it, but having no success is beginning to weigh in his self worth more than he appreciates. He's never been a lovey dovey, family oriented, domestic omega, but something about starting a family with Rhys feels unexplainably right. He'd say it's destiny, but that's too cheesy for his liking.

Why couldn't they make a baby then? It seemed like child's play, any moron with a knot and an above average IQ could make it happen, but inexplicably Rhys and Jack couldn't. They'd synced their ruts and heats, they'd used fertility enhancements, they tried every old wives tale as far back as they went, but it seemed like fate had other plans. After a while, the frustration began to infuriate Jack. He wanted this so bad - to give Rhys the family he deserves. It's the one thing he can't threaten or bargain his way into getting! His status as an omega hasn't bothered him since he was a teenager, but now he can't help but resent himself.

He's lucky to be bonded with the most level-headed, docile alpha known to man. Jack could easily put down any knucklehead that pushed him too much, it didn't matter if they were an alpha or not, but having someone with patience and understanding certainly helped Jack's blood pressure. Sure, stereotypes about alphas and omegas weren't inherently true - Jack and Rhys were proof of that - but Jack couldn't deny when his hormones and pheromones for their heaviest and clouded his judgement, he certainly appreciated the loving embrace of an alpha that adored him no matter what.

After a while, Rhys' knot begins to go down, and Jack, with about as much grace as an oversized gorilla, pops off his lap and flops down beside him on the bed. His eyes shut the second his back meets the mattress. A hand rests against his flat stomach, playing with the coarse hairs covering his skin. Jack peers down to see Rhys watching him, content to do so forever.

"I should probably elevate my hips or some shit, right?" Jack teases, lifting said area and holding himself in position with his hands propped against the small of his back. "Keeps the baby goo inside or whatever."

Rhys grimaces, shaking his head. "Don't call it 'baby goo', that's disgusting."

"True though."

"It's cum - just call it cum!"

Jack laughs. He lets the lower half of his body fall back down, bouncing slightly against the springs. Rhys goes back to mindlessly playing with his belly hair, twirling it, sweeping it one way, enjoying how it feels. Jack tries to ignore the pestering voices crawling out of their hiding holes, telling him he's worthless, that all his accomplishments have been for nothing if he can't have a baby with Rhys. They tell him he deserves this, for all the bad he's done, for being a dictator, for being so selfish most of his adult life.

Rhys can see the wheels turning in Jack's head. The older man thinks he's subtle, but he's as easy to read as a kid's book. He rolls on to his front and crawls up to rest on Jack's chest, pouting playfully, walking his fingers up his biceps. Jack smiles softly.

"It'll happen." He says quietly, but it does little to reassure Jack. Rather, it makes him frown.

"What if it doesn't, huh? Will you be okay without a brat to take care off?"

"You're really convincing me you want this to begin with when you call it a brat." He laughs, but Jack rolls his eyes and turns away. It's harder on him, Rhys knows - it's always the way with omegas, but when your partner is hell-bent on denying old fashioned stereotypes associated with his status, it likely will result in deep seated repression, only to finally show itself in abrupt murderous rampages. Getting Jack to admit he even wanted kids to begin with had been a tedious trial, and it hurts him to know he opened a wound he can't heal.

Rhys takes Jack's face in both his hands and kisses him tenderly, drawing out the passion so it sinks in deep with Jack. He loves him more than words could ever begin to convey, even on his worst days, and he hates to know he can't immediately make things better with the flip of a switch.

"It," he kisses him again, "will," and again, "happen. I know it will." Rhys says on the end of a heavy breath, kissing him one more time for longer. Jack moans softly, his hand looping round to hold Rhys' waist.

"Will you be okay if it doesn't?" Jack sounds so fragile, maybe even a little scared. Rhys looks at him shocked before kissing his forehead.

"If we've still got each other, that's all that matters, okay?"

Jack accepts it for now, just so he can settle in for the night and get some sleep. It won't keep him happy forever. The inevitable self loathing will come back, stronger, but all he can do is keep going. He doesn't think Rhys is lying either - he probably will be okay with just Jack if they never have kids, but it's still scary to imagine a world where Jack's better half leaves him because he was some kind of detective omega. He puts his arms around Rhys and does his best to think of good things. Against all his instincts, he even says a soft prayer to himself, hoping for good news.

A few weeks go by with no change. They still fuck like rabbits and research any new fertility treatments available, but it's boring routine at that point. Eventually Jack suggests they think realistically about giving up, which Rhys fights him on and insists they just need to stay positive, but the older man gets serious fast. It's easy to assume Jack's just being his usual aggressive self, dominating the conversation, belittling Rhys to feel like a tough guy, but the truth is he can't handle feeling like a failure much longer. Waking up, taking tests, seeing no change, it's starting to seriously break his heart.

One morning however, when Rhys had to spend an all nighter at the office, Jack wakes up with what feels like a groggy hangover. Everything is just slightly discombobulated, his limbs feeling heavier than usual, and his eyes take a lot longer to adjust before he can confidently sit up without getting dizzy. He's not sure why he feels so peculiar - he hasn't been drunk in God knows how many months - but he's too tired to really ponder it. He rubs his eyes tirelessly with the balls of his palm, followed by stretching his arms out wide above his head until he hears a distinct crack from his back.

He thinks about getting himself breakfast, but the comforting heat of his bed is too intoxicating. He wants to snuggle down again, bury himself under his duvet and sleep away his day without a care in the world. Thankfully, just as his stomach begins to rumble, he hears the front door echo, and Rhys' tired voice call up to him.

"Before you collapse in bed, do me a favour and make some French toast, will ya, pumpkin?" Jack yells out. He grins victoriously when he hears Rhys groan in response. The sound of cutlery clinking together is like music to Jack's ears.

When Rhys looks shattered when he walks into the bedroom with Jack's food. His tie hangs loosely around his neck, along with his shirt untucked and left scruffy after popping a few buttons, and his eyes struggle to keep themselves open. When the plate is in Jack's hands, he haphazardly clambers out of his suit pants and collapses with a thud into the bed beside Jack, face first in the pillows.

Jack eats his toast, staring at Rhys, amused by the sight of his wonderful alpha disheveled. It takes a few minutes before Rhys moves again, lazily sitting up and running a hand through his hair. The only sound between them is Jack's crunching.

Then Rhys frowns. He turns sharply to face the older man, staring at him quizzically. When Jack catches him he pauses mid bite.

"Wha-?" He mumbles past the toast in his mouth before taking a bite and swallowing. Rhys flares his nostrils and sniffs the air loudly, to Jack's dismay. "What's the deal, cupcake? You're being a freakin' weirdo!"

"Something smells good…" Is all Rhys can say before he's feverishly sniffing the air again. Jack rolls his eyes.

"I'm eating French toast, it's probably that."

Rhys shakes his head. "No, this is different...it's kind of sweet."

"French toast can be sweet--"

"It's not French toast, Jack!" Rhys snatches the plate from his hands to put in the bedside table. Without warning he grabs Jack possessively and sticks his nose flat against the crook of Jack's neck, scenting along their bonding point. It causes the older man to shudder, a sudden spike of heat rushing through his veins and lighting every muscle he has aflame. Rhys inhales deeply up and down his neck repeatedly. It's really sweet - almost sickenly so, but not so much Rhys would want to pull away. It's like a familiar smell, homely, that makes him want more and more so he can unlock a treasured secret. He inhales more, as if even possible.

Jack starts to feel wavy. Rhys' own alpha pheromones begin to fill the air, possessing Jack, gently rocking him into a tranquil trance. He's fully aware of what's happening, but his body is lighter than he remembers it being. It's a safe feeling, an uncontrollable peace that happens when Rhys is blissfully possessive. He moves his arm to touch Rhys' face, wanting to stroke his cheek and maybe try persuade him into a kiss if he's coherent enough to do so. He gets as far as Rhys shoulder before the younger man takes his hand in his own.

Then Rhys licks Jack's sensitive skin, and moans like he's experienced food for the first time after being starved. He licks again, then nips him softly, stopping when Jack starts purring a little too sensually. It takes a lot to pull himself away, but when he does he immediately knows the answers to all his questions. He takes Jack's face in his hands and kisses him excitedly, knocking Jack out of his state.

"You're pregnant!" Rhys cheerfully yells, bombarding Jack with congratulatory kisses. The older man mumbles in confusion, eventually able to detain Rhys from his wild excitement to actually understand what's happening. He stares at Rhys, his eyes wide like dinner bowls.

"Run that by me again, kitten?" He asks urgently, and Rhys obliges, taking his hands in his own.

"Your smell, Jack, it's different! It's us, it's a mix, and it's the most amazing smell I've ever smelled in my entire life!"

Jack is still visibly confused though, baffled by the frantic happiness his partner displays. He lets the words sink in for a moment, then moves to get out of bed, pacing the spot. He thinks about the impossibility, how it's a cruel prank, or a trick, or maybe even a dream. Is there a smell? The French toast still smells pretty good, he doesn't want to say it's him in case it's just his own gluttony tricking him.

Then Rhys pounces out of bed and nuzzles into his neck again, sniffing in short bursts before inhaling deeply again. Jack's legs go tingly, and he has to catch himself against the wall before he falls in a slump. He can feel Rhys' cock tenting his boxers, pushing up against him eagerly.

"Kid, slow your roll," Jack manages to get out, pushing Rhys off him so he can see his face, still lit up like a Christmas tree. "I'm still catching up. What's that nose of yours trying to tell me?"

Rhys composes himself best he can. He takes Jack's hands in his own and pulls them to his chest. His heart is beating like a jackhammer, fearing it might burst any second. Jack can't fault him, his is about the same if Rhys is really about to confirm what he thinks he is.

"It worked, Jack. You're pregnant."

The words carry such weight to them, Jack's embarrassed to say he actually tears up. It's a surprise to Rhys, he hadn't expected the older man to shed a tear for just about anything, but there he is, waterfalls falling down his cheeks despite his best efforts to stop. Jack frowns despite them, says it's Rhys' fault for inducing some omega hormone in him, but it doesn't ruin the moment. Rhys pulls him in for a long, loving hug and squeezes tight. He takes joy in nuzzling his nose into his neck again, scenting what he's now sure is their offspring, snug and protected inside Jack. It's the sweetest smell he'll ever know, he's sure.

They book a doctor's appointment to make sure it's all true, and sure enough it's confirmed. Jack gets a scan and they see their pea sized baby on a blurry black and white monitor. It's almost surreal, Jack's convinced he's still dreaming hours after the appointment. It doesn't fully register until he's back home standing in the kitchen, and Rhys has his arms wrapped around his middle. His hands are placed gently over where their child will grow. It makes both their hearts flutter to think about.

When Jack feels an airy fuzziness coming over himself again, he groans, trying to knock Rhys off. "Stop scenting me, for God's sake, or I won't be able to stand the next 9 freakin' months!"

Rhys chuckles. He kisses their bonding spot softly and leans over his shoulder slightly. "It's a really good smell though, Jack."

"Well what do you expect, it's me you're talking about. I produce only the best."

"Yeah," Rhys spins Jack around so they're facing one another and holds him in his arms. He can't help the huge, dopey grin lifting the entirety of his face. "You really do."

#rhack #rhack abo #rhack mpreg #rhack fic #handsome Jack #rhys strongfork #alpha rhys #borderlands #omega jack #tales from the borderlands #mpreg

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ko-chan-the-blueberry-donut · 4 years ago

Text

Always Led Back to You Chapter 4, a John Doe/Seraphina fanfiction from UnOrdinary.

Sooooooo guess who accidentally gave her boyfriend access to her AO3 account including all her smut fics? This girl. And by accidentally I mean I sent him this very fic I was proud of without realizing he now has all my AO3 fics at his disposal.

RIP

Here’s chapter 4! Now we can get started!

Disclaimer: I don’t own UnOrdinary

-------------------

Seraphina felt like her head was pounding. She groaned, attempting to sit up.

“Easy there, Seraphina. You collapsed.” A familiar voice spoke out.

“Leilah?” Seraphina voiced out, feeling dizzy, having trouble focusing. What did that drug do to her? Did Leilah know that the drug would do that?

Suddenly, Seraphina felt sick and before she could stop it, she vomited bile all over the blankets.

“Ugh…” Seraphina wiped her mouth, her vision slowly beginning to focus. “Leilah, where’s John?”

“John?” Leilah blinked. “Who’s John?”

“The boy who saved us! The one with the dark hair!” Seraphina was losing her patience with her sister. Leilah went quiet. “Leilah?”

“Seraphina… what do you mean someone saved us? You mean from Mother and Father?” Leilah spoke cautiously.

“Leilah! Enough games! I’m talking about Spectre! Your organization!” Seraphina snarled viciously, the pounding of her head increasing with the returning of her vision. Finally, she could focus…

She was in her room. Her room from home. She hasn’t been here since she left home to return to Wellston to be with John…

And Leilah was there. She was there, and much younger than when Seraphina recently saw her.

“Lei… Leilah?” Seraphina questioned, confused. Leilah looked as if she’s seen a ghost.

“Seraphina… it sounds like you’ve had a bad dream…” Leilah smiled uneasily, quickly reversing the vomit off of Seraphina’s blankets so they were as good as new. She felt her younger sister’s forehead, trying to locate a temperature. “You suddenly fainted, and Mother and Father cancelled all extracurricular activities for the afternoon so you could rest.”

Seraphina didn’t respond, registering what Leilah told her. She climbed out of bed, despite Leilah’s protests and went towards her full body mirror.

It was her. She was in her twelve-year-old body.

“Seraphina, I’m going to bring you more food, okay? Mother putting you on a hunger strike must’ve messed with your body.” Leilah placed her hands on Seraphina’s shoulders. Seraphina paid her no heed, touching the mirror, tracing her image.

‘I’m twelve years old again!’ Seraphina thought. She was numb, and Leilah took this chance to lead her sister back to bed.

“Stay in bed and rest. I’m going to get you some food, okay?” Leilah told her. Leilah departs from her bedside and walks towards the bedroom door. However, she paused, keeping her green eyes ahead. “Also… I think you should forget your dream. I’ve never heard of Spectre.” With that, she exited the room, leaving Seraphina alone.

‘What’s going on?’ Seraphina’s heart began pounding in panic. ‘I’m twelve years old again! Is this some kind of illusion? How can this be possible?’ Despite her head pounding, she rose from her bed again, journeying back to the mirror to make sure she wasn’t imagining it.

Sure enough, her twelve-year-old self was still there staring back at her.

“I remember being in Arlo’s barrier against Spectre. Then Leilah… The drug!” Seraphina quickly brought her hand to her neck where she remembered the syringe being stabbed into her. She tried to feel for some evidence of a prick but could find none. She then brought her hands in front of her face, examining them. “Leilah said the drug was a prototype. Could it have interfered with my ability in some way?”

She reached inside her for the familiar echo she once knew. Anything to know she did indeed have her ability again…

Nothing.

“No…” Seraphina’s hands began shaking. “I’m still am a cripple? Then what happened?!” She ran her hands through her long magenta hair, attempting to gain some kind of semblance of reality in this new world. “So instead of gaining my ability back in the present, it caused my ability to send me back in time and have it no more?! What kind of sick antidote is this?!”

Seraphina tried to keep her voice leveled, but her entire being wanted to scream. Not only was she somehow in the past, but now she didn’t have her ability. What would happen if her parents found out? Would she be trapped here forever, with no escape? Seraphina wasted no time in grabbing her calendar, trying to in vain to gain some sort of control in this situation.

“I just started my final year in elementary school…” Seraphina whispered. “If this is correct, that means that Leilah will be running away from home before the year ends to join Spectre. I’ll be left alone with Mother and Father…”

With no ability, she didn’t dare finish out loud.

“I remember everything going black… and then…. John!” Seraphina’s eyes widened. “I remember John. I kept hearing him call my name. I remember thinking about him before everything went black…” Seraphina began to pace shakily, her pounding headache not helping her revert to a calm state at all. “Did thinking about John somehow effect how far I was sent back? But why this year…”

Suddenly, she stopped pacing, realizing exactly when she was.

“John started middle school this year…” Seraphina whispered. “John meets Claire this year… and then—” she turns to look at the calendar again, studying it. “John…”

“John’s priority was and has always been you”

-------------------

“Seraphina! I’ve brought you your soup!” Leilah cheerfully announces as she entered Seraphina’s room with a tray. “Seraphina?” Leilah called, finding her sister nowhere to be seen in her room. She walked farther into the room, placing the tray on Seraphina’s desk.

The room was tidy and perfect as usual. There was no sign of disturbance. However, something caught Leilah’s eye and she walked closer to Seraphina’s desk, finding her secret drawer has been opened.

“Her secret money stash…” Leilah whispered. Realization hit her then and she ran towards Seraphina’s closet, past all the clutter towards where Seraphina was hiding her backpack. “Her travel pack is gone...”

A breeze then caught Leilah’s hair, and she journeyed towards the window that was ajar, blowing the curtains gently in the room. It was dark outside, and nothing could be seen for miles.

‘Seraphina!’ Leilah screamed in her mind, heart stopping.

-----------------

‘I’m insane! I’m most definitely insane!’ Seraphina thought, head still pounding and body shaking, but she kept running at break neck speed. ‘I can’t believe I’m doing this!’

If she hurried, she could catch a train ride set for New Bostin. She knew she had enough saved up from her stash to afford a ticket. She was leaving everything she knew, but Seraphina couldn’t find herself to regret her decision.

‘I can save him! There’s still a chance! This time John—you won’t be alone!’

She managed to make it away from her family’s estate into the city, traveling under darkness. Her clothes were covered in dirt from tripping so many times in the dark in her haste, but Seraphina couldn’t bring herself to care about her multiple cuts and scrapes nor the state of her clothes. Passersby ignored her, only crinkling their nose at her state of mess, before assuming she was a low-tier who was beat up and going back to their business.

Arriving at the station, Seraphina was elated to find it was still open, even at this late hour. She didn’t bother taking a break, despite her body’s protests, and made her way to the ticket counter. The attendant raised an eyebrow at her.

“I’d like a ticket to New Bostin.” Seraphina spoke.

“This ain’t no joy ride, kid. No money, no ride.” The attendant prepared to brush her off, knowing a ticket to New Bostin was out of her price range. However, the attendant was shocked when she slammed down enough money on the counter.

“Is this enough?” Seraphina asked. The attendant blinked, counting the bills, before nodding, dazed. Once she received her ticket, Seraphina wasted no time going towards her designated platform. She felt like she was on never ending adrenaline.

‘If I can somehow prevent John meeting Claire, then perhaps that would fix everything! I can work on a healthier way for him to cope! I can be there for him or take him to Wellston and we could meet Rei—’ so many possibilities swarmed her mind, and Seraphina boarded the train, unable to sleep. All she could think about was helping John—saving him from himself before he endured so much hurt from Claire’s betrayal and horror from being forced to relive his memories from Keon.

‘I will do for him what he did for me, but this time, I won’t wear a mask. It will be me at his side.’ Seraphina vowed.

She didn’t sleep a wink, too haunted by memories of John.

---------------------

John glared up at assailants. It was like this every day of his life and starting at New Bostin Middle School was no different it seemed.

What he wouldn’t give for an ability! He’d show these scumbags what it means to be afraid…

“What’s with the face, Cripple John?” his main assailant smirked maliciously.

“I think he’s bitter he’s a cripple.” Another bully voiced out. The three of them smirked mockingly at John, who stayed in his place against the wall, on the ground.

“Awww, is that it, Cripple John? You want an ability?” the leader cooed sickeningly sweet. His hand glowed, his grin manic. “I’ll show you a real ability.”

John readied himself, but the blow never came, for the next second, a magenta haired girl appeared out of nowhere and high kicked the leader straight in the head. He fell to the ground unconscious.

“What the hell—” his two lackeys shouted before the girl swiftly punched them both in the face, knocking them out cold.

John blinked.

‘What?’

He stared at the girl who had magenta hair in a high ponytail and bright cerulean eyes. She was breathing hard, appearing as if she was in pain.

They locked eyes. Cerulean met gold.

“Hi.” She said coolly. Then promptly passed out.

John stared.

“What… what just happened?”

---------------------------------

Seraphina arrived in New Bostin by morning, and set her sights on New Bostin Middle School. Hopefully she wasn’t too late, and Claire and John didn’t meet already. Otherwise, it would make her job at a lot harder.

‘I’ll handle it if it comes to that. First, I have to find him.’ Seraphina concluded, entering New Bostin Middle School grounds. She made sure to remain hidden to prevent a high-tier getting the surprise on her. ‘This doesn’t look as big as Wellston—come on! He should be around here!’

Finally, the sound of cruel laughter and punching reached her ears. Dread welled up in her stomach, and she immediately followed the sound. Peeking through the bushes, her heart froze at the sight.

It was John. He was younger, but she knew it was him. She’d know that mop of dark hair anywhere.

‘John… it’s really him…’ Her heart jump started, beating a mile a minute. There was her best friend. He existed in this strange world with her.

However, Seraphina took in the scene before her, frowning, realizing John was being bullied.

‘He really did have to deal with his all his life. He couldn’t escape from it. It was either be spat on or being corrupted. John can’t win no matter what role he’s in…’ Seraphina mourned, clenching her fists as the main leader readied a blast towards John.

Something clicked inside her, and without realizing it, her eyes began to glow.

‘I won’t let you be alone anymore!’ she shouted in her mind.

Suddenly, she was there in front of John’s assailants, and she let loose on John’s main attacker before focusing on the other bullies. Before she registered what happened it was all over, and now it was just her and John.

They locked eyes, and it took everything Seraphina had not to cry.

‘It’s really you.’

What does she do now? John was right in front of her! This would be their first meeting to him. She needed something to catch his attention!

“Hi.” She said nonchalantly before all her adrenaline disappeared and her pounding headache took over.

Seraphina didn’t know what happened next because she swiftly blacked out.

-----------------------

Hope you guys enjoyed! Let me know what you think if you can! Thank you to everyone who commented, liked, and favored this story!

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s0seo · 4 years ago

Text

The Heir Chapter 3

Pairing: OT7 x Reader WC: 9324

Rating: M

Genre: Vampire au mystery thriller with lots of angst and eventual fluff and smut (THIS IS A SLOW BURN)

Summary: After you and your friend are attacked during a night out, you discover a world much bigger and more dangerous than you could have ever imagined.

WARNINGS: 18+, mention of blood, swearing, mention of assault, mention of past abuse, lots of angst

A/n: Hello beautiful humans! I hope that everyone has been staying safe and healthy since my last update! Sorry it took me so long to get the chapter out, but I was suffering from a lack of drive. Also is it just me or are these chapters just getting longer and longer?

A/n 2: I want to give a big thank you to @kookieskiwi for hyping me up and getting me back into the writing mindset!

Chapters: 1 2

The taxi pulls up to your house, and you and Yoongi get out and look at it silently.

As you walk up to your front door, Yoongi, who made it a point to carry your bag for you, unlocks the door as well.

You’re grateful for the lack of physical strain, but you wish that he didn’t have to fuss over you. In fact, aside from the dull ache in your side, you feel completely fine.

As he turns the key in the lock, you reach out and open the door. He lets you walk in first and follows behind, making sure to lock the door behind him.

You look around your living room, now seeing it with new eyes. It’s spacious, but cluttered with furniture, bookshelves, and your entertainment system.

You stop in your tracks as your phone buzzes in your pocket and see a new message from your friend.

Jungkook: How are you guys feeling?? I know I already apologized, but I’m so sorry I couldn’t see you in the hospital.

Jungkook: I should be back in town tomorrow morning. I’ll stop by the house and check on you guys.

You pull up your keyboard to type a response, but before you can send it you are shoved forward by Yoongi as he runs into you.

“Oww! What was that for?”

“Why’d you stop right in front of the door? You know how heavy your bag is? What do you even have in this thing? Bricks?”

You ignore his comments and make your way towards the couch.

The kitchen, which is only a few feet away from where you’re standing looks smaller than you remember. You rub your face and let out a sigh before walking around the couch and taking a seat in the chair right beside it.

Yoongi follows your lead and places himself in the middle of the couch with your bag right beside him. You feel a wave of exhaustion hit you and look over at Yoongi. You notice the bags under his eyes and wonder how much sleep he's had over the past few days.

“Let’s just rest for a bit and then we can unpack and start going through the refrigerator” You say as you lean your head back and close your eyes.

“What?”

You hear the confusion coating his words as if he can’t believe you’re already suggesting chores as soon as you walk in the door.

You open your eyes a smidge and peer over at him.

“What do you mean what? We’ve been gone almost a week. The last thing we need is old food smelling up the fridge.”

He lets out a huff.

“If we’re talking about smelly things, I don’t think the refrigerator should be at the top of your list.”

You sit up in your chair and open your eyes fully.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

He smiles at you in amusement.

“It means you smell like hospital.”

You pull your shirt up to your nose and give it a sniff, then your hair.

“oh, come on it’s not that bad”

He leans his head back and covers his face with his arm.

“trust me. it’s bad. You could make onions cry.”

You reach over, grab a pillow from the couch, and throw it at him, careful not to overstrain yourself.

He laughs as he puts his arms up to shield another possible attack.

“Hey! What? Did you want me to lie to you? You’d stink up the whole house!”

You stick your tongue out at him, grab your bag, and stand up, ready to scrub the smell of sanitation and hospital from your skin for the greater good.

As you make your way towards the hallway leading to your bedrooms you suddenly feel yourself become lightheaded. Your body slumps against the wall as your knees give out and your vision turns black.

When you open your eyes, you realize that it’s probably only been a few seconds. Yoongi is bending down beside you with his hand on your shoulder.

As you look around, he reaches up and turns your face to look at him.

“Whoa, what happened? Are you alright?”

You nod and try to stand, but your legs give out on you again. As you take in a dep breath you feel a sudden pain in your side and cry out. You feel tears forming in your eyes as the pain continues to increase.

You don’t know what happened. You felt fine a few seconds ago, but now it hurts to move. Maybe your pain medicine is wearing off or something, not that you even really needed it to begin with.

Yoongi helps you stand, and half carries you to the end of the hall to your bedroom. He guides you to the foot of your bed and walks back into the hall to pick up your bag. You feel a heavy wave of exhaustion hit you and your side starts to throb in pain.

You don’t understand what happened.

Your mind races as you wonder what you did to overstrain yourself. Slowly, the pain starts to make its way across more of your body.

Every breath is accompanied by the feeling of shards of glass in your lungs and a tightening in your chest.

Your tears begin to fall faster as you close your eyes and focus all of your energy on not crying out in pain.

‘I don't understand…. I don’t understand’ you keep repeating to yourself internally.

One minute you were fine and the next, your entire body hurts and you can barely lift your arms. You didn’t even feel this bad while you were in the hospital.

When you hear Yoongi return you open your eyes and reach out to take your bag. Your arm falls short however as you feel a sharp pain in your side.

Yoongi drops your bag and lowers himself to meet your eyes as he inspects your overall state.

You feel him rub your shoulder softly as he begins to understand the level of pain you’re experiencing.

“What’s going on? What happened” he asks, the concern clear in his eyes.

You close your eyes and focus on your words as you try to keep your mind off the pain.

“I don’t know. I felt fine just a minute ago.”

You try to reach for your bag again, but you feel that sharp pain shoot up your side once more causing you to cry out.

“Aghh”

“What’s wrong? Tell me what hurts...”

You look him in the eyes and spit out the words echoing in your mind.

“Everything. My...My side…Yoongs. It hurts to breathe...”

You feel the dull pain in your chest beginning to grow sharper, and you let out a wince as your breathing turns into quick gasps for air.

Yoongi looks at you, his eyes filled with uncertainty and rapidly increasing concern.

“I don’t understand. I thought you were getting better really fast just like me. Let me go find your pain medicine. Should we go back to the hospital?”

You let out an irritated grunt at the word hospital. Just the thought of returning to that god-awful place with that creepy as hell doctor makes you want to punch a wall.

“No...no hospital.”

You can tell that he’s getting more and more anxious by the second, so you hide your wince as you try to calm him down.

“I'll just...take some pain meds...and lay down. I'm sure...it’ll pass soon. I… I just need my medicine.”

He gives you a nod and you see him quickly head into the hallway as he gets your medicine from the kitchen counter.

When he returns, he has two pills in one hand and a small glass of water in the other.

You weakly reach out to take the pills, but he quickly shakes his head at you.

“It’s okay, just open your mouth”

You open your mouth and watch his hand as he reaches out and places the pills on your tongue. Your tongue grazes the tip of his finger, and he looks into your eyes.

You both stare at each other for a moment before he looks away and brings the glass of water to your lips. His cool palm brushes against your forehead, and you close your eyes and let out a sigh, thankful for the cool fingers on your skin.

“Jesus. You're burning up. I'm gonna go run a bath for you.”

You give him a small nod as he walks into the hallway. A cold bath is exactly what you want right now. Your body starts to shiver, and you close your eyes as you wait for him to return.

You feel your eyelids getting heavy and your breathing slow. Before you know it, you feel yourself fall backwards onto your bed as you lose consciousness once again.

When you wake up you feel fine.

You’re not sure how much time has passed but, judging by the faint blue hue through your windows it’s close to dawn.

You sit up slowly, remembering the pain you felt in your side just a little while earlier.

You reach around for your phone, and you notice that your body feels completely normal. Well, aside from the now dull pain in your side and a bit of soreness in your muscles. Overall though, you feel great.

‘I’ll find it later’ you say to yourself after having no luck in your search for your phone.

You look around and spot Yoongi’s sleeping figure beside you on the bed on top of your blanket. Your eyes roam over his face, and you admire his relaxed features as he breathes quietly.

You stretch your arms out hoping to loosen your muscles, and you pop your neck and your back as you stand up and make your way to the kitchen, looking for something to eat.

The longer you think about food the hungrier you become. Now that you think about it, you haven’t eaten anything since before you left the hospital.

Your hand slides against the wall as your fingers search for the light switch. Finally finding it, you flip the switch and look around the kitchen and make a mental note that it needs to be cleaned soon.

You open the refrigerator door and just as you reach for a bag of grapes, you hear Yoongi cry out from your bedroom. You quickly close the door and rush over to him to make sure he’s okay.

You turn your bedroom light on, and you see his face twisted in pain. You silently watch him reach across the bed as he lets out another cry. His face is covered in sweat and he begins to cry out again.

You realize he must be having a nightmare. You crawl onto the bed and place a hand on his shoulder as you try to wake him up. You keep your voice quiet and your tone soft as you slowly rub his arm and coax him from his dream.

“Yoongs, it's okay. You're okay. We’re safe. We’re home. I’m here.”

You feel him jerk beneath you as his eyes fly open, and he breathes heavily as his eyes search the room for a threat that isn't there. You continue rubbing his arm and comforting him.

“It’s okay Yoongs it was just a dream. You're okay. You're safe.”

His eyes meet yours and he looks at you for a moment before you see tears form in his eyes. You reach out and move his wet hair away from his eyes, hoping to help him see you more clearly as his body starts to tremble.

“Hey it's okay.” You say as you scoot your body back a bit and give him room to sit up.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

He doesn't say anything. He just pulls his feet to his chest and buries his face in his knees, just like he did at the hospital. You place your hand on his back as you crawl across the bed and take a seat beside him.

“It’s okay, I'm not gonna push you. I'm here for you, whatever you need. Just please, don't shut me out.”

You both sit there for a while without saying anything. The only sounds filling the silence are Yoongi's sobs and his small gasps for air.

Yoongi continues to sob as your hand switches from rubbing his back to running your fingers through his hair to calm him down. You aren't sure how much time has passed by the time he finally lifts his head from his knees and looks over to you.

You take in his puffy red eyes and his red tear stained cheeks, and you feel your heart tighten at the sight of him in pain.

You look over at your nightstand and find the glass of water Yoongi left earlier when he gave you your medicine. You reach out for it and hand him the glass. He nods to you in thanks as he drains it in a few gulps.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

He continues to stay silent and simply stares at a spot on the wall ahead of him. Your eyes roam over his disheveled state, and you can't help the pain that continues to form in your chest.

The bags under his eyes look deeper and darker than they had a few hours ago and his slumped shoulders make him look so much smaller than he really is.

You reach out to take the empty glass from him, but as your fingers graze his skin you realize that he’s burning up. You move your palm to his forehead, and it feels extremely warm.

You feel a look of concern make its way across your features and you move to get off the bed. You head to the bathroom and try to get his fever down the only way you know how, Tylenol and a hot bath.

He doesn't try to stop you and continues to stare out at nothing as if in a trance.

‘Gotta to get his fever down’ you say to yourself as you turn on the water faucet and plug up the bathtub, making sure to put some bubbles in as well because you know how much he loves them.

While you wait for the tub to fill you refill the small glass with some cool water and reach into the medicine cabinet to grab a few Tylenol and a Vitamin C tablet.

You place them on the counter next to the sink and return to your friend who is in the exact same position as when you left him.

You walk over to the right side of your bead and take a seat in front of your friend. Taking both of his hands you move your body until you are right in his line of vision and speak softly and carefully.

“Yoongs, you don't have to tell me what happened if you don't want to, but right now you're burning up. I think it would be a good idea to take some medicine, and I went ahead and ran a hot bath for you.”

You watch his eyes as they slowly make their way to your face. He gives you a small nod and you slowly help him stand up.

He moves to take a step forward, but his foot gets caught on the blanket and he falls into you. Your body stills as you feel his face land in the crook of your neck, and he takes a deep breath as if mustering up the energy to move again.

You can't stop the shivers that form on your spine as he opens his eyes and takes another deep breath before looking up at your face and parting his lips.

You can tell he wants to say something, but he just can't find the energy.

Your eyes search his face and you see him give a small sigh and look at the floor as he tries to take another step.

He walks the short distance into the hallway with you in silence, and you feel your worry increasing by the minute as his silence makes your stomach clench.

In all the years you've known him, Yoongi has never shut you out like his. If there was ever anything on his mind, you were the first person he told about it.

‘That was before we both almost died’ you remind yourself.

You walk together through the doorway just outside of your room and see that the water is almost finished filling up the tub, the bubbles close to reaching the rim.

You help him sit down on the lid of the toilet and let him take the medicine you left out for him as you turn off the faucet and quickly head to the other side of the hallway.

You open his door and grab a change of clothes out of his room. Opening his closet, you pick out a random t-shirt and grab a random pair of boxers and shorts from his dresser as well.

When your return to the bathroom the pills are gone, and the glass is once again empty. You grab a towel out of the closet for him and place it on the edge of the sink next to his clothes.

“The water is warm, and I brought you some clothes. Just let me know when you’re done, and I’ll make you some tea.”

You turn around ready to walk away when he suddenly reaches out and grabs your arm.

His eyes are full of fear and desperation as his grip tightens.

“Please don’t leave me alone.”

You turn around and look at him in confusion.

“Huh? What do you mean?”

His eyes begin to slowly form tears again as he softly begs you.

“I… I just… please don't leave me alone. I don’t want to be alone.”

You reach out and wipe away his tears as you comfort him.

“Hey, I’m not going anywhere. I'm right here. How about I just turn around while you get in? I'll stay with you as long as you need me to. I’m not going anywhere.”

You see his eyes search yours for something, and finding it, he softly nods.

“Okay.”

You feel your cheeks warm as you turn around and face the hallway.

A part of you feels awkward just standing there while he takes his clothes off, but a larger part of you convinces yourself that you’ve been friends for long enough; this shouldn't be that big of a deal.

‘It's perfectly fine. We’re friends. He needs this. No need to make it awkward.’

Your thoughts repeat themselves as your eyes find a small stain on the carpeted hallway and focus on it.

Behind you, you hear him removing his clothes, and your mind drifts back to what happened in the bedroom. The feeling of his breathing on your neck and the way your heart stopped in your chest as his face rested in your neck.

You think about how it felt when his nose rubbed against your neck as he moved his head to look up at you and his lips as they parted once his eyes found yours.

You remember the question that he held in his eyes, and you can’t help but wonder what it was

Your thoughts are suddenly interrupted by the sound of a hiss from behind you. You feel your cheeks get hotter as you shoo away your unnecessary thoughts.

Instinctively you raise your head to turn and check on him, but you stop yourself as you remember his current state of undress.

Making sure to keep your eyes on the floor you turn your head to the side and call out behind you.

“Are you okay? Did I make the water too hot?”

You hear the sound of water splashing in the bathtub and he says, “it’s okay you can turn around now.”

You turn around and see him chest deep in water, the bubbles even with his shoulders. Even seeing him like this makes your pulse quicken slightly.

Your eyes make their way to his collarbone and widen in surprise as you spot the scab where his wound once was.

Your hold in your surprise as you remember what his wound looked like less than a week ago.

‘This whole situation just keeps getting crazier and crazier’ you think to yourself.

His eyes find your face and he tilts his head and motions for you to take a seat beside him.

“I didn’t make the water to hot did I? I know it’s supposed to be warm, but my baths are usually really warm.”

You walk over to the wall and take a seat next to him on the floor between the bathtub and the toilet.

“It’s fine. Better than fine actually. It’s perfect.”

He leans his head back on the tub and gazes up at the ceiling before taking a deep breath and confessing “I can’t sleep well anymore. I don’t sleep at all really.”

“What do you mean? You slept beside me at the hospital.”

He frowns and glances over at you.

“No... I didn’t.”

You shake your head and frown at him not understanding why he would lie to you like this. You feel your temper rising at his blatant disregard for his own well-being, and you try to make yourself understand.

“I don’t understand…why didn’t you tell me sooner? We could have asked the doctors for some medicine or something.”

He shrugs you off.

“I didn’t want you to worry about me.”

“That’s bullshit.”

He rolls his eyes, but you keep going.

“Did you think things would just magically get better after we got home? Just because your body got better doesn’t mean your mind did too. That’s so selfish…”

His head snaps to you, and you know you fucked up.

“Selfish? You want to call me selfish? You’re the one who kept saying you wanted to leave the hospital.”

You open your mouth to defend yourself against his sudden verbal attack, but he doesn’t stop. In fact, he only gets more heated.

“You’re the one who wanted to leave so badly! All you did for three days was moan and complain about how much the hospital sucked and how horrible the doctor was! If it wasn’t for you, I could still be at the hospital getting the help I need!”

You feel tears forming in your eyes accompanied by jolts of pain in your chest after every verbal jab. After all, everything he’s saying is true.

Your shoulders slouch lower and lower and you look down at the rug you’re sitting down on. You focus on trying not to let his words hurt so much, but it doesn’t work.

At last you feel your tears finally fall as he grabs the side of the tub and lands one final blow.

“This is all your fault! It’s your fault I feel like absolute shit right now. It’s your fault for taking us to that god damn bar and telling me to wait outside! It’s your fault I almost died!”

You hear him breathing heavily beside you, but you can’t force yourself to look at him. Your silent tears are accompanied by deep and quiet breathing and you just stare at the carpet unable to move.

He’s right. You are selfish. It’s your fault that all of this happened. You knew he was tired and wanted to come home right after the game, but you pushed him to go to the bar to celebrate. It’s all your fault.

Why did you tell him to go outside? Why didn’t you get to him sooner?

Your thoughts continue to build, and you can't help the all too familiar question that pops into your mind.

‘Why am I like this? Why am I like this?’

The question echoes in your head louder and louder.

You don’t know what to do. You can’t fix this.

You feel the room getting smaller, and the oxygen in the room is getting harder and harder for your lungs to find.

‘I have to get out of here. I have to get out of here.’

The thought becomes more and more desperate as you realize that you can’t move your body. You’re stuck, frozen on the bathroom floor, and realize that you are all alone with your thoughts.

‘He hates you. It’s your fault. He hates you.’

The silence is deafening and all you can manage to choke out is a barely audible whisper.

“I’m sorry.”

Yoongi now calmer than a few minutes ago suddenly realizes what he’s done. You hear him gasp as he notices your hunched over shoulders and wet marks on your shirt from where your tears landed.

“I’m sorry please don’t cry...”

He reaches out and puts a hand on your shoulder, but you quickly jerk away.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it.”

You feel pang in your chest at his lie. You know he meant every word he said. You force yourself away from him when he reaches out for you again, and you shakily stand up and rush out of the bathroom.

You know he didn’t want to be alone, but you couldn’t force him to be near you anymore. You left the door open for him so that he didn’t feel trapped, but you wish that he had someone better than you to help him.

You head over to the stove, grab the tea kettle, and fill it up before setting it on the stove and turning the burner on vaguely aware of the tears that continue to slowly fall down your face.

Even if he hates you, Yoongi still needs to feel better.

You feel yourself go numb, and at some point, your tears dry in your eyes. Looking at the refrigerator you feel your stomach clench in hunger and think about getting something to eat.

You immediately shut down the thought, knowing that right now it would be almost impossible for you to keep anything down.

So, you just stand there, leaning against the counter blankly staring at the kettle. You hear the faint sound of water splashing as Yoongi gets out of the bathtub along with the sound of him drying himself off before getting dressed.

Your heart pounds in your chest as you anxiously wait for him to come into the kitchen. You don’t want to see him right now. You can’t handle the disgust and hatred you know is going to be in his eyes.

Your heartbeat booms in your chest as you hear his slow footsteps creaking on the wooden floor, and you can’t bring yourself to look at him.

You stare down at the floor as you see his feet move across the floor and stop right in front of you.

He reaches out to touch you only to freeze after you flinch away from him once again.

“Y/N… I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean what I said earlier. I was upset. I promise I didn’t mean it.”

His voice is hoarse, and you can tell he wants to say more but stops himself.

He stays silent while he waits for you to respond, but you can’t bring yourself to say anything.

There is nothing left for you to say. You can’t help him, and he doesn’t want to be around you. All you’ve done is cause him pain.

You continue to stare at his feet silently until the abrupt whistle of the tea kettle makes you both jump.

Yoongi walks over to the stove and turns off the burner before turning back to you and slowly reaching out for you again.

You feel your body tense up as his hand reaches your shoulder and you feel his other hand softly rest under your chin. His fingers gently push your chin up to look at his face, and your breathing becomes shallow as your eyes travel form his feet up to his chest. You suck in a breath as your eyes make their way to the mark on his collarbone and you are reminded of the pain you caused him.

You force your chin out of his grip and turn to rush to your bedroom when you hear a sudden and persistent knock on the front door.

Neither one of you moves to answer it. You think that maybe the person will think that nobody’s home, but the knocking just gets louder.

Your eyes shoot to the door as you slowly approach it, and you silently peer through the peephole and spot your friend. You completely forgot Jungkook was coming by today.

You slowly unlock the door and open it. Your eyes widen in surprise as they shoot to his red hair.

You are met with a crushing bear hug as soon as he walks through the doorway.

You hold back a small wince as the pain in your side returns, but you lift your arms and burry your face in his neck as he squeezes you tighter.

“I’m so sorry I couldn’t be here for you guys. I tried to come back as soon as I could but there was a storm and all of the flights got delayed.” You hear his voice become thick with emotion as he slowly lets you go and moves on to Yoongi.

“What happened to you guys?”

You just stare at him blankly, unable to use your voice, while Yoongi simply looks at him in confusion.

“Didn’t the others tell you?”

Jungkook quickly shakes his head.

“All I heard was that you were attacked. They made it seem like you were close to dying or something. Are you guys okay?”

You see Yoongi about to respond, but Jungkook suddenly makes eye contact with you and finally gets a good look at your face.

“What’s wrong,” he asks as his eyes search your face for any sign of what might be troubling you as he quickly makes his way back over to you.

Your empty eyes reveal nothing to him as you slowly avert your gaze. His long arms wrap around you and he gently holds your face in his hands.

When you don't say anything his gaze shoots to Yoongi.

“What’s wrong with her? Why is she being like this? What happened?”

Yoongi’s hand makes its way to his neck, and he looks away from you both as he explains.

“We kinda had an argument.”

You feel his arms tighten around you as his body stiffens.

“An argument? About what?”

Yoongi doesn’t respond and silently looks down at the floor.

“Yoongi...what...what did you say to her?”

You hear the worry in his tone as he looks at you again, and finally, he understands.

He turns back to Yoongi, his face uncertain as he asks the question he already knows the answer to.

“You didn’t...”

“Yeah...”

The guilt on his face makes you want to cry, and you know that it’s all your fault.

You should have just said okay and pretended that everything was fine. Now Jungkook is upset too. You are reminded once again that you ruin everything.

You feel Jungkook slowly pull away from you and lower his head to meet your eyes before gently asking, “how about we go lay down?”

You search his wide round eyes for any sign of anger or dismissal, but only find sincerity. Slowly you nod and let him lead you to your room, barely looking at Yoongi as you pass him by.

He lays you down on your bed and pulls the blankets up to your chest.

“I’m gonna go get you a glass of water. I’ll be right back.”

You want to reach out and ask him to stay with you, but you can’t muster the energy.

You watch him close the door a bit before heading to the kitchen. As you lay there staring off into space you hear his voice as he and Yoongi begin to argue.

“What did you say to her?”

You feel a wave of shock rush through you. In all the years you’d known Jungkook he’s never openly confronted any of your friends about anything.

Being the youngest one in your friend group, he usually just rolled with the punches and accepted what was going on.

“I was having a nightmare, and I was really on edge.”

You can tell by their tone that they’re try to keep quiet, but Jungkook begins speaking louder as he becomes more upset and aggression creeps into his voice.

“That’s not what I asked...”

“I… I told her that everything that happened was her fault. The attack...the nightmare...everything.”

“Why would you do that? You know what she’s been though! You know how she is! Why would you say something like that to her?”

“I didn’t mean it. I regretted it as soon as I said it, but she won’t listen to me.”

You hear the sadness in his voice, and you consider the possibility that maybe he didn’t mean what he said. Maybe he wasn’t lying to you.

Jungkook on the other hand only gets more aggressive.

“Obviously, she’s not going to listen to you right now. She’s afraid of you. She probably thinks you hate her or something close to it. You sound just like her parents.”

You feel your body tense at the mention of your mother and father.

Not your biological parents that you had never met, nor Yoongi’s parents that basically raised you alongside your best friend, but your legally adoptive parents.

Your mind jumps back to years and years of verbal and emotional abuse that you know you can never unlearn. Hours and hours of cleaning everything until it was spotless and making sure you were the best at everything only to continuously be assured that you were nothing more than an unwanted inconvenience that fell into their lives.

You had only ever mentioned them to your friends maybe once or twice, but you never talked about how they made you feel.

You faintly hear Yoongi respond.

“I didn’t mean it….”

You hear Jungkook open and close one of the cabinets and fill up a glass with water before heading back to your room and muttering the words “it doesn’t matter.”

You watch him as he walks over to you, and you slowly sit up and take the glass from his hands, careful not to drop it on your lap.

You take small sips and see him watching you from his position at the foot of your bed.

“Tell me what to do. What do you need?”

Your vision becomes blurry, and you feel tears fall down your face. He crawls over to you and wraps his arms around you before gently wiping your tears away.

“Please don’t cry. I can’t stand seeing you like this. What can I do? Please tell me.”

You lean into his body and burry your head in his chest, and you feel your grip on your emotions slip. You choke out a quiet sob and close your eyes as you think about how you got here.

You are extremely grateful to have him in your life. Even though he’s a few years younger than you, you’ve always seen him as an equal throughout your friendship. He's always been supportive of everything you do, and he’s always been there to catch you when you fall.

Sometimes you wonder if it’s because he feels like he owes it to you, given the fact that when he was forced to transfer to your school, you were the only one who chose to be his friend.

It’s not that other people didn’t like him, he was just extremely shy, and they didn’t want to put in the effort to get to know him.

The fact that he excelled at sports but didn’t try to socialize with anyone made him an outcast as well.

You remember the first time you looked into his big round eyes, you could tell that he would be well worth all the time and effort if he just let you know him.

You often invited him to hang out with you and Yoongi, but you could tell that Yoongi made him nervous given that they were usually competing for the same spots on their teams. Even then, you tried to make it friendly.

You invited him almost everywhere and you introduced him to the others hoping that you could all help him become the best version of himself.

Ever since then he’s grown into one of the most loyal and protective people in your life, and you know that you’re more than grateful for it.

Your attention is pulled back when you hear him suck in a breath and you realize that at some Point you looked up at him and began to stare.

His eyes search your face for a moment, and you know that you need to get out of this hole that you’re in, at lease for his sake.

You reach up to his head and take some of his hair into your fingers before clearing your throat.

“You cut your hair.”

He smiles at you, relieved at your comment.

“I dyed it too.”

You remember the long black hair he had before you all left for spring break a week ago. It looked really good on him and was always the topic of discussion amongst the girls you would hear whispering as you walked past.

His red hair on the other hand, along with his undercut, suits him perfectly. You can already picture how good it’ll look even as it fades and wish that you could do the same with yours. You run your fingers through it one more time and smirk.

“It looks good. Like really good.”

“Thanks.”

You see his ears turn a bit red, and he looks away in embarrassment which only makes you want to tease him more.

“I don’t know how I’m gonna manage to hang out with you looking like that. I think I might get mobbed or something.”

His ears turn redder as he tries to play off your comments.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

You smile at him and poke him in the side.

Come on don’t act like you don’t notice all the girls swooning over you every time you so much as step foot on campus.”

Let’s out a small laugh as he leans back against your headboard and lets you both get more comfortable.

“They do not swoon.”

You feel your eyelids getting heavy and you snuggle into his chest and whisper “Yeah they do” before falling asleep in his arms.

When you open your eyes you’re alone. The light is off, and you look over at your nightstand and see your glass of water from earlier sitting right beside your charging phone. Jungkook must have left sometime after you fell asleep.

You reach over and check the time. 8:45pm. You browse through all of your missed notifications and see at least six missed calls from Jungkook from before he came over this morning along with a few emails and texts from both Namjoon and Hobi.

Hobi: I’m so sorry I haven’t been able to come check on you! I wish I could have talked to you at the hospital, but I couldn’t miss my shows.

Hobi: Are you planning on going back to class next week? I can bring you if you want me too?

Namjoon: Hey I know you said you’re fine, but you can still take the rest of the semester off.

Namjoon: If you email them by midnight they’ll probably excuse you from your classes.

Namjoon: I understand if you don’t, I’m just worried about you. Jungkook told me what happened.

You read Namjoon’s second message and are brought back to your meltdown this morning. You feel the guilt eating away at you as you remember hearing Jungkook yelling at Yoongi.

You get out of bed, head to the kitchen, and make yourself a sandwich. You once again chide yourself for not eating anything since the hospital and decide to go ahead and make yourself another one too.

While you eat you think about how to apologize to Yoongi. You know that he was just angry when he said those things to you, but he wasn’t exactly wrong to say them. You just wish he would have said it a little nicer.

You finish your sandwich and wash your plate before turning around and walking back towards the bedroom hallway. You walk over to Yoongi’s door and give it a light knock just in case he somehow managed to fall asleep, but you get no response. Slowly, you open the door only to find his bed empty.

You turn around in confusion and head to the living room trying to figure out where he went when you see him passed out on the couch.

You walk over to him, grab a blanket, and lay it over him before curling up in your usual chair and going back to sleep.

Your dreams are filled with blood and tears. You find yourself back in the alley looking over at Yoongi’s body as your attacker watches you both. You try your hardest to crawl over to him and stop his bleeding, but your body is paralyzed. You feel the familiar grip of the man’s fingers around your throat, but when you look at his face you see Yoongi’s instead.

His grip tightens around your throat and he brings his face close to yours.

“You did this…”

The venom in his words match the hatred in his eyes and you claw at his hand, but he just smirks down at you.

You know he’s going to kill you. You’re going to die this time.

He brings his face to the side of your head as if to whisper in your ear and you close your eyes as you feel a sharp pain near your shoulder. He’s stabbing you in the neck, just like you did to him in the alley.

You feel your blood leaving your body before he releases his grip on your neck and your body crumbles to the ground.

You bolt upright in your chair. Your heart is racing, and your body is covered in sweat.

‘It was just a dream’ you repeat again and again to yourself hoping it will make the images disappear from your mind, and after a few seconds they do. Less than a minute later, you’ve forgotten about your nightmare completely.

You look over at Yoongi only to find him with his read on the arm of the couch watching you quietly. You rub your face in your hands and let out an unsteady breath.

“Did I wake you up?”

He shakes his head.

“I’ve been awake for a while now. Did you have another nightmare?”

Confusion makes its way across your face. You couldn’t recall having a nightmare recently.

“What do you mean another?”

“Every time you sleep you seem to have nightmares, or at least that’s what it looks like. You toss and you turn and sometimes you call out for people.”

You couldn’t remember having any nightmares recently. Now that you think about it, you can’t remember having any dreams while you were asleep. Once you wake up, the memories always seem to quickly fade away.

You shrug your shoulders at him and look down at your feet, knowing what you need to do.

“I’m sorry I freaked out earlier. I shouldn’t have called you selfish. I was just really worried about you.”

He sits up and motions for you to sit beside him on the couch. He holds your hands, looks into your eyes, and gives an apology of his own.

“No. It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have blamed you for what happened. I know none of this is your fault. I shouldn’t have said those things to you. I’m sorry.”

You give him a small nod of forgiveness and tightly wrap your arms around him.

“I was just really worried about you. You haven’t talked to anyone about what happened yet, and I didn’t want you to feel alone.”

He pulls away from your embrace and looks down at you.

“Can I ask you something?

You tilt your head and nod.

“Of course, anything.”

“Why aren’t you freaking out about what happened? You seem indifferent about...well about everything. Even at the hospital you seemed fine.”

You furrow your brows in confusion.

“I don’t know. Honestly, I don’t. I just don’t really feel anything. Even when I was in the alley. I wasn’t scared of the man as he tried to kill me, I was only scared that you were going to die.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I’ve always been like that. When it comes to pain, my mind can accept it and rationalize it. What hurts me is seeing people that I care about suffer.”

His eyes fill with realization, and he hangs his head as you continue.

“That’s why I’m completely fine talking about what happened to me, but I also understand if you aren’t.”

“I know, but I think if anyone deserves to hear it, it’s you.”

You see him move out of your arms and lean back as he prepares to tell you his story, his voice barely above a whisper as he explains everything.

“Everything was fine when I walked outside. I had just gotten a text from Hobi asking how the game went, when out of nowhere I thought I heard someone in the alley.”

You see his eyebrows furrow as he closes his eyes and concentrates on remembering what he saw.

“He was bent over with his head in his hands, and I reached out to see if he was okay. That’s when he attacked me.”

You see tears forming in his eyes as he finally opens them and gazes at you, and his hands begin to shake as he continues.

“He threw me against the wall and stabbed me. I didn’t see anything in his hands, but I could feel the pain. I tried to push him away, but I ran into the side of the dumpster and got stabbed in my side.”

You can see his whole body trembling now, and you wrap your arms around him as you rub his shoulder, trying to soothe him.

“I thought he was trying to rob me or something, but he just dragged me back to the wall and stabbed me again.”

He reaches his arm across his body and places it over his collarbone as he searches your eyes for comfort. His breathing becomes heavy as he blinks back his tears.

“I was so scared Y/N. I couldn’t move. Why couldn’t he just leave me there?��

You feel tears of your own threatening to fall but hold them back. You don't know how to answer his questions, and you wish you could help him.

He reset his head in your shoulder and you tighten your arms around him wishing you could make his pain disappear.

He continues crying into your shoulder but pulls away suddenly.

“But then...then I saw you…. you pulled him off of me. You came for me, and you fought him.”

You see the gratitude in his eyes, along with something else, and you can’t hold back your tears as they finally fall when he whispers to you, his face now inches away from yours.

“You saved me.”

You pull his body into yours, and he buries his face into your neck as he sobs with his arms wrapped around you. You lean back a bit and let him rest his body on top of yours.

One of your hands makes its way to his head as your fingers softly run along his scalp while the other slowly rubs soft circles on his back.

He was right. You had saved him. No matter how you put it, the fact of the matter was, you risked your life so that he could survive.

You think about what you did, and you know if you had the choice, you would do it over again. He’s your best friend, there’s nothing you wouldn’t do for him.

You let him rest in the comfort of your arms until his tears stop and his breathing calms. You listen to his steady breaths and realize that he’s fallen asleep.

His steady heartbeat gives you a feeling of comfort you didn’t realize you needed, and you remove your hand from his head, lean it on the back of the couch, and rest your head on it, closing your eyes.

Your dream is different this time.

You aren’t in the alley anymore. Instead you’re back in your house.

You’re once again on the couch with Yoongi, and his face is just inches away from yours.

This time when he looks into your eyes, they look different. Instead of their normal dark brown color, the look black.

They are no longer filled with gratitude. You see a different emotion lurking within them, but you can’t figure out what it is.

He once again whispers to you, but instead of burying his face in your neck, he slowly leans in and kisses you.

The kiss is soft, and it ends just as quickly as it began, but you find yourself wishing that it didn’t.

You look down at your bodies and they’re covered in blood. You pull away from Yoongi and fall onto the floor, gasping and trying to figure out what’s happening.

You look up at him only to find him with your heart in his hands. Your blood runs cold as you realize that the blood is yours, and you scream.

Your eyes shoot open and you feel your heart pounding in your chest. You feel Yoongi’s body still asleep on top of yours, and you remember what he told you yesterday along with the dream you just had.

You let out a small gasp as you realize you remembered your dream, and a small part of you wonders why this dream is so special.

You feel Yoongi stir from on top of you and he brings his eyes up to your face.

“I’m sorry I fell asleep on you.”

You let out a chuckle.

“It’s fine, just promise me one thing Yoongs”

His raises his eyebrows expectantly.

“Brush your teeth. Your breath smells like Joon’s cooking.”

He pulls away from you and feigns shock.

“Excuse me? How dare you compare me to such a monstrosity?”

You hold back your laughter as you stretch your arms and stand up and head to the kitchen where you left your phone last night.

“Monstrosity? Your dragon breath could burn down a village.”

You hear him let out a gasp from the other room and release a giggle.

‘Yoongi:1 Y/N: 1.’ you note to yourself as you remember his comment yesterday about your body odor, not that he seemed to have had a problem with it when he was lying on top of you.

You scroll through your messages and let out a curse as you re-read Namjoon’s text and bury your head in your hands.

“God damnit.”

Yoongi appears next to you a moment later.

“What’s wrong? What happened?”

“I never emailed my advisor. Joon said I had to email them by midnight if I wanted to take the rest of the semester off. Now I don’t have a choice but to go.”

Yoongi’s eyes grow wide.

“Namjoon texted me last night telling me to email them too, but I fell asleep.”

You rub your face in your hands and let out a sigh as you accept your fate.

“We’re fucked. Classes start up again tomorrow. How the hell are we supposed to finish out the semester like this?”

Yoongi puts his hand on your shoulder.

“It’s okay. We’ll make it through this. We can ask the other for help.”

You give him a small nod and try to calm yourself down.

“This has been the worst spring break ever.”

He gives you a small smile and puts his arm around your shoulder. You mind suddenly shoots back to your dream and you awkwardly pull away from him.

“I’m gonna text Hobi and ask him for a ride to class tomorrow”

You raise your phone in your hand as you walk to your room, close the door, and let out a deep breath.

‘What is going on with me?’ You ask yourself as you let your body fall on top of your bed and you text your friend.

Just outside your house

The girl watches you through your kitchen window and listens.

She overhears your conversation with your friend, and her head perks up at the mention of classes.

‘She’s a student?’ She wonders as she rolls her eyes at your constant complaining.

‘Figures. She looks like a goody two shoes.’

When the brotherhood assigned her the task of bringing you in, they forgot to mention how annoying you’d be.

Sure, you looked close to her age, but your complaining was not some she looked forward to dealing with.

As she watches you head to what she assumes to be your room, she readjusts herself on the tree branch she’s currently seated on and begins her planning.

‘Okay how’s this going to work? Should I take her in the morning? I think she’s going to be with her boyfriend. What about in class? No, I’m not a student. Maybe I could just hang around the campus until I run into her?’

As she begins growing more and more frustrated, she sees your friend through the window. He stands up and looks towards your room as if he’s listening for something.

Suddenly his eyes shoot to her and she crushes herself as close as she can to the tree, hoping the leaves will hide her.

He continues looking out toward her searching for anything that will warrant an investigation.

She holds her breath and sends a silent ‘thank you’ to the gods as he turns around and walks away.

She lets out a deep breath, and suddenly she has the perfect idea.

‘What if I get her to come with me? What if I can convince her to leave?’

She silently nods to herself and raises herself up on the branch. When she stands, she sees a car parked a few houses away from yours with what seems like two people in it.

She cocks her head to the side and concentrates on the image before her until her vision becomes sharper.

She lets out a gasp as she recognizes them.

‘Haven...’

Her body shudders at the mere thought of his name.

‘How did he find me? I was so careful!’ She screams to herself as she tries to find a way out of the tree without being spotted.

She looks out at the men again and notices that they seem to be asleep.

‘Maybe if I do things quietly, I’ll be okay.’

She quietly climbs down the branches and hides behind the trunk of the tree. Careful not to walk in front of your house's windows, she ducks down and quietly sneaks through the shadows until she gets to her car just around the corner.

Once she finally crawls inside, she finds herself realizing: if Haven is after you too you must be important.

She looks out of her window and watches her rearview mirror, ready to speed off if she has to.

As she starts the ignition, she is met with three important questions.

Who are you? Why are Haven and the Brotherhood after you, and if she found you before they did, what would they do in exchange for you?

The questions echo in her head and she drives away knowing one thing for sure: she might not know the answers to these questions just yet, but if everything goes according to plan, she’s going to find out.

A/n 3: I apologize for any grammar and or punctuation mistakes. I originally planned to post this chapter later on this week, but the area that I live in is about to be hit by two hurricanes so I was in a bit of a rush. I hope you all enjoy, and please, don’t hesitate to tell me if you like the chapter, we all know how much I love praise. i hope everyone is continuing to stay safe and healthy! until next time :)

Tag list

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@missseoulite

@xicanacorpse

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asterekmess · 4 years ago

Note

Scott McCall is the poster boy for entitlement, misogyny and toxic masculinity. Remember when he demanded that Allison goes out with her stalker (Matt) and then yelled at her in the middle of a crowded club because she had the audacity to trust her own father to save Jackson instead of obeying him? Or when Scott pinned Allison against her bedroom’s door and humiliated her just to prove how ‘weak’ and ‘fragile’ she was and because “If I’m scared shitless, then you should be scared shitless too”?

I told my friend Mads a long time ago that with every new fic I put out, my urge to become, if not popular, then just understood as an anti-scott blog got stronger. I mean, it’s not like I want my blog to just be about hating Scoot, but I didn’t really want people to come in and follow me thinking I was a Scott fan, because it would be disingenuous.

I think I got my wish? Either one person has a lot of feelings (which I’m all for) or a bunch of v angry anti-scott people have swarmed over me like hummingbirds on sugar water. It’s a really interesting experience!

Anyway, back to your ask. So, I don’t like Scott, and admittedly sometimes I’m a little extra bitter/hateful than others, but I do try to be accurate in my dislikes of him (usually), so I’ll go through what you said one at a time and try to decipher (from my v faulty memory, so apologies if there are mistakes) if I agree with each statement.

Since some people have requested the Read More thing so they can scroll easier.

Scott is: Entitled. Off the cuff, I would agree. I’ve mentioned before how frustrating it was to see the show attempt to portray him as a poor kid, when he’s nowhere near that. I’ve also seen posts before that explore how Scott doesn’t carry a ‘poor kid’ mentality at all (they probably did it better than me, and it was probably Athenadark who did the analyzing). Growing up, I didn’t consciously know I was poor. Not as in ‘i had everything I needed’ but as in “i assumed all kids grew up occasionally eating a single can of pears for dinner or had to return groceries from the car because their parent’s card was declined and they were out of food stamps or wore a pair of tennis shoes until they were literally taped together with packing tape because we couldn’t afford new ones.” I grew up in a poor town, on the poor side of that town, so there wasn’t a lot that showed me it was possible to live differently. Being poor gives you a specific mentality, and when I finally met kids who were ‘middle class’ I was blown away by the differences. I say all this because Scott is very clearly a middle class kid.

Yes, he has an after school job. Who tf didn’t? That doesn’t automatically make you poor? Even my rich friend got a summer job because she wanted to buy band merch and her parents wouldn’t let her. But have you seen his room? It’s a wreck. We get the scene of him digging under his bed trying to find his phone, and I honestly was kinda disgusted. (I also grew up in a hellhole hoarder house, so clutter fucks me up) It’s not just the messiness though. It’s finding out that his mom is the one doing the laundry. Melissa “One shift won’t break us completely” McCall still cleans her son’s room and does his laundry and sews his clothes even though she’s supposed to be working herself to death at the hospital. Oh, and he’s sixteen years old, so he should be able to do his own fucking laundry? it’s one thing if his stuff ends up there while she’s doing laundry, but apparently she goes out of her way to do his clothes regularly enough that she has no qualms about going in his room to clean? Scott works at a VET’s office and has for long enough that he can put a cast on a dog and feels confident giving it painkillers in the right dosage. And he can’t sew a line of stitches in his clothes? He’s got an ensuite bathroom. His room is clearly the master bedroom. He doesn’t make his mom dinner to bring her, he picks up chinese. And there’s the house itself and its size, etc. Of the two of them, i would’ve expected Stiles to have the messy room. He’s adhd, I know how hard it is to keep a room clean with that kind of headspace. But no, his is really clean most of the time, even his desk, unless he’s researching something specific. I mention Stiles because it’s the comparison of the two that makes Scott’s own messiness stand out. Hell, literally no other bedroom we’re shown is messy in the slightest. Allison’s, Lydia’s, Jackson’s, none of them. (I don’t remember Liam’s room, if we saw it) He feels entitled enough to take up extra space and add extra work to his mother’s stress level (which, listen, I’m not saying being not-poor makes you entitled. I’m saying that the show makes the claim Scott IS poor and he Still does these things. THAT is the entitled part.)

Then there’s his relationship with Stiles. “Yeah, but I had you before.” When talking about the good and bad things in his life, he doesn’t even think to mention Stiles as one of the good things. He says he has nothing, just like before. Stiles isn’t even on his radar, even though they’re looking right at each other. Yet we know that Stiles is basically Scott’s only friend. As someone else with very few friends, I can’t imagine saying to my best friend’s face that I have nothing and no one. Let alone if that friend had been keeping me from dying and teaching me how to be a fucking werewolf for months on end. When do we see him worry about Stiles being human and stuck in the middle of all this? Especially in earlier seasons, we never see him say anything like “maybe you should hang back cus’ you’ll get hurt.” Like, we know that Stiles would do it anyway. And we’d get pissed if Scott told Stiles he wasn’t allowed to help because he was human, but that’s because Scott doesn’t get to tell Stiles what to do. We know Stiles finds ways to protect himself when he has to, but Scott never even asks. He never hints at “I’m worried about you and please know I wont’ be mad if you stay away from the fight.” Even Derek shoves Stiles behind him when the kanima shows up. There’s the thing where he warns them ‘if something goes wrong call for me.” But he explicity says that worry is for Allison, even though she has some method of self-defense. Stiles has nothing. Scott never cares enough to think “Maybe we shouldn’t bring him to the rave where there’s gonna be a vicious killing machine that has already tried to attack him once.” One word from Peter “vulnerable” and Scott stalks Allison (and forces Stiles to help him) for a week. But Stiles gets trapped in a pool for hours, scared out of his mind, and Scott never so much as seems to get clingy? He just assumes Stiles will be fine. He feels entitled to Stiles’ help and assistance, without putting any thought into Stiles’ safety. He asks “is it illegal?” not “Will you get in trouble?” He looks at Stiles when he says “I can’t protect anyone” But when was he trying to protect STILES? Then there’s the part where while he’s ‘under the influence of the wolfsbane whistle’ (A plot point I fucking hate) he drags Stiles down with him and includes him in being nothing. Being no one. He assumes that if he was nothing before the bite, then Stiles must’ve been nothing also. And since Stiles didn’t get bitten, it also implies that Stiles is still nothing. He’s just hanging on Scott’s wolfy coattails. That’s an incredibly entitled viewpoint to have.

Admittedly, we do see some more humble moments with Allison, especially at the beginning of their relationship, where he says “I just wanna make sure I get my second chance” he’s not assuming he’ll get it. Go scott! (I’m not the hugest fan of him asking her out after he’s clearly just done her a massive favor and is keeping her from getting in trouble for hitting a dog, and she’s wearing his SHIRT and she can’t really say no without looking absolutely horrible, but she seemed pretty into him, so I’ll let it go) But once they’re together? I know that most best friends share secrets and private stuff with each other...but Scott tells Stiles so much about his sex life with Allison that Stiles is actually pissed off and kind of disgusted by it. Stiles. Who is supposed to be sex obsessed. Even he thinks that it’s just way too much information. I can’t imagine Allison would be comfortable with Stiles knowing that much about her in bed. (But at the same time, we see Scott tell Stiles that he never wants any more info on Stiles in bed than Stiles’ vague innuendo abt wet dreams, and then he still feels entitled to tell Stiles whatever he wants about him and Allison and won’t listen when Stiles asks him to stop.) When he asks Allison to go out with someone else, there’s so much that makes me both sad and angry. She is confused and scared, and has clearly committed really hard to Scott (enough to go against everything her family wants) and he tells her to go on a date with someone else. Not just that, but to kiss someone else. To kiss Matt, specifically, whom he knows Stiles thinks is really fucking creepy (though, we need to acknowledge that no one knew Matt was stalking Allison.) And she tries to show him that he’s asking for something really fucking weird and uncomfortable. “Kiss him? You mean, like really kiss him?” And even then, he doesn’t think anything is weird about telling his girlfriend (and they are clearly v monogamous. We see how insanely possessive he is of her, losing his shit when she’s just introduced to other guys Lydia knows, after only one date that he bailed from) to kiss someone else, but not kiss them the way she kisses him. He doesn’t ask for any info about the date, doesn’t ask if Allison’s uncomfortable. He just says “Do it.” and expects her to obey. He feel entitled to controlling who she’s with and what she does, without asking her if she’s okay with it. Because I haven’t seen later seasons in a long time, I usually try to stick to the earlier stuff so I’m less likely to say something stupid, but I do remember him scaring her in her bedroom. There’s a lot about that scene to unpack, but in the case of Allison specifically, we see that he still feels entitled to touch her. They are not friends right now. She has not given any hint that she wants to get back together (except asking to talk to him in ep.1). He should not feel like it is in any way okay to touch her at all, let alone hold her still with super strength. But he does. In his mind. She’s Allison, so why wouldn’t he able to touch her?

He also feels entitled to his leadership. We need to make clear that Scott doesn’t do the leadership stuff. He just happens to be the person in the friend group who’s a werewolf. Stiles and Jackson are the ones who go and set Peter on fire after they can’t get ahold of Scott (WHO IS NOW WITH DEREK, and THEREFORE HAS HIS PHONE). (You’re telling me Scott could’ve done the howl thing at any time to find Derek, and he just left him there for a week?) (Also, yes, I know Stiles was also not involved in helping find Derek until Peter made him. I’m annoyed at him too.) What is leadership-worthy about leaving a tortured man on a grate with electric wires plugged into his side and shackles on his wrists until he agrees to help you kill his own uncle (Oh, also, I have Peter feelings and have salty thoughts about the plot of s1, if anyone’s interested)? But let’s say Scott’s leadership comes in Season 2, not at the end of S1. But when exactly does he earn it? When he tells a teenage girl he doesn’t care about the humiliation and pain that led her to taking a bite that would cure her lifelong illness and give her a friend group that she didn’t have to be afraid of or bullied by? When he called a boy who looked him in the eyes and begged for him to keep his wolf secret “Bloodthirsty”? When he dismissed Boyd’s want for the bite, which was a way for him to make friends and feel like he belonged somewhere, as ridiculous? When he damaged Boyd’s workplace in a way that would almost certainly get Boyd in trouble? (You think smashing a massive crater into the middle of the ice rink with his fist didn’t get Boyd yelled at or maybe even fired?) When Boyd asked to talk to him on the field, and Scott attacked without rhyme or reason? When he let Erica sit and seize while he fussed over Allison? “This doesn’t Feel right” really Scott? You know, I think Erica, who’s having a fucking seizure in the next aisle, would agree! Hurry the fuck up! Oh my god, I went so off track. I have more thoughts on all that though, if anyone’s curious. Anyway. Scott doesn’t do anything that actually entails being a leader. His one job in the rave, he passes off to Isaac so that he can go call Gerard, because he’s currently working with the villain behind everyone’s back. The whole thing with Allison telling her parents and the plan with Derek getting messed up? Yeah, that was Scott’s fault for not telling her. Hell, for not telling GERARD. He, what he expected her to read his mind? Scott knew Allison was telling her parents about Jackson! She said she would tell them after he broke out of the van! The entire fuckup is his fault. But he still shouts at her and blames her and says she should’ve ‘trusted’ him. He passes all the guilt onto her and leaves her there on the verge of tears. He’s entitled to her obedience and he’s entitled to shaming her and scolding her like a child when she doesn’t do what he wants.

So, yeah, I think Scott’s entitled.

Scott is: Misogynistic. This one...I’m not so sure? Scott has a lot of bad qualities, a lot of behavior that’s incredibly toxic and manipulative, but I can honestly say that I can’t think of a single time when his reasoning for not letting/not thinking someone is capable of doing something is because they’re female?

There’s a lot to be said about the manipulative way that he speaks to and interacts with his girlfriends, but that doesn’t stem from misogyny, from what I can see. It stems from everything else. From his self-obsession, from his moral code, from his honest belief that he deserves obedience and complete candor from those closest to him. He does this to everyone, not just the women. It’s just easier to see it with the women because we’re primed to look for it. (I’m making the assumption here that you are female/feminine presenting, anon, since I know that the vast majority of the fandom is, but if I’m wrong, my apologies) Wow, though I’d have more to say on this bit, but I don’t.

Scott is: Toxicly Masculine. I’m not sure where I lay on this idea. Teen Wolf does have a lot of general instances of toxic masculinity, and Scott does exhibit some of them, but again, part of those behaviors can be found in women as well.

I know that it regularly pissed me off how often they reduced men to sex machines. *Scott and Allison are making out on Allison’s bed* Scott: “I don’t wanna make you do anything you don’t wanna do.” Allison: “I’m not doing anything I don’t wanna do. Are you?” Scott (incredulous): “Are you seriously asking me that question?”

*Stiles and Heather are talking about having sex at the party* Heather: “I mean, would you be okay with that?” Stiles (gently mocking): “Would I be okay with that? Yes, yes, I believe so.” They go out of their way to completely negate the possibility that a guy wouldn’t be into sex, even making the concept of asking for a man’s consent sound silly. This becomes even more toxic when Stiles complains about Malia leaving marks on him, hurting him during sex, and he gets teased for it. No one considers it a problem that Malia is scratching him. He’s expected to be appreciative of it/like it.

There’s the possessiveness, yes. Scott does some really fucked up, possessive things. Like freaking on Allison when Lydia introduces her to other guys, or getting angry from the sidelines just because Jackson is talking to Allison, not even flirting with her. Or running off to attack Jackson AND Allison (because there’s no proof he was only going after Jackson, and he’s only ever been able to follow allison’s scent across town, so he couldn’t have specifically been looking for Jackson) after she broke up with him. Throwing Isaac into a wall for liking Allison, even though they’ve been broken up for FOUR MONTHS. I can’t think of any more at the moment. But it’s a lot. BUT. We also see possessive behavior from Malia (yeah, she was an actual coyote for years, but she’s still a woman.) and similar amounts of aggression throughout the seasons from most of the shifters, implying that the habit is born from the werewolf/shifter thing, and not specifically Scott being toxicly masculine. (It’s still not good, but it’s not technically toxic masculinity.)

Aggression I think we can all agree is a shifter-wide phenomenon.

So, yeah, there’s instances that come across this way, and there’s also evidence that some of it is werewolf related, not scott related. I’m torn.

Anyway, again, I’ve talked way too much. If there are moments from later in the show that I’m missing that specifically prove/disprove these points, I’d love to know about it and check it out! I feel you Anon, Scott is infuriating and you’re in good company. <3

#personal #go for it #anti-scott mccall #Meta Ramblings #rant #thank you for the ask!#Anonymous

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athingthatwantsvirginia · 4 years ago

Text

A Patti Smith Envelope

PART THIRTY-FOUR OF THE DO YOU SEE HER FACE? SERIES

Pairing: Jess Mariano x Original Character (Ella Stevens)

Warnings: anxiety about future, plentiful pop culture references

Word Count: 4.1K

Summary: Ella and Jess move into their new apartment.

A newspaper ad circled in red ink had led them to the cozy one-bedroom four blocks over from Truncheon and six blocks from campus. It was only late April, earlier than Ella was expecting for them to find something. But she had finished finals, had booked gigs working at the art camps at the college over the summer. She had a few weeks off to make art, and hopefully help out in Truncheon. After touring the place, it felt right. An excited tightness in her stomach. Jess, too, had squeezed her hand in elation as soon as they walked through the door. The place had built-in bookshelves on the far wall, the bedroom on the other side. Ella didn’t believe in signs, but even she could agree it was as close to perfect as they were going to get.

Luke had offered to help without even being asked. Chris, Matthew, Leo, and Mabel were all participants to different degrees of willingness, and they hardly needed any more bodies. But Luke insisted the minute Jess had told him the moving date over the phone. It was likely he needed some sort of distraction since April had moved to New Mexico anyway. She wasn’t going to be back until the summer. And it seemed neither Luke nor Lorelai had come to their senses about each other yet.

He rolled up to Philadelphia in his truck two hours before they expected him. He claimed moving wasn’t moving if there wasn’t a truck to help out. Packing up all the stuff in the apartment was easier than Ella expected, just as it had been when she moved out of her childhood home. Jess could be cluttered sometimes, but nowhere near the level of Chris, and most of Jess’s belongings consisted of old band t-shirts and marked up books anyway. Ella, likewise, had most of her records stuffed in the back of her car. The dresser fit in Chris’s SUV after a fair amount of squeezing stuff in. The bed was the real challenge. It turned out Luke’s truck wasn’t such a frivolous vehicle, after all.

A drizzle was just beginning to fall from the gray, cloudy sky as they finished moving all the boxes inside. The apartment, on the second floor of some ancient building, was not exactly up to twenty-first century standards. The pipes were old and cobwebs gathered in the corners. A splinter or two jutted out from the worn down wood floors, golden brown under the dim lights. But the bohemian rug and many lamps they’d scouted out from the thrift shop a week earlier were already proving helpful. Boxes, labeled with mostly Jess’s scrawled, cramped handwriting, were stacked high in the corner of the living room, others gathered on the cracked tile of the kitchen counter.

Ella blew the stray hairs away from her eyes, otherwise pulled back in her black bandana. Her bangs were growing longer, and she was just becoming able to fully tuck them behind her ears. Roses of flushed color bloomed on her cheeks, her skin hot and sticky. Chris had already sprawled out on the dark gray couch, Leo on the arm. The couch, too, was secondhand, bought for ten bucks at the ReStore off the interstate.

“You really should be paying us,” Chris huffed, throwing his arm across his eyes.

Ella scoffed from where she was helping Matthew and Mabel unpack the kitchen. There was actually not much to be done, as Jess and Ella were planning on getting most of their supplies in the following days. There were a few mugs, bowls, spoons. “Consider it payback for the amount of times I’ve made you pie.”

“I was under the impression those were ‘no strings attached’ pies,” Matthew chimed in.

“Or, at most, ‘friends with benefits’ pies,” Mabel added.

Ella rolled her eyes. “Fine. I’m taking advantage of all of you. I’m eternally in your debt. But I think we got everything, if you guys wanna get outta here.”

The four of them exchanged glances, eventually coming to a consensus they were exhausted enough to leave and retire to the cold pizza in the fridge at Truncheon. Ella suspected they were excited to have their own rooms for the first night in forever, as Chris had already made work of moving his stuff into Jess and Ella’s old room, before they had even finished moving out. She gave them sweaty hugs and salutes goodbye, finishing with unloading the meager contents of the new fridge.

“Hey, Jess, we’re outta here!” Leo called.

Jess’s head appeared from the doorway to the bedroom. “Good. Better to save yourselves now before World War III breaks out in here.”

From beyond the bedroom door, Luke could be heard grumbling obscenities and fighting with the new bed frame he was struggling to put together.

“See you on the other side, then,” Matthew said, smiling. “Also known as Monday.”

“We’ll see if I make it until then,” Jess shrugged, offering them a small wave. “Thanks, guys.”

“You are not welcome,” Chris grunted, trudging out the door.

Mabel gave Ella one last hug before exiting the apartment, shutting the door softly behind her. A grin broke out on Ella’s face. She and Mabel had gone on more than one lunch together, had even gone shopping once. It was new and Ella was still a bit worried the timid woman would be scared away from a friendship with her, but they were slowly getting to know each other.

As Jess continued grappling with Luke, who went on grappling with the bed frame, Ella finished with their groceries. The kitchenware was more or less unpacked to a decent level. The books were next on her list, followed by the records. Rounding the corner of the counter into the living room, she stopped short of the book boxes.

She put her hands to the hips of her jeans. There were a few water spots on the popcorn ceiling, reminding her of Truncheon. The air smelled cozy, but more of lemon Pledge than anything else. Someone had dusted the built-in bookshelves in the initial flurry of unpacking. During the walk-through of the place, Jess had pointed out the corner next to the couch as the perfect spot for an easel. Looking over it, with familiar furniture moved in, the place seemed more real. Less like a dream for the two of them. The terrace past the small sliding glass door was empty, but she thought maybe they could fit a few chairs. It wasn’t as though the view was spectacular, just a vision of the city street below and the other apartment building opposite. But it was more than enough for two people who had both lived out of their cars for extended periods of time.

An odd sense came over her, one of total novelty. Never before had she had a real say in her home. Her parents lived in the blue house in Stars Hollow before she was born, Lane had moved into her house with Zach and Bryan long before Ella started sleeping on the couch, the apartment above Truncheon had been a simple convenience to everyone involved. But she and Jess had chosen the apartment together. They had admired the cheap price, the proximity to work, the odd seashell tiles in the bathroom. The place seemed to have been built before the contemporary requirements of architectural uniformity. It had a mind of its own inside: a leaky sink and a brick exterior and shag carpet in the bedroom. Not altogether a surprise, considering it was in the artsy housing district near the campus.

“Dammit!” she heard once more from the bedroom.

Heaving a tired but cheerful sigh, she crossed her arms over her Clash t-shirt (borrowed from Jess) and entered the bedroom, to the left of the living room and kitchen, opposite from the tiny bathroom. Luke and Jess were both hunched over the metal frame, trying to hold both the headboard and the footboard up and attach the middle section. Their faces were angry and red, frustration radiating off of them.

“Hey, so, it’s past seven,” she announced, eyebrows raised at their trouble.

Jess jumped slightly, his back to her, at the sound of his voice. The footboard slipped out of his grip.

“Oh, for the love of-” Luke began.

“It’s fine,” Ella interjected calmly, going over and placing a hand on Jess’s upper back. He panted but said nothing as his uncle continued fussing.

“Where did you even get this? There’s no damn instructions!” Luke said, readjusting the hat on his head.

“The discount store,” Jess answered, glaring down at the frame and over at the mattress, which stood leaning against the wall near the dresser. “Not all of us have diner money to fall back on.”

“Anyway,” Ella continued, “I bet we could all use some food. Jess, maybe you could drive Luke down to that place on Birch and get some sandwiches? I can finish with the bed.”

Luke shook his head. “Ella, I don’t think-”

“She probably can,” Jess interrupted dejectedly. “I don’t know what it is. Maybe it’s those sculpture classes. But she can fix anything. Not just showerheads and cash registers.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” Luke said, raising his hands in surrender and leaving the room. He went to grab his coat from the messy pile by the front door.

Ella stifled a laugh. “My god, he’ll never change.”

“Why is he coming with me to get the food?” Jess asked under his breath.

“Because I think he’ll have a stroke if he doesn’t stop with this bed. And he doesn’t know where the place on Birch is. You do,” she explained, giving him a peck on the cheek before going to try her hand at the bed.

Shoulders sagging with fatigue, Jess gave a begrudging nod, then glanced back over his shoulder. “Fine. Hopefully he’ll be less Vesuvius and more Mauna Loa by the time we get back.”

“Not everyday you hear a good volcano metaphor,” she quipped, assessing the middle section of the bedframe and deciding to take it apart altogether.

“I know. Imagine how dull your life would be without me,” Jess shot back, a small smirk tugging at his lips despite his frazzled state. “Turkey?”

She nodded. “You know me too well, James Dean.”

“Agreed,” he said with a teasing laugh.

“Fuck off,” she replied through a chuckle.

Jess’s smirk grew as he turned on his heel to leave. “Love you back, Stevens.”

. . .

The windshield wipers of Jess’s rust bucket screeched against the glass as he rolled down Birch Street, away from the sandwich shop. A white paper bag full of subs sat in the passenger seat atop Luke’s lap. In one hand, Luke held a bouquet of deep red tulips. Jess hadn’t remembered the florist shop where Ella had worked the previous summer was right down the road from the sandwich place. He’d stopped in for the bunch of blooms as they waited for their order to be filled. The plastic wrapper around the bouquet crinkled in Luke’s fist as he braced himself, Jess rounding a damp corner.

“I told you we should’ve taken my truck,” Luke grumbled.

Sighing, Jess fought to keep his jaw untensed. “My car’s fine. It’s driven us across the country more than once.”

“Before or after it broke down on the highway and Coop had to have it towed back to Stars Hollow?” Luke asked, his voice tired and strained.

“Not sure. I know for a fact it was after you stole my car, though,” Jess retorted, eyes on the slick roads. He wished the radio was on, but the memories of Luke whining about his album choices were still too recent in his mind.

Heaving a large sigh, Luke gave a shake of his head. “Fine. I give up.”

“Thank you,” Jess muttered.

“You’re welcome,” Luke shot back irritably.

But then he looked over at Jess. His hair was no longer greased, his clothes fit better, his eyes were clearer. Most of the time, his brow was no longer drawn in anger or his face a scowl. Even his posture was different; straighter, brighter, more self-assured. And then he thought of Ella. She looked much the same as she had during her last few weeks at work, with her wide smile and loud laugh. The smiles were more frequent, though, and she seemed so relaxed around her friends. Even around Rory she had sometimes seemed a bit nervous to Luke, as though she were worried over a misstep.

Luke couldn’t contain the small grin on his grizzled face. “I’m really proud of you, Jess.”

Snorting a laugh, Jess spared Luke a quick glance before turning back to the road. They were only a few minutes away from the new home, but Philly traffic was never reliable, even on a Saturday. “Let’s put away the pom-poms for now.”

“I’m just sayin,’” Luke began with a shrug, “got your own company, your own apartment with Ella. You really seem to be doin’ great.”

Jess gave a short, humble nod, but took a long pause before he spoke another word. “Lorelai proposed to you, right?”

Luke’s brow crinkled. “Yeah?”

“But you proposed to Nicole?”

“Yeah.”

Humming under his breath, Jess gave another nod. Red brake lights glowed in the rainy evening darkness. “When did you know...how you wanted to propose?”

“Jess, are you gonna propose to Ella?” Luke asked, eyes going wide and smile growing.

“Never said that,” Jess answered nonchalantly, shaking his head. “Just never really delved into that part of your personal history. Figured I’d ask. Maybe I wanna get to know you better, uncle dearest.”

Rolling his eyes at Jess’s old patterns of behavior, Luke didn’t let his smile waver. He looked down at the bouquet in his hand. “Well, considering it was an impulse cruise ship marriage, not a lot of thought went into it. It just sort of happened. If you’re asking me how to propose to Ella-”

“Which I’m not.”

“-then I’d say she loves you and she’ll say ‘yes’ no matter what. And I’d say that you know her better than anyone in the world, and you shouldn’t...second-guess yourself. Do what feels right.”

“And did an Elvis impersonator marry you two on that cruise?” Jess continued.

Luke bit back another sigh. “No, wiseass. It was a regular minister.”

“Huh,” Jess chirped wryly. “You learn something new everyday.”

. . .

Patti Smith spun on the record player as the rain grew stronger outside. Though it was a pain in the ass to unpack the record player, Ella decided it just wouldn’t truly be home without the grace of music on the first night. Luke had left about an hour earlier, though they insisted he could stay over. He said he was nervous enough leaving Lane and Caesar in charge of the diner for one day, and he didn’t want to be late for the morning shift the next day. It made Ella roll her eyes, but eventually she gave up trying to convince him. It wasn’t as though she expected Luke to change his ways. The tulips sat in a mug of water on the kitchen counter, to be placed in something fancier and on something fancier once they actually had a makeshift dining area. For the moment, only the big pieces from the old place and the bed were filling up the small apartment. Ella had to bite her lip to keep from laughing at Luke’s face when he saw she had put the bed together all by herself, finished before they got back with the sandwiches. An expression of extreme frustration had slowly melted into pride. Both were memorable.

Between Jess and Ella, who sat cross-legged on the floor on either side of the coffee table in the living room, was a half-eaten pie. One of the few leftovers from Truncheon they had lugged over to put in the fridge before an actual grocery run. The apple crust was a bit soggy, but the filling was surprisingly good cold. She found herself so wholly content as they sat together: eating pie, listening to records, in the dim lamplight of the first place which was solely theirs. It all struck her with a force she wasn’t expecting. She chuckled to herself as she grabbed another forkful, eating away at the half they had not even bothered to cut but just dug into instead.

“What?” Jess asked through a sweet mouthful, furrowing his brows at her.

She shrugged. “I don’t know. Doesn’t this all seem a little...surreal to you?”

“Does what seem surreal?”

“Just...we have an apartment together. And you own a business. And I only have a year left of grad school. I just...sometimes I can’t believe it’s happening. I can’t believe it turned out the way it did. You don’t feel that?” she asked, lowering her eyes sheepishly.

He cracked a small, crooked smirk. “I don’t know. I always just sort of thought I’d end up where I’d end up. And here I am. With you. Not a bad place to be.”

She rolled her eyes, a blush coloring her cheeks. “I know about your Kerouac philosophy. But just...when you first met me, did you ever think in a million years this is where we’d be now?”

“I didn’t know exactly where we’d be. But, I knew I’d land somewhere. I didn’t know if I’d land with you, but I wanted to. Maybe it’s a little surreal, but it doesn’t surprise me,” he explained, leaning his elbows onto the scratched wooden surface of the table with arms crossed.

Snorting a laugh at his insouciance, Ella finally locked eyes with him again. “It just feels a little too good to be true, I guess. I mean, you go to school your whole life, you work towards something your whole life. Once it happens, once you’re near the end...I just never thought it would actually happen. I don’t know what’s next.”

She tugged at her earring with her right hand. Jess noticed the chipped blue polish on her nails, though they weren’t bitten down. He couldn’t quite decipher her mood. Not that she seemed sad or distant, but he could tell she was having a hard time articulating herself. And he could tell she was letting an old worry creep up on her; she was waiting for the other shoe to drop.

He allowed his smirk to grow into a full smile and dropped his fork into the pie tin. “C’mon, you’re gonna figure it out. You know you are. I’m the directionless one. You’ve always been able to do anything. You’re plan girl.”

Ella gave a mirthful scoff. “You’re not directionless, Jess. And I’m not plan girl. Rory was always plan girl. I was try-to-make-it-to-the-finish-line-without-tripping girl.”

Jess hummed thoughtfully, about to reply. But she spoke again before he had a chance to.

“I thought you had a thing for her, y’know,” she said, taking another bite of pie.

“Who?”

“Rory.”

“Really?” Jess asked, and he couldn’t hide the bewildered amusement in his tone. “When was this?”

She shrugged and narrowed her eyes for a moment in memory. “Just when you first got to Stars Hollow. I mean, you hated Dean, and you like a lot of the same things, and you seemed to get along with her.”

“No. It was pretty much always just you,” Jess said, shaking his head slightly. “Maybe we liked a lot of the same stuff, but...I didn’t ever feel like she...got me like you do.”

“Oh, she didn’t, Kurt Cobain?” she teased, raising her eyebrows. She put her fork down in the tin next to his, her stomach full. Her eyes were beginning to get tired, her body starting to ache from the day of moving. She was glad the bed was put together.

He raised his hands in joking defense. “Hey, I know it sounds cheesy, but it’s true. Remember that night she was tutoring me?”

“The night you crashed her car? Yeah, it rings a bell,” she replied.

“Yes, that one,” Jess continued, smiling sardonically at her. “We were talking about the future. And she kept getting on me about how I had to do better and I had to go to college, just like she did, or else I would have no life.”

The smile which tugged at Ella’s lips was slightly bitter but mostly fond. “Sounds like Rory.”

“Everyone in Stars Hollow thought I was the antichrist. Maybe Rory didn’t, and maybe we were friends, but she definitely wasn’t okay with who I was then. Maybe she thought, with enough Schoolhouse Rock videos, she could get me to shape up,” Jess continued, taking small glances out the sliding glass door as he spoke. He could see a sliver of the city lights past another building on the right side. It was better than the bland brick wall and the dumpster which served as his view from the room in Truncheon.

“Hey, she is an amazing tutor. If there was anyone who could’ve converted you to the Ivy League conveyor belt, it was her,” Ella said.

“Yeah, but you and I both know school was never the way I was supposed to go. It was the way you were supposed to go, but you didn’t try to get me to be anything other than what I was,” he told her, voice light but eyes sincere.

Ella felt her heart skip a beat, but shrugged again. “I don’t know. I definitely tried to get you to ditch those CDs.”

“The exception that proves the rule,” he replied.

“Speaking of, I figured out how I’m gonna organize the books,” she said, tossing a look past his shoulder at the empty shelves.

“How is that a ‘speaking of’?” he asked, a confused smirk coming over his face.

“I’m doing genre, then alphabetical order by author. The way you used to do your CDs when we were in high school,” she explained.

“Oh.” Jess had his eyes trained on her, watching as she undid her bandana and ran her fingers through her mess of blonde hair. He chewed on his bottom lip. Then, after a pause filled only with Patti Smith’s poetry, he blurted out: “Y’know, you were the first person I ever said ‘I love you’ to. The only person.”

Her gaze softened and she nodded. “Me too.”

“No, Stevens, I mean anyone. Not just Nora Ephron kind of love. Not family either,” he said, most insistent, though he did his best to keep his tone nonchalant. As though it were just a run-of-the-mill fact about his past.

She stopped for a moment, brow crinkling. “Your mom never said it to you? Not even hippie dippie Liz?”

“No. We weren’t that kind of family. She wasn’t that kind of mom.”

A crease of concern deepened between her brows. Every time it had come up before, she assumed both of them meant romantic love. Familial was a different beast. But she had to remind herself never to assume with Liz, no matter how she seemed. Jess had arrived when Liz was a binge-drinking nineteen-year-old.

Before her brief interlude in the ‘love doesn’t exist’ frame of mind, before her mother’s death, Ella’s world had been filled with ‘I love you’s. Mostly from her mother, in her soft voice, with her delicate perfume. Some from her grandmother, and even from her father. And after, Lorelai had sometimes said them in passing. Rory, too. The three words, no matter how commonplace they could sound, were important, she knew. Especially when they weren’t uttered, or stopped being uttered.

She opened her mouth to say something, then bit the inside of her cheek and hesitated. Rising from her place, she rounded the corner of the coffee table and went over to him. Jess tilted his head at her in askance, but she only answered him by sitting down in his lap, straddling him as their noses drew only inches apart. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and simply hugged him. For a moment, he sat motionless, his muscles tense. It wasn’t the reaction he’d been expecting, if he’d been expecting one at all. But then, he circled his own arms around her waist. They sat there, breathing slow and clinging to each other, for a long time. Patti Smith droned on around them, enveloping them.

Eventually, she pulled away and ran her fingers affectionately through his hair. He looked up at her, unsure of what to say. Fortunately, she took the lead, gaze unwavering as she spoke in her quiet, husky voice.

“Jess, you’re the fucking best. You’re my favorite person. And you’re gonna be hearing ‘I love you’ every day for the rest of our life,” she assured him, matter-of-fact. “So, I suggest you get used to it.”

“Right back at ya,” he replied after an awestruck pause, just before their lips met.

In spite of the fuss over the bed frame, Jess and Ella ended up spending the night on the worn rug in the living room, nearly naked underneath the first throw blanket they could find in the boxes around them.

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