#it's not the same level still but man it deserves a place of its own | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ohtobeleah · 9 months

Text

Was It Over? // Jake Seresin

-> Chapter Eight: [Oh, Honeybee]

Summary: Jake can’t accept why you’d keep such a life-threatening situation a secret and you can’t accept why he suddenly seems to care.

Warnings: Sick!reader. Breast cancer diagnosis. Jake Seresin x F!reader. Angst, hospital & medical inaccuracies. SLOW BURN ROMANCE/ Inaccurate medical information. Relationship turmoil.

Word Count: 4K

Author Note: Smaller chapter, but still the same level of pain. Let me know what y’all think about the confrontation of it all.

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

“The fuck?” Bradley Bradshaw hated the festive season. He wasn't a Christmas guy. He didn't have an awful lot of family to celebrate with over the consumerist holiday that was shoved down your throat before mid November. He just wasn't the kinda guy who wanted to get involved in the festivities.

“Who's calling you at ten at night?” Natasha Trace would probably end up regretting her decision to sleep with her co-worker and friend, but the drunken antics she and Rooster had gotten up to earlier in the afternoon ended up with a trip back to his house.

“Its Hangman–” Bradley answered the naked woman beside him as he sat up in the bed he truly never should have brought her back to. He knew Phoenix would end up regretting her decision to sleep with him. A pity fuck they’d both end up calling it. “Hello?”

“Are you busy?” Jake asked as he continued to watch you sleep. It had been a few hours since he got to the hospital and about two since he told your mother to go home for some much deserved rest.

Bradley looked over his shoulder to see Phoenix rolling over, her chest laid flat against the mattress that smelled so much of Bradley. He sighed, peeled the covers up from over his legs and swung them over the side.

“Nah, what’s up? Everything good?” The pair hadn’t always been on good terms, but ever since Jake had ultimately risked his own life to save Roosters, the two had been able to put their differences aside and let bygones be bygones.

“I don’t think I’m coming back after Christmas.” Jake started as he let his head lean against the far too uncomfortable hospital chair he’d been sitting in for the better half of four hours. “Somethings’ happened and I dunno what I’m gonna do man.” It was the tone Jake was using that made Bradley frown as he slipped into his sweats.

“Something happen to one of the kids, man?” Rooster has never heard Jake sound so defeated before. But as he padded down the hall Rooster had to stop in his tracks as Jake explained your current situation. He read the notes right from your chart, from the type of cancer to the stroke you had, how he tried to tuck your hair behind your ear and it fell from your scalp. How he’d tried to win you back, how you’d slept together, how you told him you still loved him yet thought divorce was the best way to go about things. Jake emptied his heart on Bradley sleeve and Bradley didn’t know how to process the pain and anguish Jake was obviously feeling.

“Are you at the hospital right now? With Y/n?”

“Yeah—yeah I just sent Maz, Y/n’s mum home to rest and shit.” Jake ran his hand across his face as he watched the IV bag containing your sedative get smaller and smaller. He wasn’t sure how you were going to react when you woke up and saw he was here. “I’ll probably go between here and her house, the kids are at mum's place and I can’t imagine what they’re thinking knowing that we’re both not there.”

“I could uh—“ Bradley Bradshaw wasn’t a Christmas guy, but he was a family first person. “I could fly out? Maybe get the kids from your mum's house and get them back to Rhode Island? I’m not doing anything this Christmas so I’ve got time.”

“Bradshaw,” Jake nearly sobbed. “I couldn’t ask you to do that for me.”

“It’s nothing, really, you’re one guy man, stay with your wife, or ex wife? I don’t really wanna get into your business but just text me the details when you can and I’ll organise your kids.”

“I’ll text you my sister's number.” Jake replied. “She’ll help you out.” There was no real reason to argue, Jake knew that once Rooster had his mind set on something he was gonna do it.

“No worries, I’m uh—I don’t even know what to say man, I’m so sorry, no one deserves to go through this.” It hit Rooster too close to home, his mother died when he was seventeen from Breast Cancer very similar to yours. It took her quicker than doctors had ever anticipated.

He just hopes you wouldn’t meet the same untimely fate.

“Anything man, anything you need, I'm there.”

***~***~***~***~***~***~***

Time seemed more like an artificial construct as Jake watched Lydia disconnect the line that had been slowly feeding your body with a moderate range sedative. The young nurse looked guilty as she tried to avoid eye contact with the man she had accidentally told private patient information to.

“She’ll slowly start to wake up over the next hour now that she isn’t slowly taking on the sedative.” Lydia explained. “She might be quite irritable and loopy but I’ll have her surgeon come by for assessment once she’s up.”

“When I was about your age I accidentally hit one of my commanding officers' car while pulling out of the car park at the Naval Base I was stationed at.” Jake mentioned as he let himself curl up in the world's most uncomfortable chair. “Point is we all

make mistakes, don’t beat yourself up about it, but I’d definitely be a little more cautious when reading patients emergency contacts.”

“You’re wife’s a pretty strong woman Mr. Seresin.” Lydia smiled. “I hope that despite whatever reason she was keeping all this from you, that she’s happy you’re by her side when she wakes up.” Jake chuckled as he slightly readjusted himself and pulled his hood over his head. There were a plethora of ways you could react to his presence running through his mind, he hoped though, that the young nurse who’d accidentally filled him in on your current fight was right.

“I hope so too kid, I hope so too.”

***~***~***~***~***~***~***

The slow steady rhythm of the many monitors currently tracking your vitals were the first sounds you heard as you slowly but surely woke from what you could only describe as one of the deepest states of complete and utter rest you’d ever experienced.

Next it was the multi coloured Christmas lights that were hanging around your room. The reds, greens, yellows and blues that reminded you of nineties joy were the first things you noticed in the dimly lit hospital room you knew you were in.

The third thing you noticed wasn’t a sound or an object, but it was the all too familiar sleeping man curled up in the most awkward position imaginable next to your bedside. Jake, your Jake. Sleeping with his mouth open wide and his arms crossed over his chest.

“Woah—“ You groggily cooed as you felt the presence of another man checking your vitals beside you. “Whatever the hell kinda drugs you’ve got me on right now Doc has me seeing my ex husband.” You smiled ear to ear as you kept looking at Jake, sleeping, a little bit of drool even tainted his chin as his arms remained crossed and his hood covered his head. “This shits strong as.”

Doctor Ignatii continued reading and recording your vitals the more you came to, he knew, judging by the time you’d finished your dose of intravenous sedative and how cognitive you were, you’d come to realise in about two, maybe three minutes indefinitely that it wasn’t the drugs making you see the mirage of a man at your bedside, but in fact the real deal.

“Mrs Seresin, can you follow the light for me?” Doctor Ignatii asked with a smile as he clicked on the small but effective flashlight at the end of his pen. He was gentle with the way he handled your head ever so cautiously, holding your eyelids open one by one as you followed the light accordingly. “Can you count to five?”

“One, two, three, four, five—“ You mumbled out. Jake heard your voice as he stirred next to you and shot up with a gasp that startled you. He looked like a deer caught in headlights as he sat upright and wiped the dry drool from his chin.

“Welcome back to the land of the living Mr Seresin, I've seen a lot of ways people have tried to sleep in those horrid chairs but I’ve never seen that particular position before.” Doctor Ignatii chuckled to himself as he clicked his pen light off and placed it back in his top pocket. “Alright Y/n, wiggle your toes and touch your nose for me.” All you did was stare at your husband. Why was he here? Who told him? “Mrs Seresin, wiggle your toes for me please.” Doctor Ignatii was a little firmer in his request, he wasn't sure if you were just distracted or if you simply couldn't comply with his request because you couldn't feel your toes.

But when you finally did wiggle your toes, when you finally brought your index finger up to your nose and when you finally spoke, Doctor Ignatii knew that in the next hour or so when he got you up and walking, that you were going to be just fine.

“What are you doing here?” Your voice was rather horse from the sedative but you were able to ask Jake that all too powerful question that sliced his skin clean open like one of the sharpest knives never could. Doctor Ignatii knew that he had to give you some space when he was finished assessing your ability to wiggle your toes he cleared his throat. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“I'll give you two a moment alone, but Lydia will be in shortly.” He explained before making his way out of your hospital room. The silence was deafening as Jake cleared his throat and looked anywhere but in your eyes to begin with.

“Jake–” You immediately asked again as you tried to sit up a little straighter. “What are you doing here?” Jake ignored your initial question and instead pressed his tongue into the middle of his cheek. His blood was boiling, he was so full of rage that you hadn’t told him you were sick that he couldn't think straight now that he knew you were awake and talking. You were supposed to be the mother of his children if at the very least. He felt like you had an obligation to disclose medical diagnoses that could alter the course of your children's lives. Right?

“You have cancer and you didn't tell me?” Jake frowned as he spoke through a tired growl. “You have cancer and you didn’t think to mention it at all, not even a downplayed version of the truth? You just–” Jakes reaction wasn't something that surprised you, but his anger did. That anger was something you hadn’t seen in a long time, anger born from love and compassion. An anger so pure it rivalled empathy itself just in a different font. “You just negated the entire thing? Jesus Christ Y/n! You have–”

“Stage three A, triple positive grade three invasive doctoral carcinoma.” You interrupted Jake as tears welled in your eyes. “I know, I found out back in November, I hadn’t been feeling all that well since around March.” You kicked yourself everyday for not getting yourself to a doctor sooner, but with your separation, work, the kids, you just decided to self diagnose yourself as an overworked mum who had little to no time for herself. Finding the time to see a doctor was nearly impossible, it was only when you found that lump in the shower you panicked. “Jake I–”

“You–” Jake clenched his jaw as tight as he could, you swore he could have chipped his bottom teeth he was clenching that hard trying to control his frustration. “You don’t get to fucking do this to me do you understand?”

“Excuse me?” You questioned as Jake stood up from the chair he’d been cramped in for the better half of the last twelve hours. “I didn’t choose to do this willingly Jake are you fucking kidding me?” It may have come out more aggressive than Jake had intended it to, but his heart hurt so much he swore he was having a heart attack the more he looked at you in the hospital bed connected to machines and wires that told him what your heart was doing and what your blood pressure was. “I didn't choose to get fucking cancer!”

“No, no you didn’t Y/n but you chose not to tell me about it.” Jake sighed. “Am I really that bad of a person that you can't tell the father of your fuckings kids that you might be dying? Stage three!? I'd understand if you had a scare and didn’t mention it or a bad rash but stage three?” Jake spat as he walked around your hospital room like he was looking for a way out of this whole mess. “That’s closer to a death sentence than it is to a malignant mass!”

All you could do was listen, you couldn't run this time. You had to face the man who broke your heart more ways than one as he raised his voice and walked around your hospital room with his hands on his hips.

“You, you had a stroke too.” Jake's voice softened as did his eyes, the realisation had hit as the immediate love filled anger that clouded his judgement faded. The misguided anger that he might truly be losing the love of his life had begun to wash away as the sadness crept in.

“Yeah–” You didn't hold it against Jake, you'd had more time to process this than he did. “Apparently the chemotherapy was just causing havoc to my nervous system and caused a clot that travelled from my leg to my brain.” You said it with a shrug, like it was no big deal. Jake's eyes widened at the idea of something that was meant to help you had done so much damage. “I was given a pamphlet, strokes were a side effect, but I just didn’t think it would happen to me you know.”

“Honeybee–” Jake cooed as he came back over to your bedside. “I–” There was a distinct tentative pause in the way his hand automatically went to slip into yous, but even though Jake second guessed his own judgement there for a split second, he still placed his hand in yours and reveled in the way you squeezed him back. “I can't understand why you wouldn't tell me about this.” Jake had tried to understand, truly he did. He thought about it alot on the plane–all the ways in which he’d ever let you down. He understood he was a shitty husband, or had been, but this was life or death.

Jake almost wished he never asked why and had instead just silently accepted the fact you decided not to loop him in on what was probably your biggest health complication since Samuel was born. He almost wished he hadn’t asked because the way you looked right into his eyes as your bottom lip quivered and your eyes watered with such a heartbreaking cry of anguish that ripped through your chest, Jake wished he hadnt fucking asked.

“I didn't tell you because I just didn't think you’d care.” You cried violently as Jake helped you sit up. “I didnt–I just didnt think youd, you'd care about me.” Your cries were muffled into Jake's shoulder as he held you, he wanted to climb right into the hospital bed with you, but he couldn't. So Jake compromised and leaned over just enough to wrap you in his arms and rub small circles into your back as you buried your face in his chest and shoulder. “I didn't think you’d fucking care–because you haven’t cared about me in years!”

“I have never stopped caring about you.” Jake cried too, he couldn't hold it in any longer. “I have never and I will never stop caring about you Honey.” It was a hard statement to believe especially with what the past four years had been. “I promised you in sickness and in health, I'm here, I've got you.” Jake cooed as he tried to soothe you, your cries of pure anguish for your own situation made him want to die. What more could he possibly do to ease this burden from you, what could he possibly do to take the pain away. “I'm here, I'm right here.”

“You don’t have to pretend.” You tried to calm yourself down as much as you could. “Please Jake you don’t have to pretend to care about me anymore, I’m not yours.”

“No you’re not—“ Jake nodded in agreement as he pulled away to wipe your tears, you looked like hell but he wasn’t about to tell you that. To Jake you were still the most beautiful woman in the entire world, the only woman he ever needed, wanted. “But I’m still yours alright, you have me and I’m not pretending.” Jake wiped the pads of his thumbs across your cheeks, he tried not to tug at the oxygen tube feeding into your nose. “I’ve got you yeah? You don’t have to do this alone.”

“I never wanted to do any of it alone.” You sobbed again, it was all too much. Jake knew what you meant by all, you never expected your marriage to fall apart. Neither did he. “I can’t do any of this, I’m so fucking scared.” If someone had asked Jake three years ago if his marriage would fall apart around him, he would have stood up and punched whoever had said such blasphemy in the mouth. But here he was.

“You’re okay.” Jake tried his best to console you, he did know what else he could do in the moment beside to hold you. The kiss he left atop your forehead was so pure and full of love you swore it sent an electric shock through your body, the same kind of electricity you felt when you slept with Jake the night before you said goodbye to your kids. “I'm not leaving your side alright, “I’m here, I've got you, I can't lose you this way– I wont.”

Jake knew this love was a burden that you both shared. The both of you were just two sinners who can't atone from a lone prayer. Two souls tied, intertwined by pride and guilt.

***~***~***~***~***~***~***

Jake was true to his word, he didn't leave your side for the rest of the day. He stayed right by your side hand in hand, just sitting there, talking, not talking, sleeping. All that mattered was that he was there.

“What do you mean Bradley Bradshaw offered to get the kids from your mum's house?” You thought for a split second that perhaps you hadnt woken up. Or maybe you'd actually woken up in some parallel universe where your husband never forgot how to love you and he didn't have a disdain for the man who gave him his Call Sign out of rage. “Bradley Bradshaw? As in Rooster?”

Jake couldn't help but to smile, there was so much he had to fill you in on, the two of you hadnt really sat down and spoken uninterrupted without the kids since January. Sure there were family functions and times where you and Jake had to coexist and coparents. But he never really saw a reason to tell you all about his time in North Island. You were with him when he was called to Togun the first time, there wasn't any need to really rub your nose in the fact he was called back again. After all, a part of the reason you left was because Jake prioritised his work life over his home life, more specifically, you.

“Would you believe me if I told you I saved his life?” Jake couldn't erase the grin that grew ear to ear from his face as he watched your eyes light up with shock and excitement. He missed this, the gentle moments.

“You did not–” In all the time you had known Jake while he was a loyalist to the United States Navy, he had never once put a toe out of line. Never pushed back, never rocked the boat. He had a goal and that goal was to reach the top. You couldn't do that while drawing unwanted attention to yourself.

“I did,” He chuckled through that very grin that you swore was permanently pinned to his cheeks. “Even went against orders to do it.” The look of pure shock on your face told Jake all he needed to know, you didn't believe what he was telling you.

“Who are you and what have you done with Jake Seresin?” You chuckled softly as Jake ran his thumb across your hand. “You? Going against the brace? Unheard of.” A lot of what made Jake, well, Jake–was that he loved his job.

“Trust me Honey I never thought I'd see the damn day either.” Jake sighed, he still couldn't believe how much his time in North Island had changed him. How it broadened his perspective on all the things that made him simply him. “But he was stuck in a pretty tight spot, so was Mav, our Captain.”

“Well–” You smiled as you readjusted yourself in your bed. Unbeknownst to both you and Jake, Lydia was watching just out of frame from her spot at the nurses station. She couldn't help but to notice the loving, all encompassing look the two of you shared. Perhaps her small mistake that usually would have been a carrier ending HIPAA violation wasn't so bad after all. “Look at The Hangman go huh, who says he's always leaving people out to dry.”

“Oh I could still name a few–” It was organic the way you and Jake fell into a rhythm with one another when the pair of you allowed each other to do so. “But yeah, he's gonna fly in, get the kids for us because I really don't want them there for too long without at least one of us there and bring them back to your mums for us.”

“Is she alright with that?” As always Jake knew you would think about everyone but yourself when the only person you should have been thinking about right now was you. “What if she–” Jake cut you off with a simple shake of his head.

“I already organised it.” Jake explained softly, his thumb never stopped stroking your hand as he held it. “Your mums gonna take the kids while we figure all this out, I don't want them with mine.” It wasn't that Jake didn't love his Ma, he did. But the idea of her having the kids for an extended amount of time gave him stomach issues he couldn't handle. “I saved his life, I trust him to escort our three terrors back here.”

“Have you met our kids? You asked with an all knowing look that Jake caught right away. Maybe Rooster wasn't the best person to call on, he had zero experience with kids, let alone Jake's twins and two year old.

Jake knew that you knew there was a darkness in the distance, but in the moment while everything felt normal, you both laughed together knowing exactly how the flight with your kids would go for Bradley Bradshaw.

“You’re totally right–” Jake cooed. “He might need to bring his flight helmet as a safety precaution.”

***~***~***~***~***~***~

Tags: @blindedbythelightt @starset21 @tayl0rhuynh @mamachasesmayhem @marvelogic @itsmytimetoodream @maverick-wingman @kodzukenmaaa @eternalsams @seitmai @nota-professional @jessicab1991 @hardballoonlove @senawashere @lafrone @fanficfandomlove @withahappyrefrain @dizzybee03 @maisie-rebloging-blog @goldenseresinretriever @a-reader-and-a-writer @sunlightmurdock @shelbycillian @memoriesat30 @accioprocrastination @the-aspiring-fanfic-writer @athenabarnes @eternallyvenus @emma8895eb

#was it over? // jake seresin #tw: cancer #jake seresin angst #jake seresin fanfiction #jake seresin imagine #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin x female!reader #jake hangman imagine #hangman top gun

325 notes · View notes

rickktish · 1 year

Text

A list of mutable batfam headcanons that live inside my brain:

Steph deserves to be 6’ minimum, preferably 6’1” or 2”

Bruce is constantly trying to balance his need to be at the same eye level or above the people he’s intimidating vs his need to do his funky little gargoyle crouch. His favorite thing about the GCPD roof is that it has lots of surfaces he can crouch on and still meet or look down at Gordon’s eye level

Tim and Damian suffer from “too similar to get along” disease and must either become best friends or despise each other until the end of time

Babs prefers light, natural toned makeup. Steph prefers pops of color and decent amounts of jewelry when she can get away with it. Cass prefers jewelry and no makeup at all

Jason’s comfort meals are all variations on soup served with bread for dipping

Jason is of the opinion that Fitzwilliam Darcy is an ass at the beginning of the book and it’s a good thing he decided to change himself so he could take his place as Best Fictional Man Ever. Dick, who read the book in order to be able to connect with Jason better, is of the opinion that Fitzwilliam Darcy has done nothing wrong ever and only needed to work on his social skills, meaning that it’s his improved ability to communicate that makes him worthy of Elizabeth Bennet at the end. Neither of them wants to listen to Tim’s analysis of what this says about their relationships with Bruce

Duke has never engaged in non-Alfred approved chaos. This is not because Duke seeks Alfred’s approval, but rather because their senses of humor are in perfect alignment and Alfred is always pleased to discover that he approves of Duke’s particular instances of chaos even after the fact

Damian never had stuffed animals growing up, but after being corrupted by Dick’s influence he can no longer sleep without a minimum of one in his bed

Damian collects posters and articulable action figures. His favorite ones are the ones that can stand on their own, which he uses for posing practice in his drawings. His favorite figure is of one of the characters in Cheese Vikings who has a zuko-esque backstory and a secret propensity for gardening

Dick always buys the most beat up box of cereal at the grocery store because he feels bad for them

Cass loves not only ballet, but other works by classical composers as well. She will unironically listen to the local classical station, and can identify the Borodin String Quartet by the sound of their instruments alone

Tim and Bruce watch and read Gray Ghost media in all its various forms and discuss it together as a bonding activity

Alfred and Jason’s shared birthday is usually celebrated with them making each other cakes, meaning that everyone gets to enjoy not one but two cakes for the day

Jason specializes in cheesecake above all other cakes, though he did make Damian a black forest cake for his birthday once right after he’d finished playing Portal

Literally everyone is surprised when they learn that Damian plays video games. No one has ever once looked at him and thought “yeah, i bet that kid plays console games” and he’s actually really insecure about it, but he also refuses to wear any kind of merch outside the house. He owns dozens of gaming and anime T-shirts but refuses to be seen as anything but completely neutral outside his own territory

Most of the bats wear drug-detecting nail polish at all times, though the base and reactive colors vary by the bat in question

Bruce and Dick have both had therapists straightup quit on them and are therefore reluctant to go back to therapy ever again

Duke’s favorite book is Walden Pond

Alfred read Lord of the Rings aloud to Bruce when he was a kid

324 notes · View notes

pricegouge · 4 months

Text

Fatted Rabbit, Part Twelve on AO3

Content

You tell yourself the best plan is no plan.

Bearshifter!Price x reader | explicit

You tell yourself the best plan is no plan. You don't know how he does it, but Phil's always been able to predict your thought process. In retrospect, you're not sure why you ever thought some idyllic northern getaway could have possibly saved you. Of course he found you there; he knew how much you missed home, knew you weren't quite dumb enough to return.

So, no plan. Except you can't go much more north without a passport, so that's out. You briefly wonder about Canada's asylum policy and then marvel at your ability to laugh at a time like this. Beats crying, you think, as you cry hard enough that signs blur and you miss the last good turnoff toward a western route for hours. On your left, the Flatheads loom high overhead, barren and undeveloped, casting their runoff into the valley through which you drive. You carry on, game driven into the basin.

After nearly nine hours of driving, you make it out of Montana. You don't stop. The road ahead of you seems to trip over itself, fall flat. Your headlights illuminate more than twenty yards ahead of you now as the terrain levels out. You check your rearview every thirty seconds, manage to convince yourself you see a low gleam working its way down the range behind you. You keep an eye out for a road side parking area, eventually make due with an abandoned leveled lot, and sit with a steak knife in hand as you wait for the car far miles behind you to catch up, sobbing in relief when it passes without so much as tapping its brakes.

You feel maybe a little ridiculous sitting there with your knife, and then realize even the threat of Phil nearby has your thoughts spiraling into old patterns again. The only thing ridiculous about your little steak knife is the fact that you don't know how to use it, and it won't do shit against a man who once stood you against a wall and broke in his new nine iron by driving golf balls at you after your late return from work had 'worried him' so much he'd missed tee time.

You'd left him a few times in the past - quick excursions he would basically allow before pulling some string you never did find the source of and having you fired. He'd wait you out, come calling with pretty flowers and prettier promises when he knew you were facing eviction just to show his true colors once he had you solidly dependent on him again. Somehow, you didn't think it would go down like that this time. Phil didn't love you, he barely ever even liked you, and now you'd made him miss tee time by months.

You only realize now, trying to sleep upright in the driver's seat, parked on the side of a road so barren you'd had to DIY a pull off, that you'd basically done half his job for him. For all intents and purposes, you're already dead. No societal standing to be upended once he finally tracked you down. There were no coworkers who would note your absence as uncharacteristic, no PO box that would overflow to the point the clerk would call for a wellness check. Phil had separated you from your loved ones, sure, but you'd kept them away out of fear.

The only one who would note your absence was John, but you'd made it perfectly clear that was by your own choice after yelling at him like you had.

John. You want to cry again, don't have the energy. You'd known he'd been keeping tabs on you, somehow, and you'd managed to convince yourself you were being paranoid. Stupid , same as always. You'd been so proud of how far you'd come since leaving Phil but you'd again made the same dumbass mistakes that had landed you with that bastard in the first place; ignoring instincts in favor of a handsome smile.

Still, he didn't deserve to be left like that, and you'd be lying if you didn't need someone to talk to right now. Your phone sits in the center console, unpowered and unthreatening.

You decide you're still mad, that you'll call him tomorrow.

Between the self-doubt, your inclined position, and the one eye you keep trained on the wide horizon at all times, it takes you over an hour to fall asleep despite your genuine exhaustion. It's fitful and restless; you get maybe three hours sleep before the sun begins creeping above the flat plains ahead of you to the east. You'd forgone your blinds as a safety measure so there's no escaping the blinding brightness of the horizon and you grumble about how you should have turned your car around so you could have slept in just a bit. Still, getting flash banged by the flatland sunrise is preferable to at least one other wake up call you know you could have gotten. You give yourself another ten minutes or so to wiggle some feeling into your stiff joints and enjoy the sun's warmth on your face. But when the air quality begins to shift from golden warm to still and humid, you climb out of the Jeep to rush through your morning routine.

It's strange how used you've gotten to baring your ass in public. Back out by Glacier, you'd gotten to the point that it hardly made you squint more than was necessary to check the coast was clear. Here though, in the open fields of Wyoming, with barely any vegetation to hide you and a known predator that scares you far worse than a friendly bear on your tail, you find yourself a little gun shy. Strange, missing being homeless in the woods.

A nagging voice tells you you're missing more about Glacier than just the vegetation, doesn't shut up when you try to slam your door on it.

***

Another four hours of driving brings you down close to real civilization. You skirt past one city and come upon her sister an hour later. Desperation and exhaustion weigh heavy on you, and you know if you sleep in your car another night you'll be too beat come tomorrow to drive safely. You drum your fingers off the steering wheel as you sit at a red light, weighing your options. It's possible Phil can track your spending. You'd switched your bank when you'd left, of course, but he's mean and scary, and tends to get what he wants. Banks and payroll offices are manned by individual people, after all. It's unlikely, but offers a neat, tidy explanation as to how he found you to begin with. It would be best to empty your account and start a new one, but that can be difficult without an address. Start small. An ATM could at least give you a few day's head start.

You find one in the lobby of a small pharmacy, stare at it suspiciously through the vestibule glass for a good twenty minutes before deciding on a plan. Withdrawing as much as the ATM allows, you wince at what you see of your remaining balance on the receipt. Yesterday morning the amount had been a comfort, but now that you know Phil is no closer to giving you up than he'd been months ago, you can't help but feel a little helpless about your pitiful savings.

It's a problem for another day, though. In the meantime, you need a safe place to hang your hat for the night. If Phil is monitoring your account, he'll have seen you stop off in Gillette so you head back the way you came and find a room at the sleaziest motel Buffalo has to offer. The carpets don't even extend under the bed, and you're fairly certain a sex worker is posted up next door, but that's her business; yours is keeping your head down.

After checking thoroughly for bed bugs, you deem it safe enough to bring in a change of clothes and some essentials. You make yourself the world's plainest quesadilla on your skillet for dinner, and tuck into bed with a happy sigh while the sun's still up.

Still, exhaustion isn't quite enough to keep your brain from running in circles; and after spending the whole weekend tucked tight to John's side, you can't help but choke up a bit, thinking of what you left behind. You know you'd panicked when he first admitted to knowing about Phil. It probably hadn't warranted running the fuck away like you did, but it was too late now. What could you do, go crawling back explaining how you'd assumed him to be a monster based off the smallest of transgressions and would he please take you back? Besides, you had warned him you'd leave if Phil ever showed up again.

You sigh, eye your phone where it sits on the bedside table, still powered off. You've been avoiding it like the plague, knowing full well that every minute that ticks by unanswered only makes it worse. If John's reached out, he'll have assumed something bad has happened based on your silence. You should reassure him, at least tell him you're alive. But you're not sure you'll be able to stand the rejection you'll feel if you power it on and find no missed messages.

"Christ," you huff, unsure how you're even able to worry about such petty things at a time like this. You turn your phone on out of spite and frown when the amount of missed notifications which pop up nearly brick your phone. You scroll through them quickly, noting your voicemail box is full - mostly John, though a couple from an unknown number catch your eye. You listen to one and get a little teary eyed when you hear Soap's brogue telling you to 'Come back Bonnie, we'll help you.'

Filling up your mailbox hadn't stopped John from calling, it seems, another forty or so missed calls are enough to give you pause. There is such a thing as too concerned, though if you'd known that he'd had an abusive ex who was actively hunting him down and then suddenly he'd disappeared from your life, you suppose you'd be pretty worried too. You briefly scroll through the text messages, only a few words here or there registering. 'Can't smell. Fucking pepper spray,' draws your attention and you frown in confusion.

"Pepper spray?" you ask yourself, and then jump so bad you nearly throw your phone across the room when it starts ringing.

"John?"

" Bunny, " he sighs in relief. Or at least you think he does. Hard to tell, with how croaky his voice sounds. "Where are you?"

"Wyoming. Are you okay? You sound like you got throatfucked."

"Am I bloody o -." He huffs, takes a deep breath. "Who cares? Are you okay? Send me your location, I'll come meet you."

"John, that's -."

"Sweetheart, please ," when he begs, his voice goes thin and ragged. He coughs to clear it - wet, hacking, and then groans in pain.

"John, seriously, are you okay? Are you sick?"

"Did you get my messages?"

"You sent a lot of messages, man. I haven't had a chance to go through them all."

"Oh." He pauses, sniffles, hacks a bit more. "Ran into your ex."

"Phil?" you breathe, eyes darting to the window instinctively, as if even just mentioning his name could summon him. "When did you see Phil?"

"Right as you were pulling out of that cafe."

"You're sure it was him?" Your voice sounds far away, but you can't even concentrate on that when your brain's running in circles trying to figure out why Phil would get so close without accosting you.

"Can't imagine anyone else would want to unload two cans of mace on me."

You blink stupidly at your phone for a minute. On the other end, John just keeps grumbling about his sense of smell. "Seriously, bunny, come ho -."

"He did what!? " you shriek, belatedly.

"It's no matter, sweetheart, but I can't find you now unless you tell me where you are, okay? Please tell me where you are." Something about the way that's phrased should strike you as odd, but you're too busy hyperventilating about the fact that your dogshit life choices have gone and gotten poor John involved. Two cans of mace, what the fuck?

"John, I'm so sorry. I never should have even been there, shit , are you okay? Did you go to the hospital?" There had been witnesses hanging around; you remember how they'd watched you and John warily. Surely they'd have called for help when Phil attacked him and -. "Wait, is Phil still there?"

"No," John growls. There's no other word for it. John's got a deep, scratchy voice as is, but in this state it's down right animalistic. "Bit his ear off and the coward scarpered before authorities arrived."

You blink again. "Huh?"

"Cops were slow getting there. Laswell says they had a busy day with -."

"No, before that. Did you say you bit Phil's ear off? "

"Oh. Yeah. Couldn't exactly fight, blinded and all. Just kinda instinct."

"Okay there, Iron Mike…" there are important follow up questions you should be asking. About PEP and therapy, probably, but all you can think about is John covered in Phil's blood and while it should disturb you, it very much doesn't.

"Bunny. Focus, sweetheart, please. Where are you?"

"Uh. Buffalo, Wyoming. I'd give you the address of the motel, but I don't think they legally exist anywhere."

John barely hums, unamused. "Can you send me your location, honey?"

You chew your lip, debating. It's one thing to feel like right shit about what happened, another thing to overlook the entire reason you'd been mad at him. "You never explained how you knew about Phil."

John sighs, shuffles around a bit. You think you can hear Simon in the background, but then a door shuts and it's quiet on his end. "Wasn't lying, sweetheart. Graves came into the bar looking for you. Soap ID'd him, didn't think anything of it when he said you'd probably come around later. Well, you didn't, obviously - thankfully -, so Graves apparently hung out for a good few hours, just asking about you and saying some vaguely threatening things to Soap. Simon threw him out, then took his name from Soap and called up Gaz - my old bartender; you haven't met him yet. Together they did some digging and found out all about Phil, and when they brought this all to my attention, I kind of panicked. Tracked you down, scared you. Sorry about -."

"How did you track me down?"

He hesitates. "Only yellow Wrangler in the area."

You huff, frustrated that it's a good answer, and then glance back to the window warily when you realize your car hasn't stopped being conspicuous.

"Bunny, you should be here. We can help you."

You try not to think about how sad he sounds. "You said you did some digging on him?"

"Basic stuff. Residence, employment -."

"He knows someone high up. I think military, but like… way up there. He's slippery. Nothing sticks to him." You're not sure if you're warning John, or yourself. 'Don't get your hopes up,' you want to say. 'There is no "stand your ground" on this.'

"All the more reason you should be here." His voice borders on anger, but for once, you don't even flinch. John is not mad at you.

"What are you gonna do if he turns up again? Bite his other ear off?"

"I'll eat him alive if I ever see him again," John growls, and you gulp, try to remember now is not the time to start wondering if you're maybe into… well, not cannibalism; that brings to mind Anthony Hopkins, fancy wine, and bone china. But you would have paid good money to see John bite Phil's ear off, and you don't know what that says about you. Not trusting your voice, you just share your location with him and smile to yourself when he checks the notification and sighs in relief. "Thank you, bunny."

You hum, settle further into your bed. "I'll start heading back in the morning." You don't mean to sound so sheepish, but it's hard not to be embarrassed by your blind panic when John made it all sound so easy. Sometimes you forget how little experience you have with healthy relationships until you do something as childish as running away to the next state instead of asking a clarifying question.

Blessedly, John doesn't seem to mind too much. "Simon and I'll start heading your way tonight. Keep your phone on for me, okay love?"

The pet name takes you by surprise, makes your voice catch in your throat. "Okay."

He pauses, clearly having noticed. "You alright?"

"Yeah," you croak, very clearly not. "Could you stay on the phone with me while I fall asleep?"

"Oh, sweetheart," he breathes, "of course."

"I'm sorry I thought you were spying on me," you blubber.

You're not sure if he knows what exactly you're referring to, but he takes it in stride anyway. "Can't blame you for being paranoid considering everything, bunny."

"And I'm sorry you got maced 'cause of me."

"That's not on y -."

"And I'm sorry I didn't even know about it 'cause I was too busy running away like a coward."

John huffs, coughs. "Not cowardice, bunny. I think if I -."

"You make me feel safe, John. I don't know why I didn't stay." You'd be surprised if he understood that one, what with all the broken sobs. Absently, you worry about the income of the girl next door. Loud weeping can't be good for the mood, you'd assume.

"Oh, bunny, you're still safe. You've got yourself a nice den tonight, yeah? With a door and a proper bolt?"

"Yeah," you sniffle, and John hums in approval.

"And I'll stay on the line with you. All night if you want. And tomorrow we should meet up around Billings, it looks like. I'll drive back with you, keep you safe."

You sigh, rational thought creeping in. "You guys don't have to meet me halfway, you know? I can just -."

"We're driving down and that's final. I won't be able to sleep anyway."

"Okay," you mumble, not at all mad about the outcome. The conversation peters a bit and you assume he's trying to let you sleep but your mind is still too busy so you pull up maps to check the route you'll take tomorrow. Billings is much closer to you than half way, but you suppose that makes sense if they start driving tonight.

He's so fucking sweet.

"I miss you," you blurt, close your eyes when you hear how vulnerable it makes you sound.

"Miss you too, sweetheart. I hope you know I'm not letting you sleep outside my bed for at least a month after this." Part of you wants to find fault in his words, fret over the way he presumes to control you.

Mostly, you're too tired.

"And I miss my fucking bear," you pout.

John coughs - or maybe laughs -, clears his throat. "I'm sure your bear misses you too."

You sniffle, listen to John do the same and think about his poor sinuses. You're gonna make him so much fucking tea with honey after all this he's gonna think you're trying to drown him.

"Try to fall asleep for me, love, okay? I'm gonna start getting ready."

"Are you -?"

"I'll stay on the line. Got an earbud in so Simon can mind his own business."

You smirk, sure that if Simon's paying attention at all, it's out of concern more so than jugement. You're not sure how you know this, considering you've only spoken to the silent man a handful of times, but you remember how he calls you 'pet,' how he seemed genuinely happy that his boss was getting laid. "Tell him I said thanks. Oh, who's watching the bar?"

"Senior staff, bunny," John chuckles, "don't worry about it."

"Is Simon mad to be leaving his boyfriend?" you whisper, conspiratorially.

"Stoic as always, but Soap's right pissed about being left behind," he murmurs back. You hear Simon shout something and John covers his mouth piece to return fire. "Ears like a fucking elephant, that one," he grumbles when he returns. "Alright, bunny, I'm gonna mute myself so you can work on sleeping but I'm still here, okay? Sleep tight, see you soon."

"Okay, John. Drive safe."

"Will do, love," he whispers, and then the line goes quiet.

Checking the time code, just to be sure, you sigh happily when you see it's still counting. You remember to plug your phone in for once, and snuggle deeper into the scratchy bedding. "I miss your bed," you confide within the silent room, and watch the timer tick on. He's heard you, presumably, but he's got the right idea about you getting some sleep so you content yourself with silence. It would surprise you, how quickly you fall asleep, if you were awake enough to take note of it.

***

You're back in the Jeep, frigid in the drafty cab. You feel around for your blankets, but find yourself tangled in them, difficult to move. 'Must be snowing out, then,' you muse, and open your eyes to find the sky clear and cloudless, crescent moon casting wan light - just enough to see the tops of the pines dipping in and out of view as the wind pushes at them.

"Fuck," you grumble, jaw heavy with sleep. You feel around for your phone to check the forecast, convinced something isn't right. It eludes your grasp but calls to you with John's voice.

'-here, bunny,' it says, voice urgent like it has a winter storm warning to issue you.

"'S'a bit late, eh?" you try to quip, but you're still very sleepy and it's very cold, and your lips don't quite move the way they're supposed to.

You find a warm patch amongst your blankets and drift a bit, time distorting around the edges as it does when you're not fully awake. It feels like hours have passed, but the moon never moves, and your phone is still desperately trying to get your attention. You blink and the bear's outside the window, banging on it with human hands.

"Hey there, big guy," you mumble. It's a fox when it turns to you, eyes too blue, hair too light, and you squint at it suspiciously as the moonlight shifts into a warmer, incandescent shade.

"'Lo, darling."

"Shit!" You hiss, leaping to your feet. The movement sends your phone flying and you watch in horror as it lands with a small crunch at Phil's feet. The call doesn't end. You hear John's muffled voice from across the room, yelling something that doesn't sound aimed at you. Phil, seated on the only chair around, leans forward just enough to stare apathetically back down at it. He stands, takes a step closer to you, crushes your phone under his boot in the process.

Heart jackrabbiting in your chest, your gaze darts from Phil to the door. You make a run for it without even thinking it through, get clotheslined for your troubles. Phil plants a heavy boot on either side of you and leans down close, puts his mean face right up next to yours. You look at him - really look at him - for the first time in months; maybe years, considering how long you'd been avoiding him. He looks a little gaunt, chiseled down to sharp angles. The top of his ear looks like it was sawed off: gnarled and folded, stringy. It stinks like rot and looks like he may have tried to cauterize it, judging by the waxy quality of the skin that remains.

You used to think he was handsome.

"Phil," you hedge, but he smiles down at you with no warmth and you shut your mouth just as quickly.

"You know, I've had months to think about it, and I'm still not sure what I want to say to you. Not so sure I want to say anything at all," he drawls. You gulp, afraid to incite him even more. This is new. A quiet Phil was a plotting Phil. You'd expected screaming, physicality, but he's barely even touching you.

"Phil, please," you whisper. He shoots you a warning glance but you ignore it, croaking past the lump in your throat, "we don't have to do this. We can each just leave. You won, right? You found me, you've made it clear I'm not safe." He leans closer and you flinch, sobbing, "We can just be done."

"Now, see, if you'd just said that instead of running away and making me look stupid, maybe I'd agree." He's lying - you've tried that -, but mentioning that won't help. "But you didn't do that, did you? You know how it looks to have a fat little bitch like you walk out on a man like me?"

"You could've told people you'd sent me packing," you counter, and he backhands you for it. You gasp and palm the side of your face, ear ringing.

"Don't think we're even yet," he grins, angling his bad ear toward you.

You're not sure where the instinct comes from - or where it was all those years you'd been with Phil either; perhaps lying in wait for when you needed it most -, but the second he exposes his wound to you, you're calculating, grabbing for the shattered remains of your phone and shoving it up against the tender flesh. It stings, cutting into your palm, but that just means there are indeed sharp bits caught between your flesh and his so you press harder, following him when he reels backward and letting the momentum bring you to your feet. You dart over to the dresser, presence of mind enough at least to grab your keys before dashing madly out the door and towards your car. 'Billings,' you think wildly, spamming the unlock button on your fob, 'just have to make it to Billings.'

You can't believe your luck when you reach the Jeep first. You grab for the handle, get the door halfway open, but then your face is thrown into it and you collapse, dazed, half in your car and half out.

Behind you, Phil pants, probably more in pain than exhaustion considering he's always been a quick shit. When you glance over your shoulder, you're pleased to see him bloodied again, but the pleasure's short-lived as the motion makes it feel like your brain is no longer connected to your optic nerves. You slide to your knees on the pavement, head briefly propped in the footwell of your car. There's a voice in your head that's seen one too many movies urging you to move before Phil closes the door on your head, so you keep falling until you're laying flat out on the pavement, stomach churning violently at the sudden movement.

"Headache, darlin'?" You fight to focus, find Phil glowering despite his chipper voice. You don't answer, kick at him weakly instead. He catches your foot easily, keeps it pinned against the runner of your Wrangler. He laughs darkly. "My, look at you, doll. Got more fight in ya than you did before, I'll give you that. Cleverer, too. Doubling back after Gillette - that your idea, or your man's?"

You're so confused, head filled with cotton balls. Your man? Isn't he your man?

"Might've worked, had you not driven right past me in this fuckin' Jeep," he chuckles. "Bad luck there. What's your man call you? Bunny?"

Right, that's your man. You peer around, looking for him. "John?"

"Think your luck might've run out, rabbit. Back left, yeah?"

You blink, uncomprehending, and then scream in pain when he stomps on your raised ankle hard enough to break it.

Okay I'm not happy about it either, but while hemming and hawing about whether or not I wanted to be a cheesy horror writer and hobble my character, I remembered I literally have a bad luck rabbit tattoo (on the same sleeve as my bear tattoo, no less) and I am nothing if not a cheesy horror trope fan first and foremost.

Next>>

#bearshifter!price #captain john price x you #captain john price x reader #john price x you #john price x reader #bear!price #fatted rabbit #💷🔪

50 notes · View notes

torreshalstead · 11 months

Text

holy ground

Summary - Her fingers twitched, brushing against soft warm skin. But it wasn’t her own.

Hailey’s eyes fluttered open, taking in the sleeping figure beside her. He was still here.

It hadn’t been a figment of her imagination. It hadn’t been a dream that she had conjured up in her subconscious. It had been real.

And he had stayed.

Notes - because the deleted 2 second clip deserved an extension. Happy Reading ❤️ AO3 Link

Her fingers twitched, brushing against warm soft skin. But it wasn’t her own.

Hailey’s eyes fluttered open, taking in the sleeping figure beside her. He was still here.

It hadn’t been a figment of her imagination. It hadn’t been a dream that she had conjured up in her subconscious. It had been real.

And he had stayed.

Turning her attention to the rest of her body, she could feel the weight of a foreign object against her hip. Raising her head just slightly off the pillow not wanting to disturb her bedmate, she glanced down and smiled.

It was Jay’s arm. His hand holding her thigh as if he also needed a continued reminder that the occurrence of the previous night had not been fictitious.

The pleasant throb between Hailey’s legs told her it had been anything but fictitious. She let her eyes fall closed again as she remembered a few hours previous.

She had wanted to tell him for a long time how she felt, that she thought of him as more than just her partner, but she had never let herself imagine he would react like he had. To take her into his arms and kiss her in the middle of the bar, pulling her up onto her tiptoes so they were the same height and it was easier for him to trace the seam of her lips lightly with his tongue. When they had finally broken apart, not wanting to cause a scene in a public place, she couldn’t help the grin that was plastered to her face. Jay mirrored it as he linked their fingers together and tugged her towards the door.

She felt like a giddy school girl, finally getting to hold hands with the boy she was crushing on. That analogy blurred away when Jay pressed her up against his truck, his hips flush against hers and tugged her hair loose from its ponytail, letting his hands get buried in it as his mouth melted into hers again. It had been a long time since she had wanted to make out with someone on a street corner. But now she couldn’t tell where her body ended and Jay’s began.

Her cheeks were flush the whole drive back to hers, and although she thought her palms might be sweaty with the nerves of the lines they had already crossed and those they were about to, they were dry and steady. This was what she wanted. He was who she wanted.

And as it turned out. He wanted her too.

When they tumbled in through her apartment door, a mess of limbs and clothes that remained on their bodies for little longer than they had to. It struck Hailey how normal it felt. Yes, it felt incredible to finally get to kiss Jay and feel the plains of his muscles under her fingers. But it felt right. Like they had been destined to cross this bridge since the beginning. She didn’t believe in destiny of course, but at that exact moment in time, it seemed like the only explanation for how she was feeling.

Hailey had tugged him towards her bedroom by his belt and divulged him of the remainder of his clothes, her own boots and jeans ended up scattered at the foot of her bed along with them. She had always imagined Jay to be the sort of man who folded his clothes neatly when he took them off before bed. However, folding his clothes seemed to be the last thing on his mind as he kissed every inch of Hailey he could.

They had laughed as they took their relationship to the next level, not at each other or at the situation, but at how easy it was to be together. There was no bumping of heads or teeth knocking together or limbs in the wrong places, they fit together perfectly like two pieces of the same puzzle. And the look that Hailey saw reflected in Jay’s eyes as they tumbled over the precipice together solidified a single thought in her brain.

He was it for her.

He had ruined her for anybody else, the way he held her, touched her, loved her. It was on another level and one she never wanted to leave.

A small part of her, a tiny part that she tried to keep buried was what had pulled her from her sleep. It was the singular part of herself she hated more than anything else.

The part that told her she was unlovable.

The part that told her no one would ever think her worthy of love or look at her like she was.

It was that part that had told her that Jay wouldn’t be there when she woke up. That he would have come to his senses and snuck out the door, pretended it had never happened and gone back to just being her partner.

But he had stayed.

He was warm and smooth under her hand and he had kept a hold of her the entire night too.

She wondered silently if he had perhaps worried she may have left him in the middle of the night as well. Though with them both in her apartment, where else would she go? But she knew herself that the voices in your head were never logical, no matter how much they yelled at you, they were often based on flawed information.

She had tried for years to get rid of those voices, the ones who lied to her and told her she was unworthy of love and affection, that she was a burden to those around her. But it wasn’t as simple as plucking them out of her brain and throwing them in the trash. They had dug their way in deep, their roots burrowing into all corners of her subconscious so much so that they would show themselves at the most unlikely of moments when she least expected it.

So instead of throwing them out, Hailey had tried another method. She had tried to push them back to a single space, a single corner and once they were all together to lock them behind the thickest door she could imagine and keep the key completely separate - lessening the power that they held over her. She was better at it now than she had been when she was younger back when she had assumed that every man in her life was lying to her to get something out of her. Or when she listened to them that she hadn’t deserved her promotion to detective. But she was better now. She wouldn’t let them win.

And the sleeping man next to her was proof of that.

Proof that she wasn’t unlovable. That she wasn’t undeserving. That when she opened up to someone they wouldn’t stamp on her heart and laugh in her face.

She had told Jay how she felt and he had reciprocated. He had held her tightly and touched her softly. He had worshipped her body and told her she was beautiful. He had treated her like she was the only person in the world to him.

And then, he had stayed.

Hailey flexed her fingers, making certain one final time that he really was sleeping beside her, that it wasn’t some facet of those hideous voices playing a cruel trick on her. But he was really there.

She pulled herself a little closer to him, letting the hand that had been clutching his shoulder slide across his chest as she slid her body against his side. He hummed in response to her movements, bringing her even closer still by the hand on her hip that fell back onto the curve of her arse.

That had been a new discovery about him last night. Jay Halstead was an arse man. Who knew?

She smiled at the memory and dropped a soft kiss onto his bare shoulder where her head had found its place. His shoulder was far more comfortable than her pillow had ever been.

She didn’t know how long it was until her alarm was due to go off and she refused to lessen her hold on Jay to check it. She simply let her eyes fall close again, breathing in the smell of Jay - like the smell on a spring day when the leaves are finally green again and the air is crisp but not too cold. She knew the alarm would wake them soon, she wasn’t fool enough to believe they could live in this little bubble for the rest of the day, undisturbed by the world outside. But by the way Jay stirred underneath her, bringing the hand not already holding her up to tangle their fingers together, she thought that the little bubble might not completely burst.

And when he dropped a soft kiss to her forehead, she knew that she had been right. He was it for her.

And when he whispered ‘good morning’, his voice thick with sleep, his smile obvious even in his words, she knew it would be worth it. Whatever they had to face. They’d get through it. Together.

#upstead #hailey upton #jay halstead #chicago pd #upstead fic #one Chicago #hailey x jay #chicago pd fic #upstead fanfiction #chicago pd fanfic #upstead fanfic #chicago pd fanfiction

56 notes · View notes

eyelessfaces · 2 years

Text

wine stain

llewyn davis x reader

hi I started writing this in october but never actually finished it and I thought it was kinda good when I reread it but I hated the plot so I changed it. anyways I hope you like it! also please note that this is my first time writing detailed smut in ages and I'm very insecure about it so please be indulgent :(

summary: life isn't fair to llewyn, but the man isn't quick to give up. an audition in chicago might change his life forever, and it does, but not the way he expected it to.

warnings: smut (minors dni!!), unprotected piv, oral sex, language (they swear a lot), alcohol consumption, smoking. mentions of pregnancy and abortion, one tiny joke about it. I am pro-choice and I don't want to offend anyone so if it bothers you just don't read this ffs.

tags: f!reader, friends to lovers, mutual pinning, llewyn is insecure asf and believes he doesn't deserve anything good, fucking oblivious idiots in love

word count: 5.7k (this is the longest thing I've ever written.)

Hot smoke escapes Llewyn’s cup of coffee, subtly mixing with the intoxicating smoke of the cigarette he holds between his fingers. You watch as the smoke goes up in the air, disappearing at the same level of his crumpled shirt collar. You desperately want to get up and fix it. You look away from it and sigh before talking.

“Spill the beans. I know this isn’t a casual cafe meeting. Or what Jean would call our ‘definitely not dates’ or whatever.” you say sinking into your chair, crossing your arms. “What do you want. Need. Same thing” you ask, watching him blow out his smoke as he raises an eyebrow at you.

“There’s no good answer is there?” he chuckles, licking his lips awkwardly when he sees that you’re not reacting to his poor attempt at a joke. “I need money.” he continues, lowering his voice. He leans forward and looks at you sternly. “Listen I hate asking you for this, but if I could do otherwise I wou-”

"Seriously? You’re still not getting anything?” you cut him off, raising an eyebrow.

His face relaxes, and he contorts it to a frown again.

“Believe me I’ve harassed Mel, it’s a miracle he’s not kicking me out. Only real money I get is from the gigs and saying it’s not enough is an understatement.” he huffs out, looking around the barely crowded cafe. “Please. I really need it. I’ll make it up to ya.” he pleads, looking back at you.

You roll your eyes when you think about the extra hours you’ll have to do to be able to pay your rent, but it’s Llewyn, and you care about him, so it’s…

“...Fine.”

Llewyn nods, weakly smiling at you.

“Thank you baby. Thank you” he nods fervently, thankful. “I would also need a place to crash at tonight…” he whispers with a sour face, knowing that it may be too much to ask you at once.

You chuckle and give him a wave of your hand. “Whatever. But you’re taking me out once you have enough money” you say tilting your head forward, pointing at him.

“Sure thing.” he smiles. “Thank you dove.”

You send him a quick smile before hiding it with your cup of coffee.

A thought occurs and you lick your lips in reflection as you put the cup down on its saucer.

“Abortion?” you ask abruptly, and he looks back at you with a startled face.

“What?”

“Is that why you need money? Again?” you clarify.

His confused face relaxes and he chuckles with a frown.

“It’s nice of you to assume I’m getting laid.” he chuckles, scratching the end of his cigarette in the ashtray.

You shrug. “I don’t know. You’re a hot talented musician after all” you say with a smirk, elbow planted on the table and chin resting on your palm. “Makes everyone faint”

He snorts. “Come on. Not when the hot talented musician is homeless and a dick” he pinches his lips in a skeptic smile.

“Yeah well that’s just you. And I don’t see anything wrong here” you smile, and Llewyn clears his throat.

“Well Jean told me it’d be a favor to people if I never fucked anyone ever again so I’m taking advice” he affirms, eyebrows raised as he brings his own cup of coffee to his mouth.

“Jean’s a bitch” you spit, crossing your arms and leaning back into your chair.

He chuckles and smiles.

“That’s no news.” he smiles. “Hum... The reason I need money is because I need to go to Chicago for an audition.”

“Chicago?” you ask, startled that he needs to go so far away.

“Yeah. Chicago.” he affirms, and looks through the window. It’s pouring and the wet road reflects the light of one small ray of sunshine passing through the clouds.

“You’re fucking kidding me” you scoff. “Don’t tell me it’s an audition with that Bud Grossman guy” you sigh, slowly shaking your head.

Llewyn doesn’t answer and just looks back at you with a small pinched smile. You sigh. “When is it?”

“I’d need to leave tomorrow. It’s a pretty long ride” he affirms sinking in the back of his chair.

“No shit” you chuckle before taking another sip of your coffee. “It’s a whole ass trip.”

He nods and reaches for the pack of cigarettes on the table. You grab it before he can and he’s on the verge of calling you out for it but you speak before he can.

“You just finished smoking one. You smoke too much. Slow down.” you advise him putting down your cup of coffee, and he instantly rolls his eyes.

“Oh please.” he huffs. “Come on” he pleads, frowning.

You put the pack in your coat pocket and he sighs before laying further against the back of his chair.

His look darts to the window again. Few people are passing by and the rare ones that do are all protected by an umbrella and a raincoat. He’s just glad he’s crashing at your place tonight and not roaming around the whole city to look for a place to stay in this weather.

“You’re gonna kill this.”

“Mh?” he asks absent-mindedly, still looking outside.

“Your audition. You’re so talented Llewyn. The trip is worth it” your words make him look back at you immediately, a small gap forming between his lips.

He wants to tell you that you don’t need to do that for him. That you don’t need to be so positive because he somehow always ends up fucking everything up. He really does. But at the same time he doesn’t think he’s ever felt his heart beat so fast.

“My first groupie!” he exclaims, unsure of how to respond wholeheartedly, instead using sarcasm as it’s what he does best. “Here it is.”

“Fuck you you asshole” you scoff, rolling your eyes playfully.

“Come on, I'm just messing with you” he scoffs. “Thank you for believing in me. You’re amazing” he nods and smiles. “You’re probably the only one that believes in me anyways.”

You weakly smile back at him. God you just wished this would work out for him. It’s all you ever wanted for him, truly.

“Can I get my cigarettes back now ?” he asks with a grin.

You roll your eyes and huff out a laugh before throwing the pack of cigarettes at him.

—

You gasp as you feel two arms wrap around your waist. You close your eyes with a sigh once your brain processes everything, and the corners of your mouth turn upwards.

“You scared me you moron. Nice shower?" you ask, still looking at the cooking pot in front of you.

Llewyn smiles as he nuzzles your hair.

“You have no idea. Probably the best shower I’ve had in ages” he affirms, his thumb caressing your clothed stomach. The gesture makes your heart skip a beat, but you quickly brush the thought off. You can’t think of him that way. “What you cookin’?” the question tears you out of your thoughts.

“Franks and beans. It’s a good thing you were able to come out of this bathroom, we’re eating soon.” you announce, stirring in the pot with the spatula.

“Awesome” he groans. “Thank you for letting me stay here tonight. The hell would I do without you” he sighs, and leans to quickly kiss your cheek.

You close your eyes and smile once again.

“Come on, go set the table. It’s ready soon” you affirm as you throw your chin towards the table.

“‘kay chief” he throws as he opens the cabinet where you keep your plates.

You eat while drinking some wine and end the evening watching The Seventh Seal, your head quickly ending up resting over Llewyn’s shoulder. You can feel yourself drift off to sleep as the end credits appear, and get up from the couch before you actually pass out on it and on Llewyn.

“Imma head to bed” you mumble sleepily, grabbing one of your plaids to hand it to Llewyn. “Goodnight” you tiredly say as he takes the plaid before you turn around to leave for your bedroom.

“Hey. I’ll probably be gone by the morning.” he declares as he gets up from the couch, leaving the plaid hanging on the armrest. “So I’ll just say it now. Thank you for the money and the food.” he says as he walks up to you, hands buried in his slacks pockets. “And the couch, and for everything you’re doing for me in general. I really appreciate it. I love you.”

You endearingly smile at him, reaching to gently stroke his wrist with your thumb.

“Good luck. I’ll be waiting for you. I love you”

—

When you come back home from work later than usual because of traffic three days later, Llewyn is curled up on your couch, asleep.

Your apartment is bathed in darkness and you watch his sleeping figure as you take off your shoes and coat before walking to him, kneeling next to him by the couch.

You reach to turn on the lamp on the side table next to your couch, looking back at him and finally being able to see his peaceful state. You smile to yourself as soft snores escape his slightly agape mouth and his usual grumpy expression is long gone, and you kinda feel like a creep for watching him sleep but truthfully he looks like an angel and you feel bad for having to wake him up.

You gently thread your fingers through his raven curls, softly calling his name, and he slowly opens his eyes, hazily sitting up and rubbing his eyes before pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Fuck” he curses under his breath. “Shit I didn’t mean to fall asleep on your couch. Sorry”

“That’s okay” you reassure him, smoothing your hand along his forearm. “How was Chicago?” you ask him softly, and he suddenly chuckles and shakes his head.

“Shitty.” he declares. “Useless.”

The blank that fills the air in your apartment is overwhelming. You get up from your knees and sit next to him on the couch, propping your elbow onto the back of the couch, your hand holding your head. “I’m sorry” you pinch your lips in an empathetic smile. “Wanna talk about it?”

“No. Yeah. I don’t know. It doesn’t really matter anyways” he smiles tiredly as he looks up at you.

“If you wanna talk about it I’m all ears, and if you don’t that’s okay, you don’t have to.”

He sighs and rubs his eyes again. “It’s just… It was all for nothing.” he huffs out. “All I do to try to make it work is always for nothing at the end.” You swear you hear your heart crack at that moment. “Grossman advised me to get back with Mike when I told him I used to have a partner.” he scoffs.

You chuckle and shake your head in dismay. “Well that’s gonna be complicated” you say as you raise your eyebrows. “What a fucking moron” you mumble as you get up from your couch, going to the kitchen.

“I don’t wanna defend him but he couldn’t know” he declares as he follows you, leaning his side against the wall as you grab two glasses and a bottle of wine.

“I’m not exclusively talking about that. He’s a fucking moron for rejecting you” you say as you turn back to him, handing him the glass. He takes it and shrugs and you sigh as you fill it. “How many copies of your record would I have to buy to make you rich?”

He laughs before taking a sip of the wine, and he raises his eyebrows in amusement.

“You ending up homeless in your turn isn’t the point sweetheart” he says as he watches you pouring yourself some wine before leaving the bottle on the counter.

“I just want you to be okay.” the words weakly escape your mouth as you walk back to your living room, and his eyes light up at your words. God, if only you knew how much it meant to him that you wanted him to be okay, if only you knew how much you meant to him.

“Don’t worry about me angel. I’ll just go back to merchant marines” he sighs as he sits down on your couch.

You look down at him with empathetic eyes and take a sip from your glass before putting it down on the coffee table. “It’s gonna be okay” you tell him sitting down next to him, mostly trying to convince yourself. Truth is you rely a lot on how he feels.

He hums absent-mindedly, gaze lost in the void of your living room and leans to put his glass down too before shifting to face you and taking your hand in his.

You look down at his hand, slowly and softly tracing his skin with your thumb.

“Llewyn” you whisper looking back at him, pushing away the curls falling over his face, threading your hand through the unruly dark curls.

He sighs softly as he looks up and down between your eyes and lips before his hands frame your face as his lips press over yours with more force than he had expected, like his eagerness to kiss you took over him.

He’s not sure of his action and he’s fully convinced he has, once more, fucked another thing up like he always does as he doesn’t feel you moving, until he feels your hands join at his neck to bring him closer, deepening the kiss as you hum against his lips and as your tongues meet.

It’s all the both of you had always been wishing for; diluting this unspoken tension between you, finally acting upon it.

You shift to straddle his lap and he groans into your mouth as he pulls you closer by your hips, savoring every second of that kiss as if you’re going to slip through his fingers once you pull away, as if you’re going to regret all of this once it’s over.

You know there is no reality where you could ever regret this; you had fantasized of doing this for ages and it’s even better than you had imagined this before; the wine somehow tastes better when it’s on his tongue, and you can feel the faint taste of cigarette in his warm breath as his broad hands run up and down your body, his body heat radiating against you.

You unconsciously hump against him as you want to get even closer, and a moan escapes your mouth, the friction against him deliciously relieving the growing ache between your legs.

“Fuck, Llewyn” you gasp against his mouth as you look down at your clothed crotches, evidently feeling his erection twitching under you even through the layers of clothes.

“Sorry baby” he whispers as his mouth chases yours, his gaze on you drunk and wanting. “Can’t really help it” the chuckle he lets out changes into a gasp when your hand shifts to palm him through his pants.

“The fuck are you sorry for?” you ask teasingly, a grin adorning your face as you leave his lap to kneel at his feet. He looks down at you speechless as you fiddle with his belt. “I know a way to make you feel better about all of this” He’s dreaming. This can’t be real.

“Sure but angel you– wh– you don’t have to–” he babbles as you’re working on freeing him of his confined space.

“I want to” you declare as you take his cock out, and fuck he’s hard and he’s huge and the heat pooling at your belly is becoming more and more pronounced. “If it’s okay” you look up at him, raising your eyebrows awaiting approval.

“Of course it is but we can– you don’t have to– oh shit” his pleas die on his tongue as you take him in your mouth, softly sucking his head as your hand strokes him. “Oh fuck” he groans, his head hitting the back of your couch.

This is a dream, it all happened so fast and there’s no way it’s real, he’s having another one of those dreams with you he’s so ashamed of, you never woke him up from his accidental nap on your couch, he’s still sleeping and this is not actually happening.

Coming back to reality will be hard because fuck this feels so good and he’ll probably have to lock himself in your bathroom to actually get some relief once he wakes up.

He is confirmed of the realness of the situation when you grip the side of his thigh as if to tell him look at me while you softly lick the underside of him, shifting to trace every vein along his length, pre cum dripping from the head to coat your tongue.

“Is this okay?” you ask pulling away, the tip of your fingers still gently skimming his throbbing cock. He laughs at your question.

“Baby fuck–” he bucks into your hand after you swipe your thumb over his swollen tip. “Yes of course it’s okay” he chuckles as his hand cups your cheek, thumb caressing your cheekbone. “It’s more than okay” he declares as he looks down at you with lustful, dark half lidded eyes.

“Good” you smile up at him before sinking down and taking him fully at once without warning.

The moan that escapes his mouth is sinful and it makes you clench, and the light tug after his fingers shift to grip your hair goes straight to your cunt.

You take him as deeply as you can, going up and down, tongue swirling around him from time to time. His head falls back against your couch once again, and he squeezes his eyes shut as his grip on your hair tightens.

“Holy shit dove– I don’t think I’m gonna last long” he manages to breathe out between whimpers, tightening his free hand into a fist to prevent himself from cumming right then and there into your mouth.

Then you pull away and he groans.

“What the fuck?” he asks startled as you get up, leaving him twitching and wanting, the feeling of his approaching orgasm slowly fading away.

“Jeez stop being so impatient” you taunt as you start unbuttoning your trousers, and his expression is priceless once he realizes what you have in mind.

“Oh–” you teasingly smile at him and slide your trousers down your legs. “Baby it’s not that I don’t want to but I don’t have any condoms and I can pull out but you know how cursed I am with all of this and–”

“I’m clean and on birth control it’s okay Llewyn” you cut him off of his tirade as you step out of the trousers at your ankles, throwing them to the side. “If you don’t want to do that it’s okay, I can finish you off by–”

You’re cut off when he grabs you by the hips, pulling you closer to the couch he’s sitting on, and you know he’s in for the ride – quite literally – when his thumbs hook into the hem of your underwear to slide them down your legs. He does the same, fully taking off his slacks and underwear and throwing them over the armchair across your couch.

He looks up at you like you’re a goddess, and even though his dick is aching and begging for release he takes his sweet time gazing at you like you’re the eighth wonder of the world.

You softly smile at him, brushing back the raven curls falling over his forehead, and giggles escape from your mouth when he unexpectedly drags you so you can straddle his lap.

He kisses all along your jawline, beard softly tickling your skin as he lavishes your neck next, his hands roaming along your curves, his right hand stopping between your thighs, two of his fingers gathering the slick of your folds.

“Shit– you’re fucking dripping” he breathes out against your neck, making you whimper at his touch. “Did you get that wet just from blowing me?” he teases, and you tug at the curls on the back of his head before reconnecting your lips to his, feeling him smirk against them.

Llewyn groans in your mouth as you wrap your fingers around his cock and slowly pump it, and he knows for sure that the gasp you let out when you slowly but easily sink down on his length will be engraved in his mind.

“Holy shit” you pant, burying your head in the crook of his shoulder once you’re fully seated on his throbbing length.

“You okay?” he asks, one hand anchored at your hip and the other one softly trailing up your bare back underneath your shirt.

“Yeah” you breathe out, frantically nodding against him as your arms wrap around his neck, and you slowly start rocking your hips. The little whimpers he lets out are music to your ears, and the way he softly gasps your name has you clenching around him.

“Fuck angel you’re so fucking tight” Llewyn hisses, leaving a trail of kisses along your neck as you thrust down on him, finally finding a steady pace that leaves the both of you sweating and panting, clinging to each other. “Taking me so fucking well” he grunts against the exposed skin of your neck, the roughness of his beard tickling the sensitive area. Tugging on his hair so he can look back at you, his hips jerk up, and you pull him in for a hungry kiss.

Of course he would like you pulling on his hair.

Happy with the reaction it elicited from him and the information you just got, your hands are gripping on his curls as you roll your hips against him. He practically fucks his tongue into your mouth, and you almost choke into the kiss when his thumb meets and massages your clit in small circles.

You gasp his name, and his hand that was stroking your back earlier is now tucking a loose strand of your hair behind your ear as he drinks in the sight of you using him for your pleasure.

“Wanna make you cum first” his voice is rough and deep with lust, and the way you bite on your lower lip as you slightly flutter around him because of his words seem to encourage him; his grip against your hips becomes more and more firm and controlling, his pelvis thrusting up into you with a force that you hadn’t expected from him, his movements meeting yours and making you throw your head back in pleasure.

“Fucking hell Llewyn” it comes out as a sigh, but if the walls of your apartment weren’t so thin you would have at least screamed it.

You know he won’t have much work to do as you can already feel yourself nearing your climax; it’s all starting to become too much, but the good kind of too much.

You gasp in surprise when Llewyn manhandles you with the force you ignored he still had from his merchant marines days and knocks over one of the glasses of wine on the coffee table, the liquid pouring all over the surface and dripping down onto your wooden floor.

“Shit Llewyn” you gasp, pushing your nails deeper into his arms.

It’s honestly a miracle you managed not to fall and you back landed on the couch correctly.

The mission isn’t a complete success, but you’re too caught up in the moment to stop because of some stupid wine so you just manage to tell him “Fuck it just keep going” while wrapping your legs around his waist so he keeps going, even more fervently.

You’re now laying on your couch, Llewyn hovering over you and hitting deeper spots inside of you, each movement faster than the previous one; the wet sounds between your legs are lewd and get even filthier each time he pounds into you.

He’s close. You can see it, you can feel it by the way his thrusts stutter slightly.

His head tilts down to where you’re connected, watching himself disappear inside of you, bringing his hand to you clit again.

“Fuck are you gonna cum for me baby?” he asks, his voice dripping with lust and desire as he toys and rubs circles over your aching clit.

You whimper and hiss and cry his name as you get lost in the feeling of his fingers and his hips ramming further into you, all the tension in your body morphing into waves of pleasure as you reach your climax, fluttering around him and cumming in silent gasps.

Llewyn is quick to follow you as your orgasm was all he was waiting for to finally let himself go; his movements become sloppier and his hips start to stutter, his eyes finally rolling to the back of his head and his teeth sinking into his bottom lip as he stills, his cock spurting his cum deep inside of you.

He grunts, and your head falls back into the couch as you feel drained of all your energy. Llewyn curses under his breath as he rests his forehead against your shoulder, panting, before pulling out and collapsing on top of you, his head resting against your chest.

You both catch your breaths, staying here for a while with your fingers softly running through his hair before you start blissfully laughing, all the tension and seriousness of the situation fading away.

He rests his head to the side, facing the scenery of the knocked over glasses still swaying over your coffee table. “Fucking hell your floor” he gasps before looking up at you, realizing the mess you have made with the wine.

“I’ll just put a rug over the stain I guess” you sigh. “It was worth it” you chuckle and lean down to kiss him. “I’m glad you didn’t take advice from Jean after all”

“What?” he asks, still dizzy from his climax.

“Not fucking anyone ever again, remember?” you ask and he laughs, getting up and walking to where he left his clothes to get dressed again.

“Yeah, well you better be consistent on your birth control because apparently my spermatozoids are warriors, and I wouldn’t want Jean to make a point” he chuckles as he slides into his slacks.

“We should be fine” you mutter while sitting up, reaching to pick your underwear from the floor. “I’ll call you if I need an abortion” you joke, standing up to put your underwear back on. “Ugh fuck” you whine picking up your trousers, seeing the wine stain covering it.

“I’ll help you clean and I’ll just… go” he mutters, scratching his forehead.

“Why do you wanna go” you ask absent-mindedly, walking to the kitchen to try to save your trousers from the wine stain.

“I don’t know” he declares following you into the kitchen before standing against your counter, hands gripping the edge of it. You look at him and he looks absent, livid, almost sick, and it is too much just for it to be his post-orgasm haze.

You frown, and when you realize why he might want to leave your heart breaks a little.

“Did I do or say something wrong?” you ask. Maybe the abortion joke was too much, maybe you got fooled and he was just horny and needed to let it out of his system and regretted it now. “Llewyn do you…” you fully turn towards him, searching for your words. “Do you think this was a mistake?” you ask looking back at him, letting the garment rest in the sink. “Us sleeping together?”

“Me? No” he scoffs. The tension hangs in the air as you’re waiting for him to elaborate. “I figured you would”

You sigh and take a step closer to him.

“Llewyn no… Why would I?” you chuckle, almost offended at the thought.

“I don’t know. Nothing I do is ever good so why would this be any different?” he shrugs, closing his belt.

You sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose and shaking your head.

“No. You’re a fucking idiot.” you mutter under your breath.

“I know.” he replies quickly, not wasting one second. He walks back to your living room, gathering his stuff to go, really wanting to avoid having a fight with you, and preparing to leave like he had planned to.

“I don’t mean it like that. You wanna know why you’re a fucking idiot?” you ask rhetorically, following him closely. “You think you’re not good enough for everything you do in life when truth is, you’re just really unlucky.” you declare, “And you act like a jerk because you’re scared of actually succeeding in something.”

“Yeah,” he chuckles. “Well surely you’re right about that too” he scoffs, pulling out his cigarette pack from his pocket.

“Don’t smoke inside of my apartment” you hiss.

“I told you, I’m leaving.” he almost immediately snaps, putting the cigarette in his shirt pocket, taking his guitar case and his box of things, his coat thrown over it.

You sigh and put a hand over your forehead, and watch as he passes in front of you to go to your entry.

It is now or never, or else it will never be the same. Tonight you had taken a step forward, but by taking this step forward you had also taken two steps backwards, and if you didn’t try to save this now it would never be saved.

“Llewyn” you call, and something breaks inside him at the sound of your voice. You had never called his name so weakly, so pleadingly.

He turns and finally looks at you, establishing eye contact for more than five seconds for the first time since your sexual encounter. He closes his eyes and shakes his head.

“I fucked this up too, didn’t I” he mutters, and you pinch your lips as it is your turn to shake your head as you step closer to him.

“No. No you didn’t.”

He looks down at the stuff he’s carrying and sighs.

“I don’t really wanna go.” he declares softly.

“Then stay,” you nod. “Please. I don’t want you to go.” you say as you take a step forward, taking the box from his hands. “If you leave I would need to run after you in just my shirt and underwear, and frankly I don’t want to do that” you smile slightly as you put his stuff down on the floor.

He laughs and puts the rest of his belongings on the floor too, and when he looks back at you he notices you’re still looking down on the floor, gaze lost in your thoughts.

“Honey is there–”

“Do you think sleeping together was a mistake?” you cut him off, looking back at him.

“No. Of course not. I’d do it again.” he declares. “I mean if–”

“I get it. Don’t worry” you chuckle.

A small silence fills the room before you get an idea.

“Hey, follow me” you say as you tilt your head. You cross your small apartment, Llewyn following you closely, grabbing your wrist as you push your bedroom door.

“Sweetheart I’d love to but I don’t think I can go again– I mean not right now”

“I’m not bringing you here to have sex again” you declare, a chuckle escaping your lips as you see his face relaxing and his hold on your wrist loosening up. You sit on the edge of your bed, and he watches you from a distance, leaning against the doorframe. “Come here” you call, patting the spot right beside you. Llewyn hesitantly sits beside you, and his gaze shifts to your face when you grab his hand.

“This could be your bed, if you wanted it to be.” The sound of your voice rings in his ears. “You wouldn’t have to sleep on my couch again. Or any other couch.” you declare, brushing back his unkempt hair, and he looks at the bed behind him as if to contemplate what he could have.

He looks back at you, and he knows that he knows his answer. He doesn’t hesitate for one second on what he would rather have, because if he could be by your side forever, he would be. But something inside of him is not sure if you want him to be by your side forever.

He nods. He nods and he licks his lips in reflection, and he looks back at the bed before looking back at you again. “I don’t want this to be exclusively sexual” he declares, squeezing your hand tighter.

“Me neither” you smile, a wide smile that makes his heart sink. You grab his face and kiss him, and he savors this kiss like it’s the last thing he’s ever going to do. But if kissing you was the last thing he’d do, he would be satisfied with that.

You pull away from his lips and lay down on the bed, and his hand rests against your bare thigh while he looks at you. And he looks at you like you’re the prettiest thing he’s ever seen.

He lays down next to you with a grunt, facing the ceiling, and you prop yourself against your elbow to face him.

“I’ll just ask you one thing” you declare, firmly looking at him.

“Mh?” he hums, looking at you.

You lick your lips and let your fingers trail along the side of his face.

“Stop thinking you don’t deserve anything good.” you whisper, and his face shifts so he can kiss the tip of your fingers.

“Eh, I’ll try,” he smirks, shrugging. You shake your head and lean down to kiss him again, but he hovers over you and pins you down before you have the chance to do it.

You laugh and he kisses you, hungrily, and shifts down to leave a trail of kisses to your neck and collarbone as a defeated sigh escapes your mouth.

“Okay so I’ll give you time to work on the imposter syndrome. But now we can only have sex if you promise me you won’t hate yourself after we’re done”

He pulls away from your skin, and looks up at you.

“I can do that.”

You spend a long night offering Llewyn your bed, the uncleaned stain of wine on your floor long forgotten.

But at least years later, when you’re engaged to Llewyn and packing to move out somewhere bigger and the time comes when you have to remove the rug, it reminds you of that specific night, and you can’t help the fluttering feeling of the butterflies in your stomach, accompanied right away by a tiny kick. The very first one.

—

comments and reblogs are always appreciated!!

inside llewyn davis taglist: @apollo-enthusiast @scarabgrant @lockleysgrl @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @missmarmaladeth @alexxavicry @mystinky-butt @beccabecs521

234 notes · View notes

justagalwhowrites · 1 year

Note

PROMPT 114 BUT THE ITS THE READER WHO CAN SING NOT JOEL 🙏🙏

OMG Hi Bestie!

Thank you so much for this prompt (which was sent in by other folks too!) as it’s the PERFECT chance to introduce y’all to Bambi, the main character from the next fic I’m going to write, Yearling.

This fic is set post season 1 in Jackson and Bambi comes to town after spending years with raiders and, before that, years on her own surviving. Joel starts calling her Bambi the minute they meet - her wide eyes and skittish way of being reminding him of a baby deer. I’m sure we can all guess where this is going.

The drabble below isn’t canon but it is a good way to get a taste of Bambi and Joel and what’s to come in Yearling. I hope you like it!

Linger

You think you have privacy when you decide to sing for one of the horses. Turns out, that’s not the case.

Based on Prompt 114: “I didn’t know you could sing.”

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female Reader

Warnings: none!

Length: 1.5K

The vet said the horse was going to be fine but still… it didn’t feel right to leave her overnight.

“Hey there, Cassiopeia,” you said, keeping your voice low and gentle. The horse whinnied at you from her place on the ground. You got down on her level, tucking your legs to the side, and gently trailed your fingers down her forehead. “How are we feeling, sweet girl?”

She huffed in response. You smiled sadly.

“I know, it hurts,” you said. “Gunshots are no fun. People are the fuckin’ worst.”

You looked around her side to the bandage at her flank. It was, all told, a pretty good spot for a horse to get shot.

But it was still getting fucking shot.

You felt extra protective over Cassiopeia. She was the first horse you’d helped bring into Jackson. She had been a wild, free thing when you’d brought her to the town after several horses had been lost to attacks by raiders. The patrol needed horses, you knew how to catch and break them. It made sense for you to bring them in.

The horses, at least, led a pretty plush life here most of the time. They had enough work to keep them occupied and entertained, a pen that let them stretch their legs and graze, comfortable and clean stalls. Not to mention enough food that there was no risk of them starving in the harsh Wyoming winter.

It helped you justify capturing them and breaking them. You were helping them have an easy way of living, once they came around to it. A way out from the threats of wolves and raiders.

It just came at the cost of a cage.

You’d been a caged animal once. You knew what it was to catch a glimpse of the world you knew existed from behind bars. Yes, the horses here were treated far better than you had been but a cage was a cage.

Cassiopeia shifted and huffed, laying her large head in your lap. She was a beautiful animal, her coat coal black with a white star mark on her forehead. That’s why you’d named her what you did. A bright star in the dark, a creature that was trapped in a place a more powerful being had placed her. Where you’d placed her. And she’d been shot for a job you’d trained her to do.

“You did so good, sweet girl,” you said, gently stroking her mane. She whinnied. You leaned down and pressed a kiss to her head. “You got your rider back safe, helped him escape raiders. You deserve a good, long break. Recovery time and then some. I’ll swipe you some apples tomorrow, you’ve earned them.”

She seemed satisfied at that and shifted a bit again, settling her head against you. You leaned back against the stall wall and thought about her rider, the one she’d helped protect: Joel Miller, the surly man who’d brought you to Jackson to begin with.

You’d hardly had any contact with him in the months since. In fairness, you hardly had any contact with anyone if you could help it. Animals were way more your speed. You wanted as little to do with people as you could possibly manage and Joel seemed to feel the same.

But you did wonder about him.

He’d been so damn insistent on bringing you back to Jackson when he found you. Like he saw something in you that was worth trying to save. It didn’t make a lick of sense.

The horse shifted again and nudged your stomach with her head.

“Oh I’m sorry,” you looked down at her. “I thought we were done talking, I thought I was giving you a chance to rest young lady.”

She huffed and looked at you, raising her head a bit, insistent.

“Do you like it better when I’m talking?” You asked gently. She set her head back down. “Alright, I can keep talking then…”

Not that you were a stellar conversationalist.

But you could sing. It always calmed your horses before, them comforted by the sound of your voice and the rhythm of song.

No one around to hear how out of practice you must be, at least.

You tried to think of a song before you found something you actually remembered the lyrics of.

“If you, if you could return,” you sang it soft and lilting, slow enough that she could sink into it.

“Don't let it burn

Don't let it fade

I'm sure I'm not being rude

But it's just your attitude

It's tearing me apart

It's ruining every day

I swore, I swore I would be true

And honey so did you

So why were you holding her hand?

Is that the way we stand?

Were you lying all the time?

Was it just a game to you?

But I'm in so deep

You know I'm such a fool for you

You got me wrapped around your finger

Do you have to let it linger?

Do you have to, do you have to, do you have to let it linger?”

“I didn’t know you could sing.”

You about jumped out of your skin, Cassiopeia’s head flying up off your lap. You scrambled back into the corner of the stall, looking something you could use as a weapon as Joel came and leaned against the stall door frame. He crossed his arms, looking a little amused.

“Easy, Bambi,” he said. “Not gonna bite.”

“Scared the shit out of me,” you panted, adjusting on the floor of the stall again so Cassiopeia could lay her head on you once more.

“Sorry, wasn’t tryin’ to freak you out…”

“The fuck are you doing here?” You asked, still not ready to trust his word that he wasn’t here to hurt you.

“Wanted to check on her,” he said, nodding to the horse. “Hell of a mouthful you named her, by the way. Where the fuck does Cassiopeia come from?”

“It’s a constellation,” you said, going back to stroking the horse’s mane. He nodded slowly.

“Have to tell Ellie that,” he said. “She loves space…”

Joel hovered for a moment and then sat down against the stall wall across from you. You pressed back against the stall

“You play, too?” He asked. “You sure can sing like you know music…”

“Been a few years but,” you shrugged. “Yeah.”

He nodded.

“If you want, you can borrow my guitar,” he said. “Long as you bring it back.”

He looked you up and down and you tensed. He frowned.

“I’m really not gonna hurt you, Bambi,” he said. “You don’t gotta try n’ hide from me.”

“Yeah well,” you shrugged. “You haven’t given me much reason to believe you yet.”

“Would I have gone through that much fuckin’ trouble to get you to Jackson if I wanted to hurt ya?” He asked, almost bemused.

“Yes.”

“Well, I didn’t,” he said. “Sides, we’re apparently gonna be patrol partners soon. Gonna have to get used to me.”

“Well on patrol I’ll have a gun,” you replied. “Good luck fuckin’ taking it from me on your own.”

“Not gonna hurt you there either, Bambi,” he said. “Surprised you know the Cranberries. Seemed like before your time…”

You frowned.

“I was an adult when the outbreak happened,” you said. “I had a job and shit and everything. That song was big when I was a teenager.”

“Sorry, I thought you were younger,” He said. “Know how to play it?“

“I could figure it out pretty quick,” you said. “I was only ever good at two things, music and horses. I’m outta practice but I could play it quick. I’m sure of it.”

You looked him over for a moment. His shaggy graying hair, his soft brown eyes. Part of you wanted to be next to him. But most of you was scared. Joel was a big man, you were still weak even after a few months in Jackson. He could do whatever he wanted to you if he got you in the right position. You didn’t trust him not to.

“You play then?” You asked. “Since you have a guitar.”

“I play,” he nodded. “Wanted to be a singer when I was a kid.”

You snorted.

“Sounds about right.”

You and Joel talked for hours. You didn’t really notice that it happened until the sun started to rise, Cassiopeia asleep on your lap. But it was the longest you’d talked to another person in years.

“I should get back,” Joel said, craning his neck to look at the sunrise. “Got shit to do this morning…. Well, now.”

“I should, too,” you agreed, getting up. “At least go and wash off the stall.”

“Thank you,” Joel said watching you for a moment before getting up himself. “For lookin’ after the horse. Didn’t expect anyone else l to care about her like I do.”

“She’s my baby,” you shrugged.

Joel nodded.

“Well, Bambi, it was nice gettin’ to know you a bit,” he said. “Sure we’ll end up talkin’ more on patrol soon.”

“Yeah,” you said, letting yourself stand a little closer to him than you normally would. “Sure we will.”

#fanfic #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #sneak peek #follower celebration

59 notes · View notes

whenlifegivesyousparklingwater · 6 months

Text

Wednesday, March 27, 2024

Dear Public Diary,

I feel an increasing sense of dread as April approaches. As a student in the humanities and social sciences, not only do I have research of my own to do, but I have so many papers to write for courses. Just in the next week, I have two papers due, neither of which I have started. I have been staring at the same page and reading the same sentences over and over. I cannot concentrate or comprehend what I am reading. However, in my defense, Locke writes in paragraph-length sentences that could have easily been broken up into at least three separate statements. This inability to be productive, combined with the inability to relax, puts me in stasis, where I just freeze up. It's not that I don't like the Enlightenment thinkers... or maybe it is.

I have to remind myself that just because power is shared among several White men (as opposed to power concentrated in one White man) does not make it democratic. It's so easy to read ideological philosophical texts and convince myself that I am one of the humans they speak of, though I know that these thinkers would not have considered me as one. Even still--centuries after Hobbes, Locke, and Rousseau--I am not truly considered as a full, free [hu]man by the government. It is not really that oppressed people are becoming a part of this "human" category; we are just changing the boundary between who is in the human and subhuman categories. We are just given an illusion of progress by introducing new moral justifications.

For example, in the US, we are taught to believe that racism ended with MLK--we no longer treat Black people as lesser just because of skin color! Hooray! However, what the government did was refocus our morality--we believe criminals deserve to be punished and treated as lesser. Solution: make Americans believe crime is out of control and that Black people are criminals. Now we draw the line slightly differently from where it was before, but not really. It just gives us new moral justifications to put a certain group of people in the trash to be forgotten. This is a weird analogy, but it reminds me of the barber poles that captivated me as a child; the spinning motion combined with the diagonal lines give the illusion that the lines are continually going upward when, in reality, the stripes are not changing.

I am taking a graduate-level course in philosophy of law; this semester, it is focused on feminism and cornography laws. [I don't know what words Tumblr flags these days, but just to be safe, I will just use 'corn' to refer to--you know.] We are reading In Harm's Way: The [C]ornography Civil Rights Hearings by Catharine MacKinnon. The hearings took place in the 80s when there were no real laws limiting corn or allowing people to seek justice for wrongs they faced because of corn. I'm happy to discuss the philosophical, sociological, and psychological dimensions of harm caused by corn, but that would be an entire dissertation on its own, so I will hold myself back for the time being.

In the past seven days, I have read ten books. These were mindless fantasy romances, so I breezed through them, no critical thinking skills activated. However, it made me stop and analyze the parallels between mainstream romance books and visual cornography. Corn had previously been limited to the men who had access to art (so basically the upper class) or brothels. Until the internet age, it was not as democratically accessible. Nowadays, even young children are able to access corn without any barriers. Corn tends to refer to visual mediums (rather than literary), and we as a society now recognize the existence and harms of sex trafficking and its role in creating corn. People tend to believe that the harm of cornography lies in the women who are forced to perform and that this is what makes the ethics of corn questionable. [Of course, some may argue upon which ones or what situations can be evaluated as "forced," but that's a topic to tackle on another day.]

However, this is my controversial opinion: I think corn and the pimps of this multi-billion dollar industry have strategically adapted to the new social constraints of the time. Behold, spicy books: a newly-mainstream medium of corn that still maintains abuse/violence as something sexually arousing, maintains toxic gender dynamics (i.e., male dom/female sub), brings in a new demographic of customers (i.e., women), and seems ethical (i.e., no women are harmed in the process). Seems like female sexual liberation, but is it really? I recently went to a local bookstore, and they had a whole section of the store dedicated to BookTok romance books with an emphasis on those with "spice." Alarmingly, it was right next to the Young Adult (YA) section (ages 12-18). The displayed spicy books have such deceiving, innocent, cute covers that make children pick them up and prevent parents from knowing the true nature of the story. Pimps would often show children corn as educational material of sorts so that they know how to behave and what to reenact. Especially since sex education is not very thorough (if there is any at all), these toxic dynamics displayed in these books become young girls' sex education.

Even for us adults, it's important to analyze whether the maledom/femsub dynamic is truly a personal preference that many people also happen to hold or whether it is an internalization of misogyny. Although these YouTube shorts were satirical, I saw a few that were something like "POV: you're dating a book girlfriend" and the girlfriend would do toxic things, like objectify their partners, have unrealistic expectations, expect/demand violent actions in sex that the men are not comfortable doing, etc. Seems like an ironic reversal of the previous situation with visual cornography. [It is important to remember we are still in a male-dominated society, and as long as we are in a male-dominated society, men will not truly understand the harm corn has caused women.] However, men are being called "too sensitive" by talking about the harm these books are causing in relationships. Wouldn't this be another form of silencing a group, this time on the basis of toxic masculinity ideals? Then, we are not necessarily giving more people voices but shifting who gets the voice based on a shallow understanding of the deeper issue at hand.

One of the reasons why violent corn should not be protected by the First Amendment is because of the real-life harms that they cause. For example, corn may just say these are "sexual fantasies," but they cause real-life harm as real-life men seek to reenact them with women in coerced/forced situations. Just because one has a camera recording should not mean that the violent act is protected under free speech. If real-life harm is being caused because of smut, smut should not be fully defended by the First Amendment as free speech. More importantly, we need to realize that these books are not "just fiction" or "just sexual fantasies" and understand the real-life implications. I guess smut books can also be seen as a form of sex discrimination under Title VII of the Civil Rights Act in that they create content based on gender/sex where one group (i.e., women) is degraded, and these books facilitate gender-based discrimination in real life. Anyways, these are my thoughts.

I have a breakfast meeting to get ready for, so I will call it a day here.

Yours Truly,

RCH

#dear diary #personal blog #public diary #journal #journaling #feminism #books

6 notes · View notes

angel-wings-and-tattoos · 2 years

Text

i can't stop thinking about the potential of s5 stonathan. it's a disease. this is directly inspired by the .5 second frame that steve and jonathan share in s4 bc i am actively psychotic and audibly gasped when it happened even though they literally didn't even look at each other.

when jonathan sees them for the first time, he assumes that steve and robin are a couple.

those two are practically the same person. they work on the same level and it's obvious to everyone around them that they're just meant to be together. steve and robin both know its in a platonic way, but it's hard for everyone else to look past the fact that they're a boy and a girl; how could the two of them be that close and not be dating?

robin has no idea about steve and jonathan's complicated history (surprising, i know. but steve's memory isn't what it used to be and truthfully he just assumed that he's already told her everything about his entire life, which is approximately 87% true. but jonathan happened to fall into that pesky 13%) but clocks the weird energy between the two of them immediately.

i'm just imagining jonathan lowkey cornering steve in order to talk to him. not that steve was avoiding him or anything. he just was not not avoiding him. so it takes a little while but jonathan finally gets steve to himself for more than 5 seconds and just overall asks how he's doing.

after a little small talk he asks about him and robin, very, very extremely (can't emphasize how bad it is) awkwardly. this is a man who is shitty with small talk at the very best of times talking to someone who he beat up and then kind of stole his girlfriend (jonathan stands by the fact he deserved the beating up part and would also like to point out that nancy is her own person who can't be stolen from anyone) so there's really no script to be going by here.

neither of them really know what the goal of the conversation is. jonathan just had a vague urge to talk to steve and steve didn't want to talk in the first place so, again, cannot emphasize the awkwardness of the situation. steve eventually realizes that jonathan thinks him and robin are a thing and, in a very mean girl way that only steve can pull off without sounding like an absolute asshole, bodily rolls his eyes and huffs at him that no, byers, we're just friends. capital P-Platonic.

jonathan is suddenly hit with an overwhelming reminder of steve back in high school. surprisingly, it's not in an entirely bad way, it's weirdly nice. he hasn't genuinely talked to steve in so long and it's at that exact moment that he realizes that he missed him. which is bizarre, in jonathan's opinion, because he's pretty sure you have to have more than two positive interactions with a person in order to miss them. (jonathan is also resolutely ignoring the bizarre relief he felt when steve said he wasn't dating robin).

another thing is that jonathan has the weird urge to hug steve. when the california crew got back to hawkins, jonathan had mainly been focused on nancy, which he thinks is perfectly understandable. by the time that talk was over (they had somehow managed to end the conversation while still ignoring one or two majorly important issues that their relationship might not survive talking about) steve was a dozen or so feet away, one arm still around el in a hug that never quite ended and talking to her, dustin, mike and will. jonathan had sort of vaguely waved at him and steve's returning smile and wave were genuine, but less than enthusiastic.

by the time he managed to get steve alone, it was past the time jonathan deemed as hug-appropriate. he settled for somewhat stiffly laying a hand on steve's forearm when he noticed the distinct bite marks peaking past his shirt sleeve. jonathan took it as a win when steve minorly tensed, but, more importantly, didn't brush his hand off. he assured jonathan that he was fine and that they look worse than they actually are, i'm fine, i promise.

they continue to talk for a little while, steve quickly asking about will and el (give him some credit at least, he hadn't seen jonathan in months but he still knew the man pretty well) and letting him ramble about them for a while. (neither of them acknowledge or do anything about the fact that jonathan is still holding his arm, all he would have to do for them to be holding hands would be shift his own hand 3 inches down)

the scene that robin eventually walks in on is steve and jonathan standing less than a foot apart, jonathan's hand still loosely resting on steve's arm, and them talking quietly enough that, even in the small living room, she can't make out what they're saying.

the thing is, robin has seen steve in just about every scenario there could possibly be with other people. she's seen him fake smile at customers, bitch at the kids, sweet talk the kid's parents, charm his way through dates, try to be less charming with her parents, play nice with his ex-girlfriend, play even nicer with his ex-girlfriend's parents, try and fail to not be flustered with eddie flirting with him, hell, even try to get along with her bandmates that one time. so, needless to say, there was hardly anything that steve could do to surprise her anymore.

that all flies out the window with jonathan byers, evidently. it would be more understandable if she had heard anything about jonathan from steve. she only knows what she heard and witnessed when she was in high school with the two of them, but in all of her thousands of conversations with steve, jonathan only made an appearance once or twice, and never for very long. at the time, she didn't think it was intentional, but now she's starting to reconsider.

robin clears her throat pointedly, startling the two men. they look up at her, but don't move away from each other. steve turns to look at her which coincidentally (or not, robin thinks its the exact opposite, actually) shifting him slightly closer to jonathan. robin tilts her head in the direction of the door, trusting that steve can easily follow her train of thought. they had to leave soon in order to make it back to the school to help with the make-shift relief center.

steve nods at her, his gaze sliding back to jonathan. he says something that robin still can't hear before going to clap jonathan on the shoulder. jonathan apparently decides that this isn't enough and goes straight in for a hug instead, looping his arms around steve's neck. steve is visibly surprised by the show of affection, but he immediately tucks both of his arms around jonathan's waist. robin's eyebrows go up slightly as steve practically tucks his face into jonathan's neck. (turns out, steve missed jonathan more than he anticipated. also, it's been a long time since someone hugged steve without almost dying immediately before or after so, sue him for enjoying it a little)

the hug doesn't last for very long but robin has seen enough to qualify steve for a very long talk the second that the pair leave the house.

the two men somewhat reluctantly let go of each other, jonathan letting his hands quickly trace over steve's shoulders to loosely grasp his elbows as they separate. steve gently drums his fingers against jonathan's side once, saying goodbye before turning to follow robin.

jonathan watches as the two leave the house, feeling better about the whole situation but still somewhat off-center. obviously steve didn't hate him, seemed to actively like him despite their convoluted history, but jonathan wasn't sure why that mattered to him so much. he barely even likes steve in the first place (that's a bald-faced lie, your honor) so why did he feel relieved when steve hugged him back? jonathan's subconsciousness files that right along the relief from earlier to be examined at a far later date (read: hopefully never).

basically i just want jonathan and steve to have a moment together, robin to clock the weird tension, and then for them to all get along forever. without dying tragically. that is probably far too much to ask but i'm nothing if not a clown who will watch and likely thoroughly enjoy s5 regardless of the chance that nancy and jonathan will probably end up staying together.

110 notes · View notes