#it takes like 5 hours to wear off on me. doesn’t matter what i do | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

loveharlow · 9 months ago

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SEVEN - 002

PAIRING ‧₊˚ JJ Maybank x Fem!Reader

SYNOPSIS‧₊˚[6.5k] based on 1x02.

WARNING(S)‧₊˚ swearing, mentions of parental neglect, mild violence, mentions of death/grief, disturbance of a graveyard (?)

NOW PLAYING‧₊˚

A/N‧₊˚ I've been wanting to do an OBX rewrite for a very long time so here it is, the first chapter from yours truly.

˗ˏˋ series masterlist ˎˊ˗

“DO YOU REALLY THINK BIG JOHN COULD STILL BE ALIVE?” Kiara’s slightly digitally distorted voice came from the other end of the line. Your phone was pressed between your ear and shoulder as you searched the hangers in your closet, bath towel wrapped snug around your frame and your hair thrown up into a bun, which was presenting more like a mess of damp strands.

“It doesn’t matter what we think, Kie,” You made clear, eyeing a cute shirt you thought you’d lost. “We should just be there for him.”

“Yeah… but what if we’re just feeding into a fantasy? Wouldn’t that make us bad friends if we weren’t honest with him?” You could hear her shuffling around on the other end of the phone as well, dresser drawers slamming occasionally.

“Maybe you’re right.” You sighed, throwing your outfit onto your bed and heading back into the closet to find a bikini to wear underneath. Living in the Outer Banks meant you had a plethora to choose from. “But the way I see it? If it were my dad that went missing, I’d be looking for him too. I’d give anything to even have that small hope that my dad was still alive back, but I know he isn’t… so, I understand.”

“I didn’t think about it like that…” It was sad to hear her so conflicted, as if she’d said the wrong thing.

“Well, I wouldn’t expect you to. And I would never want you to be able to understand that feeling. I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.” You reassured, putting the girl on speaker to toss the phone on your bed and slipping the bikini you picked out onto your frame and tying the respective knots. “That’s why if John B thinks his dad is alive and wants to look for him? That’s what we’re gonna do. Because alive or not, John B is like a brother to me and leaving him to do this alone is what would make us bad friends.”

“I guess you’re right…are you still meeting up with the guys today?”

“Just J and John B for right now. Pope said he’d be around later after helping his pops.” You told her, slipping an oversized shirt over top of the bikini, eyeing your closet shelves for a pair of shorts.

“Alright, I might swing by if my parents aren’t up my ass about work.” She complained. “Talk to you later.”

“Later.” Was all you said before the end-call sound rang out in the expanse of your bedroom.

A swift series of knocks met your closed door from the other side, you shouted for them to come in, assuming it was either your mother or your dog Marley’s tail hitting the wood. The 2-year-old golden retriever had a knack for sitting outside your bedroom door on the rare occasion that it was closed and she wasn’t inside.

The knob twisted and in walked your mother, adorned in her signature navy blue pencil skirt and blazer, still a half hour to spare before she had to head off to her office for work. Rebecca Reyes was the Outer Banks’ most notable and renowned lawyer. Even when you still lived on The Cut all those months ago, she was still the island's number one defender. Moving to Figure Eight and getting rich, almost overnight, just gave her the resources she needed. You still questioned where all the money spawned from, chopping it down to your father’s life insurance coming through.

But the bank said that could take a while and you never assumed it was enough to buy a house on Figure Eight. But that’s adult stuff, you thought to yourself.

“You got home late yesterday,” She began bluntly, adjusting the diamond bracelet on her wrist. The smell of her expensive perfume already wafting into your space. “Where were you?”

“Just out with John B and the others.” You said with a shrug, walking out the closet with a pair of sneakers in your hands as you undid the tied laces.

She hummed, eyeing the space around you as if she’d never seen it before. “Did you hear about the boat they’re searching for? Scooter Grubbs’ boat?”

You side eyed her quickly, not quick enough for her to catch however. “Yeah, the whole island is losing their minds over it.”

“You and your friends haven’t come across anything, have you?”

“...I doubt we’d have any luck coming across a Grady-White, mom. Especially after the hurricane. That boat could be oceans away for all we know.”

“Right.” She agreed, but she seemed far away. Off. Why’d she care about Scooter Grubbs’ boat? “And what’s this I hear about some kid with a gun at The Point?” Your heart dropped.

“A gun?” You acted semi-shocked. “I don’t know, I wasn’t there.”

“Hm.” She droned. “Well, if you find anything don’t hesitate to tell me. Or Shoupe, for that matter. He said two out of towners showed up for the boat search yesterday, looked sketchy. So, be careful.”

You hummed in agreement, watching as the woman strutted out of the room without even a small ‘goodbye’.

You and your mother were nowhere near as close as you used to be. Your father’s passing caused a rift between the two of you that seemed irreparable. You just felt like she had become so cold and closed off, nothing like the woman who used to bake every weekend or plan family nights in the backyard. She was more secretive, dismissive. You couldn’t even remember what her smile looked like. She’d changed so much. She used to hate Sheriff Shoupe, said he was a dirty cop who worked under the rich snobs of Figure Eight. Now, it’s like they’re business partners of some sort and she is a rich snob on Figure Eight.

She even changed her last name back after your father died and wouldn’t tell you why. That was what made you feel the most alone. Rebecca Carter was now Rebecca Reyes but you were still Y/N Carter and your father would always be Owen Carter.

It was like she was trying to erase him and everything they’d built together.

You hated to admit that sometimes you wondered what your father would think of the woman she’s become. If she would be as unrecognizable to him as she is to you.

YOU SAT IN THE BACK OF THE VAN, legs bent as your journal rested atop your thighs while you scribbled down your thoughts and recent events — namely the events of yesterday. You had one earbud in, your playlist on shuffle as you half-listened into JJ and John B’s conversation that was happening in the front seat, the bumpy ride making your handwriting a bit chicken scratch-ish.

“I don’t understand why you don’t at least try with Kiara,” JJ started, his heavy boots kicked up on the dashboard. “She clearly likes you. She’s like ‘Oh, John B!’. She’s sketchy about you diving and then she kissed you, bro.” The blonde continued.

“She kissed me on the cheek. It’s not like we were makin’ out.” John B denied, brushing off the girl’s clear affections.

“Low-hanging fruit, bro.” JJ cut him off, the statement making you cringe in silence as you continued to scribble. “I see it in your eyes. You’re like ‘I kind of like that’.” JJ said in a mockingly low and seductive voice.

“Okay, you want to talk about me?”

“Yeah, bro, I wanna talk about you and your lack of game.”

“My lack- my lack of game? Okay, what game do you have, JJ? ‘Cause I haven’t seen any improvement in your case.” JJ’s head whipped between you and the boy in the driver’s seat within milliseconds before he was swatting John B’s arm.

“C’mon, dude...” He warned in a hushed tone. John B just chuckled.

“That’s what I thought.”

Moments of silence passed before their voices were heard again. “I gotta admit, your dad’s compass in Scooter’s boat? Freaky, man…” JJ claimed, twirling the newfound object between his fingers.

“That’s why we’re going to talk to Ms. Lana and figure this whole thing out. She’s his wife, she has to know something.” John B told him.

“And what makes you think she would want to talk to us?” You added, spooking the blonde boy in the passenger seat.

“How long have you been listen-”

“I’m always listening.” You spoke bluntly, a blank expression on your face as you averted your attention from your journal to him. “Anyway,” you dismissed. “A group of teenagers showing up to ask her about her dead husband, the boat that the whole island is looking for, and the compass we found inside of said dead husband’s lost boat? She’ll either think we’re criminals, FBI, or crazy.”

“Well, this is our first resort.” John B replied, eyes looking at you through the rearview. “We gotta try.”

“KNOW WHAT THIS HOUSE LOOKS LIKE?” JJ said, leading the group of us to the front yard of Lana Grubbs’ residence. “Whoever lives here smokes too much weed.” He observed the small, shack-like house — the walls were overgrown with weeds, the yard looked like it’d never been cut, the place was a mess from the outside.

The three of you stopped, more like flinched, in your tracks when you heard glass-shattering from the inside of the house followed by crash after crash. It sounded like the outside of a rage-room or a gun range.

“Maybe we should come back…” JJ advised, taking small steps back. But John B persisted, even as the two of you stood back in fear.

“No, no, shut up, JJ.” John B reprimanded absentmindedly.

“Tell me where it is or I’ll fuck you up!” A deep, brassy voice boomed from the inside. The voice so authoritative it made you shudder, but it didn’t worry you as when a woman’s scream followed. You could only assume it was Ms. Lana. “I’ll sink you in the fucking-” A crash, louder than the rest, cut off the sentence, almost covering the sound of Ms. Lana’s blood-curling screech.

“You’re hurting me!”

John B beckoned JJ and you on with his hands, urging the both of you to move forward. Reluctantly, and after a weary glance at one another, you and JJ followed the brunette boy who was edging closer and closer to the side of the house.

“Where the fuck is it?!”

“I don’t know!”

The three of you quickly dashed and ducked beneath the window seal on the only open window when you heard something hit the wall from the inside. You had just parted your lips to say that, just maybe, this was a bad idea. A terrible one, even, before a phrase yelled by the angry man inside had you shutting up.

“The compass wasn’t in the boat! Where is it, Lana?!”

“I don’t know!”

Your heart dropped as things continued to get thrown and slammed inside the house and you prayed those ‘things’ didn’t happen to be Lana. The paint and wood started to physically chip and fall off the walls outside, landing on top of the three of you crouched against the side of the house, wood particles falling into your eyes.

“Let’s get the hell out of here, man…” Another male voice commanded, followed by two pairs of heavy footsteps against the wooden floors inside. The three of you peeked around the corner to watch the two men disappear from the grounds through the front door, stomping angrily towards their boat.

The same boat that had been shooting at you only 24 hours prior.

“Those were the guys that shot at us.” JJ whisper-yelled.

“Go back.” John B commanded, pushing you all back behind the safety of the wall so they wouldn’t see you all. Once the boat sped off, the three of you slowly tip-toed your way into the house. The sound of Lana’s cries getting louder and more heartbreaking the more you entered the house, shoes crunching on wood and glass. Photo frames and dishes all broken into smaller fractions and littered on the floor, holes in the walls, kitchen cabinets hanging on by a single hinge.

“Ms. Lana?” You called out, voice laced with concern, eyeing the broken windows before they found Ms. Lana’s curled up figure on the bathroom floor right below the sink that was hanging on by a singular pipe. “Oh my God.” You gasped, kneeling right next to the woman and laying a hand on her shoulder that caused her to flinch and shrink in on herself.

She had tears running from her red, swollen eyes, curled up like someone’s child.

“She is tweakin’.”

“Shut up, JJ.” You hissed, shooting a mean glare at the insensitive blonde before turning your attention back to the feeble woman. “Do you need a doctor? We can call a doctor for you.” You assured, examining the multiple cuts adorning the woman’s face and arms.

“We can call the sheriff’s department-” John B was on the verge of suggesting before Lana cut him off frantically.

“No cops, please!”

“Mm, that’s not good. Let’s bounce.” JJ urged, weary of the woman’s persistence to avoid law enforcement.

“You shouldn’t be here...” Lana cried, her eyes focused on John B, speaking as her lip quivered and her voice shook.

The brunette’s face twisted, kneeling next to me to level his gaze with Ms. Lana’s. “Do you know those guys?”

“They were… looking for something.” Her voice wavered.

“...Does it have anything to do with this?” John B asked her, pulling the compass from the back pocket of his board shorts. You and JJ shared a glance, both knowing John B probably shouldn’t have shown it to her. “This was my father’s and Scooter had it. Do you know why?”

Why did John B think showing a woman his father’s compass and saying he copped it from her dead husband was a good idea? You had no clue. Interrogation tactic? Impulsiveness? Stupidity? Lana’s eyes were wide and teary, she looked like she was seeing ghosts.

“Scooter didn’t have it, okay? Don’t tell anyone that you have that. They can’t know that you have that!”

Your lips pulled themselves into a thin line and you were starting to feel less bad for Lana and more suspicious of the distressed woman. Maybe she wasn’t as innocent as she appeared. She didn’t seem to be a threat but she clearly knew things that she shouldn’t. You nudged JB’s arm, whispering in his direction even though the woman could most likely still hear you. “We should go…”

“You’ve gotta get out of here!” Lana cried, fearful gaze eyeing the compass in John’s grasp.

“What do you know about the compass?” John B raised his voice over her frantic one, still questioning Lana as JJ pulled him back and the three of you stood to leave.

“Go! Get out!” Was the last thing you heard as the hysteric woman yelled at your retreating figures.

“SO, YOU SAW THE GUYS THAT SHOT AT US, RIGHT?” Pope asked with his head in his hands, stressed after listening to JJ’s dramatic rendition of events. The three of you had returned to The Chateau and summoned Kiara and Pope not too long after, the events of today on the tip of your tongue. “Did you get a good description of them? Anything we can bring to a police report?”

You shook your head along with JJ and John B as Kiara and Pope sighed at you all's lack of response. There was nothing special about these guys. Sure, they seemed out of place but that’s because nobody on the island knew them. That was one perk about living in Kildare, everyone knows everyone. But these weren’t leather jacket, ski-mask wearing criminals. They didn’t stick out like sore thumbs.

“That’s not very helpful…” Kiara huffed.

“But, but,” JJ started again. “They were burly. Like the men I’d see at my dad’s garage. You guys know he made cargo hides for drug smugglers...” He reminded you all carelessly. “I can tell you with full confidence that these guys? They’re square groupers.”

“Like Narcos square groupers?” Pope questioned with little amusement, his face dropping as he watched JJ smoke against the brick wall.

“Like, Pablo Escobar square grouper?” You added on, just as skeptical from your seat on the patio floor, legs stretched in front of you and crossed over one another while you leaned on your elbows for support. JJ just nodded, blowing out smoke.

“You guys, not everything is a kingpin movie.” Kie reprimanded from her place next to Pope on the patio furniture.

“Okay,” Pope started. “What does a square grouper look like? Hm? Because clearly, you don’t know what you’re talking about-”

“Okay, you weren’t there! I wasn’t taking little mental polaroids the entire time, dude! I was under duress!” JJ whined to which you and John B rolled your eyes.

“Why would they want the compass?” Kiara probed, leaning forward in her seated position, resting her forearms on her thighs.

“That thing’s a piece of shit, you could pawn it off for five bucks if you wanted to… No offense, John B.” Pope claimed honestly, watching as John B flicked the object open and stared at it longingly, paying no mind to the boy’s insult.

“Well, clearly it’s worth something.” You popped in. “Considering these guys are willing to kill for it.”

“...The office.” You all turned to the scruffy brunette. A silent question on everyone’s face. “My dad’s office.” John B continued, shooting up and walking inside The Chateau as you all scurried to follow, shooting one another confused glances. “He always kept the office locked ‘cause he was worried about his competitors stealing his Royal Merchant research. Remember?” He directed at you and JJ, looking back but still walking forward. “We used to laugh at him like he was actually going to find it. But now that he’s…gone, I just left it as he kept it.” He said despondently.

“Yeah. For when he gets back.” Kie backed him up with a light-tipped smile. Keys jangled as John B unlocked the room you hadn’t seen in years. Not since before Big John went missing. Before all of this.

“I’ve slept over here like six-hundred times and I’ve never seen this door opened.” Pope said aloud, eyeing the office like a museum.

This was like being hit by a tidal-wave for you. And you’re sure it was the same for John B. You can remember the countless nights you’d slept over before and after Big John went missing. Before he went missing and you, JB, and JJ would peek inside just to watch him just write and type like his life depended on it. It even brought back memories of when your dad would stay a while after dropping you off to spend the night just to share beers in the backyard with Big John.

The nights after his disappearance weren’t as sweet though. Sleeping in a group hug around John B after his dad went missing. Then your friends all slept in a group hug around you after your dad went missing. Then they slept in another group hug around you when your dad’s body was found, washed up on the shore for the entire island to see. With the plethora of events, The Chateau became a haunted house in your mind.

“Look,” John B said, pulling you out of your stupor. He’d taken a bulletin board down off of the walls that was decorated with paper scraps and old pictures. His index finger pointed to the photo at the very top, a sepia-like tint to it. “This was the original owner of the compass.”

The paper pinned against the photo read ‘Robert Q. Routledge. 1880 - 1920’.

“There’s the lucky compass right there.” Kiara showed you all, pointing to the object clutched in the old man’s hand in the picture. You wouldn’t exactly call the compass lucky, though. And if it was before, it surely isn’t now.

“Actually, um. He was shot after he bought it…” John B informed. “Then the compass was shipped back to Henry.” He continued guiding you all through the timeline, pointing to the next picture. “Henry was killed in a crop-dusting accident when he had the compass.” You happened to look up at the exact same time as Pope, the two of you locking eyes with visible worry. “After he died, the compass was given to Stephen. Stephen had it when he died in Vietnam.” The boy ranted. “After that, Stephen passed the compass down to my dad.”

“This is painting a very bad picture, JB…” You warned, hand on the back of your neck as your face twisted.

“Yeah, he has a death compass.” Pope deadpanned.

“I do not.” John B denied, rolling his eyes and sitting down in the nearest chair with the compass still in hand. “My dad used to talk about this compartment here.” He explained, fiddling with the article between his fingers. “Soldiers used to hide secret notes.” He twisted the back of it off, revealing a word scratched into the top. He sat up with surprise as he spoke. “...This is my dad’s handwriting.”

Pope scoffed. “How can you know that?”

“He’s right.” You assured the doubtful male absentmindedly, squinting your eyes and craning your neck down to see the word written into the metal. “Big John had horrific handwriting and his R’s always had a point to them. I always used to think they looked like big-headed baby chicks, in a way. That’s definitely his handwriting.”

“Weird observation…but she’s right.” John B backed you up, his eyes going back to the compass. “Redfield…” He muttered. “What’s Redfield? Is it a clue?”

“A clue? C’mon that’s-” Pope began until you shot him a nasty glare, silently telling him to be helpful and supportive or shut up. His eyes widened as he gulped. “If it is a clue, m-maybe it’s an anagram?”

“Yes!” John B jumped up from his seat, beckoning you all to back up some. “Anagram. Perfect. You need paper.” He directed at Pope, eyeing scanning the cluttered space. Handing the boy an old, crinkled sheet of notebook paper, Pope got to work with the help of JJ and Kiara as John B and you scoured the desks for anything else of use.

Your ears were quick to pick up on the sound of an engine over the chatter of the brainiac bunch behind you. Eyes perking up to see a black truck pulling onto the yard.”...Guys?” You spoke, but not loud enough. “Guys!” You shushed them, all eyes turning to you. “Somebody’s here.”

The five of you crowded around the window, peeking through the blinds and peering through the dusted glass. Two males got out of the car and you recognized them immediately. “Those are the guys from The Marsh and Lana’s house.”

John B was quick to turn towards JJ. “Where’s the gun?”

“I don’t know-”

“Now you don’t have the gun? The one time we need the gun?” Kiara panicked.

“It was in my backpack and then I-...it’s on the porch.” JJ quickly realized, sighing before biting his lip out of frustration.

“Go. Go get it.” John B urged quietly but you were quick to step up, tugging the short sleeve of JJ’s shirt before he could open the door.

“No, no, we are not sending JJ out there to be pummeled by square troopers, square groupers, whatever they are-”

“We need the gun-” The bandana-wearing boy hissed.

“I don’t care. We stay put. We stay together.” You insisted. But JJ gently swiped your hand down and backed out of your reach, one hand up in surrender. “What’re you doing-”

“It’ll be quick, I swear. I’m like a ninja-”

“JJ.” You said simply, disappointed as you curled your fist in annoyance.

“I’ll be on my Batman shit.” He whispered before leaving the room quietly with the door cracked behind him, allowing you all to see him leave.

“John Routledge!” A country man’s voice boomed, causing JJ to turn around and slide his way back into the room quietly before he’d even made it two steps outside of the office. “C’mon out now!” JJ closed and locked the door as you all heard the pairs of footsteps enter The Chateau. The men began smashing and throwing things around just as they did Ms. Lana’s house. Was this their MO or something?

‘Window’ Kie mouthed, pointing to the window that led straight into the yard, towards the chicken coop and the surf shack. JJ and Pope rushed over to it as John B held down the door, which was just him standing against it with his hands above his head. JJ and Pope tried to lift the frame but it wouldn’t budge. Your face twisted in confusion, walking over to where the two boys were struggling and attempting to pull up the window seal yourself with no better luck.

“It’s painted shut.” You couldn’t help but smack your teeth, cursing under your breath as your eyes quickly scanned the room for something sharp as you patted the back of your shorts, feeling an object in your pocket. Digging your hand in to reveal a pen, the one you’d been using to journal that morning. You whispered for the guys to move before ejecting the pen and sliding it quickly along the seal to break it as quickly as possible.

Suddenly, one of the square groupers began kicking the door down, John B running across the room.

“Hurry!” Kiara whispered.

“I’m going as fast as I can!” You hissed. When the seal was completely broken, you wasted no time in opening the window, being the first to jump down into the backyard and making a b-line for the coop. The five of you piled inside one by one, the space surprisingly big enough for five fully grown teenagers as you crouched in tense silence. Just then, you heard a shot ring out from the inside of the house, assuming the man shot the door down.

Everyone could hear everyone breathing, shaky breaths all throughout the small enclosure. And the roosters. One rooster would not stop crowing. You were hoping, praying the damn thing would stop making noise. It wasn’t long before the guys were seen leaving the house, carrying at least two crates of books and research each.

“Pope, shut him up.” JJ demanded, referring to the rooster next to Pope that was making the most noise.

“What am I supposed to do?”

“Pet it or something, I don’t know.” Kie cried. Suddenly , JJ got up and grabbed the rooster by its neck, pressing it into the ground until its neck audibly snapped and its clucking ceased. You couldn’t help but cringe and look away, the sight somehow prompting you to gag. JJ’s eyes met yours as if he was making sure you were okay, you giving him a sickly nod in return. One that wasn’t as reassuring as you hoped. Kie was crying silently and you didn’t miss the way John B grabbed her hand in comfort.

“WHAT BETTER PLACE TO HIDE A MESSAGE THAN A FAMILY HEIRLOOM?” John B tried to muse from the driver’s seat of The Twinkie.

“Maybe somewhere more easily accessible.” You said bluntly, laying back on the floor of the van, your foot on Pope and head in JJ’s lap, Kiara in the passenger seat. “Like a hidden jewelry box compartment or a locked drawer. Not inside of a death compass on a dead man’s sunken boat.”

John B simply ignored you. “He had to know it was gonna get back to me, right?” He spoke hopefully, referring to his father.

“It’s possible.” Kie agreed from the passenger seat next to him, not wholeheartedly however.

“It could also be possible that you’re concocting wild theories to help deal with your sad feels- Ow!” Pope was interrupted when you kicked his knee, shooting him a glance that said ‘what the hell'.

“You know how I process my sad feels,” JJ started, your eyes drifting to him as your head craned slightly back from its place atop his thighs. “Dank nugs and the stickiest of ickies.”

“Preach.” You agreed, dapping up the blonde boy.

“Look, I’m not concocting, okay?” John B nearly shouted in frustration. “My dad’s trying to give me a message.”

“...If it helps you believe, John B.” Kiara tried softly.

“I don’t need a therapy session. I’m not trippin’ out.” He dismissed the four of you. “My dad is missing, okay? Missing. You guys don’t know what it’s like to have the person closest to you vanish and have no idea what happened.”

Suddenly, the two pairs of eyes in the back of the van turned to you. You couldn’t help but curl in on yourself slightly. “Stop it.” You demanded, averting your eyes to the window, watching the palm trees pass by. You hated when they acted like you had to be shielded from things because of what happened to your dad.

“It’s been almost a year.” Kiara nudged JB, letting it go. “But fine. What do you think the message is?”

“Redfield.” The brunette reiterated hopefully. “Redfield Lighthouse. My dad’s favorite place.”

THE LIGHTHOUSE LOOKED A BIT DIFFERENT THAN YOU REMEMBERED. It looked older, more rickety. You could swear it was leaning now. The five of you stood staring up at it before John B turned around to face JJ.

“You’re gonna post up out here and look for bogey’s. Alright?”

“Wait, why me?” JJ asked pitifully.

“...JJ, there are independent variables and dependent variables. You’re an independent variable-” Pope tried to reason.

“Shut up.” The blonde-haired boy dismissed with a snarl.

“We don’t know what you’re gonna do!”

“Just shut up!”

“Listen to me,” John B broke the boys up, pointing an assertive finger. “Pope, you stand lookout with JJ. Y/N, you make sure they don’t rip each other’s heads off. If we get split up, we meet back at JJ’s house.” You watched as Kiara and John B hopped over the fence and onto the lighthouse property. You slid your back against a nearby tree, one earbud placed in your ear as you drummed your fingers against your thigh, playing with blades of grass between your fingers.

“I’m gonna work on my merit scholarship essay. I’m trying to keep felonies to a minimum.”

“All right, would you just shut up already?” JJ sassed, you rolling your eyes and scoffing at them both. A few beats passed before JJ spoke again. “They’re probably boning in there right now.”

“Jesus, JJ…” You breathed out.

“What? You don’t honestly believe they don’t have a thing for each other, do you?” He defended.

“Maybe you’re just jealous.” Pope offered from his place in the grass.

“Jealous? Of what?”

“Because John B’s trying to move in on Kie and you have a thing for her.”

“Listen, dude,” JJ started with his hands out in front of him. “Kie’s hot and all but she’s a kook. I don’t see her like that.”

“That’s what they all say.” You sang playfully, causing JJ to whip around to face you.

“Oh, really? And what about little miss pretty & popular?”

You visibly cringed. “Ew, don’t ever refer to me like that again.”

“You’re telling me you aren’t crushin’ on someone? No rich, polo-wearing kid swept you off your feet during you and Kie’s kook year?” He egged on.

“Knock it off, JJ.” Pope defended when he saw how your face fell at the mention of it. You hated when they brought it up. Technically Kie’s kook year was longer than yours, considering you’d joined her kook friend group when you moved to Figure Eight. That was an era of your life you’d love nothing more than to forget.

“Fine, fine,” He backed off, his hands thrown up in mock surrender as he backed some steps away. Just then, the three of your heads whipped to the dirt road behind you at the sound of police sirens. You snatched the earbud out of your ear and pocketed it, standing up from your place against the tree. They were clearly headed for the lighthouse.

“What do we do? Do we wait?” Pope asked frantically.

“We can’t, man, c’mon.” JJ urged, sprinting towards the van with you and Pope following close behind. He jumped into the driver’s seat, pulling off before you and Pope had even closed the side door completely. You could only have faith that your other two friends made it out okay.

“NEXT TIME YOU END UP AT THE SHERIFF’S OFFICE, YOU CALL ME FIRST. DO YOU UNDERSTAND, JOHN BOOKER?” Your mother reprimanded the poor boy, her heels clacking against the pavement outside of the department. You didn’t expect a call from John B after you all had run from the lighthouse, coming from the Kildare County Sheriff’s Station from John B saying he and Kiara had been “arrested”.

“Yes, ma’am.” He affirmed. By the time you’d arrived at the station, Kiara had apparently already left with her dad who’d refused to bail John B out as well, leaving the boy with only one other option. The three of you stopped in front of your mother’s car as she now turned to face the two of you.

“Shoupe already has enough to deal with. The sheriff’s office doesn’t need a couple of rowdy teenagers on their radar. I don’t know what you kids were doing up at the lighthouse that led to this, but drop it. Do you understand?”

“Yes.” You both blurted out simultaneously, your mother having a newfound knack for intimidating people. She didn’t hesitate to jump in her car and start the engine, giving one last look as a goodbye.

YOU WERE AT THE DOCKS WAITING ON JOHN B, SITTING ON THE WOOD AND SWINGING YOUR FEET. You’d gone with him when he realized it was time for him to work, an employee saying Ward was looking for him as soon as the pair of you had arrived. He was up on The Druther’s, Ward’s boat, talking to the man himself. You couldn’t tell what the conversation was from your seat on the docks, so you waited. It was only minutes before the boy himself came stomping down the marina, prompting you to get up and dust yourself off.

“Is everything okay-”

“I just got fired.” He blurted, not even making eye contact with you and he brushed past you. You stuttered at his passive nature, scurrying to follow behind him.

“What do you mean you just got fired?”

“Ward found out about the gear.” He scoffed, and even with his back to you as he breezed through the working people to leave the dock, you could almost feel his frustration. “I can’t believe her.” He muttered.

“Who? Who are you talking about, John B?” You soon got your answer as Sarah Cameron walked by, you and the girl making brief eye contact with a mutual snarl on both of your lips before her attention turned to John B, who she somehow saw after you.

“Hey, John B.” She greeted, her hands full of paper bags that were filled to the brim with groceries, a large, brimmed hat on the top of her head. You weren’t surprised when he continued walking as you followed without a word to the girl, but she persisted. “That’s it?” Sarah scoffed. “Not a ‘hey, how you doin’’? Not a ‘kiss my ass’?”

You didn’t expect John B to turn around and swiftly walk over to the girl, getting all in her face. With the noise of the busy marina in the back, their close conversation became hushed but it was still audible enough.

“Your secret’s safe with me? Really?” Your friend pressed the girl. “I just got fired because of you. And I know you can’t imagine that but some people need jobs, so they can eat.” Nothing shocked you more than when he smacked the bag of goods from her arms, leaving Sarah stunned as fruits rolled in front of her sandals. Her jaw slack and eyes wide.

“What the fuck?” She hollered.

“You are exactly who I thought you were, Sarah Cameron.” He reprimanded, turning and leaving behind a stunned kook girl. Although, you would’ve paid money to see that again, it was such an odd interaction.

You knew he worked on Ward’s boat so he was bound to come across her but you weren’t aware they really talked. If you didn’t know either of them, you’d assume they were a high school couple arguing out in public.

The brunette brushed past you once again, taking his time and seemingly building up the courage to break into a run.

“Wh- John B!” You called from your place in the parking lot. “John B, where are you going?!” But it was no use as he simply left you behind and continued sprinting away. You figured you’d just give him some space to himself.

YOU’D RECONNECTED WITH POPE AND JJ SOON AFTER BEING LEFT IN THE DUST BY JOHN B, meeting them on the docks in The Cut. The three of you had been there for some hours, you helping Pope fix a generator while JJ smoked unhelpfully to the side when John B pulled up in The Twinkie.

He honked, beckoning the three of you into the van with a finger and none of you questioned what was happening or where you were going as you hopped into the rickety vehicle. You were mildly pissed about being left at The Marina but you got in nonetheless.

THE SUN HAD SET AND YOU ALL STILL HADN’T ARRIVED YET. John B briefly explained the destination and plan but you half-listened. You’d been driving for a long time, picking up Kiara along the way, with no clue as to where the five of you were going.

“Do you mind if I sit this one out?” JJ asked tiredly. “It’s been a long, weird day…”

“Look, I know I was wrong about the lighthouse.” John B acknowledged. “And wrong about everything else. But I was right about one thing — my dad is trying to tell me something.”

Just then you pulled up to a graveyard, the five of you piling out of the van with a flashlight each in your hand. “This place is scary.” Kie voiced. “John B, what are we doing?”

“You know how you’re trying to remember a song but you can’t remember who sings it?” He started. “Redfield. This whole time, I thought it was a place.” He explained as you all followed him further into the mess of graves and tombstones. “But it’s not.” He held the lantern in his hand up once you all stopped in front of a tomb, one of the tallest ones in the yard, revealing “REDFIELD” engraved in the stone. “It’s a person. My great-great-grandmother, Olivia Redfield. That was her maiden name.” He spoke longingly, looking up at the stone letters. “Help me with the door. C’mon.”

Pope stepped forward as the remaining three of you flashed your lights in the pair’s direction as they attempted and failed to push the tomb door open.

“Are you pushing?” Pope said to the brunette.

“Yes, I’m pushing.” John B strained out. Then JJ was jumping into help but even with his addition, the boys had no luck opening the door. They all jumped back when a snake hissed, peeking its head out from a crack in the stone structure.

“Woah! That’s a moccasin, alright” JJ started, jumping back almost cartoonistically. “Ye-old cottonmouth. Death in tall grass. Roof! Roof!” JJ started barking at the snake. Sometimes, you questioned his sanity.

“JJ! Shut up!” You warned the erratic blonde.

“You’re gonna wake the dead.” Pope slapped him on the shoulder, grimacing.

“Dude, they’re afraid of dogs. Everybody knows that.” He breathed out, straightening himself back out.

“Look, John,” Pope sighed, turning his attention back to John B. “We’re not gonna get in there, it’s not budging. We should probably just go.”

You were examining the tomb carefully, flashlight trailing the structure up and down before you noticed something. “I think I can get through.”

“...What?” John B spoke.

“You think you’re gonna fit through that hole?” Pope asked, worried.

“I’ll do it.” You reassured them, ignoring their concerns. “Just help me up.” They all shuffled to help you up — Kiara and John B holding the vines away and to the sides while JJ and Pope intertwined their hands for you to use as a human step-stool.

“What am I looking for?” You inquired, eyes fleeting to John B.

“You’ll know when you see it.” Your hands slapped your thighs. Helpful, you thought, but you didn’t ask anymore questions. You put your flashlight in between your teeth, like a dog carrying a bone before laying a hand on each of the boys shoulders, you put your foot over their connected hands and boosted yourself up.

It was a tight squeeze but you made your way through, landing on your feet and removing the flashlight from your teeth. It took your eyes a minute to adjust, staring at the walls of the spooky space.

“You alive in there?” JJ called.

“Alive and kickin’.” You called back, aiming the flashlight everywhere, scanning over everything. But the space was much bigger than you thought and your one flashlight didn’t seem to be enough. “I need more light, please.”

“Gotcha’.” John B said, pushing his arm holding the lantern through the crack of the wall, illuminating the space by tenfold. And that light was just what you needed.

“Oh my God…” You breathed out. John B may not have led you all on a goose-chase after all.

next chapter >

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tasteleeknow · 2 years ago

Text

good kitty

pairing: minho x fem!reader genre: smut, established relationship. content: 18+ minors dni. warnings below cut. word count: 2.5k

summary: you join minho for a session in your home gym.

afab!reader. pet names. frequent profanity. possessiveness. unprotected intercourse [grinding, spit kink, messy.]

“Keep your wrist straight,” he says again, demonstrating a firm punch into the boxing bag. “If it’s bent you could hurt yourself.”

“I know, I know. It’s hard,” you whine. He turns to you, holding his palms up in front of him.

“Go on,” he urges, encouraging you to try hitting him. You look down at your fist, checking if your thumb is positioned properly, then you hit him. He smiles. “Harder.” You hit him again. “Don’t hold back,” he says. You reposition your legs, preparing to put your weight into it this time. “Good,” he says. “Turn your body as you swing and don’t pull your arm back behind you.”

You swing, the sound of your skin contacting his palm much louder this time. He drops his hand, shaking it out a little—a big grin revealing his teeth. “That’s it,” he says, taking a quick step towards you and lifting you into his arms. You giggle as your feet lift off the ground, totally at his mercy as he carries you across the small makeshift gym he’d set up in the spare room. He presses your back against the floor length mirror, hands moving to hold you up by your thighs—his chest against yours.

“Is your hand okay?” you whisper, brushing a little of his hair behind his ear.

He smiles, nose scrunching a little. “I’ll live. Thank you for asking,” he says, squeezing your thigh a little. “Would you like to help me? Need to get in a few sit ups before we quit.”

You nod, unable to resist pecking the tip of his nose quickly as he lowers you to the ground. You follow him to the thick mat on the floor, pressing your hands to his slippers to ground him as he begins. He starts with a small smile on his face each time he sits up, every 5 or so he’d even press a kiss to your lips. When he stops smiling all together, brows furrowed in concentration, you know he’s wearing out. He’d always end his workout by doing something like sit ups to exhaustion. He liked feeling like he’d done his absolute best. Your eyes drop to his thighs as he grunts, starting to struggle. His bent knees cause his black shorts to fall closer to his crotch, more of his thick thighs exposed.

When he falls back against the mat, totally spent, you lift your hands from his slippers and lower your head between his legs—pressing a firm kiss to his inner thigh. His panting breaths are the only sounds in the room for the next few minutes as you continue your task, his skin a little salty from sweat.

His hand brushing against your hair finally pulls your attention to his face. “C’mere,” he mumbles, dropping his head back to the mat. You push his knees apart a little further so you can crawl up his body, laying yourself down against him.

He hums then pushes his thighs against your sides, holding you tightly. You know you’re trapped now, happily so. “What are you so sweet for? Hm?” he murmurs, lifting your head from his chest and pushing the hair from your face. “Makes me want to ruin you.”

You laugh, tracing your finger over his brow bone. “So tough… how are you going to ruin me after wearing yourself out, kitty cat?” you tease, the nickname always successfully stirring him up. He frowns, then lifts his legs off the mat completely, wrapping them around you.

“I could do a three hour workout and still throw you around,” he says, voice raised slightly. You grin, successful at drawing out a hint of his dramatics. You peck his lips, a slight twitch at the corner of his mouth hinting at a withheld smile.

“Really, kitty? I think you’re exhausted,” you tease. “It doesn’t matter though. I can still use you.”

You watch him struggle to keep his curiosity at bay, mouth opening and closing a few times as he resists asking the question he eventually can’t hold back. “Use me?”

“Mm… use your pretty body to make myself feel good. You could just lie there under me,” you say, running your fingers down his nose and over his plush lips. His adam's apple bobs in his throat as he swallows, thighs loosening their grip around you. You lower your lips to his, halting just before they touch—ghosting over his mouth as you drop your voice to a whisper. “Can I use you, kitty?”

He lifts his head off the mat, pressing his mouth firmly to yours before you can pull back. His thighs tighten around you when you attempt to pull away, arms joining them in trapping you against him. You indulge him for a moment, letting him take what he needs from you, pulling your bottom lip between his. When he attempts to roll you over, you stop him. “Answer me,” you say, reminding him of your request. His eyes are fixed on your lips as he nods. Satisfied, you attempt to sit up. He doesn’t loosen the grip his thighs have on you. “Min,” you sigh, “Let go.”

He pouts, legs dropping flat against the mat as he releases you. He props himself up on his elbows as you stand, watching you. “Do you know what I’m going to do first?” you ask, pulling your t-shirt up over your head. He doesn’t answer, eyes fixed on the mirror behind you as you bend to lower your shorts. You want to laugh, but his expression as he watches your ass in the mirror isn’t something you want to lose just yet. His lips are slightly parted, teeth peaking through as his hand absentmindedly moves to adjust himself in his shorts.

His eyes snap back to yours when you call his name. “Hm?” he asks, as if he’s just been asked a question in class and been caught completely zoned out. You smile, lowering yourself over one of his thighs—your underwear the only thing separating your skin. His eyes drop to your chest.

“Take it off,” he says.

“Why?” you ask, acting dumb. It was fun to make him work for it.

He attempts to sit up properly and you push him back down. A gentle press to his chest is all it takes. “So I can see your tits, obviously,” he mumbles. You cup your breasts in your palms, the thin lacy thing covering them something you’d had to settle for after failing to find your sports bra.

“Why do you want to see them?”

He rolls his eyes, dropping his head back to the mat—a low groan rumbling from his throat. “Tell me or you can’t see them,” you say, smiling to yourself while his eyes are closed.

He lifts himself back onto his elbows. “Because they’re fucking mine,” he grumbles.

“Oh, are they?”

“You know they are. Mine to fuck, mine to suck on whenever I fucking want.”

“You’re right, kitty, that was our deal.” You smile, taking one of his hands and pulling him up—placing his palm over one of your breasts. “These are yours,” you confirm. When he squeezes you in his palm, a satisfied expression on his face, you roll your hips—your clothed cunt sliding up his bare thigh. “and these thighs are mine,” you continue. You place your hand at the back of his neck, giving you the leverage you need to move your hips against him. “Mine to kiss…. Mine to fuck,” you finish before pulling his mouth to yours. One of his hands moves to your lower back, helping you rock against him as he kisses you.

He reaches behind you to unhook your bra, pulling it off you as you’re distracted by his lips. You don’t stop rolling your hips, the friction of the cotton adding to the stimulation—working you up embarrassingly fast. You have to drop your face to his shoulder as your high approaches and his hands move to your hips so he can grind you against his thigh himself.

“Come on, baby. Let go,” he encourages sweetly. “Get yourself all wet for me, hm? Cream on my fucking thigh.”

When you come you instinctively attempt to lift your sensitive cunt off him, your muscles seizing as you grab handfuls of his t-shirt. He doesn’t let you, holding you down against him firmly—drawing out your high until your limp against him, one final twitch signalling your end. He pulls your hair over your shoulder, pressing a kiss to your neck and then lowering you onto the mat. You’re completely limp as he pulls your underwear down your legs. His finger swiping through your sensitive folds draws a whine from your throat.

“You done already?” he taunts, playing with you. “You’re all slippery, baby.”

You suck in a deep breath, gathering your strength before pulling yourself up onto your elbows. He’s kneeling between your legs and you look up just in time to see him slip his index finger between his lips, cleaning you off him.

“Min?”

He looks down at you, then smiles—pushing himself up his feet. You watch as he undresses, your heart racing as he reveals a little more of himself. When the silver band on his ring finger is the only thing remaining on his body, he drops down onto the mat.

“There,” he says, “now you can use me properly.” He smiles, pulling you up towards him and turning you so he can take your place—lowering himself back onto the mat. You hover over him, one of your knees on either side of his thick thigh. You’re almost scared to lower yourself onto him again, a steady throbbing between your legs hinting at your sensitivity. He’s quiet as you gather yourself, one of his thumbs stroking slowly over your skin where he holds your hand.

You hold your breath as you lower yourself, closing your eyes tightly as your wet cunt presses to his thigh. “Fuck,” he mutters, hand tightening in yours. “Hot little cunt.”

You roll your hips tentatively, eyes dropping to where he strokes his cock slowly—thumb brushing over his tip occasionally to spread his precum down the head. It was your second favourite part of his body, if you had to pick. Thick and curved up just a little, the perfect tool to fuck you with—his thighs allowing him to drill it into you wherever you wanted him. This room was one of your favourites. He’d taken you up against the mirror the day before, thighs flexing as he fucked up into you.

You halt your movements against him, your thoughts pushing you dangerously close to the edge. Not yet, you tell yourself—sucking in a deep breath. He attempts to keep his thighs flexed as you use him, warm and firm for you to grind against. It’s not just the feeling of him under you that gets you so worked up, it’s the thoughts that flash through your mind. It’s the previous time’s he’s fucked you, but it’s also the time’s he’s sickly sweet. The contrast of him under you like this, grinding your dripping cunt against him, compared to the times where he’d sweetly whispered how much he loved you—ears tinged red. It’s the thought of him shy and sweet that makes you nearly lose control.

He looks up at you with hooded eyes, plush upper lip swollen from your kisses. “God, kitty…” you breathe out, hips rolling again. “You’re so pretty.” His brows pull together, hips rising off the mat a little as his hand pauses around his cock. You can’t help laughing at the pained expression on his face.

You lift off his thigh, take his hand from his cock and move it to your bare breast. His tongue comes out to trace over his lip as you adjust yourself over his torso, reaching down to press his cock against his stomach so you can give it the same treatment you gave his thighs. “Bab—” he starts, cutting himself off as your dripping cunt presses to his cock. His hand moves from your breast to tangle in his hair, fingers closing to grasp a handful. You watch him tug at his own scalp as you move slowly up to his tip, the length of him gliding easily through your slippery folds.

“You said I could use you, kitty,” you remind him, voice breathy. “Want to use your fat cock. Please?” you ask sweetly.

He pulls his hand from his hair, gripping your hips at either side. “Yeah, baby,” he breathes. “Use my cock. Grind your little pussy on it.”

You lift one of his hands to your lips, kissing his knuckles softly. “Good, kitty,” you whisper, dropping him again so you can plant your palms on his chest.

His eyes make a path between where your cunt rocks against him and your eyes, trailing up and down your body as he sucks in shallow breaths. You’re trying to decide whether you want to let go, cum against him once more, when he catches you off guard—sitting up and flipping you onto your back. You don’t fight him, letting him take his turn.

“Gotta have you,” he mutters, rubbing his tip through your folds.

When he lowers himself over you, thick cock stretching you open, you roll your head to the side—catching the way his thighs flex as he pushes into you. You whine, reaching up to take ahold of him—keeping him against you. That’s all the energy you expend, letting the rest of your body lie relaxed under him as he uses you.

“Filthy little thing,” he mutters, “rubbing your little pussy all over me, huh?�� He grunts with each thrust, turning your head so he can hover his mouth over yours. You know what’s coming. You knew every part of him, could read the signs. Sometimes he fucked you slowly, whispering declarations of love in your ear, and sometimes he fucked you like this: messy and filthy.

He doesn’t last as long as he normally did, his thighs slapping against you as he thrusts turn frantic. His lips press to yours, tongue slipping into your mouth. When he pulls back a little you’re prepared for what he says next. His fingers press across your lips, pulling them apart messily. “Open.”

You part them, letting your tongue slip out over your bottom lip—ready to receive him. He spits, thumb brushing over your lips when you close your mouth and swallow. “Fucking mine,” he groans, his hips stuttering into you as he floods your cunt. You keep your eyes fixed on his face as he draws it out, taking in the sight of him.

“Good kitty,” you purr, brushing a few sweaty strands of hair off his forehead.

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zepskies · 1 year ago

Text

Miss Professor

Pairing: Jason Teague x F. Reader

(Love triangle: Jason T. x Lana Lang)

Summary: Jason has to make a decision. You, or Lana Lang.

AN: Here’s the sequel to “Assistant Hottie.” Hope you enjoy!

Song Inspo: “Look at You” by Screaming Trees

Word Count: 5,200 Tags/Warnings: Angst, love triangle, hurt/comfort, fluff and a tinge of spice.~

Jason finds you in the bowels of the university library.

Out of four giant floors of books and computer labs at Central Kansas A&M (CKM), they just had to put the Writing Center in the non-proverbial basement. There you have to wear at least two layers at all times, despite the late-spring swelter outside.

Like now, when he enters the Writing Center lobby and finds you at your desk, tapping your red pen on your lip as you work on revising an essay. Jason smiles at the sight of your fuzzy red and green sweater over your jeans and ankle boots.

“You know, Christmas came and went, like, five months ago,” he teases.

You glance up at him as he steals a chair from your coworker’s desk. She’s conveniently been on break…for two hours now. Leaving you with a mildly enormous stack of essays to edit and leave feedback on.

“Yeah well, I’m running out of winterwear. It’s almost summer, for God’s sake,” you grouse. And yet, you shiver when another pass of the AC vent above your head hits your back.

Jason smiles, but he also shrugs off his jacket and drapes it around your frame. It’s lighter than what you’re wearing, but he hopes the added layer helps. You can’t help smiling up at him, though your brows end up furrowing.

“Oh, don’t do that, you’re gonna be freezing,” you protest. You try to take off the jacket, but Jason stops you by wrapping it snugly around your shoulders.

“It’s okay, I don’t plan on being here that long,” he replies.

You raise a brow. “Oh really?”

Jason grins. “You’ve got my British Lit. paper, right?”

You narrow your eyes at him, with a light grumble. “Some friendship this is. You only come to see me when you want something.”

Jason mock frowns at that accusation, but he plies you with raised brows and waggling “gimme” fingers until you relent. You reach back into your files with a sigh and hand him his ten-page essay, complete with your revisions and suggestions for the final draft.

“Here you go, freeloader,” you quip.

“Many thanks, Miss Professor,” Jason rejoins.

The nickname always manages to make your face warm a bit, no matter how you try to stamp down the butterflies in your stomach. It doesn’t help when he smiles at you like that.

His glinting green eyes soon dim, however, as he takes in the sheer amount of red marking up the pages of his essay. All 10 pages.

“Damn, woman. Was it that bad?” he asks.

“You’re actually getting better,” you say with a smile. “I’m seeing signs of improvement.”

Jason continues to flip through with a frown. “Right.”

Though when he actually starts reading your revisions, the familiar slopes of your handwriting, his disappointment begins to relent. You’ve made corrections here and there, but you’ve also written a lot of encouragements in the margins, like, “Good use of the word ‘solidarity.’”

And, “This whole paragraph perfectly explains your point. Just add a transition into the next section and you’re golden.”

Not to mention his personal favorite: correcting his typo on eggzagerate, and drawing a doodle of a fried egg above it. He doesn’t think you do that for all your customers.

It makes him smile.

Though he looks up when he hears you yawn. You try to stifle it, but he can see clearly now that you’re tired. It’s almost 9 p.m.

“How long have you been working?” he asks.

“Since I got out of my last class at 5,” you admit. Finally, you spot your coworker coming back from her break (and she’s still on the phone, chatting away to her boyfriend).

“Have you even eaten dinner?” Jason asks.

You shake your head, with a pointed glare at your coworker. “No time. I’ve been chained to this place all night.”

The girl gives you a fake smile when she returns to her desk and grabs one of the thinnest essays from the pile. After shooting her one last narrowed look, you give Jason your full attention. He’s trying to temper his smirk.

“Come on,” he says, nudging your arm. “Let me treat you to the Central Kansas delicacy of Chicken Finger Friday.”

You laugh at that; the university food court leaves much to be desired. You still have plenty of work to do, but you’re willing to push it off until tomorrow and take him up on his offer, if it means a hot meal and spending some time with your friend. It’s been a few weeks since it’s been just the two of you, hanging out.

After grabbing your backpack and clocking out for the night, you and Jason walk together across campus. The evening air is warm. It begins to defrost you as you two venture down the sidewalk. You smile to yourself and playfully bump into his side.

Jason shoots you a grin and bumps you back, though he grabs your arm when the heel of your boot catches on the edge of the sidewalk. You both fumble a bit and laugh.

You tuck a wily strand of hair behind your ear. Part of you wants to ask what he’s doing this weekend. Maybe he’d want to go to the lake with you, hang out on the dock, or go for a swim…

But of course, that’s when his phone buzzes. He fishes it out of his pocket and his brows raise. The text is from Lana, asking him if he can come to the Talon.

I really need your help with something.

Jason lets out a breath and looks up at you apologetically.

You know that look.

“Your girlfriend?” you ask, trying not to sound too disappointed.

Jason nods. “I hate to do this to you, but we’ve both been so busy, I haven’t seen her all week.”

And this is the first time this week that Lana has reached out to him first, wanting to see him… Well, she’s also asking for a favor, but she wants to see him.

“You know, one of these days I’d love to meet this mysterious girl,” you remark, lightly shoving his arm.

Jason smiles, but inside he’s clamming up. For obvious reasons, he hasn’t told you that he’s dating Lana Lang. Though it doesn’t make it easy to keep it from you, to lie to you. Over the course of the school year, you’ve become one of his closest friends here in Smallville.

You encourage him to explore his interests and keep focused in school, and you’ve often been a listening ear whenever juggling his classes and helping to coach the Smallville High football team stress him out.

And he’s done the same for you. With your time split between being a teacher's aid at Smallville High and working in the Writing Center to make ends meet between classes, you've done your share of venting, sometimes through frustrated tears. Jason's been more than willing to provide a strong shoulder to lean on.

Now, you don’t know that dating Lana is part of his stress, but he just…can’t afford to tell you.

It doesn’t matter that Lana’s 18, and he met her months before he took this coaching job. This is a small town, and he knows how people will talk if word gets out that he’s dating a high school senior. Not to mention, he’d get very fired.

“I’m sorry,” he says to you. “This seems important.”

Again, you have to hide your disappointment when you smile at him. “It’s okay. I should probably get back to work anyway—”

“Uh-uh. No,” Jason says, grabbing your arm when you start to turn in the direction of the Writing Center. "You’re done for the night. I wanna see you marching full-speed for those dry-ass chicken tenders.”

He nods toward the campus food court, making you expel a sigh.

“If I must,” you lament.

“And you’d better not keep working on your laptop,” he warns. “If you so much as crack open that Mac, I’ll know.”

He levels a finger at you as he walks away. You roll your eyes and head to the food court, with the promise of food just beyond the glass doors.

After a moment, you chance looking back at Jason. He catches your gaze, and he points two fingers from his eyes to your face in stern warning.

You giggle and shake your head at him, but you keep walking toward the food court.

Jason smirks in satisfaction. He continues on to the parking lot, and to his car.

When Jason gets to the Talon, he crosses paths with Clark, who’s just walking out.

“Hey, man,” Jason greets, with a jovial pat on the younger man’s shoulder. Though he can’t help but wonder why the guy is here at this time of night. “Little late for a coffee fix, huh?”

“Hey, Coach T,” Clark smiles. “Could say the same about you.”

Jason blinks at that. He cards a hand through his short hair and laughs it off. “Yeah, I was in the mood for a slice of your mom’s coffee cake. Any left?”

Martha Kent supplied the Talon with its baked goods, and they were most certainly worth driving across town for. It’s a pretty good excuse, if he says so himself.

Clark nods. “Yeah, should be.”

“All right. G'night,” Jason says. Clark nods and waves goodbye before he heads to his red truck in the parking lot.

Jason shakes his head and steps into the coffee shop, where he finds Lana alone. She’s cleaning up a large takeout bag from Gino’s, the Italian restaurant across the street. He silently takes note of it, but doesn’t yet comment when he kisses his girlfriend in greeting.

“Why’d you send up the Bat Signal on this fine Friday night?” he asks, wrapping her in his arms.

Lana smiles up at him. “Well, I’m probably going to be slammed all weekend with the shop, but I’ve got this huge speech for class on Monday and was hoping you’d help me practice.”

She pulls those doe-like hazel eyes on him, and Jason’s almost captured by them. This time, he lets out a small sigh.

“You know I’m always down to help you out. Always. But you know, we haven’t just hung out in a while now,” he points out.

Lana concedes to that with an incline of her head, but she still eases out of his arms to finish cleaning up.

“Yeah, I’ve just been really busy,” she says.

“I have too,” Jason replies. “But even with my crazy schedule, going back and forth from campus, don't I still make time for you?”

Case in point, he was willing to come out to her on the drop of a hat, late at night, and on the crunch week before his final exams. But he would be hard-pressed to remember a time when Lana went out of her way to see him.

Lana pauses, casting him a frown. "I'm trying my best, Jason. You know I'm graduating in a few weeks. Everything's ramped up to 11 this year."

Yeah, I know the feeling, Jason thinks, but after a moment, he caves with a nod, even though his gaze lingers on the Gino's bag.

“Have you eaten?” he tests. “Let me get us some takeout.”

He almost said, Let me take you out, somewhere nice. But he hadn’t been able to do that since before he got to Smallville. He’s beginning to wonder if he ever will again.

“Oh,” Lana says. Her eyes avert from his as she wipes down a table. “I already ate.”

Jason draws closer to her and dips his chin in order to catch her gaze. Eventually, she pauses and glances up at him.

“With Clark?” he asks.

Lana tightens up, just as he predicted. “Why would you say that?”

“I saw him when I came in,” Jason replies. He tilts his head at Lana, who never used to be a good liar. But ever since they had to start hiding their relationship, he’s noticed how good she also hides her thoughts and feelings around other people…maybe even to herself.

“Yeah,” she breathes. “He was here. But we were studying for finals, and we got hungry. That’s it.”

Jason shakes his head, but she grabs his hand with both of hers. He looks down at her tan, slender hands, and can’t help but be drawn back to her beautiful face.

“It’s not a big deal,” she says, as if that can dismiss the churning in his gut.

“Listen,” he says, rubbing at his face. “I know I’ve asked you this before, and I’m sorry but…do you still have feelings for him?”

“No,�� she refutes, “I’m with you, Jason. How many times do I have to prove that this is what I want?”

She seems so annoyed and vehement that Jason has to believe her. He wants to, so badly.

Maybe too much.

The last straw comes just two weeks before the end of spring semester—with the coming of senior prom. Jason knows he can’t ask Lana, but she assured him that she wasn’t going.

He has a late class that night, but afterwards, he promised to pick her up and get dinner together in Metropolis. A nice date, a long-ass way out of town, so they’re unlikely to be recognized.

On the Friday evening, just hours before a high school dance, you and Jason sit together in the one class you have together: Introduction to Mass Media.

It only meets once a week, for three hours. Technically it’s an elective for both of you, but you’d told Jason to pick any class outside of his major that he was interested in. Anything to broaden his horizons, and you promised to join him. For some reason, he chose this one.

He thought it would be easy. Just a study of pop. culture stuff, with a mix of social media, maybe a dash of sports, if he was lucky. He’d actually been surprised with how much he was enjoying the segments on videography and broadcast journalism.

Right now, however, he's distracted. You can certainly tell, the way he keeps checking his phone.

“What’s wrong?” you lean over and ask in a whisper. He knows how anal Professor Jones is about cell phones in class. The man had a “contraband bucket” to collect them in, if he caught a student using one.

“Just letting my girlfriend know I’m gonna be a bit late,” Jason grumbles, though he’s looking at the screen. “Jones is droning on past the eternity mark, as usual.”

A man clears his throat above you and Jason. You both look up and meet the flat gaze of Professor Jones. He shakes the bucket in his hand with an arched brow. Already there's about three contraband phones inside.

Jason gives a wan smile. “Come on, Professor. We were supposed to be outta here 20 minutes ago anyway.”

The lines in Professor Jones’s face betrays one simple truth: he doesn’t give a shit.

“Bucket, Mr. Teague,” he says.

Jason’s lips press in irritation, but he’s forced to drop his phone into the waiting bucket. He doesn’t see two mixed text messages from his girlfriend.

You lay a comforting hand on Jason’s arm. “I’m sure she’ll understand.”

By the time Jason gets to the Talon, the lights are dark and Lana’s not home. Suspicion creeps in, making him feel a little crazy.

He decides to get back into his car and drive down to Smallville High. There the gym is decked out to the nines in some kind of underwater theme. It reminds him of his own senior prom a couple of years ago, complete with the punch bowl and cheesy snacks.

But soon enough, the nostalgia comes to a screeching halt.

A familiar ballad croons from the band on the stage.

"And how can I stand here with you, and not be moved by you? ...Would you tell me how could it be any better than this?"

He sees Lana on the dance floor, wearing one of the most beautiful dresses he’s ever seen. And she’s in the arms of one Clark Kent.

Jason's never hated Lifehouse so much.

On Saturday morning, before the Talon even opens, Lana opens the door to Jason while still wearing her robe.

“Hey!” she says, with wide eyes, though she lets him in.

“You seem real surprised,” Jason notes.

“Yeah, I mean, it’s early for you on a Saturday,” Lana remarks with a short laugh. But she still leans up to kiss him. She only manages to get his cheek, since he doesn’t bend down to meet her like he usually would.

She frowns. “Is something wrong?”

Jason doesn’t answer at first. The words are stuck in his throat. He gestures for them to move away from the glass doors, where anyone can peek in. So they travel up to her bedroom and close the door.

It’s not the first time he’s been in her room, though not much has ever happened on her bed. He’s waited completely on her signals for that one. Though now, he’s actually kind of grateful that their relationship has never progressed that far. It makes what he’s about to do easier.

“Where were you last night?” he asks. He figures they’d better start there.

“I tried calling you,” he adds, when Lana doesn’t immediately offer a reply.

“Well, I didn’t hear from you. I figured you were busy with your classes, so…I went to prom by myself,” she says.

Jason sighs. “You didn’t seem all that lonely.”

Her eyes widen. “What?”

Her confusion looks so real. A perfect face, and a damn near perfect lie.

“Look, I saw you and Clark on that dance floor,” Jason finally says. “Wasn't that just the perfect Hallmark moment?”

“Jason…” Lana finally starts to break. She doesn’t want to admit what’s broken, her gaze falling to the floor.

“No, let me say this,” he says. “Lana, I really put my all into this. I did whatever I could to be with you. To love you, to protect you. But in your heart, I think somewhere down the line you decided you don’t want that to be me.”

Lana’s eyes flood with tears, but she doesn’t deny it.

“I think it’s time to really call it quits this time,” Jason says, “for both our sakes.”

He can’t help but reach out to her. His thumb brushes her cheek. Lana’s watery gaze meets his as her lower lip wobbles. She grabs his hand.

“I’m so sorry, Jason,” she confesses.

He won’t say it’s okay, but he accepts that with a nod, and he kisses her cheek.

It’s a goodbye that’s meant to last.

Once he’s back in the relative safety of his car, Jason lets out a deep breath. He grabs his phone from his pocket on some unspoken urge; in that moment, he needs something. Someone.

He needs you.

You answer on the third ring, sounding sleepy on your day off.

“You’d better be on fire,” you say. Jason smiles at the sound of your grumpy voice.

“Hey,” he laughs a little, though he's surprised that it comes so easily. “You doing anything right now?”

“Besides sleeping?” you toss back. “…No. Not really. My life is boring.”

“Boring sounds nice right about now,” Jason says, more seriously than he meant to. “Wanna take a drive or something?”

You hesitate, just for a moment. Then your voice greets him again.

“Let’s go.”

When Jason arrives at your house, you come out to meet him. He gets out of his car, and already he looks wrong. He looks drained of all energy.

“What’s wrong?” you ask in concern, grabbing his arm when you’re close enough. His eyes find yours.

“We broke up,” he says.

It takes your brain a second or two to compute. (You’ve just finished your first cup of coffee, after all.) But then, you’re moving to wrap your arms around his neck in the tightest, warmest hug you can give.

He holds you back for a while, and you relish in the feeling of his hands smoothing around your back and pulling you in close. His chin tucks on your shoulder, and you rub his back.

“I’m sorry,” you say quietly.

He hums in response. Sometimes, what is just is.

He lets you drive him out to the lake near your house, in your beat up Volvo. This lake is your favorite place in the world, you tell him, as you two sit side-by-side on the dock. Your sneaker-clad feet dangle over the edge, next to his longer legs.

“So far,” he corrects. “There’s a whole lot of world out there.”

You smile. “Yeah, you gonna show me? Got a magic carpet tucked in your dorm somewhere?”

Jason laughs, and you’re grateful to see his smile so soon.

“Yeah, along with a dusty-ass lamp,” he says.

You smile, but you tilt your head at him. “Are you okay?”

Jason’s grin slips a little. “Yeah, I think so…is that bad?”

You bite your lip. “Depends. What was her name? I don’t think you even told me.”

Jason turns to you, and he sighs deeply. It takes him a moment, but he eventually answers while looking you in the eyes.

“Lana Lang,” he says.

The name rings a bell…and as it comes to you, it blares like a foghorn. Your eyes widen and your mouth falls open in shock.

“J-Jason…she’s a student,” you stammer. “Not like, us students. Like—”

“I know. We met before I got the coaching job,” Jason explains quickly, before you can blow up at him.

He can see you’re freaking out, trying to contain your reaction with a hand over your mouth. But the more he explains, the more you withdraw into a simmering silence. He can tell, however, that you don’t know how to feel about it.

“Do you regret it?” you ask.

It’s not the first thing he thought you would say, but it’s very you all the same.

“Well, being outmaneuvered by my own quarterback stings like a bitch, but I still think I’m better looking,” Jason jokes. Because that’s what he does when he’s uncomfortable.

Too bad that was the wrong answer.

You roll your eyes with a disgusted huff, and you pull yourself up onto your feet. You start to leave him there at the dock, but Jason hops up as well and grabs your hand.

“Hey, wait,” he implores. “Look, I’m sorry. And I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. It was just…easier.”

“Why, because you didn’t trust me?” you challenge. “Or because you felt guilty about what you were doing?”

The truth is, Jason doesn’t feel guilty. Not for his relationship.

“I was trying to protect her reputation,” he says. “I know how smalltown people think. She’d be the talk of the damn town. And for what? Because we’re two years apart?”

“And I’m smalltown, is that it? I’m sorry I’m not as evolved as you, Mr. Metropolis,” you snark. “Forgive me for being a lowly country bumpkin with some morals.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Jason says with an angry frown, throwing up his hands in frustration.

You shake your head at him and start booking it towards your car.

Jason follows. “You know you can’t leave me out here, right?”

“Just get in the car, before I change my mind!”

He obliges you, and it’s a painful ride back to your house. He really can’t believe you’re being like this. It’s the first real argument he’s ever had with you. He knew you might get upset, but he did think you’d be a little more understanding…

“Look, we met in Paris last summer,” he admits. And a hint more vulnerable, “I just…couldn’t help but fall for her.”

“I get it, Jason,” you reply. Your voice is flat.

“Just please don’t tell anyone,” he asks. “We’re done. She’s about to graduate.”

As mad as you are at him for lying to you, you begrudgingly see his point. You can also start to understand why he didn’t tell you.

But, regardless of how you feel, you don’t want him to lose his job. You know it’s the only way he can afford college.

“I wouldn’t do that to you,” you say, before you can reign yourself in.

Jason turns to you with a hint of a smile. “Thank you.”

It’s still awkward when you two get to your house. He turns to you, like he wants to say something that’ll most likely soften you.

You’re not ready for that.

So you kill the engine and get out of the car without looking at him. Jason takes the hint; he doesn’t say another word to you when he gets into his car and peels away.

The next weeks that follow are hard for Jason. As a member of the staff, he’s forced to go to Smallville High’s graduating ceremony.

He watches Clark and Lana graduate together with the rest of their friends. The two of them hug after she gets off stage, looking at one another with a moment of blushing smiles. It’s an inevitable look.

It makes Jason feel sick. He leaves as soon as he can, going back to languish in his dorm room. He lays on his bed over the covers with his hands folded over his stomach and his eyes closed.

He thinks about you.

He can see you in his mind’s eye, with a pen balanced between your teeth and your hair falling over to brush the pages you pour over.

He sees your fuzzy green sweater. Your smile. The shade of your hair, your eyes, your laugh, your furrowed look when you’re concentrating hard on revising a sentence.

The more he sees, the more he wants to call you. To hear your voice, even if you're just going to yell at him.

Jason sighs. He sits up in bed and has a thought that soon takes hold of his body, and has him swinging his legs over the edge of his bed and pulling his backpack closer.

He pulls out a folder for one of his classes and finds an essay you revised. His eyes scan over the encouragements you’ve left in the margins, along with the stray doodles. They still make him smile.

And it reminds him of the first note you ever gave him, which he keeps tucked in a small drawer in his desk. He tosses the folder onto his bed and goes to that drawer, where he finds your hastily written haiku.

Assistant Hottie

You flatter me, see through me

Smarter than he thinks.

You don’t know that those words have kept his head above water in times where he’s wanted to quit school.

Or even worse, in those times when he’s wanted to go to his father, tail between his legs, to ask for money and a job doing anything easy.

So now, Jason realizes that he needs to make another decision.

He gets out of bed, and he goes to see you.

Jason travels down to the basement of the CKM library, to the Writing Center, where you’re sitting at your desk as always on a Thursday night. You have a pile of essays stacked high next to you, and your forehead is wrinkled while you read a problematic passage.

The smell of coffee makes you look up first, before you realize who brought it. Your eyes widen at seeing Jason, along with his small smile and peace offering.

“Hey,” he says.

His voice washes over you, his eyes that always manage to disarm you, even now.

Despite your better judgment, you take the coffee from him and revel at its warmth. It has to be 60 degrees in this damn room (you’re one step shy of bringing your winter gloves next time).

You sip at the coffee and hum in delight at the taste of caramel and cinnamon—a combination that only your family, and Jason, would know you loved.

Your gaze flits up to his, more begrudging as you sigh.

“What can I do for you, Mr. Teague?” you ask.

Jason grins and takes your coworker’s empty chair to sit across from you.

“I’ve got a little haiku for you,” he says, handing you a folded piece of paper. You eye him in confusion, but you set down the coffee on your desk and take his second offering. You unfold it and read something that genuinely takes you by surprise.

Hey, Miss Professor

I’ve got a question for you…

Want to get dinner?

You can’t help but laugh. It’s most definitely not a haiku, but you also know that it’s his best shot. His smile is sheepish, making yours deepen.

“So, what’s your answer?” he asks.

You glance down at the page, then back at him. You bite your lip, and your heart clenches. Is this it? you wonder. Is he asking you out, for real? You can’t quite tell what he’s thinking.

“What kind of dinner?” you ask.

Jason’s grin fades. “What do you mean?”

“Is this our normal kind, where we roll out like we’re Thelma and Louise?” you ask, making him snort. “Or is this the kind where I need to change out of my dirty sneakers and brush my hair?”

He shrugs; his amused grin is back. “I mean, however I get you is all right by me.”

You nearly utter another sigh, but Jason surprises you yet again—by grabbing your hand.

“But, uh…I’d like this to be the kind of dinner where we try something new,” he says, licking his dry lips. He looks a bit uncertain, you think, hiding the fear of rejection. “Maybe you’ll let me do my Cary Grant impression and get you some flowers. Box of chocolates.”

The corner of your mouth twitches. “Chocolates?”

“Whatever it takes,” he says. His tone is joking, but he seems serious. You know him well enough by now to spot the difference.

“Whatever it takes, huh?” you ask.

Jason’s hand tightens on yours, but his eyes never leave you. He really is serious, and it makes your heart stutter and trill with warmth. It feels a lot like hope.

He leans in, his head bowing towards yours…but you lay a hand against his chest.

It stops him, until your fingers curl into his shirt.

Your gaze slowly meets his.

When he reaches for your cheek, this time you let him pull you in.

His kiss is sudden, but it’s still a gentle test. You take in a deep breath through your nose as your eyes fall closed. You press your lips against his, answering him. His fingers slide into your hair and drag down the back of your neck. It makes you shudder and tug him even closer by his shirt.

Jason’s solution is gathering you into his lap, where you take his face with both hands and kiss him with unfettered passion. The locked doors of your heart are swinging open, and it’s a sweet relief to be honest with each swipe of your tongue against his.

He’s gripping your hip, his fingers pressing into your thigh, while the other hand supports your lower back and presses you flush against him. As the kiss slows, so does your hand in his hair, more soothing now than gripping.

When your lips eventually draw apart from his, it’s with panting breaths. You stare into his eyes, as yours brim with relieved tears. You touch his cheek.

“I better not be a rebound,” you warn him. “I can’t take that, Jase.”

Jason shakes his head, holding you a fraction tighter. “No, believe me. That's the last thing you are."

You bite your lip, and he encourages you to release it with his thumb brushing across your lower lip. You've been on his mind longer than he can readily admit. Since the first day he met you.

"I know I haven't made it easy, but will you trust me on this?” he asks. "I really wanna do this right with you."

It takes you a moment to decide, but you do. You trust him.

So you nod and brush your fingers along the apple of his cheek.

“Okay,” you concede. "Let's do this."

Jason grins. “Oh, thank God.”

You giggle softly and hide your face in his neck. His chest shakes with a chuckle as he holds you back. It feels very right to hold you, he thinks.

Just as it's a relief for you to finally be in his arms.

“Where d’you wanna go for dinner?” he asks.

You laugh, a bit giddy as you cling to him and thread your fingers in his golden hair.

“I don’t give a damn.”

AN: Haha, I hope you liked this! ❤️ These one-shots are kind of AU, in that I don't get into the Stones of Power arc of S4 just for simplicity's sake.

I do have one more one-shot idea rolling around in my head for these two...the reader meeting Jason's infamous mother lol (Genevieve Teague, played by the fabulous Jane Seymour)!

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pianocat939 · 1 year ago

Text

…

(I ended up studying for like 5 hours today on foreign language idk why, but yeah- I’ll try to get a request done. And start on Ch. 1 of monster series)

I make way too many alternates but…

Just listen.

Mean girl Donnie.

Tw: implied/explicit threatening, implied bribery maybe?, very disorganized thoughts, blackmailing, controlling behaviour, degradation, please read with caution just cuz’ the relationship is pretty toxic…in a controlling way

Like not the popularized, blonde and have a group kind of mean girl-

I mean like…

Super smart and super rich Mean girl Donnie.

He’s on the way to valedictorian, (and will be). He has a lot of power within the school, whether it’s being leader of multiple clubs or a student president.

He’s super fucking rich. (Somehow…) He’s wearing Dior, Prada, Saint Laurent, Swarovski, Burberry- Anything you can imagine of luxury.

He never looks bad. Ever. He’s always looking perfect. He could be wearing a really dashing purple suit and loafers one day. And another day be wearing hot pink and white sweater and skirt- like he wears all kinds of clothes. But he never looks bad.

He doesn’t have a minion group. He solely believes in his independence. [His brothers…he doesn’t put much notice on them, he’s a more notable being]

Let’s say MC is like. Just there. Not unpopular or popular…just there.

Their life is pretty mundane until they accidentally bump into Donnie while he was fixing his- idk lipstick or eyebrows- causing it to go wild on his face.

He’s immediately offended, confronting them why they have the audacity to ruin his perfect makeup/brows.

[his appearance (feminine or masculine) changes every day so either situation works]

MC ends up getting a life of hell from then on.

Wether they’re accused by teachers for no reason, or wondering why their friends or more on edge when talking to them. Their school life isn’t exactly hell…but isn’t great either.

At some point, they can’t tolerate it and ask Donnie what he did. Only to end up unraveling a horror story of a dictator.

He’s blackmailing them, threatening that he’ll expose it to everyone, and anything. (MC didn’t even do such a thing, he just managed to fake it).

Poor MC can’t help but accept his deal by being his “minion” for the next month.

In the morning, MC has to basically chauffeur Donnie to school, in a flashy ass Bugatti.

They have to carry all his stuff, and follow him around. They can’t go through their normal schedule, they have to follow his.

They have to participate at all his extracurricular events, meetings, whatever.

Until a few weeks later, the things they have to do change.

They have to wear the clothes he’s picked out for them on whatever day. [it’s always matching in colour or style with his]

They have to call him any form of endearments he wants. And gets pissed if they don’t.

[Now I know he isn’t for physical touch, but for the sake of the alternate bear with me]

On days he wears lipstick, he covers them in kisses on their face, staining their cheeks all over. And they can’t take it off, because of his annoyance. So the entire school knows.

They have to follow EXACTLY the same schedule as him, even outside of school. Like…maybe not doing the exact same thing, but waking up, sleeping, and all like the daily things have to be aligned with his.

They have to call him every night and talk with him…keep him company. (Which MC soon realizes Donnie actually thinks of MC as a significant other, just in a controlling way.) He gets quite lovey-dovey during the midnight calls.

“MC…you’re the only person I like touching at all~ I mean…you look so stupid walking around covered in my lipstick stains hihi~…”

They sleep over at his house every weekend- they’re just basically incorporated into his life.

…

By the end of the month, the entire school just considers MC as Donnie’s lover…and MC can’t deny the title no matter what. The school believes Donnie more than MC.

——————————————————

(This brain rot turned out a lot longer than I thought oops-)

You know, we got rich mean girl Donnie,

How about Dumb Pink Squad Leo? Like, the actual stereotypical mean girls.

- Celina

(I need help from my thoughts lmao)

#rottmnt #tmnt #yandere #yandere rottmnt #yandere x reader #rottmnt x reader #yandere tmnt #tmnt x reader #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #donnie x reader #yandere donnie

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runningfrom2am · 1 year ago

Text

getaway car (r.c)

summary: You and Rafe, who are alike in more ways than you think, get kicked out of class together.

pairing: rafe x reader

wc: 1.8k

tags/warnings: mean!kook!reader, bullying i guess?, highschool!au, swearing

requests

nav/masterlists

This particular morning, something in the cool morning breeze woke you up at four am. Wide awake. By the time you paced into your English classroom at 8:01, your uniform perfectly fit (besides the rolled-up waistband on your skirt that had previously landed at a horribly unflattering place above your knees) and an iced coffee in hand, you’d already had enough of the day.

You’d spent the first hour of your day in an everything shower and doing your makeup just the way you liked, all for one boy in hopes you could pass him in the hall and grab his attention. Who was absolutely not Rafe Cameron.

“Oh wow, Y/N- are those fake eyelashes?” The always annoying, better-than-thou attitude having girl who sits in front of you, Ally, asks as you approach your desk.

“Obviously. Same ones I wear everyday.” You reply sarcastically, slamming your stuff down on your desk so it yanks on her hair that she has placed on it. “Dumb bitch.” You mutter under your breath, earning a chuckle from the boys sitting next to you and the seat behind that one- Kelce and Rafe.

“Y/N, let me see!” Your friend who sits behind you says, tapping on your shoulder. You smile as you turn around, avoiding eye contact with either of the boys who were laughing at your comment a moment earlier.

“Oh they’re lovely! They look so soft too! What brand are they?” Bella asks, smiling genuinely and ignoring the scoff the girl in front of you lets out. Bella is the friends with everyone, sickeningly sweet girl, who’s been your best friend since you met at soccer tryouts in freshman year. She had stepped on your toe in her cleats, and stopped the drill to insist you step on her foot back so you were even because she felt so guilty. Obviously, you refused and laughed it off. Everyone loves her- and she’s kind to everyone, no matter what. You don’t know why she’s friends with you, but you balance each other out beautifully.

“Juvias Place.” You reply, fluttering your lashes at her and resting your hand under your chin. “They’re my fave- I’m probably on my eighth pair. And! And they’re like fifteen bucks! Isn’t that crazy?” You grin, letting go of the clearly negative comment the girl in front of you was making.

“Oh wow- yeah that’s crazy.” Rafe cuts in sarcastically and you shoot him a glare.

“Right?” Bella giggles, clearly not getting that he was making fun of you guys. “That’s a really good deal!” She smiles at him, which he returns with a nod, flipping his expression once her eyes land on him. Rafe had always liked Bella as well. He was making fun of her, yes, but he didn’t have the heart to let her know that if she didn’t pick up on the social cues. She just sees the best in everyone all the time, in the way that he doesn’t, and you also don’t.

Sometimes it frustrates you, the way he waves at her in the halls or shouts her name across the field when either of our teams are practicing, (not because you like him or anything, gross) because you know he either A. is making fun of her or B. has bad intentions, which you doubt because he’s never laid a hand on her- as much of an asshole as he is.

You just hate the idea of anyone taking advantage of her kindness. And it’s not like you’re a particularly mean person, but with Bella around, you try and fill that role to protect her. You’re scared that one day she’ll need it, and you’re not afraid to throw hands with anyone who does her wrong.

Class starts and it’s clear that the teacher doesn’t feel like talking this morning, because she just says to discuss the readings in partners that you got to pick yourselves. You instantly turn in your seat to face Bella’s desk, crossing your legs on the chair. “Yay! Okay, we were meant to read chapters 5-10 for today…” Bella starts, pulling the novel from her bag and opening it up.

“Mind giving me the run down? After practice last night I was swamped.” You say, smiling at her hopefully.

“Oh, yeah! For sure.” Bella nods. “First though- down to business, I saw you talking to Quinton this morning.” She whispers, leaning closer.

“Oh, yeah, I brought him coffee.” You shrug and she rolls her eyes at you.

“Okay, duh! Tell me why, tell me everything, did he text you and ask? Or did you text him and offer? Because those are very different. And was it snap? Or did he use your number?” Bella bombs you with questions.

You roll your eyes and shake your head, smiling at her fondly. “Okay, he texted me, number, not snap, and then I offered because I was driving Vanessa and we were stopping for coffee anyways.”

“Number! This is big.” She smiles excitedly, nudging your shoulder. “Next thing you know, he’ll be down on one knee and we’ll be planning your wedding!”

Rafe is glaring over at the two of you, eyes locked onto those fake lashes that he must admit, do look very soft. He rolls his eyes in an effort to get himself to focus on the task at hand, discussing readings he also didn’t do. He couldn’t focus very long considering his partner was fully ignoring him, on his phone still facing the front of the room.

Why do you even like Quinton anyways? That guy’s an idiot- Rafe knows him well, and he knows that besides being a half decent defenseman, Quin is nothing special and is actually known to cheat on his past girlfriends. Why would you waste your time around a douchebag like that?

“Dude- would you stop?” Kelce groans, turning to look at Rafe who is repeatedly punching his back, which started with one hit to get his attention, but continued as his mind wandered and he needed to vent his frustrations.

“No, fuck off. You’re so annoying.” Rafe mumbles, continuing to hit his friend in the back.

“Rafe- for fucks sake, leave him alone.” Your voice distracts him and he stops, shocked that you got involved.

“Why’s it matter to you? Kelce was pissing me off.” Rafe defends, looking at you as you raise your eyebrow at him.

“I literally did not do anything!”

“Exactly- we’re doing group work.”

“Well neither of us read it so what will we talk about?” Kelce says, turning in his seat and trying to rub the aching out of his back.

“Believe it or not, you punching the crap out of your friend because you need endless amounts of attention can be distracting to others.” You say, impulsively reaching back and pulling Rafe’s binder from his desk. It’s always bothered you that he left the sheet that it came with in the front, a flimsy piece of plastic sheet with large graphic letters saying the binders brand and how many sheets of paper it can hold.

“Hey!” Rafe spits, reaching out for it as you pull the plastic sheet out, crumpling it up and throwing it back at him before putting handing his binder back.

“That was bothering me.” You say, and he snatches the binder out of your hands.

“I liked it there.” He mumbles, fully pouting now.

“It did look stupid.” Kelce agrees with you, making Rafe smack the back of his head.

“Rafe, c’mon.” Bella shakes her head at him, hardly looking up from the book.

“Maybe you drooling over Quinton is distracting, have you ever considered that?” Rafe says to you, ignoring her at this point.

“That’s your business how?”

“Oh my god, Y/N, would you shut up for like four seconds? Jesus Christ, you are a walking nightmare!” Ally hisses, turning and smacking her hands on your desk, making you jump.

“That’s actually truly funny coming from you, Ally. Your hair looks like a crows nest and you fucking smell like you haven’t washed your uniform in months. Personally, I’d watch my mouth if I was you.” You spit back, crossing your arms and sitting back in your seat.

Kelce and Bella simultaneously smack a hand over their mouths, trying to stifle their laughter. Rafe makes no such attempts, laughing and nodding, reaching out and gently shoving your shoulder.

“Shut up, Rafe. You’re just mad because I don’t kiss the ground you walk on.” Ally snaps, turning around again to face the front.

“True.” He says, coming down from his laughing fit. “I just kind of think it’s weird, though, that you make fun of Y/N’s makeup when you’re not even pretty to begin with. At least she doesn’t need it.” Rafe says, throwing the balled-up paper you just tossed at him at the back of her head.

You avoid eye contact with him as your cheeks burn from the implications of his comment.

You watch as Ally sniffles, her hand shooting up into the air. “Miss! Y/N and Rafe are calling me ugly!” She shouts out, grabbing the teachers attention when she doesn’t immediately see her hand.

You both simultaneously groan as everyone turns to look at you, the teacher standing up from her desk and pointing towards the door. “You two! Office. Go!”

“I’ll get some notes for you.” Bella whispers as you stand, shoving your books into your bag.

“Thanks, Bells.” You smile sadly at her. Rafe brushes past you as he moves to the door, past Ally’s desk as she looks at him smugly. You follow a few moments behind, stopping at the door as she watches you, pretending to look down and spit into your hand before flipping her off.

“Miss Y/L/N, out. Now!” The teacher urges you out, and you roll your eyes as you step out, adjusting the weight of your backpack on your shoulder with your coffee in your other hand.

You didn’t expect to see Rafe waiting for you, but it makes you smile anyways. Despite your bickering, you are decently good friends. You run in some of the same circles, and honestly you think you have a lot in common. Not that you hangout very much.

“So.” Rafe says, draping an arm over your shoulders. “Are we actually going to the office?”

“Fuck no.” You giggle, shaking your head. “Well, I’m not.”

“Thank god. Me neither.” Rafe laughs as you make your way down the hallway in the direction of the exit to the parking lot. “Are you hungry? We could go get something to eat.”

“Sure. Why not.” You agree, smiling up at him as he pushes the door open for you. “I’ll drive. I’m not getting on that rolling death trap you call a bike.”

“Whatever you say, Sweetheart.” He chuckles, following you toward your car.

part two

A/N: i hammered this out this morning and i think it's just so cute

taglist: @slut4drudy , @madelynie , @mutual-mendes , @sadfury (i just tagged some mutuals who like my other stuff so if you want to be added or removed lmk!!)

reblogs and feedback are very appreciated as always :)

#rafe cameron #obx fanfic #obx #outer banks #rafe obx #rafe cameron x oc #rafe fanfiction #rafe fic #rafe cameron fluff #rafe imagine #rafe x reader #outerbanks rafe #rafe x you #rafe cameron x reader #rafe outer banks #rafe x y/n

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l0stfoster · 2 months ago

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Paul anon here to say eeeeeeYEAHHHHHHHHHHHHH I LOVE ME SOME CURSED PAUL DOODLES THATS MY SCRUNKLY BOY IM LOEHEVDJDGUEHE I LOVE PAUL HOLDEN

I wanna know more about the feather situation now tho ohhhh you got me intrigued ohhhh my goddddd

And paul just thinking and knowing hes the reason johnny’s in a wheelchair and that’ll probably haunt him for the rest of his life cuz now hes so associated with the greasers he probably knows johnny a lot better now and ohhh im gonna be sick . He probably has so many feelings about the shit he did b4 he was kicked out of the house ohhhh my sweet boy i love you so bad

Paul anon I hope you know you're an icon among the writers. Novva has previously expressed how much they want to put you in a jar and observe you (/pos)

As always I am so joyous that you're enjoying Paul here hehe. I've said it once and I'll say it again. Canon Paul can go kick rocks, Cursed Paul, on the other hand, needs a break from me. I talk a lot below so yeah another below the cut.

The feather situation was a little thing I'd thought about recently, since I've brought up to the writers before about how Two would eventually offer Paul a feather for flock marking, and Paul, by god, does NOT want the feather. Not only does he feel like he doesn't deserve it for what he's done; but it proves something about himself too- that he's getting attached. What the fuck does it say about him if he begins to connect with these people? It doesn’t help the guilt, that’s for sure. Two tries for probably months to get him to take it; literally days on end of offering and being ignored or shrugged off- finally, Paul takes it, but he doesn't wear it, nor does he keep it on his person. The only reason Paul wears it visibly for the first time is because god DAMN does Two pull off some REALLY good sad, pathetic bird eyes (and Dally looks ready to kill him for upsetting Two-Bit, so.)

He just gets so damn unlucky with the timing and circumstances surrounding it. Not only do the harpies already hold beef with him because of Two’s original jumping and the feather issue (most of them are clueless to the fact that Two’s forgiven him, while others are aware and have kinda chilled), but having a soc who’s harmed one of their own in their territory does not sit well with a majority of them, even all these months later; something especially impactful to the Shepard’s Gang. The second one harpy spots Paul with this feather, the immediate assumption is that he’d taken it just as he did with the first one.

I don’t talk about the Shepard’s all too much, but this is a good time to mention that Two and Tim are pretty good friends— so, well, he takes this as a matter that he can settle himself; and it’s a good way to warn this rich boy imposing on their territory that he’s on strike two of three, whether he’s one of the cursed or not.

Paul Gets Jumped, Part 2. It’s definitely not as bad as when the socs got him because, despite their gripes, Tim is half aware that Darry does gaf about this guy (he’s very out of the loop, and doesn’t even know the two are dating). As bad or not, it does freak Paul the hell out due to how familiar it felt to the first time he was jumped. That’s called trauma big guy, you and Johnny can bond over shaking like chihuahuas when you walk home alone. They take the feather away from him too, and you bet your ass he will NOT ask Two-Bit for another one because he doesn’t want him thinking Paul had purposefully disposed of it, especially with how often he’d been turning it down. This mf also ends not up being very fond of harpies outside of the ones he knows (ie; Two, Mrs. Mathews, etc) for a little while. Refuses to walk outside the house unless he’s got someone else with the gang. Two dive bombs on and grabs Paul while he’s walking home once and the entire East side loses power for like 5 hours lmao. Two was not happy when he found out about it too. Harpy: “Oh yeah we got this back from a soc while ago here" Two: Two: “-Isn’t that Paul’s?” Harpy: Harpy: “Th. The soc?” Two: “Yeah??? Paul??? Darry’s boyfriend?? This was his-“ Harpy: “I mean, he had it b- ohhh shit. You gave it to him on purpose.” Two:

Tim is very confused when a ruffled Two slams the door open and off its hinges at his house

Two, slamming the door open: “WHY WOULD YOU JUMP HIM WITHOUT EVEN ASKING ME ABOUT THE FEATHER????” Tim, half asleep on the couch: Tim: “..g’d mornin'?”

ON THAT NOTE Paul is,, so utterly haunted by both Johnny's and Two's disabilities, and that is absolutely not helped by the fact that they don't even seem to hold it against him. In Johnny's eyes, Paul wasn't the one who'd jumped him, resulting in him carrying the switchblade that killed Bob. He wasn't the one who held Pony underwater with the intent to kill. Two himself already knows that Paul didn't expect him to be burned as he was, nor was he the one holding the lighter. The blame the gang directs at him varies; especially when they see that the two who fell victim don't even seem to be mad about it. I think that a large reason as to why Pony throws his blame at Paul for Johnny is because, well, Bob's not around to take it. He's an emotional teen who's taking it out on the person he knows had some correlation to it. Besides, I think all of us know Pony blames himself for the church fire; directing that anger at Paul makes it easier to cope.

But yeah, Paul's practically eaten alive by the guilt. It sure as hell doesn't help that he already feels bad for being directly related to the witch that cursed Tulsa.

#foster talks #the outsiders #the outsiders musical #foster answers #cursed tulsa #cursed tulsa au #paul holden #johnny cade #two bit mathews #ponyboy curtis #tim shepard

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blouisparadise · 1 year ago

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Today we have the fifth part to our A/B/O rec list! There are tons of amazing fics on this list, so please check them and show them some love. If you'd like to check out our previous A/B/O rec lists, you can find part one here, part two here, part three here, and part four here. Please remember to like and reblog this post to help spread the word! Happy reading!

1) We’ll Stumble Through Heaven | Explicit | 6,504 words

Louis likes to be a good boy for his alpha.

2) Outline Of My Sins | Explicit | 6,551 words

Prompt 453: AU where alpha Harry is an art student who is taking a figure drawing class and omega Louis is the nude model. In the many years that Harry has taken art classes, he has never been more hot and bothered than now, having to stare at a beautiful nude omega model for hours.

3) All The Strings Attached | Not Rated | 10,517 words

“He wasn’t good enough for you anyway, H,” Louis says and continues eating. Harry’s still reeling from the fact that Louis is jealous. Part of him wants to prove that Louis has nothing to be jealous about, that Harry is fully Louis’ and no one else’s. The other part wants to punish Louis for acting spoiled. But Harry can’t act on either urge, he tightens his hand into a fist in his lap instead. “No, he wasn’t. He didn’t quite fit the job.” “Harry, it wouldn’t be a job to date you. It would be lovely,” Louis says, almost in a whisper. They’re sitting closer, Harry just now notices. Louis’ body is completely angled towards Harry and Harry’s body is not far behind.

4) Losing That Reactive Spark | Explicit | 11,599 words

“You didn’t shock me,” the O says, yanking at Harry’s shirt. Harry’s eyebrows furrow, looking down at him. He could probably shake him off if he wanted to, wouldn’t even hurt him. Harry doesn’t. “What’s your name? How come you didn’t shock me?” “Um,” Harry says. “What?” The O sways closer, pushing himself up onto his toes as he peers at Harry’s face. Harry tries not to breathe in too deeply, too obviously. The last thing he needs is for someone to catch him obviously scenting an O that doesn’t belong with him in public. No matter how unhinged that particular O might be. That’s just asking for trouble. “Is it broken?” the O asks, shaking at Harry’s shirt. Harry sways, more confused than ever. The bell on the door dings, and on autopilot Harry shifts them out of the way, allowing the person to pass. His umbrella dangles uselessly from his hand, not doing anything to keep them dry. “Is what broken?” Harry asks. “It’s not broken,” the O says to himself, fast. He shakes his head again, bringing both hands up to his face to push his wet hair back. “Just yesterday – ” He stops, staring at Harry again. It’s a suspicious stare. Harry’s mildly offended by it.

5) How You Sleep At Night | Mature | 15,568 words

"-and...this is Louis." And just that. ‘This is Louis.’ Louis feels like throwing up out of nowhere. So, that’s it then? Is he just a ‘Louis’ to him now?

6) Hungry Heart | Explicit | 16,100 words

"So you're using me and my kitchen for a bigger paycheck?" Harry asks. "What do I get out of it?" "What do you-" Louis parrots in disbelief. "I get a job that doesn't make me work ten hour shifts just to barely pay my rent while you get three meals a day cooked for you." "So, what, you're like some glorified housewife?" Housewife, personal chef, Louis doesn't care. Contract's signed and done; T's crossed and I's dotted. Louis will wear an apron and twirl his hair all pretty if that's what he wants. Even if the job feels more like some drawn out jail sentence, Louis hopes this isn't going to be a long summer.

7) Don’t Call Me Angel | Mature | 16,648 words

Manhattan is a dangerous playground for the rich and entitled Alphas of New York. Those same wealthy Alphas are robbed after spending one night in the presence of a blue-eyed Omega and Officer Styles is assigned to the case.

8) This Could Either Break My Heart, Or Bring It Back To Life | Not Rated | 18,349 words

Harry never really cared for love: he has two children he needs to care for, and a Country to rule. Love is just not in his cards. Enter Louis, who spins his children's lives but most importantly Harry's.

9) Only the Brave | Not Rated | 20,032 words

AU Mulan soulmates; where Louis is an omega going to camp in disguise to prevent his father to die in war, alpha Liam is a big wall of muscles and peace, alpha Zayn is obnoxious but cool knothead, alpha Niall is a cute hillarious baby and Harry is the alpha officer that has to train this weird group, and can't help the feeling that he's got an omega lurking among them.

10) Swept Me Off My Feet (Took My Heart And Took Me Down) | Explicit | 25,447 words

When Louis had decided to reopen his mother's bakery, he never thought a charming alpha would walk in through the door, let alone fall in love with him over tea, dessert and music.

11) A Springtime’s Wilt, An Autumn’s Bloom | Explicit | 20,593 words

Harry is Louis' personal chauffeur, and although he hides his feelings for his boss behind a wall of rigid professionalism, Louis still manages to squeeze through the cracks.

12) The Voice Of Range And Ruin | Explicit | 25,470 words

It seemed as if the freshly formed Omega Uprising had always been a step or two ahead of the Commandant and the rest of the reigning Alphanian officials. The idea had been floated that there must be someone working with them from the inside, reporting back to them on the government’s plans so that they could be prepared. That person had yet to be discovered, and the Commandant and his surrounding forces had finally had enough of this game of cat and mouse. Harry understood. He agreed. It needed to come to an end, one way or another. “Your job is to navigate their landscape and gain entry into their forces. You will pretend to be one of them and gain reliable intel for us. It’s clear that no one else has been capable of doing it, and you at least have some semblance of experience in this field. This has gone on for too long, Harry. Enough is enough.” He made direct eye contact with his son, holding it. “I’m counting on you.”

13) Feeling Peachy, Take A Bite | Explicit | 25,654 words

Prompt 570: Omega Louis works at a cupcake shop. he makes the prettiest cupcakes and loves his job. In comes beefy alpha Harry who absolutely loves to eat Louis’ cake. inspired by Louis being a cute baby girl handing out cupcakes.

14) The Evenness I Fake | Explicit | 26,370 words

Harry doesn’t do relationships. He has a perfectly enjoyable friends-with-benefits agreement with a perfectly lovely omega, and he doesn’t see the need to change that anytime soon. The small fact that Louis giving his attention to another alpha makes Harry want to put his head through a wall isn’t nearly as much of an issue as everyone’s making it out to be.

15) Just A Pretty Boy | Explicit | 35,614 words

The alpha in front of him wasn’t only tall, but used every inch of his body to look even more threatening. He looked as shocked as Joseph felt, in his eyes he could clearly see horror and anger mixed into an odd and painful mix. It was as if he just watched a ghost or a monster from a nightmare come to life. “Louis…” he said with a low voice. It wasn’t a question, he was calling Joseph by that name. The crease between Joseph’s brows deepened. “Who?” Louis and Harry were married until, one day, Louis passed away in a tragic accident. Years later, he is found alive and with a thousand questions plaguing his mind. The most important ones; was his husband involved in his disappearance? And, how long did it take Harry and his best friend to fall in love after his supposed dead?

16) And When It Rains, You're Shining Down For Me | Explicit | 37,081 words

“This is Harry, he’ll be your patient,” Liam gestured politely. Harry froze when Louis’ eyes met his own once more. He felt himself getting lost in those eyes, so much so that he didn’t notice Niall and Liam leaving the room quietly but the sound of the door shutting behind them brought him out of the trance. “Hello, I’m Louis,” the omega said, extending his hand for Harry to shake. The alpha could still sense some nervousness in his stance but decided to ignore it. “‘’m Harry.”

17) Truebonds | Explicit | 39,687 words

Louis doesn't mind being an omega, most of the time. Modern medicine allows him to suppress almost all of his omega traits, but the one thing it can't suppress is his scenting cycle. Fortunately, that only needs to be dealt with every seven years and he counts himself lucky that he can afford the services of a reputable agency. With his cycle due, he reviews the matched candidates and there's one alpha who fits all of his criteria, S28A. That's pretty much where things start to unravel. Enter Harry Styles, scenter for hire.

18) The Space Between | Explicit | 39,917 words

Harry Styles is the alpha rockstar who can’t sleep and doesn’t know why. Louis Tomlinson is the omega PhD student who helps him figure it out.

19) Noble Intentions | Explicit | 43,023 words

Louis is a beautiful omega prince impatient to lose his virginity. Harry is desperately in love with him and only wants to mate him if and when Louis agrees to marry him.

20) This Glass House | Mature | 43,072 words

While deployed, Alpha Harry gets injured by an IED explosion, leaving him to deal with severe injuries in its devastating aftermath. During his road to acceptance and recovery he learns with the help of Louis and their children just how important family can be for the mind, body, and soul.

21) Some Records Turnin’ | Explicit | 49,330 words

Harry is a soft alpha who owns a record store and Louis is a closeted singer omega masquerading as an alpha who randomly stumbles into Harry’s store.

22) Men of Steel, Men of Power | Explicit | 58,849 words

Louis has one goal: survive this year unscathed to complete his grand plan, for which he has sacrificed his family, his friends. His identity. he's not expecting Alpha Harry, who manages to get under his skin and inside his heart. He suddenly has a lot more to lose, and a lot less control.

23) These Still Waters Run Deep | Explicit | 64,602 words

Having accepted his engagement to Viscount Andrew, Louis is aware that it isn’t a love match and has no wish to be swept off his feet… until he meets the viscount’s brother, Harry, who makes him second-guess everything.

24) Violent Delights | Not Rated | 76,174 words

Prince Harry is arranged to mate Princess Charlotte, but first he must spend a month completing courting traditions which ends in a mating ceremony. When he arrives to the Tomlinson castle, he finds the forbidden North wing holds that which the family has worked hard to keep secret. Mainly: the sickly sweet Prince Louis, who’s rare gender has forced his family to keep him locked away for his own protection.

25) Wind Beneath My Wings | Explicit | 93,131 words

As an omega carer that works at a rescue and rehabilitation centre for feral alphas and omegas, Louis has experienced all sides of ferality. So Harry- a cold, near mute, non-receptive alpha- was a challenging case for everyone at Phoenix Rehab Centre. Louis wasn’t expecting to feel drawn towards an aloof Harry, or to form a slow bond with him. He certainly was not expecting for his entire life to change in unforeseen ways.

Check out our other fic rec lists by category here and by title here.

#fic recs #bottom louis #top harry #larry #blp #blp fic recs

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superblysubpar · 1 year ago

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modern!steve harrington x fem!reader

We'll Call It Love Masterlist | song inspiration

7.1k words | 18+ NSFW

A/N: While this takes place in the middle of the series (a moment in time during Part 2: Cutie), I think it's actually kind of fun to read this after the first three chapters, little easter eggs and what not. I hope you enjoy this and thanks for your patience in waiting for this story! Part 4, 5 and the Epilogue are coming soon! 💛

Warnings: This story takes place in the middle of chapter two to my series "We'll Call It Love" linked above. | modern!steve | reader and steve drink wine | descriptions of wearing some of Steve's clothes, but size is not talked about | Reader likes sunsets, spiderman, and she never finished her college degree | SMUT (PIV unprotected intercourse) / public (on Steve's balcony - you are semi-caught)

The alarm didn’t go off on time, your shampoo got in your eyes, the toast was burnt, and your pantyhose and skirt were too tight - you don’t even want to start on the heels and the blister forming because of them. Not even the worst of it, because of course your boss yells at you in front of everyone, you spilt coffee on important documents, spent hours transcribing them, only for your boss to say she didn’t need them and watched as they landed inside the trash can as your soul left your body. Security lights and the glowing fish tank in the front room are your only company for the last two hours of your day as you fix mistakes and make calls, willing the bad day to just be over already.

Where you end up after a day like this doesn’t matter - it doesn’t mean anything.

Maybe there’s nothing wrong with reading the text from him asking if you’d like to come over and tell him more about it when you’ve already started driving there.

It’s not like you’re wanting the comfort this sort of gesture implies. No, it’s just a distraction, an attempt to salvage this horrible day with one thing - sex. Just ‘turn your brain off and let him help you forget the day’ sex. That’s all.

And it’s not like it’s a crime that the sight of Steve at the end of his hallway holding a very full glass of wine out for you makes your chest ache a little - you’ve had a bad fucking day, of course something like that makes you a little mushy. It doesn’t mean anything when your mouth splits into a grin to mirror his when he sees you.

Steve leans against his doorframe, his perfectly gelled and sprayed caramel locks set free from their styled position they’ve been trapped in all day. One hand scratches at his jaw, the dark scruff underneath at the length you won’t admit to him is your favorite. A navy dress shirt stretches across his shoulders, sleeves cuffed and rolled up his forearms. A few of the buttons are already undone, revealing a black undershirt, all tucked into his belt and gray slacks with perfect ironed creases. His feet cross as he leans back, the gold line across the black fabric reminding you that most likely, just his socks cost more than your whole outfit combined.

“So, rough day?” He extends the glass further towards you, the silver metal of his watch glinting in the soft hallway lighting. Taking the glass from him, you gulp down half of it far too quickly for what you’re sure is an expensive bottle of wine, brushing past him into the apartment.

“You have no idea,” swallowing another large gulp before answering. A sigh meeting a groan leaves you as your bag drops to the ground loudly. You kick off the heels you really should just throw out - well past their worn in phase and still giving you trouble.

“Actually,” Steve laughs as he locks the door behind him, “I do. You sort of texted me a live play-by-play all day.”

Your hand waves off the statement, ignoring the truth of it with a hum around another sip of wine. Steve starts to walk around you, his hand brushing your lower back. Blunt ends of his fingernails scratch softly through the thin fabric of your blouse as your senses tune into the altered state of his apartment. The lighting more dim than usual, overhead lights turned down to a muted glow, aided by the warmth of candles flickering on his island and in the living room. Music drifts quietly and lazily out of speakers and through the air - music you like - mingling with something that smells so good your mouth waters a little.

The glass of wine pauses before meeting your lips again as you watch Steve pick up a knife. He chops the last part of something green and leafy, brushing the food off the wood cutting board with the back of his knife into a pan that sizzles. Garlic and onion and something herby meet your nose, drawing your bottom lip to pull under your teeth. Or maybe it’s the way Steve stares at the pan with concentration, humming along to the music you only just introduced him to. He stirs the ingredients, forearm flexing as he turns the handle of the pan to the side, knocking the wooden spoon against the lip of metal a few times.

“You cook?” Questioning him quietly from your spot by the door.

Steve looks over his shoulder, a fake frown pulling his lips down that a smile tries to fight. “Don’t sound so surprised.”

“Not surprised,” you hedge, padding over towards him slowly, “Just…impressed. I don’t know if anyone has cooked for me before.”

He looks up at you, eyebrows bunching together, whatever thoughts swirling inside his brain cut off when you kiss his cheek. Steve blinks at the gesture as you wave your hand over his apartment and ask, “You did all this ‘cause I had a bad day, Harrington?”

Steve’s cheeks turn rosy despite his eye roll and laugh around a mumbled, “It’s just spaghetti.”

“Well,” you smile, noting the simple kiss and its effects for future use. Eager and curious to find out what else you can do and say to get him to blush so you can use it to your advantage, “Big fan of just spaghetti here. Thank you.”

Your wine glass hits the counter with a soft clink as your hand wraps around his bicep and squeezes, smirking as his cheeks turn a deeper pink.

When you face him fully, Steve is already watching you, eyes tracing over your face when his lips twitch up on one side - you pushed it too far and now he’s onto you. This sort of teasing and battle for who can make the other squirm more has been the fire that’s fueled your last few nights together.

Steve leans in slowly, his hand reaching up and cupping your jaw as he does. His thumb traces over the apple of your cheek, his warm breath hits your lips as your eyelashes flutter. Steve’s voice turns gruff and deeper because he knows it works you up as he asks, “You sleeping over tonight?”

Your head shakes despite wanting to nod as his other hand finds your waist. The smell of dinner and Steve’s spice and woodsy cologne making you dizzy as you try to stay steady in your response, “Can’t. Didn’t bring any clothes.”

Steve hums, the sound buzzing into your skin as his nose brushes up yours slowly. His hand on your waist pulls you in closer, wrapping around and pressing his palm to your lower back. His breath out mixes with yours in as your hands move on their own accord, climbing up his chest and to the collar of his shirt. His eyes a dark forest and liquid gold, smoldering as his gaze meets yours.

“I’ll order you clothes for tomorrow.”

The ease and confidence of his promise is enough to make your stomach flip with excitement, but your eyes roll from the absurdity. Your laugh, a mixture of disbelieving and amused, is cut off though when his top lip parts yours. A soft kiss pressed to them that he quickly deepens when he feels you sigh, giving in easily.

Sweet and tender kisses, his thumb and fingers tilt your jaw for him, making butterflies flutter alive inside of you. Steve and you haven’t kissed like this before, you can feel each shift of his fingers on your jaw and back, how his forehead furrows against yours. Mouths that mold to the others easily, slotted together like gears that work with each other instead of against now. You move with the other like second nature, almost lazy, not worried about the end goal for once, enjoying the taste of his whiskey hitting your wine with each pass of tongues and lips meeting. Until his bottom lip catches your top one in a different way, tongue rolling against yours a little dirty, making your thighs push together.

Steve’s breath through his nose hits your cheek and your fingers grip at his collar, tugging him closer to you while his hand on your back pushes you against him harder. Soft kisses no longer, now you’re just desperate. His tongue traces your bottom lip, nipping at it gently before sucking on it. Your hands push up his neck and into his hair, fingers combing through the strands and tugging lightly as he takes a breath. It’s all so easy, the push and pull with each other, learning and using what the other likes. A whimper escapes you as his hands move to cup your face, slowing you both down, until he’s pulling away completely.

Your eyes blink rapidly as you come back to the room, forgetting where you were for a brief moment. As his thumb swipes over your bottom lip, the sight of his eyes taken over by his pupils makes your spine radiate with heat. His fingers curl under your jaw with a firm grip on your chin as he gives you one more chaste peck.

“Stay.”

The word is one you can’t help but chase, turning towards his lips again in search for more. Your kiss meets the corner of his mouth that threatens to smile - you hate that he’s winning.

“Fine. But only because this wine is really good and I intend to drink the whole bottle.”

Steve’s smile kisses your skin, mouth brushing down your neck in a tantalizing graze, the scruff on his face tickling as he moves lower. “Of course. No other reason, I understand.”

He presses a kiss to the hinge of your jaw, just below your ear and your eyes practically roll all the way back, toes scrunching against the tile of his kitchen floor as your breath gets caught in your chest. Steve clocks the spot and your reaction, a low rumble from deep in his own chest as he mouths at your neck, returning to his new toy he’s found when you gasp. Wet lips and warm breath pull goosebumps to the surface of your skin, and his nose nudging behind your ear has your entire body on fire.

Your hands push at his shoulders with a nervous laugh, forcing it all to slow down so you can regain some sort of composure and have a chance at beating him at this game.

“Okay, okay, I need a shower. How long till dinner is ready?”

Steve blinks at your words, hand in his hair roughing it up more as he clears his throat and stares down at your body still pressed to his, pretending not to be just as worked up as you are. “Uh, yeah, yes. Like twenty minutes.”

Pressing a quick teasing kiss to his mouth, you start to back away and he follows, hands wrapping around and clasping behind your back with a grin that says nice try.

“Steve,” his name a laugh on your lips as he dips down to your neck again, attacking it with frantic kisses.

“Hmm?” His teeth drag on your earlobe and he smiles against your jaw as you shiver.

“Just…” your words trail off as he starts to suck a bruise into the spot he just found, causing your eyelashes to flutter. His mouth presses another hot and wet kiss to your skin, tongue swirling and soothing the darkening mark. His hands roam up your back as you arch for him.

It’s your turn to blink again as he stops abruptly, giving you a kiss on your nose before spinning you towards his room. “Go shower already, you stink.” He gives your ass a light pat and nudge forward.

Your eye roll is hidden, but your hands press to your cheeks in an effort to calm down as you walk away. You did come here for sex, maybe you can let him win tonight.

Steve’s shower is far nicer than your own. The rain head allows the warm water to flow down your entire body smoothly, and as you let your head fall back into the stream, you wonder about the detachable nozzle and how easily you could convince him to come in here and try something. The steam and calming scent of Steve’s cedar and mint shampoo is enough to unfurl your muscles and soothe your frazzled nerves that his kissing had already started to ease. Because it was the kissing and this game you play that relieved the tension inside of you, not just the company.

The same music in his living room plays from small speakers in his bathroom too, your favorite song coming on not too long after you’ve started the shower, echoing off the dark blue tiles, the ping of water harmonizing with it. A smile twitches on your lips when you hear the added sound of the door creaking open.

“Couldn’t stay away, huh?” Your palm swipes over the glass door, clearing condensation enough to see Steve. His back is to you as he sets a new glass of wine and a fluffy gray towel on his counter.

“Actually,” he spins, eyes roaming over your naked form he can still catch a glimpse of through the foggy glass. His eyes sparkle as his tongue licks over his top lip, “Just getting your clothes in the washing machine.”

Your shoulders lift to your ears, stomach doing some sort of seesaw thing at the domestic and far too intimate of an act. Your voice is soft and hesitant, almost drowned out by the water, “Steve, you don’t-”

“What’s that? I can’t hear you,” he backs out the open door, pulling it closed as he gestures around the air, “The music. So loud.”

Your eyes roll again, a smile teasing at your lips as the door shuts with a soft click. A furrow forms between your brows though, deepening as you finish your shower. Your lip gnawed between your teeth as you turn the handle off, worrying that maybe you’re getting too comfortable here.

When you step out of the shower and wrap the still warm from the dryer towel - a sweet touch from Steve - around yourself, the smile you were fighting earlier wins. The sight of Steve’s ‘Hi’ and smiley face in the fog on the mirror is too cute of a distraction to listen to any sort of logic.

Stepping out of the bathroom, wine in hand, the smell of garlic now mixes with tomato, slipping in through the cracked bedroom door. Steve’s voice trails in quietly with it, “Hi, mom.”

You freeze, eyes widening in horror as this doesn’t seem like the greatest way to meet a Harrington parent - not that you thought about that, or want to, but as a friend of Steve’s you should probably have more clothes on. Your shoulders relax when you don’t hear a new voice responding, but Steve’s sigh and his voice again, only far less enthusiastic, “Oh, hey dad.”

Evidence of your eavesdropping forms in water dripping down your body and darkening his carpet, so, you pad into Steve’s closet, flicking the light on as you go. It’s not the first time you’ve seen the walk-in, but the sight of it still manages to steal the air out of your lungs a little.

An overwhelming amount of the dark clothing Steve so often wears hangs meticulously in order of style and color. Blues and grays, a few deeper greens you wish he’d wear more, creams, browns, and white, then black. T-shirts then polos then button-downs - simple and nothing that would make anyone take a second glance, but you know from your own fingers that the quality of the material of each item is better than your sheets.

Your fingertips drift lazily over the garments as you take the opportunity to linger in the space a little longer. They meet the hard edge of a dark wood dresser, a suede, gray box sitting atop. It’s compartments holding ties that are perfectly rolled and tucked into their homes. A matching organizer that holds a high school class ring, two watches - one gold and one with a dark and worn, brown leather band - along with a missing spot for the one he’s wearing. You’re certain that if you opened the drawers of this dresser you’d find his underwear and socks of the softest thread count folded and organized just as nicely - not thrown in haphazardly like your own.

As you turn to head back for a plain t-shirt, the bright color tucked into the back corner catches your eye. It’s so different from anything in the room, from anything you’ve seen him wear. Your bare feet sink into the plush rug as you make your way to the part of the closet that looks like it doesn’t belong.

Another small dresser, almost a nightstand, sits over here. You check over your shoulder, Steve’s voice still drifting through the door quietly and you continue inspecting. On top of the dark wood, two CD’s with Robin’s familiar hand-writing listing the songs adorning each disk. A diploma and tassel hanging from the dark frame holding it. Next to that, another framed item, an image of Steve that makes your chest tighten. You don’t think he’s too much younger than he is now in it, a dark blue graduation gown open to reveal jeans and a white button down and black tie, his grad cap squishes down his hair. Steve is shrinking in the picture, cheeks pink and biting his mouth to hide a smile, as Robin and a curly haired boy are both exploding bottles of champagne on opposite sides of him.

Above the nightstand, the clothes are even more unfamiliar. Jeans that, though folded just as nicely as others in the closet, are a lighter wash and look well loved and worn, not like the dark denim with creases you’re used to seeing him in. Several t-shirts with various concert and event logos now fading and peeling, hang in color order again. A few sweatshirts, one with the same green and orange you know matches Robin’s band sweatshirt she says she’ll die in, sit folded next to the jeans. There’s several sweaters hung, but the culprit of your detour stands out the most. Your fingers rest on it, and as you remove it from the hanger, you’re sure something he must not wear anymore fits your needs tonight more than any of his nicer items.

It’s not until you walk back out to the kitchen in the bright yellow sweater and a pair of his sweatpants that you think you potentially overstepped.

Steve stands at the stove, phone pressed to his ear still, the other hovers over the pot, spoon dripping sauce as his mouth falls open. The tips of his ears turn red, matching his cheeks as you fiddle with the hem. His voice faltering into the phone, “Ye-yeah. Yes. I am dad, tonight just wasn’t gonna work.”

He smiles sadly at you, shrugging as he turns his back from the stove, maroon turning to pink on his cheeks. His hand reaches up and runs through his hair as he starts pacing.

“Uh-huh, yeah, but-” Steve’s mouth clamps shut when he’s obviously interrupted on the other end.

You begin stirring the sauce when you see it’s bubbling, Steve squeezes your shoulder as he passes, moving his pacing to the living room. He’s changed as well, down to just the black undershirt and dark gray sweats, the orange and yellow candle light flickers across his jaw as it tightens. He picks up a baseball from the wood buffet, fingers curling around it as his thumb spins it in his palm.

When you glance up, his eyes travel over your body until they meet yours, sighing into the phone as he switches ears again, “Dad, I have to go, can we talk about it a different night?”

His shoulders slump, the baseball returning to the console, rolling across the top until it hits a framed photo. This one of Robin on Steve’s shoulders, pushing his hat down over his face as she tries to climb higher for an apple in a tree.

Steve stares out the balcony glass doors, his voice strained, “I am, dad, I promise, okay? I just need a little time.” He nods once, “Mhm, bye.”

The phone lands on the counter harshly as he returns, his hand reaching for the wine glass you’re already offering to him. He gulps half of it down, not unsimilar to how you did when you first arrived.

“So, that was your dad?” Your eyebrows raise as your gaze remains on the sauce.

“Uh-huh,” he draws it out, sighing again as his forehead falls to your shoulder.

“Can I ask what all that was about?” You question softly.

Steve’s head lifts, suddenly focused on pouring a second glass of wine and refilling the other as he speaks, “You could,” he turns to one of the cabinets, searching for plates, “But it’s complicated and in my opinion, a waste of one of your questions.”

“Oh really?”

Steve spins, wincing as he faces you again and holds up two fingers, “Ooh, that’s two.” He pulls at his collar and raises his eyebrows at you expectantly.

“Nice try,” you steal a plate from him and begin dishing up, “Not eating spaghetti topless for you tonight, Harrington.”

“Oh, but you will some other night?” He smirks, standing next to you.

“In your dreams,” you laugh, turning to the stove again.

He sighs, long and big, “Only every night,” your snort is cut off as he keeps going, “But actually, speaking of clothes,” he spoons his own pasta onto his plate, “Went into the depths of mine I see.”

Your fingers fiddle with the hem again, recalling his face when you first came out, mood sobering. “The color caught my eye, I’ve never seen you wear this. I can take if off though, if-”

“No,” he says quickly, with a harsh swallow he adds on quietly, “Looks good on you.”

“Thanks,” dipping your head from the way he looks at you when he says it. Like he really means it and wants to see you in it more than tonight.

Steve leans in, his hands full, so he nudges your temple with his nose until you look up at him. He presses a slower kiss than earlier to your lips, lingering for a moment before clearing his throat and pulling away. He nods his head towards the glass doors “Wanna eat on the balcony? Sunset is soon, and I thought it might be a good ending to the bad day?”

Your chest floods with warmth, something sticky and heavy that makes your mouth unable to work, holding all of your words hostage so all you can do is nod. Steve smiles and heads outside.

“Mint chocolate chip,” he answers immediately, taking a sip of wine.

You’re done with dinner, tucked into his small balcony couch, the sunset has now faded from that early golden glow, tinges of orange and bursts of pink starting to break through the clouds and paint the buildings around you. Steve's legs extend to the small ottoman, yours against his thigh so you can really watch the sky. More than ten questions have been asked, but your clothes are still on, and part of you wants to admit that maybe this is actually what you needed tonight instead of sex. Maybe you just needed to have dinner, talk to a friend, enjoy the sunset. It doesn’t matter that it happened with Steve - the whole point of this was to be friends with benefits, right?

You laugh into your wine glass, “Wow, I so did not peg you as a mint chocolate chip ice cream guy.”

He grabs your ankle, tugging it lightly, “And what is that supposed to mean?”

Your shoulders lift in an innocent shrug, “I dunno, you seem kind of vanilla, Steve.”

His eyes narrow and he scoffs, grumbling into his wine glass, “Vanilla. I’ll show you vanilla.”

“What was that?” You grin.

He rolls his eyes and stands, grabbing your empty plates. “I said, more wine?”

“Sure you did,” you nod, faux belief on your face as you hand up your glass as he passes.

After the door latches, you pull the sleeves of his sweater down over your palms, standing and moving closer to the ledge. You’ll always love sunsets, but this view has changed them forever for you. The orange and pinks bleed together now, like two tubes of paint exploded across the sky, a perfect summer sunset. Its shimmering reflections in the lake, river, and buildings around you try to steal your breath too - almost as beautiful as the real thing.

The city below you buzzes with summer nightlife, horns honking and bass thumping as people drive by. One of those Chicago tour boats drifts lazily by and you smirk, remembering the unfortunate yet hilarious story Robin told you about the Dave Matthews bus - so opposite of the moment you’re witnessing now. As the tour passes under the bridge you notice the couple standing in the middle, holding hands. One of them drops lower, and from the way they jump back up and spin around, holding each other, you’re certain you just witnessed a proposal.

Steve’s shoulder presses against yours and you jump, hand over your chest.

“Sorry,” he motions behind him, “Thought you heard the door.”

Your heartbeat rapidly pounding in your chest, you glance back to the bridge, but the happy couple is already gone. Shaking your head, you close your eyes, “No, uh, was distracted I guess.”

He eyes you curiously, fingers brushing down your arm, with a smile, “Alright, you asked me the ice cream question, so my turn.”

He spins, finger in the air when the question comes to him, “Favorite superhero?”

“Spiderman,” your answer just as confident and quick as his ice cream response.

“Interesting,” he rubs at his jaw, “Why?”

Your shoulders shrug as you watch another boat tour go by. The words on the tip of your tongue before your brain fully catches up to them. “Um, I’m not really sure. I guess I always loved that he was kind of alone, but not really. Spiderman was lonely, protecting people he loved who didn’t know he did, but Peter was almost the opposite? He wasn’t ever fully alone despite thinking he was. He was always loved, he was just the one who didn’t see it.”

You don’t realize the power of your answer until it leaves your lips. A small piece of weight you carry lifting easily for Steve like it’s nothing. It’s almost immediate that you wish you hadn’t answered.

Steve smiles sadly at you, his fingers pushing against the railing and bumping yours as he speaks softly, “That’s a good reason, sounds like you relate to it?”

Your cheek pulls in and you shrug again, clearing your throat and ignoring his prodding. “What about you? Got a favorite superhero?”

Lately, whatever question either of you had come up with ended up being answered by both of you, the conversation flowing that way naturally, so your sidestep of his followup questions isn’t completely out of the ordinary.

Steve’s hazel eyes bounce between yours, and you know he wants to push it further, to get you talking more, but he doesn’t. He stands up straighter and nods, “Definitely Batman.”

You groan and laugh, shaking your head as he puts his hands on his hips and asks, “What?”

“You would like Batman. He’s not even a real superhero, he’s just rich. He has no powers.”

He points his finger in the air, “First of all, you’re wrong. Second, pretty sure some of the Spiderman comics it’s like the exact same fucking thing, so. And third, I have a good reason why I like him so,” he sticks out his tongue at you.

Your hands fall out, palms facing upward expectantly and he rolls his eyes, ripping at the skin on thumb. “I, well. I think him being an orphan is interesting. I like that he’s seen as a guardian. I don’t know, a lot of reasons…” his voice trails off as a furrow forms between his brows.

“You’re right, I’m sorry.” You nudge his shoulder, grabbing the wine from him and taking a sip. Both of you touching a sensitive spot in each other with something as simple as superheroes.

He smiles and nods, eyes focused on the House of Blues lighting up below you.

Your own eyes watch the pink take over the orange in the sky as you drum your hands on the railing, risking a more serious question despite the mood. “I saw that picture, in your closet? Was that a college graduation? It seemed recent?”

Steve blows his breath out, sipping the wine he takes back from you, sharing the same glass as he nods. He clasps his hands together after you steal it back and stares out at the lake. “Yeah, uh, I didn’t get in, back when Robs went. But,” he licks his lips and squints, “I dunno, got this job from my dad’s connections and I just…wanted to see if I could do it alone? So I did. Sports management. Not a big deal.”

Your hand reaches out to his forearm and squeezes gently. “Steve, that is a big deal. That’s really great.”

He hums and shrugs and you press it even further, “So your parents don’t know? And your job now, that’s not-”

He laughs and drags his hands down his face, “Really, it’s not a big deal, I shouldn’t have even printed that photo. And, and the job, I don’t know. There’s this opportunity this one guy at work told me about, but my parents…” he sighs and his shoulders drop. “No, they don’t know. And my job is great. I don’t need to do anything else.”

You turn and set the wine down, your fingers wrap around his wrist. “Steve, you should have a job you love. Screw your parents or anyone who tells you differently. There’s always a way to figure it out if you want it badly enough. And, it is a big deal. I didn’t finish college. It’s a really cool and amazing thing, you should be really proud about it.”

Steve smiles, tapping the railing, speaking softly, “Thank you.” He turns to face you, hand brushing up your arm to your shoulder. “I didn’t know that about you. The college stuff I mean.”

Stepping closer to him, you shrug. “It’s not like I introduce myself and tell people that, Steve.”

“Well, thanks for telling me.” He takes a step closer too, closing the distance completely so your bodies press together. He smiles, tone lightening the mood, “I’d take off my pants in honor of the information, but I don’t have underwear on and we’re sort of exposed out here.”

Your eyes roll again as your lips fight a smile. He leans in closer, nose bumping yours as you whisper, “Wow. What a slut.”

He smirks. “If you’re a bird, I’m a bird.”

Your breath catches in your chest at the quote, his lips pressing to yours softly before you ask, “Wh-what did you say?”

His cheeks turn pink like earlier and he clears his throat, “Uh, I meant like, takes one to know one. Like a slut.” His eyes close and he holds up his hands, “Not that you’re a slut, what I meant was that, see…like in a good way.”

Your heartbeat starts to return to normal and you shake your head, ignoring the connection the quote made inside of you. Interrupting his Robin-like rambling and hoping to get the original plan for the evening back on track with a kiss.

Steves reciprocates quickly, tongue licking at the seam of your lips as you open up for him. Something about the gestures he’s made to fix your bad day tonight, the conversation you just had, has you more desperate than you were originally when you came over tonight. It’s all too complicated and jumbled now, and you just need your brain to turn off, and sex is the way to do that.

His hand cups your jaw, opening you wider for him as he presses you back into the stone barrier between apartments. He rolls his hips against you, pushing harder when your hands wrap around his neck. Your clasped hands hold yourself up as his hand reaches for your thigh, pulling it up and around his waist, fingernails dragging back up and cupping your ass. Your hands move down his back as he slows his kissing again, teasing his tongue against your top lip. Nails scratch through his shirt as he moves his assault to your neck. Your body pulses around him as the sun sinks lower behind you. Steve holds your chin with his fingers as he says, “Turn around, pretty girl, you’re missing the sunset.”

Your eyes blink wide and slow at his words as he removes your leg from his waist, spinning you towards the railing. The rapid beat of your heart returns as his hands rest on either side of your body and he presses his easily felt erection into your backside.

Steve’s nose brushes up the back of your neck, his mouth kissing across your skin till he meets your ear. His fingers glide across the band of the sweats, curling around your hip until he pushes under the fabric.

He huffs into your skin, kissing that spot on your jaw again as two of his fingers push past your clit, slipping over it easily. “Who’s the slut for not wearing underwear, again?”

“Steve,” you whine, not patient for this sort of teasing anymore.

He kisses down your neck, fingers parting through your slick as he glides up then lower again, the faintest graze to your clit and barely a nudge to your entrance. He tuts into your shoulder, mocking pity in his tone, the cocky man returning easily when he knows you’re this turned on, “Oh, I know. You just had such a bad day. Really need this, yeah?”

You can’t argue with him, fingers curling on the lip of the ledge, stepping closer to it. You’re sure he can feel you gushing around his fingers from just his words, how much his kissing worked you up, but you don’t care. You don’t want to fight it anymore, maybe Steve is worth just giving into.

“Ye-yes,” you gasp out as he rewards you with figure eights pressed into your clit, your eyelashes fluttering as your knees start to buckle. “Oh, fuck.”

Steve’s breath hitches at your affirmation, kissing over your neck as he increases the strength of each press. A slow, generous circle with the pads of his fingers, rolling over the bead of vibrating nerves with an agonizing and precise pressure and pace.

“Tell me,” he kisses down your jaw, groaning at the roll of your hips back into him. Another press of his lips to your temple as his fingers circle your entrance, “Tell me what you want.”

Your head turns, chasing his kiss, catching his bottom lip with another gasp as he pushes one finger inside of you and curls, “Y-you. I need you. Please.”

Steve and your lips push and pull against each other in a battle now, harsh breaths shared as he nods, agreeing to give you what you want. He slides a second digit inside of you and curls to the spot he finds every time and you shake your head no against his mouth - that’s not what you meant.

He moans, pressing his body up behind yours harder, back to kissing over your jaw and neck before he’s breathing in your ear. Voice raspy - dirty and filthy and everything you want as he asks, “Oh, not good enough? Jus-Just need me to fuck the bad day out of you?”

“Please,” you whisper, eyes fluttering closed at the loss of his fingers slipping out of you, “Fuck me.”

Steve’s forehead hits between your shoulder blades, wide hands pushing at fabric, and you stand on your toes, anticipation radiating throughout your body when you feel his bare length against your folds - sure you have your rules, but breaking them for one night is at the bottom of your list of thing to think about currently. He moves one of your hands to the front of your sweatpants in a silent command to hold them up. Steve nudges at your entrance, your lip tugged between your teeth unable to suppress another whine as he pushes inside slowly. His voice barely audible even in your ear, his breath too fast and too hard, overtaking his words, “Need you to be quiet, honey.”

Your head falls forward, mouth opening in a gasp as he thrusts into you. He stops, a shaky breath leaving him as you both adjust to him filling you up, relishing in the missed feeling of your bodies being connected like this. Patience wears thin though, and you push back against him, your hand gripping the balcony barrier as your eyelashes flutter when he twitches from the movement inside of you. Steve’s hands rest on your waist, holding you steady as he draws out of you, thrusting back up.

He sets a slow pace, a dirty roll of his hips every few thrusts in and your toes curl against the balcony floor, head falling forward as you struggle not to make a sound. Steve’s mouth drags on your skin, from under one ear to the other, one hand caressing over your curves, shirt rising slightly as he ventures higher. Wide palm cupping one breast as his other holds your hip in a bruising grip.

“Steve, harder.” Your hand reaches back behind you, yanking on his hair with a whine. Steve pushes you both into the ledge, a growl slipping past his lips.

Steve’s thrusts pick up their pace and he breathes into your ear, a desperate and primal sound that’s more intimate and better than any sort of moan a man has ever made for you before, your name mingling with quick and short gasps for air.

Your head falls back against his shoulder as his hand moves from your chest down your stomach, pushing his way past your hand roughly, sweatpants dropping and neither of you caring. Your cry is muffled into his sweat slicked neck as he goes even faster, feeling like he’s so deep you’ll feel it the rest of your life, his fingers press frantic circles to your swollen clit.

“Fu-fuck, fuck, fuck,” you bite at his shirt collar, both of your hands above you in his hair, stretching onto your toes again, chasing and running away from the feeling about to bubble over.

Every nerve ending inside of you is coiled, at its breaking point - ready to crack. Steve’s hand that’s on your waist lifts, grabbing at your chin, and pulling you towards his mouth as he snaps his hips faster, stuttering their movements as he keeps working at your clit.

Warmth floods your stomach, eyes pressed tight, oranges and pinks from the sunset bursting behind your closed lids as you bite down on his lip, everything inside of you exploding as you release around him.

“St-Steve!”

His lips press to yours harsher, trying to silent you as he doesn’t stop his movements. Steve grunts into your mouth, cursing under his breath as his hips go even faster before they falter. His teeth drag across your bottom lip as he finally lets go, his release sending another wave of your orgasm crashing over your body. Stars blink behind your eyelids, breathless as you come back to earth.

Both of you gasp around each other’s lips as your body tightens then relaxes around him, his hand finally stops its circles to your overwhelmed nerves when you push him away. Sounds of the city return to your ears as your head falls back against his shoulder. Steve’s hands on your waist squeeze as he breathes heavily against your shoulder before kissing it. Both of you wince as he slips out of you.

He clears his throat as each of you pull your sweats up, his cheeks pink and yours hot. Turning to face him, your back hits the ledge as his hands fall to your sides and cage you in again.

Steve’s face is lit up orange and gold, eyes shimmering. They’re the color of honey and brown sugar in this fading sunlight, looking at you with a gaze that’s just as gooey as he leans in with a smile. Whispering as he hovers above your lips, “Still having a bad day?”

That same sticky feeling coats your chest as you shake your head no, both of you still breathing heavily. His top lip just skims your bottom one when loudly, from a nearby balcony, the clip from ‘When Harry Met Sally’ plays:

“I’ll have what she’s having!”

Your hand slaps over your mouth and Steve snorts, both of you dissolving into laughter as you rush back inside.

Your body heats with embarrassment, hands on your cheeks, “Oh my god.”

Steve doesn’t seem as phased, walking further into the apartment. “Hey, that’s a good movie, wanna watch it?” He laughs, running his hand through his hair.

Any mortification forgotten at his suggestion. You spin, finger in his face, “Aha! Bad 90s romcom, told you I could smell it on you.”

He waves you off, heading toward his bedroom, “Yeah, yeah, go make some popcorn miss can’t keep her mouth shut!”

“Me!” You scoff, following him, “Um, what was all that grunting! And breathing and-”

He cuts you off with a slow and deep kiss. Tongue flicking over yours dirty and rough, pulling away with a sharp inhale. “Tell me you didn’t like it.”

His words freeze you, and you stand together in his apartment, lit only by candlelight and the sunset that’s dipped below your eye line. Breaths mixing, bodies pressed together and Steve kisses the spot below your ear - one slow, sweet kiss that lingers before he pulls away.

He smirks at your dazed expression, calling over his shoulder, “Your favorite movie snack is in the cupboard!” Disappearing into his bathroom.

It’s just sex, that’s all this is.

That’s what you tell yourself as your legs turn from jelly to some sort of working limb as you make the popcorn.

That’s what you tell yourself as he settles in next to you on his couch, tossing the yellow knit blanket from Robin over your laps.

That’s what you tell yourself in the morning, when he’s in the shower and a delivery comes with clothes that fit you perfectly.

It’s just sex. Fun. That’s all this is.

That’s what you tell yourself as you slip on a brand new pair of heels and he kisses your forehead, reminding you with a wink that his balcony is always open after a bad day.

WCIL taglist: @loveshotzz @myobmaya @sweetsweetjellybean @pastel-pillows @littlesubbyflower @johnricharddeacy @freezaz123 @selfdeprecatingnerd @big-ope-vibes @manda-panda-monium @hellkaisersangel @yogizzz @soulmatecashton @happytimeunicorns @mandyjo8719 @lunarxeclipse @buckleylips @beckkthewreck @differentdeputyfishpaper @supardupar @micheledawn1975 @imjuststeddietrashatthispoint @sagelittleplace @totally-bogus-timelady @steves-babysitter @fallinginlovewithqueue @aftermidnightwriting @omgshesinsane @pootcullen @definitionwanderlust @nostalgiafool @palmtreesx3 @scoopshxrrington @live-the-fangirl-life @eddiesguitarskills @mannstarkey @keepingitlokiii

#steve harrington #modern!steve harrington #modern!steve #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington smut #steve harrington one shot #steve harrington series #steve harrington fic #stranger things fanfic

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madisonthetimewalker · 2 months ago

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You know what fuck it take modern AU Adamai headcanons

1. Adamai works in retail do not ask why he just does.

2. He has clip on ear rings he got his ears pierced once and he regretted it because of the pain

3. He doesn’t like to express himself very much mostly keeping to himself and not talking about his problems.

4. He likes to read and I mean he LOVES reading, if you’re lucky you can catch him on break reading a comic book.

5. He knows how to skateboard (yugo does not and he laughs at this)

6. He mostly stays in his room only coming out for food or unless he wants to be outside for a bit. Other than that he doesn’t really leave his room.

7. He’s very smart about specific dragon cultures, every so often you can catch him in the library reading about dragon myths and possibly ancient food recipes.

8. Surprising he’s very quiet, sure at a young age he was bubbling with joy but now he’s more quiet and sometimes shy.

9. He doesn’t really like big gatherings it was never his thing. If he didn’t know anybody there then he would sit in a corner and mind his own business. (This man has horrible social anxiety)

10. His taste in fashion is decent most of the time he just wears baggy jeans and a shirt, he isn’t much for looking nice.

11. I like to see him as this huge nerd, for example if you ask him about a specific event involving ancient dragonic history. He will talk for hours explaining every detail and every bit of lore (look at my nerdy boy)

12. He doesn’t have many friends at work or at all for that matter, he just works although yes people have tried to talk to him in the past he rarely interacts with them.

13. He loves listening to drama, he loves to listen in on interesting conversations it’s like a hobby at this point.

14. Adamai isn’t much of a people person (as I have said multiple times in this post) and if your lucky enough he might talk to you about specific issues and topics, although he has this bad habit of dozing off during conversations. (Just like me fr)

15. He’s a heavy daydreamer, often times you can see him standing in the middle of nowhere dozing off we don’t know how he does this or how he gets himself in these situations but god is it funny.

16. He gets embarrassed easily when told he did a good job on something, Adamai rarely if ever gets compliments so telling him he’s the best guy in the world it makes him hide his face due to how red it gets.

17. He gets scared easily but not like “omg everything scares him!” More like if you come up behind him without him hearing you he will scream like a banshee.

18. He can run and I don’t mean “oh he’s just fast” HE’S PRETTY FUCKING FAST, if this man so much as sees a big ass spider he’s fuckin GONE

19. I like to believe Adamai has a huge sweet tooth. He loves to eat sweets whenever he gets the opportunity

20. He hates night shift and I mean HATES IT if he so much as hears one creek from the ceiling his ass is already out the door.

21. He has humor trust me it’s there, he isn’t one to make jokes but when he does none laughs sadly mostly because they don’t get it and Adamai has the humor of a broken down 1950’s truck. (Don’t worry Adamai I’ll laugh at your ridiculously stupid jokes)

22. He rarely sleeps (unlike qilby who’s sleep schedule is so bad that it could rival that of Xelor himself) but when he does he’s knocked out for Atleast 2 days. Adamai honey please take care of yourself I’m begging you.

23. He listens to music a lot it’s mostly to block out the annoying noise of people talking and baby’s crying for no reason

24. He can babysit (if you pay him enough) he hates it but he does it for people who need a break.

25. He gets bored easily, sometimes you can find him in the skatepark minding his own business.

Ok that’s all for now can you tell he’s my fav? And can you tell how much I love modern AU’s?

#dont claim them as your i will hunt you down 😀#wakfu adamai #wakfu #adamai my beloved #adamaï from wakfu #adamai wakfu #adamai #look at my boy #wakfu modern au #I love him #very much #he’s so silly

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ereardon · 11 months ago

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Golden Hour || Ch. 5

[Bob Floyd x Bradley Bradshaw x OC]

A Bob Floyd & Bradley Bradshaw AU [Hart of Dixie inspired]

Synopsis: Willow, Georgia. Barely even a town, just a speck on a map that you tried to wipe off, mistaking it for a crumb. You’re the outsider: a fancy New York doctor, fresh out of a failed engagement, with zero primary care experience. You’re also the new town doctor, taking over for a recent retiree who was beloved. His son, Bob Floyd, is the other physician at the practice, and takes an immediate dislike to you. But you were looking for a fresh start, and Willow doesn’t seem all that bad if you can get past the fact that there's only one restaurant in town. It helps that you've caught the eye of Bradley Bradshaw, the town attorney, despite the fact that you vowed to take a break from dating. How long until you start to make friends in a town where social circles have been set in stone since elementary school? And what will it take to make Bob Floyd see you’re not as bad as he wants to believe you are?

Pairing: Bob Floyd x OC; Bradley Bradshaw x OC

Tropes: Love triangle, enemies to lovers

Warnings: Cursing, alcohol, heart attack

Chapter summary: Bob and Olive fight about the partnership agreement for the medical practice; Olive and Bradley attend a Halloween party where one townsperson has a medical emergency

WC: 3K

Masterlist here; previous chapter here; next chapter here

“It’s hot,” you groaned. “Halloween is not supposed to be hot. Halloween is supposed to be leather pants and cocktails and a chilly breeze on a rooftop on the Lower East Side.”

Phoenix raised an eyebrow. “Leather pants, really?”

You shrugged. “College.”

She opened the fridge, pulling out a container of orange juice and sliding you a glass. You held it out as she dribbled the liquid into your glass. “Halloween ‘round here is kids hopped on sugar and parents chasing them dressed as pirates and it’s still shorts season.”

“Is it too much to ask for one cold day where I can wear sweats and eat cornbread and chili and watch a movie?”

“Sweats, Doc?” she asked.

“Cashmere sweats,” you clarified as Phoenix rolled her eyes. “Besides, what do people even do here on Halloween? People over the age of nine that is.”

“Party at the Flannery House,” she replied. “They throw it every year.”

“And the Flannerys are?”

“Charlotte’s parents.”

“Oh.” You hadn’t run into Charlotte since she walked into Breakers two weeks before, but rumors in town had been swirling about her return. One was that she was here to get Bob back. Another was that she was starting a dance studio in town. You had even heard she was planning to run for Mayor.

“She’s a pill,” Phoenix said, “but the parties are legendary. You’ll be my date.”

You laughed. In a matter of only a few months, you and Phoenix had fallen into an easy routine together. The town no longer despised you, and besides Bradley you even had a few regular patients. Bob was still the doctor of choice at the practice, but he had begun to relinquish walk-ins to you when necessary after the flu epidemic. “Is Bradley going?”

Phoenix crossed her arms over her chest. “Should have known you’d only want to go to see Bradshaw. Yeah, he’s going. Everyone goes.”

It had been a week and a half since your date with Bradley. He dropped you back at the guest house, the two of you lingering a moment on the sloped porch. “I’d invite you in,” you said softly, “but to be honest it’s a mess. Your house is way cuter, so I’d be embarrassed for you to see what I live like.”

Bradley laughed, a deep throaty sound. “Next time, Doc.”

“How about you give me your mother’s name if I need an interior designer?”

“One date and you already want to meet the parents?”

You grinned. “You’re cheeky. I like that about you.”

“There’s a lot to like about you, Doc.”

How long had it been since you kissed someone who wasn’t Peter? Years. How long had it been since you had done that sober? Even longer. You could feel the heat radiating from Bradley’s body. From several exams before you realized he was faking all illnesses, you knew for a fact that Bradley was well built. Surprising, for a lawyer. But then again, nothing about Willow had turned out like you expected. “Goodnight, Bradley,” you whispered, opening the creaky door. You held your breath. It had been years since you’d gone on a date. You no longer knew the etiquette.

Bradley leaned in, sliding his lips gently across your cheek. His scent flooded your senses, and you resisted the urge to grab his collar, pull him in, lock your lips to his. But restraint took hold and as he pulled away, you smiled. “Goodnight, Olive.”

***

“You’re where?”

Lina’s voice was shrill and filled with shock. In all of the chaos you had neglected to tell your globe trotting best friend that you had packed up and left New York on practically a whim. “Georgia.”

“Like canned peaches, plantations, Coca-Cola, hillbilly truck driver, fried chicken Georgia?”

You sighed, walking in a tight circle in the living room that doubled as a bedroom in the guest house. “Like small town Americana. It could almost be Lana-core if only it was set in Rhode Island instead of Willow.”

“Willow?” That was a screech. “Like the fucking grandmother tree in whatever that movie was?”

“Pocahontas,” you clarified. “And yes.”

“Did you have a stroke?”

“Peter left me.”

“What?” You could hear the gasp through the phone. You could picture her perfectly: jet black hair swishing as she stopped dead from where she was doing the stair stepper in front of her window overlooking Fifth Avenue. “You’re shitting me.”

“Nope.”

“The ring?”

“East River.”

“Fucking christ, Livvy,” she said. “I’m sorry.”

“Me, too. To think I wasted all those good years on him.”

“He has a pig face you know,” she said. “I stuffed that comment down for years but now that we’re over him and he’s dead to us, I can admit it. He has a pig face and a medical degree from California.” The way she said California made you laugh. The utter disgrace of it. “You’re better off.”

“Thanks, Lee.”

“So are there men in Willow?”

“A few.”

“Tell me everything.” You told Lina about Bradley and his dramatic attempts to get you to go on a date, and the reluctant dinner date at his house. She hummed along. “And what about this Dr. Bob?”

“He’s surly,” you replied instantly. “But there’s something deep down that isn’t so bad,” you added. “I don’t know. He hates me I think.”

“Nobody hates you,” Lina said. “You’re the perfect angel baby.”

“Peter hates me.”

“He doesn’t hate you,” she replied. “He just didn’t respect you. And that should be enough to make you hate him. Because any man who can’t respect you doesn’t deserve even an afterthought.”

“I miss you.”

“I miss you too, sweetie,” she said. “I would say I’ll visit, but small town charm is good for some and slow painful death for others. I think you know which camp I fall into.”

“You liked small when it was a village in Tahiti.”

“I like small when it’s half-naked men carrying me on a daybed and feeding me smoothies,” she clarified. You laughed. “Anyways, I should go, Paolo is going to be here any moment. Love you Liv.”

“Love you, too.”

The line clicked and you sighed, tossing the phone onto a pile of silk pillows you had ordered. The room was a disaster, just like you had told Bradley: boxes from Bergdorf’s half opened, a pile of sheets that needed to be washed, your closet spilling out onto the floor in the corner.

A knock on the door stirred you from your stupor. You frowned, gliding down the hallway and opening the door without looking at who it was. Bob stood wearing a pair of chinos and a short sleeved polo tucked into it. You felt severely underdressed in a pair of satin pajama shorts and a thin tank top that you were almost positive showed your nipples. You crossed your arms over your chest defensively. “Dr. Floyd.”

“Dr. James,” he replied. “Is now a bad time?”

“Only if you’re morally opposed to mess,” you said, opening the door wider. “Come in.”

Bob stepped into the narrow hallway. Under the dim lighting of the broken fixture, he looked pale, a little drawn. He peered around the corner into the living room. “Sorry to impose.”

“I’m still getting settled,” you admitted, grabbing a cardigan and yanking it on before brushing off a set of towels from the couch. “Have a seat. Want something to drink?”

“If it’s not a bother.”

“If you drink wine then it won’t be a bother. If you want water or something archaic then we’re all out.” You grabbed a mug from the cabinet to your right and the bottle of pinot noir you had opened earlier, slopping a few inches into the mug and handing it to Bob. He took it with an unreadable face, crossing one ankle over his knee. “How can I help you?”

“My father is quite ill,” Bob said and that’s when you realized what was written all over his features but unsaid until that moment.

Fear. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

He nodded solemnly. “And as part of his estate, I’m working on finalizing the details for our medical practice.”

“Ours?”

“Mine and my father’s,” he corrected. You nodded. “But it’s my understanding that when he offered you the position, it came with a partnership. Is that correct?”

“Yes.” You had a flashback to the first time you had bumped into Bradley on your first day in Willow. The paperwork that had scattered at your feet, partnership in large block letters across the top.

“Do you have that in writing?”

“No.” You took a sip of wine and folded onto the couch seat next to Bob, feet tucked up beneath your butt. “Just a verbal agreement.”

His lips pursed into a fine line. “That’s what I thought.”

“What?” you asked, eyebrows knitted together.

“According to my attorney, that’s not legally binding in the state of Georgia, so I have no requirement to uphold it.”

“Your attorney?” you asked. “You mean Bradley.”

“Bradley Bradshaw is my attorney, yes.”

“Mine, too.”

Bob frowned. “Not possible. We can’t have the same attorney on a case as plaintiff and defendant.”

“First off, since when is this a court case? Secondly, you can’t call dibs on the only lawyer in town.”

“Go to Atlanta or Macon.”

“You go to Atlanta!”

“Bradshaw has been my lawyer for a decade,” Bob countered. “Besides, he’s handling my father’s estate.”

“What estate?” you scoffed. “Three pencil erasers and an old Lincoln Continental?”

“It’s a Subaru Forester.”

You rolled your eyes. “Seriously, Floyd, are we going to fight over this?”

“If by this you mean my medical practice, then yes,” he answered. “This is my life’s work, Olive. It’s all I’ve ever known. And it’s mine.”

“It was promised to me, too.”

“Why the hell would you want it?” he demanded, eyes blazing. “You’re a New Yorker. You don’t belong here and you never will. Why are you pretending you’re planning to stay?”

His words cut. The truth was, you had nowhere else to go. Three months ago you hadn’t known Willow existed. Now, it was the only place that knew who you were. The only place that might miss you when you were gone.

Bob stood up, placing his mug of wine untouched on the table. “This was a mistake,” he said. “Coming here tonight. I should have just done this at the office.”

You scrambled to your feet, cardigan falling from your fingertips, exposing your sheer top. Bob’s eyes traveled down and his cheeks blushed, hard. You stood your ground. “What can I do to convince you that I’m here for good?”

“I don’t know, Olive,” Bob said softly, turning toward the door. “All I know is I’m running out of time to figure this out. And I can’t wait around to see if you’re going to hold up your end of the bargain.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

Bob opened the rickety front door and stepped outside, one large hand on the knob to stop it from closing. He turned back, his eyes locked on yours. “We’ll see about that.”

***

“I look ridiculous.” You tugged on the hem of your white nurses uniform dress. “I can’t believe you convinced me to wear this.”

“It’s hilarious,” Phoenix said, stepping out of the car in a pair of form fitting jeans. “You’re dressed as a nurse but you’re really a doctor. It’s theatrical.”

“It’s slutty.”

“Sorry to admit it, Olive, but your regular outfits aren’t much better.”

“Hey!”

She laughed. “Sorry Doc.”

“How come you get to wear pants?”

“I’m Beth Dutton,” she said, frowning. “You know, cowgirl shit.”

You shook your head. “I could have worn pants.”

“Be happy you’re hot,” Phoenix said, linking her arm in yours and tugging you toward the front door.

The Flannerys house was what you’d expect old Southern money to look like. It was essentially Tara, minus the carrot. Giant white pillars holding up a roof over a wide wraparound porch. Enormous jack-o-lanterns peppered the stairs on either side, faux spider webs hanging from the pillars, lights illuminating all of the windows inside as music pumped through the house. You looked over at Phoenix with wide eyes. “This is a house?”

“This is Poe’s Run,” she said. “Been in the Flannery family for two hundred and fifty years.”

“Jesus,” you whispered under your breath. “And Floyd gave up marrying into this because?”

“For his sanity,” Phoenix said. “Charlotte is a certified psycho.”

“Oh yeah, that.”

“Just stick with me and you’ll be good,” Phoenix said as the two of you reached the bottom of the long white staircase. You milled around couples and groups, Phoenix smiling and nodding as you passed. The chill that had accompanied your arrival in Willow was dwindling, and there were even a few nods in your direction, a handful of grins.

“Doc!”

“Marvin,” you said with a smile. “How’s the leg?”

He pulled up the hem of his pants from his pirate’s costume to showcase a five-inch scar. “All better.”

You bent down, examining it visually. “No swelling or redness. No infection.” You straightened up. “Looking good. You’ll come see me if you see any changes though, right?”

“You got it.”

A hand skimmed over your low back. You turned, eyes wide. Bradley tipped his cowboy hat. “That’s a mighty short dress you got on, Doc.” You blushed. “Almost saw something only an OBGYN should see when you bent down there.”

“Oh, Jesus,” you muttered under your breath. Phoenix laughed.

“I see you’re in good hands,” she replied with a wink. “Going to get myself some of Lacey’s famous punch.”

“Watch out,” Bradley warned as Phoenix made her way through the crowd, “don’t forget about Halloween 2013!”

“Shut up!” she cried, disappearing into the crowd.

“What happened Halloween 2013?” you asked as Bradley led you to the outskirts of the room and plucked a glass of champagne off of a tray.

“Phoenix got so drunk she ended up serenading Mr. Flannery on top of the grand piano like Marilyn Monroe to JFK.”

“God, I’d pay money to see that.”

“Just slip her some vodka and you’ll see it.”

“Deal.” Bradley’s hand didn’t move from your waist as you looked up at him, sipping your drink. It fizzed on your tongue. “Can I ask you something?”

“Anything.” He said it in such a sincere way that it made your heart squeeze.

“Bob came to see me the other day. About the partnership.”

Bradley’s hand fell from your waist. You watched as his professional persona washed over him, like a transformer, bit by bit until he was in a plastic shell of an attorney.

“He said the deal I had with Dr. Floyd Sr. isn’t valid.”

Bradley sighed, setting down his glass onto a nearby table. “That’s correct. In the state of Georgia, verbal contracts are not binding.”

“Bradley,” you whispered. “I moved here for this job.”

“I know you did.”

“What am I supposed to do?”

He shook his head. “I can’t provide any guidance because I’m not your counsel.”

You set your champagne glass down, pulling out your purse and yanking a twenty out of it, shoving it into your hand. “There, now you’re my lawyer.”

“Not that simple, Olive,” he said, pressing it back into your palm. “I’m already retained by the Floyd family. I can’t represent you both.”

“You’re the only lawyer in this whole fucking town, Bradley!” Your raised voice and the cursing caught the eye of a few nearby people who craned their heads at the commotion.

“I’ll find you someone,” he promised quietly. “A few of my friends from law school ended up around here. I’ll find you an attorney, I promise.”

You frowned. “OK.”

“Let’s leave this for Monday,” he said. “It’s your first Halloween in Willow. Don’t you want to see what all that small town charm is about?” He held out his hand and you took it reluctantly, letting him pull you out into the middle of the room that had turned into a makeshift dance floor. It was easy with Bradley. He folded you against him, one large hand spread across your lower stomach, his other pressed against your hip as you swayed against him, the curve of your ass molded softly to his front. He was tall, so damn tall, and you could feel the heat from every inch of his body. And even though you had resisted his charm for months, the walls were starting to crumble. “Doc,” Bradley whispered in your ear, his fingertips gripping your waist tighter, pressing you against him so close.

“Hmm?”

Just as Bradley was about to spin you around, a commotion broke out at the far end of the room. Bob appeared dressed in a flight suit, a look of calm panic on his face. His eyes scanned the crowd before zeroing in on you and he stepped forward, taking in the way you were pressed against Bradley. “Dr. James,” he said and you could hear it in his voice.

You stepped forward, out of Bradley’s embrace. “What’s going on?”

“It’s Mr. Flannery,” he said quietly. “He’s having a heart attack.”

“Fuck,” you whispered, already mentally preparing yourself.

Bob held out his hand. “This way.” You allowed him to press his hand to your back softly, propelling you forward through the crowd, leaving Bradley in your wake.

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nikimisery · 28 days ago

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Season 1 Episode 5 - Bloody Mary

“Sam, wake up.” Dean called out from the front seat. I had been reading the new book Dean had ‘not’ gotten me, Dark Lover by J.R. Ward, when he started showing signs of a nightmare. Sitting up, he looked around the car, confused.

“I take it I was having a nightmare?” He asked.

“Yeah, another one.”

“Hey, at least I got some sleep.” Sam replied. Reaching up, I popped him in the back of the head with my book.

“Doesn’t count.” I told him.

“You know, sooner or later, we’re gonna have to talk about this.” Dean spoke up, but Sam ignored him.

“Are we here?”

“Yup. Welcome to Toledo, Ohio.”

“So what do you think really happened to this guy?” He asked, picking up the newspaper Dean had circled the Shoemaker obituary in yesterday.

“That’s what we’re gonna find out.” Dean replied before getting out of the car and opening my door for me. We made our way into the hospital, following the signs for the morgue.

“I hate hospitals.” I spoke up. “It smells funny in here.”

“Hey.” A rather bored looking morgue technician spoke up when we reached the desk.

“Hey.” Dean answered him.

“Can I help you?”

“Yeah. We’re the, uh… med students.”

“Sorry?”

“Oh, Doctor – “ Dean paused, looking over at the nameplate for the doctor before continuing, “-Figlavitch didn’t tell you? We talked to him on the phone. He, uh, we’re from Ohio State. He’s supposed to show us the Shoemaker corpse. It’s for our paper.”

“Well, I’m sorry, he’s at lunch.”

“Oh well he said, uh, oh, well, you know, it doesn’t matter.” Dean said, fumbling with his words. “You don’t mind just showing us the body, do you?”

“Sorry, I can’t.” He said, not even looking up from his book. “Doc will be back in an hour. You can wait for him if you want.”

“An hour? Ooh. We gotta be heading back to Columbus by then.” Dean said, looking over to Sam for a little help.

“Yeah.” Sam said.

“Uh, look, man, this paper’s like half our grade, so if you don’t mind helping us out – “ Dean began, but the tech cut him off.

“Uh, look, man… no.” Dean just laughs before turning back to us.

“I’m gonna hit him in his face, I swear.” Before he could turn back to the tech, I smacked him in the arm, getting his attention.

“Let me try.” I told him with a wink, walking past him to the tech’s desk. I had decided to wear a lowcut tank top with one of Dean’s flannels so maybe I could work this to my advantage. I stepped up to the desk, leaning down on my elbows in front of the guy, pushing my arms together to get his attention. “I’m sorry about my friend over there, he can get a little cranky sometimes.” I said, pushing out my bottom lip into a bit of a pout. His eyes followed my bottom lip before falling down to my shirt. He swallowed before looking back up at me.

“It’s, um… it’s okay.” He stuttered out.

“Do you think you could show me the body?” I asked him, running my finger along the back of his hand. “I cannot even begin to tell you how much it would help me.”

“Uh, yeah, I guess it wouldn’t hurt anything.” He said, standing up so fast he almost knocked his chair over. “Yeah, uh, follow me.” I turned back to see Sam laughing, trying to cover his face and Dean glaring at the tech. Winking at them, I turned to follow him into the morgue.

“Now the newspaper said his daughter found him. She said his eyes were bleeding.” Sam stated as the morgue tech pulled back the sheet that was covering the body.

“More than that. They practically liquefied.” The morgue tech said, almost sounding excited.

“Any sign of a struggle? Maybe somebody did it to him?” Dean asked.

“Nope. Besides the daughter, he was all alone.”

“What was the official cause of death?” Sam asked.

“Ah, Doc’s not sure. He’s thinking massive stroke, maybe an aneurysm? Something burst up in there, that’s for sure.”

“What do you mean?”

“Intense cerebral bleeding.” I answered Sam.

“Correct.” The tech said, eyeing me. “This guy had more blood in his skull than anyone I’ve ever seen.”

“What would cause something like that?” Came Sam again.

“Capillaries can burst. See a lot of bloodshot eyes with stroke victims.” I replied, causing all three guys to turn to look at me. “What, I read.”

“Yeah? You ever see exploding eyeballs?” Dean snarked at me.

“That’s a first for me, but hey, I’m not the doctor.” Said the tech.

“Hey, think we could take a look at that police report? You know for, uh… our paper?” Dean asked him.

“I’m not really supposed to show you that.” Rolling my eyes, I turned to the tech and walked up to him.

“But you can, right? Daddy said I need to get a good grade on this paper.” I asked sweetly.

“Yeah…. Yeah, I can do that.” He said, turning around to grab the report. As soon as he handed it to me, I leaned up and kissed his cheek.

“Thank you!”

“You think that was cute?” His voice hit me as soon as we were out the door.

“What are you talking about?” I asked him.

“Flirting with that guy? Kissing him? Did you enjoy yourself?” His voice was low, dangerous.

“Did you enjoy it, Sugar?” I asked with a smirk.

“Careful.”

“You keep saying that, but here we are…” I said, walking out the door, following Sam.

“Might not be one of ours.” Sam said when we caught up with him. “Might just be a freak medical thing.”

“How many times in Dad’s long and varied career has it actually been a freak medical thing and not some sign of an awful supernatural death?” Dean asked him.

“Uh, almost never.” Sam replied, almost sheepishly.

“Exactly.”

“All right, let’s go talk to the daughter.”

‘Someone’s cranky.’ She spoke.

‘He seemed pretty mad at our way of getting information.’

‘He could have always done something about it, but he didn’t. He’ll get over it.’

When we reached the Shoemaker residence, the funeral was in full effect. We were surrounded by men and women wearing all black suits and dresses, making us stick out, severely.

“Feel like we’re underdressed.” Dean pipped up as we walked through the house. I wasn’t sure what the daughter looked like, so I paused at the person closest to me.

“Excuse me,” I began, speaking quietly so I didn’t disturb anyone. “Can you point me in the direction of Miss Shoemaker?”

“Oh, yes.” The elderly woman said. “She’s just outside, sitting with her friends. Such a shame this happened to them…” She trailed off sadly.

“Thank you so much.” I replied, pulling the boys with me towards the backyard. We found them exactly where the little lady said they would be.

“You must be Donna, right?” Dean said as we all walked up to the little group.

‘Blondie better keep her eyes to herself.’ Val whispered in my head as she caught sight of one of the girls in the group eyeing Dean. ‘I’d be happy to cut them out for her.’ She snarled. I had to bite my lip to stop the grin that was trying to take over my face.

‘Stop it. Not the time.’

“Yeah.” Donna replied to Dean.

“Hi, uh – we’re really sorry.” Sam said.

“Thank you.”

“I’m Sam, this is Dean and this is Freya. We worked with your dad.”

“You did?” She asked.

“I don’t think she really wants to talk about this right now.” Cut in one of Donna’s friends.

“It’s okay.” Donna cut her off. “I’m okay.”

“Were there any symptoms?” Dean asked her. “Dizziness? Migraines?”

“No.”

“That’s because it wasn’t a stroke.” A little girl says, speaking up from beside Donna.

“Lily, don’t say that.” Donna said gently. Lily. She must be the youngest daughter.

“What?” Sam asked.

“I’m sorry, she’s just upset.” Donna began.

“No, it happened because of me.” Lily was all but crying at this point. I couldn’t help but feel sorry for the little one.

“Lily,” I began, kneeling down so I could look her in the eye. “Why would you say that?” I asked her, as gently as I could.

“Right before he died, I said it.”

“You said what?” Sam prodded.

“Bloody Mary, three times, in the bathroom mirror.” Lily began, raising her head up to meet my gaze. “She took his eyes, that’s what she does.”

“That’s not why Dad died. This isn’t your fault.” Donna told her. I reached out for her, holding her hand in mine as Dean spoke up.

“I think your sister’s right, Lily. There’s no way it could have been Bloody Mary.” He said. “Your dad didn’t say it, did he?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“See?” I told her, squeezing her hand. “Not your fault.” I smiled at her as I stood, following the boys back into the house. We knew from the police report that he died in the upstairs bathroom, so that’s where we went, Sam pushing the door open.

“The Bloody Mary legend… Dad ever find any evidence that it was a real thing?”

“Not that I know of.” Dean answered him. “Princess, your mom got anything on this?”

“No. But there are so many different Bloody Mary legends.” I began. “Like, so many. One says that Mary was a young girl that lived in the 1800s who was buried alive. One says Bloody Mary was a witch who lived in the woods, kidnapping young girls. There are a lot, but I’ve never read about one where the eyes liquify…”

“I mean, everywhere else all over the country, kids will play Blood Mary, and as far as we know, nobody dies from it.” Sam said.

“Yeah, well, maybe everywhere it’s just a story, but here it’s actually happening.” Dean suggested.

“The place where the legend began?” Sam asked.

“Or maybe just this legend?” I added. Dean just shrugged as he opened the cabinet, looking around for any type of clue.

“But according to the legend, the person who says B-“ Sam began before he noticed that the cabinet Dean had opened made the mirror point directly at his face. Closing it, he continued. “The person who says you know what gets it. But here –“

“Shoemaker gets it instead, yeah.” Dean finished for him.

“Right.”

“Never heard of anything like that before. Still, the guy did die right in front of a mirror, and the daughter’s right. The way the legend goes, you know who scratches your eyes out.”

“It’s worth checking in to.” Sam replied, ushering us out of the bathroom.

“I feel like I’m in a bad Harry Potter book…” I began.

“Don’t even start, princess. You and Sasquatch, here, can talk nerd when we get out of here.” Dean cut me off. I just rolled my eyes at him, admittingly making sure he saw me, before following after Sam. I smirked to myself as I heard the low growl coming from Dean behind me, but before I could comment on it, we were interrupted by one of Donna’s friends from downstairs.

“What are you doing up here?” She asked us.

“We – we, had to go to the bathroom.” Dean said. That was possibly the worst explanation he could have tried to give…

“Who are you?” She asked.

“Like we said downstairs, we worked with Donna’s dad.”

“He was a day trader or something. He worked by himself.”

“No, I know, I meant –“

“And all those weird questions downstairs, what was that? So you tell me what’s going on, or I start screaming.” She cut Dean off.

“That’s enough out of you.” I spoke up, pointing to Dean, sticking my tongue out at him behind Sam’s back.

“All right, all right. We think something happened to Donna’s dad.” Sam said.

“Yeah, a stroke.” She responded. I just rolled my eyes at her before I spoke up.

“That’s not a sign of a typical stroke.”

“We think it might be something else.” Sam finished for me.

“Like what?” She asked.

“Honestly? We don’t know yet. But we don’t want it to happen to anyone else. That’s the truth.” Sam told her. Well, most of it anyways.

“So, if you’re gonna scream, go right ahead.” Dean told her. “She might not be very happy if you do, though.” He finished up, pointing at me.

“Who are you, cops?” Sam looked over his shoulder at Dean and I with a look that screamed ‘help me’.

“Something like that.” I answered for him.

“I’ll tell you what.” Sam started, reaching into his jacket pocket, pulling out a pen and a piece of paper. “Here.” He wrote down his cell number before handing it to her. “If you think of anything, you or your friends notice anything strange, out of the ordinary… just give us a call.” Dean and I were already almost halfway down the hallway towards the stairs when I turned around to speak up.

“Literally anything, even if it’s small, even if you think it doesn’t matter.” She nodded at me as we headed back down the stairs and out of view.

We had left the Shoemaker’s house, deciding to head to the library, seeing if maybe we could find some information on our Bloody Mary.

“Hey, Dean?” I popped my head up between the boys.

“What’s up, princess?” He asked, never taking his eyes off the road.

“Do you think sloths get angry?” I asked him. “I mean, they are like, so slow, and so chill…” I trailed off. I could hear Sam snickering to my right as I looked at Dean.

“I don’t fuckin know. Do I look like National Geographic to you?” He snarked at me.

“Could have just said no…” I mumbled out at him. Sam was full on laughing at us now.

“Look it up when we get to the library.” He told me.

“Fine.”

“You’re mean.” I said, sticking my tongue out at him again.

“You know, that’s the second time in the past hour you’ve stuck that tongue out at me.”

“And I’m going to keep doing it every time you deserve it.”

“Open that mouth up again, baby girl, and I’m going to give you something to put in it.” He told me, lowering his voice again. My jaw dropped at that one, I swear I probably looked like a fish out of water. My face turned bright red and I sat back in my seat as quickly as I could.

“You two disgust me.” Sam began, “But your face!” He laughed, pointing at me. It even made Dean chuckle a little.

“I hate you both.”

“Keep telling yourself that.” Sam said, as we pulled up to the library. Dean got out and opened my door for me, pulling me out and up against him.

“You turn such pretty colors.” He said, running his finger down my cheek. “Makes me wonder where else I could make you blush.”

“Are you two coming?” Sam called out to us from the library steps. “We got a job to do.” With Dean being distracted, I took the opportunity and snuck around him, all but running to Sam. This flirting is going to give me a heart attack. I know for a fact that I’m not his type, so why does he keep doing it? Why do I like it so much? Why do I never want him to stop? And why, for the love of whatever god is listening to me, do I want it all for myself? FUCK. Get it together.

“All right, say Bloody Mary really is haunting this town.” Dean began, leading us into the building. “There’s gonna be some sort of proof – like a local woman who died nasty.”

“Yeah, but a legend this widespread it’s hard. I mean, there’s like 50 versions of who she actually is. Like Freya said earlier, one story says she’s a witch, another says she’s a mutilated bride, there’s a lot more.”

“All right so what are we supposed to be looking for?”

“Every version’s got a few things in common.” I began.

“It’s always a woman named Mary, and she always dies right in front of a mirror.” Sam continued.

“So we’ve gotta search local newspapers – public records as far back as they go. See if we can find a Mary who fits the bill.” I finished.

“Well that sounds annoying.” Dean piped up.

“No it won’t be so bad, as long as we…” Sam trailed off as we entered into the main part of the library, looking around. Every single one of the computers had a sign on them that said ‘Out of Order’. “I take it back,” He continued with a small laugh. “This will be very annoying.”

“Freya…” Dean started. “I will literally do anything you ask of me, if you let me out of this room, right now.”

“Will you let me drive baby?”

“Sam, where do we start?”

“Ay, fuck you, Winchester.” I said as Sam laughed at us, ushering us over to a table then leaving to get someone to help us find what we needed. We stayed there for a little bit, reading over everything that we could find before I noticed the fatigue trying to pull Sam under. I nudged Dean under the table, nodding my head towards his brother.

“Let’s take this back to the motel.” He said, standing up and gathering up what he could hold with me and Sam following right behind him.

“Yeah, okay.” Sam answered.

“Ohhhhh can we get food??” I asked, giving Dean what I hoped would be a similar rendition of Sam’s successful puppy dog eyes.

“Yeah, I guess I could eat.” He answered.

“Why’d you let me fall asleep?” Sam asked us from where he was laid out on one of the beds. Dean and I were sitting at the small table, my legs propped up on his lap, looking through the articles and books spread out on the table. Dean had one of his hands resting on my shin, tracing patterns into the bone while he was looking through Sam’s laptop.

“Cause I’m an awesome brother.” He answered him. “So what did you dream about?”

“Lollipops and candy canes.” Sam responded. I snorted at his answer. I didn’t have to have super sensitive hearing to know he was lying.

“Yeah, sure.” Dean quipped at him.

“Did you find anything?” Sam asked, sitting up.

“Oh besides a whole new level of frustration?” Dean answered sarcastically.

“No, we’ve looked at everything. A few local women, a Laura and a Catherine committed suicide in front of a mirror.” I added in.

“And a giant mirror fell on a guy named Dave, but uh, no Mary.” Dean finished for me.

“Maybe we just haven’t found it yet.” Sam said with a sigh, falling back onto the bed again.

“I’ve also been searching for strange deaths in the area, you know… eyeball bleeding, that sort of thing. There’s nothing. Whatever’s happening here, maybe it just ain’t Mary.”

“I have a theory, but I want to make sure I’m right first.” I began. Dean opened his mouth to say something, but the ringing of Sam’s phone cut him off.

“Hello?”

We had rushed out to the car to meet Charlie as soon as Sam was off the phone and had relayed to Dean what happened. As we were driving down the road, Dean decided to pick up our earlier conversation.

“Hey, princess. You said you had a theory?”

“Yeah, but I wanted to make sure I was right first.”

“Go ahead and lay it on us. The worst that could happen is your wrong.” He said. Normally, I wouldn’t want to tell them until I knew for sure what I was dealing with, but the more time I spent with them, the more comfortable I felt with them. I didn’t feel the need to hide away and not make any noise. I felt seen with them. They always listened to what I had to say and would either agree or disagree, but never once did they make me feel stupid for asking a question, or stating my opinion. It made me feel more at home than I had since my parents had died. It honestly scared the fuck out of me, but I had decided a while ago that I was going to embrace it for as long as they would have me.

“So, a long time ago, when someone died in a house, the family would cover the mirrors with sheets and blankets, anything they could, so that the soul wouldn’t get trapped in it.” I began. “What if we are dealing with the same concept? It might not be where the legend started, but maybe it doesn’t have to be, if the circumstances are correct…” I trailed off.

“What?” Dean asked, sensing I had more to say.

“I just think there is something vital we are missing. I don’t think some Bloody Tudor Queen or some woods witch is here in the middle of nowhere Ohio, blowing up the eyeballs of suburban house dads.” The brothers shared a look, but neither one said anything as we pulled into the park where we were supposed to meet with Charlie. She was sitting down at a picnic table, head in her hands as we approached. I had tuned out a little when Sam had asked her what happened. I was running over all the different Bloody Mary legends I had read in my head, but I kept coming to a dead end.

“And they found her on the bathroom floor. And her – her eyes. They were gone.” She finished.

“I’m sorry.”

“And she said it.” She began, completely missing the look the brothers shared over her head. “I heard her say it. But it couldn’t be because of that. I’m insane, right?”

“No, you’re not insane.” Dean told her.

“Oh God, that makes me feel so much worse…”

“Look. We think something’s happening here. Something that can’t be explained.” Sam began.

“And we’re gonna stop it, but we could use your help.” Dean finished.

The three of us had parked the car up the street a little ways from Jill’s house. We had decided that we would sneak in through the window and Charlie would let us in. I hadn’t thought that it would be a good idea for the four of us to barge in. Sam went up first, climbing up and waiting on the roof by Jill’s bedroom window. I was next, jumping up and grabbing onto the edge of the roof, I pulled myself up, turning back to watch Dean.

“Need any help, handsome?” I asked him, but he just scowled at me and copied my actions.

“I got it.” He said defensively.

“Mm-hm.” I replied, watching him pull himself up on the roof. I could see the muscles in his arms and chest flexing with every move he made and I had to fight the urge to run my fingers over them.

“What did you tell Jill’s mom?” Sam asked Charlie as she opened the window to let us in.

“Just that I needed some time alone with Jill’s pictures and things.” She told us. Sam had gotten in the window, turning around with his hand out to help me. I pulled myself in, sitting the bag I had carried in down on the floor as Sam started to go through it. Dean was next in the window, almost tripping, but catching himself at the last minute. I smiled to myself, looking away so he didn’t know I had caught him. Closing the curtain, he joined us. “I hate lying to her.” Charlie finished speaking.

“Trust us, this is for the greater good.” He told her. “Hit the lights.”

“What are you guys looking for?” Charlie asked as she turned off the lights.

“We’ll let you know as soon as we find it.” Sam had pulled the camera out of the bag I had packed, handing it to Dean so he could get it ready for our exploration.

“Hey, night vision.” Sam commented.

“Perfect.” I said. “Since you idiots can’t see in the dark.” I joked at them.

“Brat.” Came Dean’s response as he handed the camera back to Sam, who in turn pointed it to me. “Does she look like Paris Hilton?”

“You wish.” I snarked.

“Na.” Was his reply. Confused, I shook my head before looking around the room.

“So, I don’t get it. I mean… the first victim didn’t summon Mary, and the second victim did. How’s she choosing them?” Sam asked, pointing the camera at the mirror on the closet door. I had walked into the bathroom to look around, but nothing had stuck out at me.

“Beats me.” Dean answered him. “I want to know why Jill said it in the first place.”

“It was just a joke.” Charlie told him.

“Yeah, well, somebody’s gonna say it again, it’s just a matter of time.” He responded, voice hardening. I was about to rejoin them out in the main room when the faint smell of blood hit my nose. Following it, I found myself standing in front of the bathroom mirror. I couldn’t see anything unusual about it, but I wondered if Valkyrie could, so I closed my eyes and turned on her vision. When I opened my eyes, that’s when I saw it. Blood. Running out from behind the mirror, down the wall.

“Guys.” I called out. Both of them following my voice and joining me in the bathroom.

“What?” Dean asked me. Instead of answering him, I just pointed. “I don’t see anything.” He said.

“Sam, the camera.” I instructed. Holding it up in his hand, he aimed it where I was pointing, the blood becoming visible.

“Hey.” He began. “There’s a black light in the trunk, right?” Dean turned to retrieve it as Sam pulled the mirror off the wall. We laid it down on Jill’s bed right as Dean made it back into the room, tossing the light to Sam. I turned over the mirror and peeled off the paper covering the back of it to see the words ‘Gary Bryman’ written in blood.

“Who’s Gary Bryman?” I asked Charlie

“Gary Bryman?” She asked.

“You know who it is?” Sam asked her again.

“No.” She answered us. “Wait, how did you know that was there? The light wasn’t on yet.”

“She’s special.” Dean answered for me. Shooting him a grateful look, I packed everything back up into the bag, hosting it up over my shoulder again.

“Let’s get back to the park and Sam can go figure out who Gary Bryman is.” I told the boys, turning to head back towards the window.

“Yeah, okay.” Came Dean’s response as he followed me.

“Thank you.” I whispered to him as soon as we were out of the window. He just nodded with a small smile before hopping down off of the roof, waiting for Sam and I to join him.

“When you said she was special, what did you mean?” I heard Charlie asking Dean. I was sitting a little ways away from them, leaning up against a tree reading my book.

“She’s different. Different from us..” he began. “You and me, normal people. She’s able to do things that we could only dream about.”

“Is she your girlfriend?”

“What? No…” he trailed off. “She’s not mine. But she’s special none the less.” Came his response.

“You care about her though.” Came Charlie’s response.

“What makes you say that?”

“Your eyes follow her wherever she goes.” She began. “Don’t worry, she’s the same way.” She followed up quickly. “It’s not just you.”

“You know…” He trailed off. “She can hear everything we are saying right now.” He told her. I could hear the smirk in her voice.

“No way.”

“Oh yeah. In fact, would you like me to tell you what happens on the last page of that book she’s reading?”

“Dean Winchester, if you say one more word, I will rip out your spine.” I called over to him.

“Told you.” He said, laughing quietly. Charlie looked scared as I stood up and started walking towards them.

“She’s not, actually going to do that, is she?”

“Na, she’s like…” Dean paused, contemplating how to say whatever it was he was thinking. “She’s like a pretty little wolf cub. They think they are a lot bigger than they actually are.” He said, grinning at me.

“Keep talking, Sugar, and my pretty little wolf claws are going to find their way into the seats of your precious Impala.” I threatened.

“You wouldn’t.” He was actually starting to look scared.

“Wouldn’t I?”

“Sam, back me up here.” Dean said, speaking to his brother who had just joined us.

“Nik, you love that car almost as much as Dean does. Down puppy.”

“Fine. So maybe not baby, but that just means I’ll have to find another place to dig my claws.” I said, my fingers finding their way to Dean’s stomach.

“Are you threatening me, Princess?”

“No, Sugar, it’s a promise…”

“So, anyway.” Sam cut in, pushing his way in between Dean and I with a small laugh and a shake of his head. “Gary Bryman was an 8-year-old boy.” He began, sitting down next to Charlie on the bench. “Two years ago, he was killed in a hit and run. The car was described as a black Toyota Camry. But nobody got the plates or saw the driver.”

“Oh my God.” Charlie exclaimed.

“What?”

“Jill drove that car.” She answered him. I turned to face Dean, my thoughts coming out of his mouth.

“We need to get back to your friend Donna’s house.” He said, as he grabbed me and pulled me back to the car.

We found ourselves in the Shoemaker’s bathroom with the mirror pulled down off the wall.

“Whatcha got, princess?” Dean asked me. They had decided not too bring in the blacklight, less questions.

“Linda Shoemaker.” I answered him. I glanced up to see the brothers sharing a look before Dean turned and made his way back downstairs.

‘This is about to get uncomfortable.’

‘Did this dude really kill his wife?’

‘I don’t know, but Dean looks pissed.’ I took off after him, Sam hot on my heels.

“Why are you asking me this?” Donna’s voice rang out. Dean had asked her about her mother’s death.

“Look, we’re sorry, but it’s important.” Sam spoke up.

“Yeah. Linda’s my mom okay? She overdosed on sleeping pills, it was an accident, and that’s it.” She said, getting more upset with each word spoken. “I think you should leave.”

“Now Donna, just listen.” Dean started to speak, but she cut him off.

“Get out of my house!” She yelled at him, running past him and up the stairs.

“Oh my god. Do you really think her dad could’ve killed her mom?” Charlie asked us.

“Maybe.” Sam answered her.

“I think I should stick around.” She said, looking up the stairs in the direction Donna had run off in.

“All right.” Dean said. “Whatever you do, don’t -” Dean started to speak, but Charlie cut him off.

“Believe me, I won’t say it.”

The boys and I had made our way back to our motel room for the night after I made Dean stop so I could get a burger. I got him some pie so he would stop pouting and now we were sitting around researching again.

“Wait, wait, wait, you’re doing a nationwide search?” Sam asked, stopping to look over Dean’s shoulder.

“Yep. The NCIC, the FBI database - at this point any Mary who died in front of a mirror is good enough for me.”

“But if she’s haunting the town, she should have died in the town.”

“Not necessarily.” I added.

“I’m telling you, there’s nothing local, I’ve checked. So unless you got a better idea - “ Dean told him.

“The way Mary’s choosing her victims, it seems like there’s a pattern.” Sam added.

“I know, I was thinking the same thing.”

“With Mr. Shoemaker and Jill’s hit and run.”

“Both had secrets where people died.” Dean said.

“RIght. I mean there’s a lot of folklore about mirrors-that they reveal all your lies, all your secrets, that they’re a true reflection of your soul, which is why it’s bad luck to break them.” Sam said.

“Right, right. So maybe if you’ve got a secret, I mean like a really nasty one where someone died, then Mary sees it, and punishes you for it.”

“Whether you’re the one that summoned her or not.”

“Take a look at this.” Dean said, clicking on the laptop a couple of times, printing off a picture to show us.

“That looks like the same handprint.” I said.

“Her name was Mary Worthington - an unsolved murder in Fort Wayne, Indiana.”

“Mary Worthington?” I asked, I couldn’t keep the shock out of my voice in that.

“That’s what I said, why?”

“One of the main Bloody Mary legends…” I began, my voice trailing off. “I mean, it’s probably nothing.”

“Tell me.”

“Mary Worth.” I began. “She was a witch who lived out in the woods. She would lure small children, little girls, mostly, out in the middle of the night, using them to keep her young. Kind of like the movie Hocus Pocus. When the townsfolk found out what she was doing, they went after her with pitchforks.”

“I loved that movie…” Dean said.

“Let me guess…” I said. “Sarah Sanderson?”

“How’d you know?” He asked me.

“She’s my choice too.” I giggled a little at the smirk that found the way onto his face at that.

“I was on the job for 35 years – detective for most of that.” The detective began, leading us into his office. “Now everybody packs it in with a few loose ends, but the Mary Worthington murder – that one still gets me.”

“What exactly happened?" Dean asked him.

“You kids said you were reporters?”

“We know Mary was 19, lived by herself.” Sam started.

“We know she won a few local beauty contests, dreamt of getting out of Indiana, being an actress.” I continued.

“And we know the night of March 29th, someone broke into her apartment and murdered her, cut our her eyes with a knife.” Sam finished for me.

“That’s right.”

“See sir, when we asked you what happened, we wanted to know what you think happened.” Sam explained, sitting down in one of the chairs in front of his desk. Dean guided me to sit in the other, standing right behind it, his hands on the back of the chair. The detective stepped away for a moment, going over to the filing cabinet in the corner of his office, retreiving a couple of files before returning to us.

“Technically, I’m not supposed to have a copy of this.” He began, opening the file and showing us the same picture Dean had printed off earlier. “Now, see that there? T-R-E? He asked, pointing to the mirror in the picture.

“Yeah.” Dean said.

“I think Mary was trying to spell out the name of her killer.”

“You know who it was?” Sam asked him, leaning forward in his seat.

“Not for sure. But there was a local man, a surgeon – Trevor Sampson.” He began, pulling out another picture from the file, turning for us to look at. “And I think he cut her up good.”

“Now, why would he do something like that?” Sam asked.

“Her diary mentioned a man that she was seeing. She called him by his initial, ‘T’.” The detective began. “Well, her last entry, she was gonna tell ‘T’s wife about their affair.”

“Yeah, but how do you know it was Sampson who killed her?” Dean asked.

“It’s hard to say, but the way her eyes were cut out...” He trailed off, lost in the memory of the crime scene. “It was almost professional.”

“But you could never prove it?” I asked.

“No. No prints, no witnesses. He was meticulous.”

“Is he still alive?” Dean asked.

“Nope.” The detective answered him, sitting down behind his desk. “If you ask me, Mary spent her last living moments trying to expose this guy’s secret. But she never could.”

“Where’s she buried?” Sam asked.

“She wasn’t. She was cremated.” The detective answered. Of course she was.

“What about that mirror?” Dean asked, nodding down to the crime scene photo of Mary. “It’s not in some evidence lockup somewhere is it?”

“Ah, no. It was returned to Mary’s family a long time ago.”

“You have the names of her family by any chance?” Sam asked.

On the way back to Toledo, Sam called the Worthington family, trying to find the mirror. So far, he had called three different numbers with no luck.

“Oh really? Ah that’s too bad, Mr. Worthington. I would have paid a lot for that mirror. Okay, well maybe next time. All right, thanks.”

“So?” Dean asked him.

“So that was Mary’s brother. The mirror was in the family for years, until he sold it one week ago to a store called Estate Antiques. A store in Toledo.”

“So wherever the mirror goes, that’s where Mary goes?” Dean asked.

“Her spirit’s definitely tied up with it somehow.”

“Looks like you were right, princess.” Dean said, winking at me in the rearview mirror. “So Mary dies in front of a mirror, and it draws in her spirit.”

“Yeah but how could she move through like a hundred different mirrors?” Sam asked.

“I don’t know, but if the mirror is the source, I say we find it and smash it.”

“Yah, I don’t know, maybe.” Sam began, but the ringing of his phone cut him off. “Hello?” I could hear Charlie’s frantic voice coming in over the phone, but she was so scared, I couldn’t understand her. “Charlie?”

“Dean, drive.” I told him.

I led Charlie into our motel room, sitting her down on one of the beds as the boys worked to cover every reflective surface around us. She had her head buried in my chest, trying to hide.

“Hey, hey it’s okay.” Sam said. “Hey, you can open up your eyes Charlie. It’s okay, all right?” Charlie slowly her head up, taking a cautious look around. “Now listen. You’re gonna stay right here on this bed, and you’re not gonna look at glass, or anything else that has a reflection, okay? And as long as you do that, she cannot get you.” He told her.

“But I can’t keep that up forever.” Charlie said sadly. “I’m gonna die, aren’t I?

“No. No. Not anytime soon.” Sam promised. Dean sat next to me on the bed, leaning forward so he could see her better.

“All right, Charlie.” He began. “We need to know what happened.”

“We were in the bathroom. Donna said it.” She started.

“That’s not what we’re talking about.” I told her, gently.

“Something happened, didn’t it? In your life... a secret... where someone got hurt.” Dean prodded. I could tell he was trying to be gentle with her, but his patience with this case was starting to run thin.

“Can you tell us about it?” I asked her. She looked up at me, eyes welling up with tears before she began to speak.

“I had this boyfriend. I loved him. But he kind of scared me too, you know?” She began. I tried so hard not to let my face show the emotions going through me, but between her emotions rolling through me and my own memories, I knew my struggle was becoming known. “and one night, at his house, we got into this fight. Then I broke up with him, and he got upset, and he said he needed me and he loved me, and he said ’Charlie, if you walk out that door right now, I'm gonna kill myself.’ And you know what I said? I said, ‘Go ahead.’ And I left. How could I say that? How could I leave him like that? I just...I didn't believe him, you know? I should have.” She was full on crying now, her head falling back onto my chest. I held her to me for a moment, rocking her back and forth while she cried, and I didn’t let her go until she had quieted.

“Charlie, we need to go handle this, but we will be back, yeah?” I told her. Nodding her head, she smiled at me.

“Thank you.”

“You know, her boyfriend killing himself, that’s not really Charlie’s fault.” Dean started. We were driving towards the antique store that bought the mirror.

“You know as well as I do, spirits don’t exactly see shades of gray, Dean.” Sam said. “Charlie had a secret, someone died, that’s good enough for Mary.”

“I guess.”

“You know, I’ve been thinking. It might not be enough to just smash that mirror.” I spoke up.

“Why, what do you mean?” Dean asked me.

“Well, Mary’s hard to pin down, right? I mean she moves around from mirror to mirror so who’s to say that she’s not just gonna keep hiding in them forever?” I asked. “So maybe we should try to pin her down, you know, summon her to her mirror and then smash it.”

“Well, how do you know that’s going to work?” He asked me.

“I don’t, not for sure.”

“Well who’s gonna summon her?” I opened my mouth to tell them that I would, but Sam beat me to it.

“I will. She’ll come after me.” He said.

“You know what, that’s it.” Dean said, pulling the car over to the road. “This is about Jessica, isn’t it? You think that’s your dirty little secret that you killed her somehow? Sam, this has got to stop, man. I mean, the nightmares and calling her name out in the middle of the night – It’s gonna kill you.” He said, turning in his seat to look at his brother. “Now listen to me – it wasn’t your fault. If you wanna blame something, then blame the thing that killed her. Or hell, why don’t you take a swing at me? I mean, I’m the one that dragged you away from her in the first place.”

“I don’t blame you.” Sam said quietly.

“Well, you shouldn’t blame yourself, because there’s nothing you could’ve done.”

“I could have warned her.”

“About what? You didn’t know what was gonna happen!” Dean told him sternly. “And besides, all of this isn’t a secret, I mean we know all about it. It’s not gonna work with Mary anyway.”

“No, you don’t.”

“I don’t what?”

“You don’t know all about it. I haven’t told you everything.” Sam answered him. I could feel the shift in the car, the reluctance Sam was emitting, the anger and helplessness radiating off Dean.

“What are you talking about?”

“Well it wouldn’t really be a secret if I told you, would it?”

“No.” Dean said, surprise colored his features before they hardened. “I don’t like it. It’s not gonna happen, forget it.”

“Dean, that girl back there is going to die unless we do something about it. And you know what? Who knows how many more people are gonna die after that?” Sam said. “Now we’re doing this. You’ve got to let me do this.” His tone was final, but I wasn’t going to let him do it.

‘I can do it. I’ll say it before he does. I’ll take this one.�� I told Val.

‘It would be wise. We will heal. We can’t let him do it.’

I caught Dean’s eye in the rearview mirror, shaking my head and pointing at myself. I was letting him know, secretly, that I wouldn’t let Sam put himself in harms way. His grip on the steering wheel tightened, his knuckles turning white, but he didn’t say anything as we pulled up to the shop. He opened my door after he got out, tension flowing off his limbs. I placed my hand on his arm, right above his elbow.

"Trust me.” I said. He nodded at me before turning away. Sam was already up at the door, knelt down, picking the lock. He pushed the door open, ushering us through it, but I stopped dead in my tracks when I looked up.

“Well…” Dean started, looking around as well. “That’s just great.” The room was almost nothing BUT mirrors, they were everywhere. “All right, let’s start looking.” He said. We split up, trying to find the mirror, the boys had their flashlights, inspecting every mirror they passed, but I tried to follow my nose. If there was still even the smallest amount of blood on her mirror, I was hoping I would still be able to smell it. I took a few more steps when it hit me. It was faint, but it was there. The metallic smell of iron. Blood. I could tell it was older, it wasn’t fresh, but I could still smell it, so I followed it, finding myself standing in front of the mirror from the picture.

“Maybe they’ve already sold it.” Dean called from over on my right.

“I don’t think so.” I replied, the boys finding me shortly after I finished speaking. Dean held up the printed off picture of the crime scene up, comparing the mirrors.

“That’s it…” He said, sighing. “You sure about this?” He asked Sam, taking the flashlight from him, but I could tell the words were directed at me.

“Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary.” I said quickly before Sam had a chance to.

“What are you doing, Freya, it was supposed to be me.” Sam yelled at me, pulling me around to face him.

“She can’t kill me, Sam.” I told him, my voice hard.

“You don’t know that, not for sure.”

“What I do know for sure, is that she CAN kill you. Period, Sam.” I responded, raising my voice a little. I wasn’t going to back down from this. Dean stepped in between his brother and I, his hand coming to rest on my collarbone.

“What’s done is done. Stop arguing over it.” He spoke up, pushing me back a little. Sam just sighed, picking up his crowbar, handing me the second one before shaking his head. Headlights shining through the windows grabbed our attention, causing us to turn to get a better look.

“I’ll go check that out. Stay here, be careful.” Dean told us as Sam raised his crowbar. “Smash anything that moves.” He walked away. I listened to his footsteps, hearing him swear to himself when he noticed who was outside. I kept one ear on him, making sure he didn’t need any help and the other on the room around me, listening for any sounds of our Bloody Mary.

“You didn’t have to do that.” Sam spoke, breaking the silence.

“Sam, you and Dean…” I began. “You guys are all I have. If I can do anything, and I do mean anything, to keep you safe, I’m going to do it.” I told him.

“Hold it!” I heard from outside.

“Whoa guys, false alarm, I tripped the system.” Dean tried to explain to the cops outside.

“Who are you?”

“I’m the boss’s kid.”

“You’re Mr. Yamashiro’s kid?” I couldn’t help it, I laughed a little out loud at that.

“Your brother’s an idiot.” I told Sam, shaking my head, but before I could elaborate, movement over to my left caught my eye. Sam swung at the mirror, shattering it before she appeared in a different mirror. My crowbar met that one, before we lost her again.

“Come on. Come into this one…” Sam spoke to himself. He was still looking around at the mirrors, scanning for any sight of her when I noticed my reflection in her mirror. I could feel my throat swelling, restricting my breathing and my reflection tilted her head at me. Blood was starting to drip from my eyes, the pressure in my skull was overwhelming and I fell to my knees.

“It’s your fault. You killed them. You killed your parents.” She said. I could feel my heart beating in my chest now, feeling like it was going to beat right out of my chest. “If it wasn’t for you, they would still be alive. They died because of you. You presented early. Everyone knew that you were going to be special. If you would have just been a normal girl, they would still be alive. You killed Mommy and Daddy. How could you do that? How could you leave them there in that car to die? Why didn’t you save them? YOU COULD HAVE SAVED THEM!” My reflection yelled at me as both Sam and Dean’s crowbars smashed through the mirror at the same time.

“Freya? Freya!” Dean’s voice cut through the haze of pain shooting through my skull.

“What happened to princess?” I tried to joke.

“God, are you okay?” He asked, hands reaching for me. I’m sure my entire face was covered in blood at this point.

“I will be.” I answered.

“Come on, come on.” He said, putting an arm under me to pull me up, Sam helping me on the other side. They both started walking me to the car when I heard the crunching of footsteps on the glass. Someone else was here.

“Boys.” I whispered, trying to turn around. The boys turned with me, facing the shattered mirror behind us, but what we saw was Mary. She had climbed out of the mirror and was now walking towards us. The pain in my head and chest started up again as I fell to the floor, but this time, it wasn’t just me. The boys were being effected too. “No!” I gasped out. But I was having a hard time breathing, let alone moving. Dean, still having a level head, grabbed one of the smaller mirrors beside where he fell, holding it up in front of Mary, making her look at her own reflection.

“You killed them! All those people! You killed them!” I heard coming from the mirror as Mary herself started to choke, slowly disintegrating into a puddle of blood on the floor. Dean threw the mirror onto the floor, shattering it for good measure as soon as it was over.

“Hey guys?” Dean said, leaning back on the floor, his hand finding mine and wrapping around it.

“Yeah?” Sam said.

“This has got to be like… what, 600 years of bad luck?” He joked, causing Sam and I to chuckle, a wince following directly after. I groaned as I laid there, my head and chest pounding. Dean was the first to recover, helping Sam up before turning to me. “Come on, up you go, Princess.” He said, pulling me to my feet.

“Let’s get Charlie home.” I told them, limping out to the car. Maybe I hadn’t fully saved Sam from the pain of Mary, but at least he only had to do it once. I healed at an incredibly accelerated rate, but I felt like all seven dwarves had taken up mining in my skull.

“We’ll be right there, Sam.” Dean told him, motioning for him to go ahead out to the car. Turning to me, he took my face in his hands, turning it back and forth, inspecting me. “Are you okay?” He asked, his eyes softening as he looked at me.

“I’m okay, Dean.” I promised him.

“What you did back there, for Sammy…” He began.

“I’d do it again.” I cut him off. A small smile made it’s way onto his face.

“No one has ever tried to protect him like I do…” He said, his eyes closing for a moment before he raised them to meet mine. “You have no idea what that means to me.” He was so close, I could feel his breath on my face, the heat from his body seeping into mine. “What you mean to me…” He whispered before closing the gap between us. His lips were such a soft contrast to the hard planes of his body and the callouses on his palms, but as he kissed me, one hand cradling the back of my head, the other rested on my lower back, pulling me into him, nothing else mattered. Nothing else existed except for him and me and this moment, together. He slowly pulled away, resting his forehead against mine for a moment, his breathing unsteady. My eyes were still closed when he lifted his head, but I could feel the small chuckle he let out. “I’ve wanted to do that for a while now.” He told me.

“I didn’t want you to stop.” I admitted to him, letting my head fall to rest against his chest.

“There will be time for that later, right now, we shouldn’t keep Sammy waiting, he’ll come looking for us after too long.” He said, but I could feel his reluctance for the moment to end as well. Lifting my head to look at him, I leaned up into him, kissed his lips one more time before turning around and walking away from him.

“What are you waiting for, sugar? Let’s go.” I teased, walking towards the door, putting a little extra sway on my hips. I could hear him groan behind me as the door started to close and I giggled to myself as I reached the car. That moment, it felt like something monumental had just shifted between us, a line was crossed that we could never uncross and honestly, I wasn’t sure I would even want to. When he kissed me, it was the most complete I had ever felt in my entire life. Like every single thing that had ever happened to me had led to that moment and I wouldn’t take it back for anything. It was all I could think about as we drove to get Charlie. I had ran my finger over my lips more than once and I knew that Dean had caught me in the rearview mirror, but I couldn’t be bothered to care.

We pulled up in front of Charlie’s house to drop her off, but before she got out of the car, she turned to me and pulled me into a tight hug before turning to the boys.

“So this is really over?” She asked. Nodding, Dean answered her.

“Yeah, it’s over.”

“Thank you.” She said, squeezing my hand before Dean reached back to shake hers. She had just closed the door, turning to head into her house when Sam’s voice stopped her.

“Charlie?” He called out to her. He waited until she was facing us again before continuing. “Your boyfriend’s death… You really should try to forgive yourself. No matter what you did, you probably couldn’t have stopped it.” He spoke to her. “Sometimes bad things just happen.” She didn’t answer, but she smiled at him before turning to go home.

“That’s good advice.” Dean spoke up, smacking Sam in the arm as he pulled away from the curb. “Hey, Sam?”

“Yeah?”

“Now that this is all over, I want you to tell me what that secret is.”

“Look… you’re my brother.” He began, then turned to me. “And you’re my best friend, and I’d die for either of you,” He continued, turning back to face Dean. “but there are some things I need to keep to myself.” He said, turning away, staring out the window. I could feel the emotions Dean was fighting when Sam turned away from him, so I reached up between the driver’s seat and the door, my hand coming to rest on his stomach. I wanted him to know that I was there for him. I felt the muscles in his stomach tense up before he relaxed, placing his hand over mine for a moment before he reached back up and held onto the steering wheel. He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t need to. He knew what I was trying to say. Everything would be okay. Sam was okay, I was okay, he was okay. Everything was okay.

“Hey, Princess?" Dean's voice called out.

“Yeah?"

“Did you ever find out if sloths get mad?"

#dean winchester #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester x oc #fanfic #sam winchester #supernatural #dean winchester smut #dean winchester fanfic #dean winchester fic #dean fanfiction #supernatural family #supernatural fanfiction #jensen fucking ackles #eventual smut #spn fanfic

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ashintheairlikesnow · 8 months ago

Text

Is He Safe?

CW: Captivity, creepy whumper. For @amonthofwhump Tropeathon Day 5: Covert Identity. (Jax, as always, used with permission and oversight from @comfy-whumpee)

Takes place during Jax’s first captivity.

The Motherfucking Gallaghers Masterlist

The ocean sounds like it’s breathing, a constant rhythm of water against the shore. Further down the way, groups of people laugh, throw beach balls, or otherwise enjoy the brilliant sunshine and growing warmth of the day.

Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows of one of the Marcoset vacation homes, the beach is perfectly empty. Private, and privately theirs. At a white table in a white kitchen, Savvie sits, one hand laid over his, watching her best friend speak to his father on the phone.

Jax is allowed one phone call per week, with Savvie by his side of course. She’s written out a few ideas for him on what to talk about on a little piece of paper.

If he asks about:

How you are: Great!

Mention foods you have eaten recently that you like

Change the subject

What you’re doing: Hanging out with friends!

You love traveling around with me

We have a goal of seeing all fifty states! You’re really looking forward to seeing Alaska

Where you are: Tell him we’re at the beach in Florida

Seashells

Walking by the ocean

Sunshine

Talk about that concert we went to

Ask him about himself as often as possible

I will end the call if he upsets you

They’re really… optional.

Just guidelines on how to keep the conversation nice and light. He doesn’t have to use them, if he doesn’t want to, although of course he wants to. Easier, that way, it must be so much easier than trying to come up with things to talk about all on his own, right? Besides, she’s been able to keep his collar off all week here, and she’d like to not have to put it back on before they even get back home.

Taking him out to eat and to shops feels like regular, normal life - briefly, Savvie forgets her grief over the loss of her parents, which still sometimes appears in deep waves that knock her over and leave her lying in bed weeping for a day or two on end, Jax cleaning somewhere in the house while Savvie can’t even begin to know how to go check on him or see what he’s up to.

It doesn’t matter. He’ll just be cleaning, anyway. Unless she forgets to let him out of his room, and then he’ll just be sitting on his bed, or staring at nothing.

“We, uh-” Jax clears his throat, and it jerks Savvie out of her reverie. She shoots him an encouraging smile, and he answers it automatically before he looks away from her again, looking out at the sea where it laps against the shore. His arm shifts under her touch, and she watches with fascination as goosebumps rise. She rubs at them, watching with delight as he shivers. His voice trembles, but only a little. His dad probably can’t hear it. “We’re in Fl-Florida, right now. Spent last week at the beach, yeah. Picking-... seashells and shit like that.”

“You picked… seashells?” There’s a note of something Savvie can’t read in Jax’s dad’s voice - he sounds almost doubtful, although it’s honestly true. Not the Florida part, but they did spend the last week at the Marcoset family beachhouse in North Carolina. Close enough. In any case, Jax absolutely spent a couple hours yesterday picking up the seashells Savvie pointed out to him, putting them into a little bag to wash and take back home. She'd even found a little bit of rock washed smooth by saltwater in the shape of a heart.

“Uh, yeah, we-... my-... my friends are into it, I guess,” Jax says, and looks at her again. She nods, and smiles, and gives his hand a little squeeze of approval. He’s doing so well. “Honestly I m-mostly just… hang out.”

“Getting a tan, then, are you?”

“B-bit of one,” Jax responds. He’s pale as a ghost, he hardly ever goes outside. When they lay out on the beach, Savvie makes him wear SPF 100+ sunscreen that lathers on as thick as chalk paste. But… his dad doesn’t need to know that either.

“Well, that’s good, then. But, Jax… these... friends of yours that you're with…”

All the conversations happen on speakerphone, but Savvie stays quiet and neither of them mention to the soft-spoken Brit on the other end that she is there. Jax knows better.

His eyes close, briefly, and then he looks steadfast out at the ocean. “They’re nice, Dad. I t-told you.”

“Right, but-”

“How’s Mam?”

The subject change isn’t done well, but his dad goes with it, answering reluctantly and allowing himself to be led away from questioning Jax’s mysterious friends. The first few times he asked, Savvie reached over and hung up the phone, and then made sure Jax didn't call him for weeks on end.

Now, Jax makes sure the wrong kind of questions stop fast.

She isn’t forcing him to. It's not like they aren’t friends, like they aren’t on a beach trip, like he isn’t having a great time. And he can still call his dad, of course. It’s not like… a threat, or anything. Just that Jax gets so worked up, and it’s better for him to just not talk to his dad at all for a while if it’s going to cause him so much pain and worry.

That doesn’t happen anymore. Jax cuts it off before it can.

Content, Savvie curls her fingers until the tips brush against his palm, and feels his muscles twitch in response. Savvie tells herself he’s squeezing back. They’re friends now. She tells him everything, and he’s such a good listener. They go on weekly coffee dates, just as friends of course, where he sits in the sun by the window, sipping black coffee and watching Savvie as she tells him about… anything. Everything. She’s gone on three dates during this monthlong beach vacay and told him all the dirty details the morning after each one, while they wait for breakfast to be delivered from the bakery down the road.

One man she'd even brought back to the beach house, and Jax had been there, an unobtrusive presence cleaning up after breakfast that her date hadn't even asked about.

All her thoughts and feelings spill out of her with Jax, and it’s amazing. She’d been feeling so alone when her parents died, and Jax has made sure she knows she’s never, ever going to be alone again.

He’s been such a good friend to her. And she’s been such a good friend to him in return, giving him these trips out and days off his work cleaning her house, letting him speak to his dad as long as he doesn’t start telling him lies or anything like that. Letting him come out of the shell the training place had put him into, letting him be sober most of the time instead of drugged like her uncle keeps telling her he should be.

He’s such a good friend.

He’s so good.

They’re going to be best friends for their whole lives.

She gives his hand another little squeeze and smiles. He echoes the expression, a half-second delayed, his attention torn between her and the voice coming through the phone.

“... -coming home any time soon?” His dad asks, a little hesitantly. He’s asked that before, and Savvie’s smile briefly fades away, her brows furrowing in distaste.

He keeps asking.

Jax’s eyes flicker to her, searching her face for what he’s supposed to say - this isn’t written on the paper in front of him. She’d figured the old dolt would stop asking by now. She gives a slight shake of her head.

“N-not soon, Dad, no,” Jax answers, without looking away from Savvie. The sun warms the handsome lines of his face and sets those hazel eyes to sparkling. Honestly, you could get lost in eyes like that. If she ever meets a man she wants to marry, and lets Jax date once she has someone else to spend her time with, some girl is going to fall head over heels for him just because of those pretty eyes.

She ignores a twist of some faint ugly feeling, refusing to see it as jealousy. He and his girlfriend can both work for her, that would be fine. Isaac probably has some staff he could choose from, if he wants a girlfriend or a wife. Or maybe one of the other families would have someone. Savvie would have to approve, of course. He'd have to marry someone Savvie thought was good enough for him.

Maybe she should pick someone out for him, she'd know better than he does what he needs, anyway.

“We’d like to see you,” Alfie offers, voice soft, not judging or angry. “We all miss you. Your mam, too, and your sisters-”

“I-I know, Dad.” Jax swallows. There’s a pain in his face Savvie wants so badly to soothe, to hug right out of him. She squeezes his hand again, harder this time, and he jumps a little, as if shocked back into awareness. “Sorry. You… you know h-how it is in America.”

His dad hums, noncommittal. He probably doesn’t know anything about living here, really, and Savvie can’t blame him - she knows more about Russia than she does England, and one day Jax can go with her to visit Moscow and see the ballet…

The thought makes her smile, wistful and daydreaming already about how Jax will get to see so many new things, living with her. She’ll be as good a friend to him as he’s been to her and show him so, so much…

Jax’s shoulders relax just a little bit when he sees her expression back to pleased. He chances a look back at the phone, but of course there’s nothing there but the call screen, the number, the time ticking away in seconds and minutes until Savvie tells him to say his goodbyes for another week.

“I’ll let you know if I-I can come sometime,” Jax says. His breathing isn’t quite as steady, now. He isn’t looking at her.

She doesn’t like him as much when he isn’t looking at her.

“Jax, are you-... are you safe?” His father’s voice softens even further, hard to hear through the phone. “Is someone keeping you from having your own phone-... I don’t know, just. We miss you. You know if you ever need to talk-”

Savvie’s eyes narrow. She leans over and firmly presses her index finger down on the red button to end the call.

Jax exhales in a rush, looking over at her with wide eyes that look oddly hurt. She pulls the phone back to herself and turns it off in case the stupid old man calls back.

“Don’t look at me like that,” She snaps, her good mood dissipating now, dissolving as she thinks about the question.

Are you safe?

His hands are rough, calloused and with skin that cracks and peels from the harsh chemicals that he cleans her house with. There are circles under his pretty eyes because he doesn’t sleep very well. Savvie isn’t much of a cook and the two of them mostly live on delivery and whatever can be safely popped into an oven and ignored for a while. He has scars around his neck in a little circle, like an odd reddish necklace.

Sometimes she has him sleep in her room and she holds him, feeling the careful rise and fall of his breathing beside her. She has given him new clothes to wear when they go out and takes off his collar so no one will realize that he’s just staff. She lets him call his stupid family when Savvie should be all the family he needs, and his dad has the gall to not even be grateful for it.

Is he safe?

What kind of question is that?

“Miss Savvie-”

“Shut up.” Jax’s mouth snaps shut, and Savvie fights a prickle of guilt, trying to tell herself it isn’t what it seems like from the outside. “Honestly, how dare he? As if I would ever let any harm come to you. How dare he!”

She throws the phone. Jax flinches when it bounces off a wall and hits the ground with a crack, shoulders hunching in an attempt at self protection.

“He, he’s just-... w-worried, Miss Savvie-” Jax is leans away from her when she stands. She ignores it - he’s her friend, he’s not scared of her, he’s just surprised by the phone being thrown, is all. They were nasty to him at that place where he learned how to work, and he just… doesn’t like sudden movements.

That’s all.

He knows Savvie would never really hurt him, if he’s good.

Savvie stalks over to the fallen phone and picks it up, rolling her eyes when she sees the screen is cracked now. “Not again. Ugh, Jax, your dad drives me crazy! Maybe I should take you to see him just so he’ll stop asking all the damn time about it!”

“If-... that’s what y-you want, Miss Savvie,” Jax answers, cautiously. Savvie hates this version of him the most, where he gets quiet and barely speaks. Hates even more that it’s her own anger that made him that way.

No.

It’s his dad asking stupid questions, that’s what did it. Not Savvie’s perfectly logical response to them.

“He… he is just awful, isn’t he?” Savvie says, voice flat and angry, setting her broken phone down on the counter. She’ll have another one delivered today. “I don’t know how you can stand to even talk to him, Jax, he’s so… rude.”

Jax is silent, now.

That rankles even more, that he doesn’t agree with her and he doesn’t argue. He just watches her, and she can feel the weight of his eyes and usually it just means he’s listening to her but right now she’s sure it means he’s judging her.

“Right. Well, he’s clearly stressing you out.” She straightens her shoulders, taking in a deep breath. She makes her voice cheerful and relaxed, hoping her body will follow suit. “So. Here is what we’ll do. Until I think you’re okay to talk to him without getting so worked up, then we’ll take a break from the calls, huh? Doesn’t that sound like a good idea?”

He still doesn’t answer.

His answer is not required.

Honestly, she’d just get angrier if he did answer.

Is he safe. It circles around and around in her mind. She’s the best thing that ever happened to him. She was given a cowed, frightened, silent slave to clean her home and now he’s got his own room, his own things, he’s her very best friend. He goes everywhere she goes. She hardly even lets him out of her sight.

Is he safe?

“Get your swimsuit on,” She says, turning away and pointing towards the stairs to the second floor, watching as he hesitantly gets to his feet, watching her still. “We’re going swimming.”

“M-Miss Savvie-”

“Not one word about it, Jax. You can talk to that nasty creep again when I am damn good and ready.” She finally looks back at him. "You don't belong to him, Jax. You don't owe him anything."

“Yes, Miss Savvie.” Whatever he must see in her eyes keeps him from trying to talk it out any further. Good.

He heads for the stairs, and she falls in just behind, running her fingers over the cracks in her phone screen, her skin catching at the edge of one, just a little.

Is he safe?

He’s the safest he’s ever been.

As long as he doesn't care about anyone else more than he cares about her.

@whumpyourdamnpears @burtlederp @finder-of-rings @arlin-always-writing @wildfaewhump @whump-tr0pes @iaminamoodymoodtoday @orchidscript @sableflynn @pretty-face-breaker @raigash @whumptywhumpdump @boxboysandotherwhump @thefancydoughnut @mylifeisonthebookshelf @whumpinggrounds

#amow tropeathon2024 #day 5:Covert Identity #day 5 #covert identity #captivity #whump #creepy whumper #jax #savvie #the motherfucking gallaghers #captive best friend #they're besties!#really #savvie isn't making it weird at all

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