#so far it's a couple dozen times over five days

[witchygagirlwrites]

Broken Bonds-Part 19

Former(ish) Greg "Mouse" Gerwitz x Reader, Jay Halstead x Reader

You and Jay fall into a routine of being together. You celebrate the fourth of July with your extended family and then the reminder that the ticking clock is about to stop comes rolling in.

“Are you and Jay bringing her to the fourth of July community cookout fifty one is hosting?” Stella asked, turning her head to look at you. It was a rarity that both of you had a day off that synced up so you were enjoying it, pushing Addy through the mall in her stroller as you went from store to store. “Of course, I know you and Kelly wouldn’t want to miss the chance to show her off” you teased with a grin.

Addy was coming up on five months old, starting to sleep longer through the night and growing more daily it seemed at times. Your tiny little newborn was transforming into a baby instead. She grinned “Of course. Is the rest of the unit coming?” you nodded “As far as I know, Will and Nat are gonna try to make it too. Show of support and all that for the community, I may have to leave before the fireworks though. I don’t know how she may react to those, even if I get her the headphones”

She nodded “Yeah, I don’t want her freaking out. How’s things between you and Jay?” you took a deep breath, a smile slipping onto your face “It’s good?” she raised an eyebrow “Was that a question mark at the end of that?”

You laughed lightly “I don’t know Stel. I love him, I really do. I mean we have a beautiful little girl together and he is an absolutely amazing man but there’s times he pulls away from me and I’m not used to that..before we were whatever we are now he talked to me..I don’t know if it’s past demons popping up or future worries but I want to know what's going on inside his head so damn bad” She smiled softly “He just worries more about you now. He constantly has to consider Addy into the equation, same as you. I’m sure that’s an adjustment”

“Yeah, I guess” you agreed and she let a grin slip onto her face “C’mon lets get some lunch and we can go back to your place and let Addy take a nap” you nodded “I promised Will we’d drop by Med today too so he could see her. His schedule has been so insane it’s been like two weeks since he’s had a chance” she laughed “Oh that poor man. Two weeks without Adeline? Tsk tsk little sister, that’s just mean”

___________

You sat down next to Stella on your couch and cut your eyes at your tv to see what movie she’d picked. “Oh yay, I love this one” she laughed “I know, that’s why I picked it” you drew your legs up under you and focused your attention on the screen. You enjoyed days like this. It felt normal, your life didn’t feel anywhere as insane as it actually was just spending the day with your sister and daughter.

Stella scooted closer to you, laying her head over on your shoulder. You put your arm around her and leaned further back into the couch to get comfortable yourself. You hadn’t even felt yourself dozing off but the end credits of the movie was rolling when Jay gently shook your arm “Baby?”

You slowly opened your eyes and smiled when you saw him “Hey, when did you get back?” he laughed lightly, cutting his eyes at Stella who was still asleep on you “About ten minutes ago, I guess Addy wasn’t the only one that needed a nap?”

You rolled your eyes but laughed regardless “Hey, we had a full day and even took her to see her uncle Will at work. He got to show her off to everyone” he grinned “I know. He sent me half a dozen pictures while I was helping Kim and Adam move” 

He leaned closer to press a gentle kiss to your lips then nodded towards Stella “Kelly called me looking for her. We may wanna wake her up even if I sent him the picture of you two sleeping” your eyes widened “You did not!” he pulled his phone out of his pocket and clicked the screen a couple times before turning it around to indeed show you a photo of you and Stella curled up together “Oh I did. You two looked so sweet to be so damn mean when you’re awake”

You shook your head “Easy there Halstead, I am the mother of your child so she will have my attitude” he laughed “God help us all” 

_________

You laughed then gently shook Stella “Stel, wake up” she slowly stirred then looked from you to Jay who was squatting next to the couch “Woah, when did he get back?” you laughed “Apparently we fell asleep so Kelly enlisted his help in finding you”

She glanced at the clock and her eyes got wide. “Damn, we napped Addy’s entire nap time” you nodded “Well at least we’re well rested?” she laughed “True, I gotta get going baby girl. I’ll see you and my niece later. Jay, I guess I like you”

Jay shook his head “Love ya too Stel” she winked at you then stood up, gathering her keys, phone and jacket before heading out the door. You looked up at Jay and smiled “Addy should be waking up any time” “Then I have perfect timing” he teased before kissing your temple then stood to head into her room. 

You stretched as you stood off the couch then followed him, hearing Addy already babbling at him profusely after she heard his voice.

“Detective Kidd” you groaned inwardly, hearing the assistant district attorney's voice. You and Kevin had to testify today and it was not something you wanted to do. You hated dealing with lawyers. “Yes sir?” you asked with a forced smile.

“Can you run us through the series of events that took place the day you and Detective Atwater arrested the defendant” you took a deep breath, focusing on Kevin who was sitting across from the witness stand “My partner and I arrived to the Foster residence around Ten a.m. the morning of June thirtieth, responding to a complaint from a neighbor about what sounded like a domestic disturbance. Inside we found Mr Franklin Foster beating his wife Anita Foster. My partner and I  attempted to used the least amount of force possible to subdue Mr Foster but he was irate and violent. He punched me in the sternum and nearly broke my partners nose, after which we were forced to defend ourselves”

He nodded “Is it true Mr Foster received a fractured jaw and a shattered nose?” you nodded “Yes sir” he flipped through the file “And what injuries did you and your partner receive?” you took a deep breath “I had severe bruising on my chest and side, my partner had a swollen nose and two black eyes as a result of his attack” 

___________

When you and Kevin finally made it back to the district you walked in next to him, both of you heading for the stairs that led up to intelligence. You stopped at the palm scanner and he grabbed the door once it popped to hold it open for you. “I want out of this damn pantsuit” you groaned and he laughed “Don’t you got a change of clothes in your locker?” you nodded “Jeans and a shirt which I will never have been happier to see”

He shook his head “Go get changed, I’ll use the locker room after you” when the two of you made it to the top of the stair everyone was working at their desks but their heads turned up when they heard you. Hailey raised an eyebrow, a whistle falling from her lips “Damn Y/N..that pantsuit looks good”

You shot her a wink and did a little spin “Ya think? I didn’t think it was really flattering” she grinned “I think it hugs ya just right” Jay’s jaw practically hit his desk “I told you it looked good when we dropped Addy off at daycare this morning!”

You shrugged “I take her word on it more than yours, sorry. You may be Addy’s dad but she’s the wife” and Hailey blew you a kiss “Tell him” Jay shook his head “Unbelievable” 

Voight popped his head out of his office “Kidd, Atwater get changed. We just got a call. Roll out in five” you looked at Kevin and shrugged “The locker room is big enough we can both get changed”  his eyes flickered towards Jay slightly then he nodded.

____________

You and Kevin were interviewing witnesses to the bank robbery while Jay and Hailey went to Med to interview the injured. Looked like a four man crew. They came in early, hit it hard and didn’t mind getting violent.

“This is gonna be one of those cases,isn’t it?” you mumbled and he looked your way “Yup”

___________

You were going through surveillance footage down in the tech room, trying to find an angle that could possibly give you something that could help with an id. “Come on, turn and let me see that damn tattoo on your hand” you grumbled at the screen as if it could hear you. You cursed when the man on the screen simply would not turn to give you a clear shot at the tattoo. 

“Anything?” Jay asked, walking into the room behind you. You shook your head “Just four men between five ten and six feet. Average build” he walked over behind you, one hand resting on your shoulder “We’ll figure something out” you looked up at him “Before they hit another bank and someone else gets hurt?” he smiled slightly “Just keep looking, maybe you’ll find something” you nodded “I’ll keep at it” he leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to your lips and you knew the shock was plain on your face. He didn’t kiss you at work. 

“What was that about?” you asked and he shrugged “Just wanted to check on you” “Well damn, you are still capable of surprising me” you teased and he rolled his eyes before kissing you again “Get back to work and I’m gonna do the same, wifey” you smirked at him “Don’t be jealous that I love Hailey too” he shook his head “Too many people love you” before walking out of the room.

You were half asleep when you heard Jay’s phone vibrating on the table next to your bed. He groaned, nuzzling into your neck “Do I have to answer that damn thing?” you laughed lightly “Could be somebody with a break in the case” he huffed “You always make too much sense” and pressed a kiss to the back of your neck before reaching over you to grab his phone.

He squinted as he looked at the screen, then he cut his eyes at you before pulling the phone to his ear “Hello?” After a second you heard Mouse’s voice and felt your heart skip. You weren’t ashamed of loving Jay or being in bed with him but there was something about laying there, wearing Jay’s black henley and a pair of your panties with his arm around you while Mouse was on the phone that made you want to cover yourself more. As if Mouse could see your position through the phone.

Jay squeezed your hip gently then pulled his arm from around you and climbed out of bed, disappearing into the living room. Leaving you to just watch his broad back walk out of the bedroom door.

____________

You laid there, unsure if you should go out after Jay or attempt sleep even if you knew it was a futile effort. After about twenty minutes however Jay walked back into the room and slipped into bed behind you, curling around your body. “What was that about?” you asked and he shrugged “He just wanted to see if Voight still had his stuff in storage. He’s been looking at places in Georgia, D.C. and Chicago because it all depends where he’s sent after Glynco”

You nodded slowly, not wanting to think too hard about Mouse being stateside and living all the way in Georgia or D.C. 

“August is coming fast” you whispered, having just talked to Mouse a few days before. Jay knew you had. You didn’t hide it. He nodded “I’m still here baby and will still be here” you turned to face him and he smiled at you “I love you” “I love you Jay” you replied snuggling up to his chest. You just wanted to be as close to him as possible at that moment. The reality of what was to come was sitting in.

How the hell had you managed to be inside of a bank with a gun pointed at your head, trying to talk down the leader of this crew with Hailey at one side and Kim at the other? Oh yeah they liked female hostages so an even trade had gotten offered to get civilians out.

“You’ve got two choices. Lay down your gun and walk out of here in cuffs or not walk out of here at all” Hailey told him and you held her eyes. You still had your com in so you knew Jay was on the roof adjacent to the bank, he just needed Hailey to maneuver this asshole into position.

“And if I decide to pull the trigger on Detective” he paused to read the badge on your vest “Detective Kidd here?”  Kim shook her head “Then you walk out of here in pieces”

Hailey caught your eyes and she tapped two fingers onto her right thigh. You needed to get him two steps to the right. He was the ringleader. If he went down the other remaining two would surrender. You moved your foot to the right as if you lost your footing, forcing him to move with you “Last chance” Hailey offered and you heard Jay’s voice “I got the shot” right before a shot whistled right past your head,blood splattering the side of your face and the gun falling away from your head right along with the perp who crumbled like a puppet with the strings shot.

You tapped your com “Helluva shot Jay” as you wiped at the blood and heard SWAT breach.

____________

“Are you sure your ear is ok?” Jay asked across the bullpen and you replied “Huh? What ya say?” which made everyone crack up laughing before you grinned at him “I’m fine Jay. Doc said no damage was done. The forty five he had however may have damaged me”  he nodded “Ok, Just wanted to make sure”

The case was closed so all of you were finishing up paperwork to head out. You needed to scrub your body. This case had ran long enough Kelly had to leave the station house to pick up Addy from daycare but considering you hadn’t been able to do much but get Kim and Hailey’s help sponging off blood in the locker room you could only imagine what you’d look like to the people at the daycare regardless of them knowing what your job was.

“Don’t tease the man lil mama. He was stressing that shot” Kevin laughed and you grinned “Would you want to accidentally shoot your daughter’s mother Kev?”  He shook his head “Can’t say I would” 

You had just finished getting Addy dressed when Jay got to your place. He’d called when he was on the way so you reminded him he had a key. “Hey baby” he called out so you picked Addy up and walked into the living room. He turned towards the two of you when he heard her bedroom door open and a smile slipped onto his face “There’s my girls”

Addy was wearing a onesie that read “Little Firecracker” that Trudy had bought her because she said it reminded her of you along with the matching shorts. After some back and forth you’d decided on a pair of cutoff jeans and a navy blue v-cut tee with sneakers. It was simple but comfortable and from the way Jay was looking he didn’t mind the outfit choice one bit.

He walked across the room, pulling her into his arms and placing a kiss onto your lips “You both are absolutely beautiful” you shook your head “You always say that Jay” “Doesn’t mean it isn’t true” he teased with a laugh. He was wearing jeans,a white shirt with his pedant in place and looked delightfully sinful. Yeah, any single women were gonna be flirting with him even if he had Addy.

“What’s wrong?” he asked and you shook your head “No woman better flirt with you while you’re holding our baby or I’m throwing a punch” he grinned “Miss Kidd, that sounds like you like me a little bit” you pulled him down into a kiss “Just a little, don’t let it get to your head”

____________

You laughed watching Will and Stella “argue” over Addy. It was adorable really. Will’s argument was that Stella got her for overnights and he hardly got to see her while Stella’s argument was simply she only gave up Addy to you and Jay because she had to.

Kevin stepped between them and plucked Addy from your arms “How about this? I got her mom’s back in the field so uncle Kev gets her for a little while” Will and Stella glared at each other for a moment before shrugging “Fair enough” “Fair enough”

You loved seeing just how much Addy’s family loved her. Yours and Stella’s family had pretty much clocked out when you two hit about preteen/teen years. It was just the two of you for way too long. Seeing Addy with an entire squad of people who claimed her and loved her? You couldn’t ask for more.

Jay’s arms slipped around your waist and he whispered in your ear “What are you smiling so big about?” you nodded towards where Trudy and Mouch were talking to Addy “Look at her. She has so many people who love her. If something did happen to us she’d never be alone Jay” he pressed a kiss to your pulse point “I know baby. We built her a strong family” 

Without warning you were snatched out of Jay’s arms into Hailey’s. Her and Kim laughed at the put out look on his face. “We’re kidnapping her. You hog her all the time. She’s ours for the next hour” you grinned at Jay as they drug you away “I’ll see you in an hour”

____________

Jay was holding Addy, talking to Kelly and Cruz when you walked back up with Hailey’s arm around your waist and you both had your faces painted, her with stars and yours with a moon. He raised an eyebrow when he saw you now had a bracelet on your right wrist that matched the one on Hailey’s. “What is that?”

She grinned “Oh I marked her Halstead. They had a booth for permanent bracelets so I bought her one” his head whipped around towards you and you shrugged “What? It’s so pretty and we match!” he shook his head and looked back at Kelly for help but the other man just shook his head “Sorry but you’re on your own”

Hailey kissed your cheek and winked at him before walking off. You took Addy from his arms and just when he was certain his jaw was going to hit the dirt you started laughing “Kim got one too, along with Stella” “That was mean” Cruz laughed around the beer he’d just took a drink of.

You grinned up at him “It was too easy Jay” he shook his head “You’re horrible, you know that” you laughed and leaned up to whisper in his ear “And yet you love me” he nodded “Yes I do”

Addy was fast asleep in her crib so you walked into the bedroom behind Jay. He was already down to just jeans and it’d been a feat indeed to keep your hands off of him.

He cut his eyes at you when you began to strip out of your clothes. You slipped your shirt off and put it into the hamper then pushed your shorts off your hips. You saw his tongue flick out to wet his bottom lip when you reached for the clasp of your bra “What’s wrong Jay? Still mad about that prank with Hails?”

You dropped your bra into the hamper then reached to slip your panties off your legs. He rolled his bottom lip between his teeth once you were completely bared to him. “No baby, I’m not”

You grinned “In that case, you wanna take a shower with me?” That was all it took for him to be across the room, picking you up into his arms. You wrapped your legs around his waist as he crashed his lips against yours in a hungry kiss before walking towards the bathroom.

August 13th. How ironic that Mouse would get home the exact day Addy turned six months old? You stared at the email from him. I already told Jay but wanted to tell you. I’ll be back in Chicago August 13th. I’ll have 1 week before I have to report to Glynco.  I’m not looking to intrude on anyone’s life. I know I made choices that hurt you sweetheart and I’ll forever regret them. Regardless of what’s happened Adeline is a perfect little baby and deserves nothing but the best. I look forward to meeting her and seeing you more time. Love Always, Greg

What did he mean by one more time? Had he already chosen somewhere besides Chicago? Had you driven him away from his home? Had he decided that he truly didn’t want to be in your life in no capacity any more?  You felt tears spring to your eyes and for once was grateful you were down in the tech room where Jay couldn’t see you cry over Mouse. One week. You had one week until you would know.

@desimarie12

Part 20

@allisonargent144

@nevaehstreater18

[cthulhubert]

Lately I've been obsessed with this video. No idea what specifically it is, but this happens every now and then. I run across a music video and I just have to watch over and over. The weirdest thing is that once the frenzy passes, I can no longer enjoy that one. I don't start hating it, but I think this time next year I won't be able to enjoy this video even on par with a typical one.

It's as if "enjoyment of a given subject" is a candle, one that grows very slowly, but if you use it up completely, it stops regrowing.

I enjoy that the message of the song is basically, "Stop chasing around the princess; she's too stuck up because she's royalty. Date me, your trans baddy frenemy instead (who is also fully a royal but forget about that)."

I can't believe it's been over five years since the Bowsette phenomenon first blew up. It feels so much more recent.

[flowersforbucky]

acquainted

bucky barnes x reader (undercover stripper!reader x undercover bodyguard!bucky)

word count: 3.3k

warnings/tags: SMUT, oral (male and female receiving), vaginal penetration, language, strip club setting, creepy dude being a piece of shit, violence and a brief mention of blood, protective/possessive bucky, reader is afab, no use of y/n, touch her and die trope, Bucky might have a slight lingerie kink... 18+ only!

The pulsating fuschia and lime green strobe lights illuminating the club had been making your eyes throb for the last three hours. EDM plays so loudly that you're surprised blood doesn't trickle down from your ears. Not to mention the suffocating combination of cheap perfume, body odor, cigars, and booze that permeates the air makes your empty stomach churn.

If you never step foot into another nightclub when this is all over, you'll consider yourself lucky. Not just any nightclub - one of New Orleans’ scummiest strip clubs.

Five goddamn nights of this operation and not a lick of progress.

Your objective was simple - obtain proof that the owner was operating a sex trafficking ring out of the club, and then call for the back-up squad parked a block away. So far, you had not been able to acquire any kind of definitive proof. No hints of anything shady going on behind the scenes, and you had yet to even see the owner make an appearance at any point since the mission began.

Everything seems as above board as a strip club can be.

One last night, you compromised with Fury. One last night and if it went as the last few have, you were done, and he owes you a few days of paid leave for putting you through this.

“If you don't stop picking at your garter belt, it's not going to have any sequins left.” Bucky's low voice murmurs through the communication device placed discreetly in your left ear.

“If you don't stop watching my every movement, you’re not going to have any unbroken toes left,” you threaten lightly, taking a sip of your drink - just a Shirley Temple, to keep up appearances. “Shoes like this could do a lot of damage.” You glance down at the pointy heels of the black velvet stilettos.

“Is that not my job?” he counters. You don't have to look over at where he's standing in the corner of the room to know he's smirking. “To not take my eyes off of you?”

“Then do your job. Watch me. You don't have to make comments on my sequins to do that.”

“Alright, alright,” he concedes. “I'll be over here, admiring your sequins from afar. You won't even know I'm here.” The com line clicks off before you can retort.

Except you absolutely would know that he's here. Just as you have the previous four nights of this mission - painfully aware that he's here, tracking your every movement in the skimpiest outfits you've worn in your life, doing the most provocative dances imaginable, and flirting with men that you wouldn't touch with ten foot long poles in real life, all while he keeps to the sidelines in case something were to go wrong.

Keeps to the sidelines and just watches you. Even when one of the dancers approached him to ask if he'd be interested in a private dance once he's off the clock on the first night on the job.

Even when there's gorgeous, topless women crawling on the stage and all but humping the pole in his direct line of sight.

He isn't here to look out for them, of course. He is here solely to keep you safe if things were to go sideways. But you had assumed you would have caught him sneaking glances at the dozen other women at least once by now.

It's almost your turn to go up on stage. You've performed a solo set every night so far, and you still feel every bit as nervous as you did the first time.

You enjoy dancing, actually. In the comfort of your own room, when listening to music alone. When you go out with friends, occasionally. When you took ballet lessons as a child. This, however, was leagues out of your comfort zone.

“The creep from a couple nights ago is back,” Bucky's voice is a strained whisper in your ear.

“Gonna have to narrow it down a bit for me, Barnes. You could be referring to at least half of the men in here right now.”

“Sitting in front of the stage, to the left,” he mumbles back. “He's wearing a red wife-beater–”

“See him,” you interrupt, your eyes zeroing in on the short, stout, beady-eyed fuck who had been thrown out of the club night before last. One of the other security guards on duty chucked him out when he repeatedly got too handsy with one of the girls who had been giving him a lap dance.

“Fantastic,” you huff under your breath, as you finish touching up your lipgloss and reapplying the iridescent baby pink body glitter across your chest. “Just in time for my dance.”

You get up from your seat at the bar and adjust your lace bustier and thong as the announcer calls your stage name.

“He won't lay a finger on you,” Bucky assures you as you're walking up the steps of the platform.

There's a weak round of applause and a few whistles as you take your place on the center of the small stage. You give a vague nod in the direction of the DJ’s booth to indicate you're ready for your song to begin.

An upbeat but sensuous synth-pop song pours out of the speakers throughout the room and you begin to sway your hips.

You're hyper-aware of the fact that you can see Bucky making his way closer to you, away from his position in the back of the room. He settles when he's just a few tables behind the man in the red wife-beater.

There's an eruption of butterflies in the pit of your belly at how close he is. Each night prior to this, he has kept to lingering around the exits and the far wall towards the back of the club. Now, he's close enough that you can actually see his eyes following every languid movement that your body makes around the pole.

“Take your fucking top off!” a grating voice bellows from the audience. “We want to see your tits.”

You don't have to look to know who the voice belongs to. You decide to ignore him, hoping he would stop if you didn't give him any attention. You go to wrap your thighs around the pole again, preparing to spin–

“Did you not fucking hear me?” he shouts even louder this time, audible to everyone over the roaring music. “I said take your fucking–”

A flash of movement in your peripheral vision causes you to freeze around the pole. You turn your full attention to the ruckus, just in time to see Bucky fisting the man's greasy, shoulder length hair and pulling his head back. The music comes to an abrupt pause.

“You don't fucking talk to her like that,” Bucky snarls. “In fact, you don't talk to her at all, you don't look at her, you don't even breathe the same fucking air as her.”

The man is thrashing around, trying and failing miserably to get out of Bucky's grasp.

“Let me go you fucking–”

He doesn't get to finish his sentence before Bucky snaps the man's head forward, sending his face crashing into the granite tabletop.

The instantaneous pool of blood that contrasts so starkly against the white stone snaps you out of your fear-stricken trance.

Bucky pulls his head back up, forcing the man to look up at him.

“It's not my fault she refuses to show off those perfect–”

You all but jump off the stage - miraculously not breaking an ankle in the six inch heels - and rush over to where Bucky still has the man's hair yanked into his fist.

Just as Bucky is beginning to shove the man's head downwards again, you place both of your hands on his chest, gently but effectively shoving him backwards. He immediately releases his grip on the man as the other few security guards on duty arrive to detain the pervert.

“Hey, hey,” you place your hands on his biceps, trying to turn his attention to you and away from the man who he's still glaring after, as he's hauled off by security. “I'm fine, yeah? Everything is fine,” you try to assure him, though you're not sure your shaky voice sounds very convincing. “He's just a creepy, entitled asshole.”

Noticing that Bucky is shaking beneath your touch, you rub your hands up and down his arms in hopes of calming him down.

He finally meets your gaze. He doesn't say anything for a moment, just stares at you as he takes a few deep breaths.

“Go get dressed,” he orders you calmly after a moment. “I’m getting you the fuck out of here.” You want to leave too badly to even think about objecting.

You make a beeline for the changing room, where you throw on a sweater and force your pants over your heels, not even bothering to change out of the lingerie and stilettos.

Bucky's waiting for you right outside the door as you sling your duffel bag across your shoulder.

“How mad do you think Fury will be that we are abandoning our positions?” you ask in a hushed tone as Bucky ushers you through the club, his metal arm wrapped around your waist.

“Not as mad as I am that he's had you doing this bullshit for no reason for almost a week now.”

You and Bucky exit the club as quickly as possible, ignoring the curious and confused stares of the other dancers and security guards. He guides you down the block, then through an alleyway where his motorcycle is parked in a heavy silence - other than the obnoxious clanking of your heels against the pavement.

Bucky straddles one leg over the seat of the bike, taking his place in the driver's position and then hands you the helmet.

“Wait,” you pause before putting it over your head. “I'm starving.” Your stomach growls, as if on cue. “Can we stop and get some take-out?”

He looks at you incredulously. “I just shattered that guy's nose and likely severely concussed him and then just dipped. Our cover is essentially blown, don't you think we should get back to the motel room and lay low until the morning?”

“There's a Chinese place open late just a few blocks from the motel–”

“If I say yes will you put on the helmet and get on the bike?”

Taking that as a win, you slide the helmet over your head and hop on behind him. You wrap your arms securely around his midsection in a tight hug and he takes off down Bourbon Street.

You spend the drive trying to ignore the thought that of all the times you've ridden on the back of Bucky’s motorcycle, you don't remember him ever feeling so tense beneath your touch.

Half an hour later, you're lounging on the rickety motel bed, stuffing your face full of sweet and sour chicken and vegetable fried rice while Bucky fills Sam in on what happened over the phone.

He sits in one of the small chairs at the singular table in the corner of the room, his posture rigid. He answers all of Sam's questions with clipped, one-word responses as he massages his temple between his thumb and forefinger.

He hangs up the phone, refusing to meet your gaze. Instead, he pretends to be interested in the episode of Family Guy playing on the old motel TV.

“Your egg rolls are going to get soggy,” you tell him, pushing the to-go box across the mattress towards him.

“I don't have an appetite right now,” he says, picking up the box of food as he stands. You grab his bicep in your hand as he begins to walk past where you're sitting on the edge of the bed.

“Hey,” you say, stopping him. “Everything's okay. Really. Don't let that guy get to you–”

“A little late for that, don't you think?” He snaps, pulling his arm from your grasp. You sit back, too stunned by his reaction to know how to respond. You just stare after him as he crams his take-out box into the motel room's mini fridge.

“I shouldn't have reacted so harshly,” he says after a moment, still facing away from you. “I couldn't stop myself. He spoke to you that way, and I could have killed him and not thought twice about it. Probably would have if you hadn't intervened.”

He turns back to you. You're frozen in place.

“Do you know what that's like?” He asks, taking a step closer to you. “To feel like you aren't in control of your own body? To be so irrationally protective of someone that you'd kill for them without a second thought?”

You feel like all air has been stripped from your lungs. He's just inches away, staring down at you from where you sit on the edge of the mattress. The way he's looking at you makes your skin feel like it's on fire.

“Because that's what you do to me. That's how you make me feel.”

Heat pools between your legs.

“Come here,” you say - it sounds more like a question than a command.

He closes what little distance is left between the two of you, and pulls you up from the mattress by the tops of your arms so that your body is flush against his.

His mouth hovers over yours - not quite making contact, though you can feel his breath fan across your skin.

He takes his flesh hand and cups the side of your face with it, his thumb trailing across your bottom lip. His metal hand wanders down your back until it reaches the curve of your ass - grasping your cheek in a firm hold and squeezing until his touch borders between pleasure and pain.

“This is what I wanted to do to you every time I saw a man so much as glance in your direction in that club,” he whispers against your mouth. “I thought about bending you over the stage and making them watch me take you right then and there, but they didn't deserve to see that.”

“They aren't here to see us now,” you murmur as you bring your hand to cup the noticeable bulge of his jeans, eliciting a hiss from him. “So what are you going to do now?”

There's a dark grin spread across his face. He pushes you, softly but effectively, back down on the bed. You scout back a few inches on the mattress, and then bring one of your feet up to remove the stiletto heels that you'd completely forgotten to take off upon returning to the motel with your haul of Chinese food.

“Oh, no,” Bucky laughs lowly. “I want you to keep those on. I've grown to like those quite a bit.”

Your cheeks warm in both arousal and bashfulness. You begin to push your pants down your thighs as Bucky kneels on the ground and helps you maneuver the fabric around your shoes. The sweater that you threw over your bustier goes next.

You're left in the lingerie set that you wore at the club.

“Call me jealous,” Bucky sighs as he begins trailing sloppy kisses up the insides of your thighs. “Call me possessive, call me crazy..”

You lay back down against the scratchy comforter as Bucky gets closer and closer to where you're aching to have him the most.

“But I don't want anyone seeing you like this but me.”

He pulls the already soaked lace material of your thong to the side, exposing your cunt.

He licks up your center torturously slow, causing you to let out a sharp exhale. He repeats the motion, and then locks his lips around your clit. Your hands shoot to his hair, fisting your fingers through the short brunet strands.

He eats you until you're a mewling and squirming mess beneath him.

You come hard, clenching your thighs around his head and riding his face through your orgasm.

“Stand up,” you instruct him as soon as you can think semi-clearly.

He obeys without any hesitation. The warm glow of the singular lamp in the motel room highlights the way your slick coats the lower half of his face.

You get up on your hands and knees before him and he lets out an audible groan at the sight in front of him. He bends down enough to kiss you - cupping your face in both of his hands and tipping your head up to give him a better angle to slip his tongue into your mouth. You moan into the kiss - the ache between your thighs reappearing already.

He removes his hands from your face, unbuttoning his pants while still kissing you.

You pull away to help free his cock from the confines of his boxers. Your mouth waters at what's directly in front of you. He's impressively long and girthy, with a thick vein running up the side.

You pump him a few times in your hand, swirling your tongue around the pre-cum dripping from his slit. He's already putty in your hands - groaning above you and placing his metal hand around the back of your neck to keep you where he wants you.

After you've run your tongue up and down his length a few times, you spit on the tip of his cock and massage it over the entirety of his shaft before taking him as far into your mouth as you can in the first go. He throws his head back, moaning your name.

You feel him hit the back of your throat and you gag before pulling back.

He curses under his breath, nudging himself slowly back towards your throat again.

“Such a good fuckin’ girl,” he praises and you moan around his dick. He gradually increases the speed at which he pumps himself into your mouth, obscene noises echoing off of the thin motel room walls.

When he pulls out, you feel drool running down your neck and mascara-tinted tears leaking from your eyes.

“You're so gorgeous like this for me,” he tells you, and despite knowing that you look thoroughly fucked out, you believe him. “Will you turn around?”

You do as he asks, turning around on your hands and knees. You lower your chest down to the bed so that your ass is angled upwards.

“Jesus Christ,” he grunts under his breath. He grips your hips with both of his hands, yanking you to him. His erection juts against the cloth of your underwear.

He tugs them aside once more, giving him access to tease your slit with the head of his cock. You rock backwards, grinding against him. He brings his flesh hand around your stomach and reaches down to rub your clit as he begins to slowly fill you from behind.

He pauses for a moment once he bottoms out, giving you time to adjust to the fullness of him before he starts fucking into you.

The combination of him slamming into you at such an intense angle and massaging you so perfectly has your climax building shamefully fast.

You grunt his name, bouncing your ass to meet his thrusts. “I'm gonna come,” you mewl, knowing he's on the verge of doing the same as his movements become uneven.

One, two, three more pumps and you can feel your pussy clenching around him as you come together.

You pull off of him, collapsing onto the bed and rolling onto your back. He crawls over you, propping himself up on his arms above you.

“You know,” he stares down at you, his eyes trailing to your breasts that are now spilling out of the black lace bustier. “As much as I hated every second of that mission, I do hope I might get to see you in some of these outfits again.”

♡♡♡♡♡

my masterlist!!!

[caffeinewitchcraft]

The Hero and Hope (part 3/5)

(part 1) (part 2)

Summary: You've been adopted before. That's why you know better than to hope for another chance, especially a second chance with the Bahrs

-----

It’s not that you don’t want to be adopted. You just know that you’re not going to be. You’re the oldest in the orphanage, barely three years away from aging out. People don’t adopt kids your age, especially not obstinate, mean ones like you.

Besides, you’re a Hero. As soon as you master your power, you’ll be compelled to leave and fight evil anyway. That’s why it doesn’t matter if the Bahrs want you or not. You’re not somebody that’s supposed to have a family.

You barely remember the first time you were adopted. That was back when the Director of the orphanage was mean and biting. You have a vague memory of gold exchanging hands and leaving in the middle of the night. Your new parents barely looked at you and didn’t call you by your name at all.

You don’t remember a lot of that time. You were five and it was a struggle to go from living with a dozen kids to no one at all. Your new family gave you your own room in their small house and told you not to get underfoot.

The first time you ran away from their house, you didn’t get far. The baker in town brought you back to them and warned them about how kids your age are always slipping out when not paid enough attention.

“If you do it again,” the person who paid for you said, “you’re going straight back to the orphanage.”

And you do.

--------.

The day of the picnic, every kid wakes up early without being told.

You watch as Hera fusses over all the younger ones, straightening new shirts and brushing dust off knees. Josiah is reading one of the newest books Mrs. Bahr – Marie – brought, biting the skin on the side of his thumb. You snag Hera as she races to find Annie some ribbon for her hair.

“Hold up, let me brush your hair first,” you say.

Hera frantically pats the braids she slept in. “I forgot about my hair!” She turns large, watery eyes on you. “Islaaaa!”

You snort and help her unwind each braid. She decides to leave it down, charmed by the waves the braids left in her hair. Your hands don’t shake as you work even though your heart is racing. Today is the day of the picnic.

Today might be the day the Bahrs pick one of you to adopt. The younger kids don’t know that, the information carefully hidden from them, but Hera knows. Director Sarah knows. You know.

It’s been a long time since you felt this sort of anxiety. The second time you were adopted was just before the Winter and it wasn’t bad at first. The couple who adopted you ran an inn in town. It was exciting to have your own room and your new mother wanted you to call her Mom right away. Six-years-old and you were so excited just to be able to call someone your parent. This time you were going to listen. You weren’t going to run away or complain if their house felt too big and too lonely. This time you were going to get it right.

You didn’t think about what they wanted from you in exchange.

It wasn’t until the second week when they found out you weren’t really much use for anything that things started getting bad.

You breathe in through your nose and proclaim Hera’s hair finished. She thanks you and races off to find Annie, determined to put the ribbon she picked in the younger girl’s hair.

The Bahrs aren’t like the innkeepers. Whoever they adopt won’t be expected to know how to read or do math or how to take care of horses. If they are required to then Marie and Ivan will teach them first. Both have spent enough time at the orphanage for you to believe that. Isn’t it Marie who’s teaching all of you your letters? Wasn’t it Ivan who taught you how to better put up a fence?

Whoever they choose will be fine, you think. It’s both a relief and a sting. Whoever they choose will be fine. It’s just probably not going to be you. Not when Annie is so sweet and social and Hera is so strong and kind. Not when Josiah works so hard to soak up everything they have to teach him.

“Is everyone ready?” Director Sarah asks. She’s standing by the door. Her clothes are nicer than usual too, a dress made of a light blue fabric you’ve never seen before. Her hair is carefully combed back into an updo and fastened with a tie Hera made for her last winter. She runs a critical eye over all of you. “You all look very nice. Josiah, tie your shoes, please. Annie, leave the slate in your room, what you do if you lost it? Honestly…”

You let Director Sarah fuss over the kids, slipping out the door ahead of everyone. You don’t own a dress, but the button-down shirt is new and starched. Director Sarah helped you embroider bluebells on the collar and sleeves, and you think it turned out well.

You may not be getting adopted today, but you’re excited to see the Bahr family’s estate. The sun is warm overhead, the sky an endless blue. The summer is mild this year, perfect for a party. Isn’t that what Mr. Bahr – Ivan – told you to think of it as? A party. No strings attached.

A wagon comes up the lane. The Bahr family’s home is too far for the younger kids to walk to, past the town and closer to the Lord’s manor. They said they’d send a wagon for all of you, but something still clenches in your chest when you actually see it. Wagons are an expense the orphanage can’t justify, but, apparently, the Bahrs can.

The driver smiles kindly when he pulls up next to you. “Everyone ready to go?”

Before you can answer, the kids are pouring out the front door, chattering excitedly. You help Director Sarah lift the smaller ones into the seats near the front. The wagon is open topped, so Director Sarah can look over everyone sternly, twisting around in her spot next to the driver.

“No playing during the ride,” she instructs. “Mr. Dallen is very kindly driving us so you must listen to him, alright?”

Mr. Dallen also turns around. “I don’t have too many rules,” he says. He pretends to think, scratching his thick beard.  He grins “Don’t fall out!”

He’s joking, but that’s why you’re stationed at the back of the wagon. From your seat, you’ll be able to stop any roughhousing before “falling out” becomes a real danger. Already you’re eyeing the way Josiah is fidgeting. He’s incredibly calm when he’s reading, but otherwise he’s like a tornado. There’s a reason he’s the one that fell into the well in the first place. Hera sits primly next to him, her hands folded in her lap. You can tell she’s watching him from the corner of her eye. There’s a reason she’s the one who pulled Josiah out of the well.

Mr. Dallen directs the horses away from the orphanage, through the orchard, and along the road cutting through the fields. When you’re going to the forest to hunt, you take the narrower path that winds through the orchard and more directly into the tree line. The wagon is forced to stay on the wider road where the horses won’t sink into any mud and the wagon wheels won’t catch on rocks or dense foliage.

After the fields is the town. The kids wave to every Villager and Blacksmith they see. “Good day!” “Morning!” “We’re going to a picnic!” Hera pulls Annie back from the edge of the wagon before she tips over onto the street.

You slouch in your seat, wishing you were wearing a hat. While the first family who adopted you left town ages ago to live in the Capital, the innkeepers are still around. You don’t look as you pass their business and try not to listen to Josiah carefully sounding out the name of their inn.

When you open your eyes, Director Sarah is looking at you. You okay? She mouths. She wasn’t at the orphanage for your first adoption, but she was there for the innkeepers. You feign going to sleep. Just tired. She pretends to believe you and turns back to continue chatting with Mr. Dallen.

The kids are excited to go through the forest. Many of them are too young to even go into town with Director Sarah, a privilege you earn at ten years old, and they point to every bird, deer and mushroom they see amongst the trees. You let the sound of nature and the kids’ chatter lull you into a sort of meditation. The estate is only thirty minutes away now that you’re out of town.

You’re nearly dropping off to sleep when Director Sarah’s voice changes in pitch. Your sensitive hearing can pick up a thread of concern in her voice. What makes Director Sarah concerned, makes you concerned.

“—demons in the woods,” Sarah is saying very quietly. She glances out of her peripherals towards the back to make sure no kids are listening. If she notices how you’re only pretending to sleep, she doesn’t show any sign of it. “Shouldn’t we ask the kids to be quiet?”

“The Lord’s Knights have been patrolling,” Mr. Dallen says equally quietly. You can see him scan the trees for a moment before he smiles reassuringly at Director Sarah. “We’ll be okay so long as we stick to the road.”

“Alright.”

You keep a closer eye on the surrounding forest.

“There! There it is!”

Annie’s shout drags you attention from a (suspiciously) shadowed gully. The woods have thinned enough that hedges of the Bahrs’ estate can be seen. You’ve only been out this far once, a long, long time ago. You’ve never been past this point.

You’re just as surprised as the rest of the kids when the hedges give way to a castle.

That’s not a manor. You’ve never seen either, but you’re sure of this. Manors are supposed to look like the orphanage or any of the buildings in town, just larger. The Bahrs’ home has towers. The front doors are three times the height of a regular one and you can see that the handles and knockers are made of copper. The stone isn’t white like the castles in picture books, but it’s clean and neatly cut.

“Wow,” Hera breathes.

You agree.

Mr. Dallen directs the horses right up the main driveway, cheerfully explaining that the roses are the flower of the estate, aren’t they beautiful? Even Hera can only manage a faint noise of agreement, eyes wide on the house.

“The party’s around back,” Mr. Dallen says cheerfully. He clicks his tongue and the horses stop just short of the front doors. “I’ll take you there.”

Around back. You expect him to lead you around the side of the castle, past rows of rose bushes and the fountains that are tucked between the hedges. Instead, Mr. Dallen opens the front doors without knocking and directs everyone to follow him.

You’ve never seen anywhere so grand. The kids follow Mr. Dallen in hushed awe, gaping at the marble staircase that bisects the foyer. There are two chandeliers to either side of the grand staircase that each send a spray of rainbow light across the walls. Is the manor a little bare? The walls empty of portraits and artwork? You eye a pair of crossed axes hanging just beyond the shadow of the staircase.

“They’re ordering portraits from the Capital,” Mr. Dallen says, gesturing carelessly to the space where a portrait of the homeowners might hang. Then under his breath, “Unless they hang more swords there instead.”

“Excuse me?” Hera asks.

“Nothing,” Mr. Dallen says cheerfully. He guides them past the staircase and a row of doors to the back of the house. The large doors at the back of the house are already open. Mr. Dallen cups a hand over his mouth and calls, “Ho ho, look here! Look who’s arrived!”

“Surprise!” Ivan shouts, throwing his hands up in the air. He’s standing on the stone patio just outside the house, but he’s not the only one. Mrs. Bahr is next to him, her hands clasped in front of her, beaming. Behind her is a dozen other adults. “It’s a party!”

“Welcome,” Mrs. Bahr says warmly. She’s dressed elegantly in a long, red tunic that’s embroidered with the Lord’s crest. The Lord is here as well, his golden hair and eyes unmistakable even amongst the crowd. “Welcome to our home.”

You’re already at the back of the group, but you hang back further as the younger kids cautiously step out into the sun. Your eyes flick from face to face. You recognize a few of the people. There’s the Baker from town and her wife, there’s the Merchant that comes through every third week, there’s the Villager that donates zucchini—

And there are the innkeepers who, once upon a time, told you to call them your parents. They’re older than you remember, light hair gone silver in the sun, but it’s them. They’re right by the Lord, eagerly waiting near him for the opportunity to talk.

It’s very clear what this is. You watch the kids stream out onto the patio to greet Ivan and Marie. The other adults study the kids like zoo animals, eyes flicking to their clean party outfits to their happy faces. This isn’t a party for the kids. It’s a party for them. They’re showing off to each other. Look at how great they are! They’re helping out the poor orphan kids! You’re very familiar with these sort of events from back when the other Director was in charge. You just didn’t think you’d ever have to be near one again.

You take a step back and are stopped by Director Sarah.

“It’s okay, Isla,” Director Sarah murmurs. You didn’t even notice her falling back to your side. Her hand is gentle on your elbow. “It’s not what you think.”

Not what you think? You watch the Villager who runs the general store ask Josiah about the book he’s reading. The Bahrs are proudly introducing Annie and Hera to the Lord. There is something different about it, but you can’t quite put your finger on it. All you can see is the way the adults are watching the kids. You breathe in through your nose like Ivan taught you. In. Out. “What is it?”

“Fixing my mistake,” Director Sarah says.

That gets your attention. Your eyes dart from the happy scene in front of you to Sarah and back again. With the white umbrellas over the food tables, the streamers strung between garden trellises, and the kids dressed in their best, it looks like a painting. In contract, Sarah’s lips are pursed and the shadows of the house make her appear more tired than she is.

“There’s a parlor,” Mr. Dallen says. You jump when he speaks and he grimaces apologetically. He jerks a thumb over his shoulder. “If you need to talk.”

Marie is looking over the heads of the kids to where you’re standing, a frown on her face. She mouths your name, concern in her eyes. Your jaw clenches when the Merchant steps in front of her, hiding you from view.

“Yeah,” you say. “Let’s talk.” You spin on your heel.

Sarah follows you silently. You feel wrong-footed and caged by the entire situation. This was supposed to be a picnic, wasn’t it? No strings attached? Your dress shirt is tight around your neck and you flick open the top button.

“I should have told you,” Sarah says as soon as the door closes. There are two couches in the room adjacent to a large window that overlooks the party. Neither of you sits down. Sarah folds her hands in front of her skirts. “I apologize.”

“What are they doing here?” you ask. You gesture to the window. “The Lord, I understand. He’s the Lord. But the Baker? The Merchant?” You bark a laugh. “They’re not here to adopt anyone.”

“Maybe not,” Sarah says evenly, “but they’re good connections to have.”

“Connections?” You scoff. You remember watching the empty road through that winter nearly seven years ago. “What good are their connections?”

“Annie loves baking,” Sarah says. She doesn’t flinch in the face of your anger. She watches you calmly and doesn’t so much as shift her weight when you start to pace. “The Baker is a good connection for her to have, even if she doesn’t want to adopt. Many of the shopkeepers in town are open to taking on apprentices.”

You falter. You didn’t think about that. Your eyes drift towards the window. You can hear Hera laughing and Josiah complaining good naturedly. You’re nearly 15, just a few years away from aging out. You can’t say you’ve never thought about the future before. “They said they’d be willing to do that?”

“Who knows what the future holds?” Sarah sighs and goes to take a seat on the sofa. She makes a sound low in her throat when she sits. “That wagon ride was not good for my back.”

“I don’t trust them,” you say. You stop pacing to sit opposite her. From this point in the room, you can see the party on the patio. They can also see you. Ivan doesn’t turn away from the dessert table, but you can sense his attention on you. You swallow. “We don’t need anything from them.”

“I agree,” Sarah says.

You blink. “What?”

Sarah laughs. It’s not her usual laugh that she shows the kids, gentle and fond and warm. It’s cold and a little sharp. You’ve only heard it once before when the snow finally melted, chasing the snow spirits away, and the town came to see what had become of the orphanage.

“You and I are a lot alike,” Sarah says. Her eyes drift somewhere distant. “Like you, I remember that Winter. I remember waiting for any sort of response to our pleas. I remember hearing nothing back. The helplessness I felt as our stores dwindled…” Her voice cracks. She shakes herself, swallowing hard. “Well. I don’t need to tell you what their lack of aid cost us.”

It takes you two tries to speak. Director Sarah feels the same way as you. “So why?”

“Why did I agree to the party?”

“Yes.”

“Because I need to forgive, not forget, if I want to fix my mistake,” Sarah says. Her lips thin. “I’m not perfect. Since I’ve been Director of the orphanage, there hasn’t been a single new hire. There have been no volunteers or extracurricular programs for the kids. I’ve kept us hidden.”

“You’ve kept us protected,” you say. Things under Director Sarah have always been better than what they were before. The kids are happier and brighter, and the pantry is always full. No one disappears in the middle of the night or dies under her watch. “We know you have.”

“I’ve tried,” Sarah says. She opens her hands, palms facing the ceiling. “I rebuilt the orphanage to be independent. I thought that if we were completely self-sustaining, we’d be alright. But in doing so I’ve hurt the children. The orphanage is not supposed to be forever. They need connections with people, with the town, for when they grow up.”

“That—” You don’t know what you’re going to say. You fall silent, your anger fizzling out in your chest. She’s right. As much as you want everyone to stay together, you know that can’t happen. What Sarah is saying isn’t wrong, but… “Today is supposed to be for the kids. Not for them to feel better about themselves helping the orphans.”

“The kids are having fun,” Sarah says. There’s a peal of laughter from outside as if to underscore her words. She smiles as she stands. “Kids includes you too, you know. Let me worry about the adults.”

You stand too. You know the conversation is coming to a close and that, soon, you’ll be expected to go out there with Sarah. “Um…”

“Yes?”

You nearly don’t say it. But the way Sarah is waiting for you to speak is so patient that you muster up the courage. “The innkeepers are here. They aren’t…?”

Again, you’re not sure what you’re about to say. There’s a sick fear in your stomach that they’re here to tell the Bahrs all about how awful you were when you with them. Maybe they’re looking for another kid to demand too much of. Maybe they’re here because, in the end, you didn’t mean anything to them and what happened between you and them doesn’t make a difference--

Even if you don’t know what you’re going to say, Sarah must. Her smile darkens. “I’ll take care of the adults,” she repeats. She smooths her hand over your hair when you follow her to the door. “Why don’t you stay in here for a moment? I’ll just have a word with the innkeepers.”

You wait in the parlor while Sarah joins the party. You twist your hands together to keep from picking at the embroidery on your sleeves. You almost want to stop Sarah from talking to the innkeepers. It was so long ago, before the Winter, it shouldn’t matter anymore. You’re being ridiculous to be so worried about them when there are bigger things going on. You—

Hera throws open the door to the parlor. Her braids are a little frizzy already and there’s a flush high on her cheeks. “Isla! We’re playing team tag and you’re the only one fast enough to catch Marie. Come on!”

You don’t have the option to say no. Hera yanks you by the sleeve out onto the patio. The guests are much more dispersed now, pockets of adults around this table or that. They’re not studying the kids now. They’re just watching them as they run to and fro across the lawn, bemused smiles on their faces.

Ivan cheers when he sees you. Like Hera, his face is bright red. “Isla!” he pants. “You’re on my team!”

Marie sprints past, her skirts hiked up to her knee. She runs as if she’s in full armor, strides long and shoulders square. You wonder if she notices no one is chasing her anymore. “It won’t be enough!” she cries.

Josiah is laying on the grass. He chucks his fist in the air. “Go, Marie! Go!” He gasps for breath. “We’re unstoppable.”

“You’re out,” Annie tells him crossly. She’s also laying flat on her back, but seems to be faring better in the breathing department. “You’ve stopped.”

“Shut it—”

You scan the crowd. You don’t see the innkeepers anywhere, not even near where the Lord is sitting. You look over your shoulder back towards the house just in time to see Director Sarah disappearing around the corner. She’s talking to someone just ahead of her. Is she escorting the innkeepers out?

“Isla?” Hera slips her hand in yours. Her eyes are knowing. “You okay?”

You clear your throat, aware of all the eyes on you. You tuck  some hair that’s escaped her braid behind her ear. “Just trying to decide which team I should join.”

Ivan cries out in dismay. “Isla, please!”

Grinning, you join the game.

-----

(part 1) (part 2)

Thanks for reading! If you'd like to read the conclusion of Isla's tale before next week, please consider supporting me on Patreon (X)!

Up this week is a continuation of my Cinderella Retelling, Cinderella Doesn't Believe in Fairytales

[frankenstein-ate-my-left-shoe]

@steddiemas Day 7 - Mall and/or Job

pairing: steddie | word count: 1,884 | rated: G

“Munson Residence, wha'd’ya want?” Eddie groans into the receiver.

Whoever this is better be someone super fucking important to have woken him up with their damn ringing. He’s surprised Wayne didn’t wake up too, but it’d be kinda hard to hear the phone over those snores.

“Eddie! Thank god,”

Oh. Steve! Very important, actually.

“Oh, hey Steve, what’s up?”

“Eddie, can you do me a huge favor?”

“Yeah, of course, what’s wrong?” he immediately spirals into what all could have gone wrong, what could be going wrong. Everything dark blue and cold, vine-y and the flashing of red lightning—

“Nothing, nothing–well, something.. Can you please run to my place later today and grab my lunch? I forgot it this morning and I know I’m not going to be able to run back and get it and get back in time to eat it before my break is over.”

“Your lunch?” “Yeah, I packed one this morning but left it on the counter. There’s a key under the mat and everything.” Eddie barks out a laugh, “Tryin’ to get robbed, big guy?”

“I don’t care about any of the shit in that house.” Steve scoffs. He shrugs even though Steve can’t see him. “Fair enough. Sure Stevie, I’ll bring your lunch; when do you want me there?” “Dude, you’re the best; My lunch break is right at noon, can you be here just before then?”

“Got it. Five to noon at Family Video.” he drawls out as if he’s writing the information down.

“Uh, actually…not Family Video..”

A short two hours later, Eddie finds himself among a throng of people inside Melvald’s. He has to fight his way forward at first, but the crowd thins out as he gets closer to the registers.

Damn, he’s not even that far into the store and he feels like he’s ran a mile.

“Ms. Byers!”

“Oh! Hello Eddie, what brings you here?” “Steve called and asked if I could drop off his lunch to him. Do you know where he is? I didn’t even know he was working here.”

Joyce just grins at him. It’s weirdly mischievous. “Only temporarily, he’s near the back of the store. Just head back there and I’m sure you’ll find him.”

“Uh..thanks. See ya later Ms. B.”

He wanders toward the back of the store through the aisles, but stops up short when a fake white picket fence blocks his path.

The whole back corner of the store has been covered in fake felt snow, a couple of those fake plastic trees like Steve’s (though these are a normal size), a candy-striped ‘North Pole’, and dozens of paper snowflakes hang from the ceiling between what seems like hundreds of string lights.

And there, sitting in the middle of it on a throne that looks suspiciously like the one he used to use during Hellfire, is Steve. Dressed in a Santa suit. With long white beard, big ol’ belt and buckle, shiny black boots..

“Psst!”

He’s got something stuffed into his Santa jacket to give him the right shape, and even some small half-moon glasses, but those sparkling eyes, the freckles, that one swoop of brown hair stubbornly sticking out from under the fuzzy brim of his hat, that’s all Steve.

“Eddie!”

Santa Steve is fully enraptured by whatever story the kid on his knee is telling him, their hands waving every which way but somehow missing smacking Santa right in the face. Steve just continues to nod along, then gives them a hearty “Ho Ho Ho!” when they try to squeeze their tiny arms around his fake belly.

“Eddie!!”

He glances over at the sound of his name, and sees Robin waving frantically at him from her spot at old school music stand-turned-podium. She’s got on some sort of outfit that honestly looks like it was supposed to be a jester costume, where’d she even get that from?

His feet start toward her, but his eyes fall back on Steve Claus, now posing for a picture with the kid who’s smiling so wide it looks like his face will split in half.

Managing to take his eyes off Steve for a moment, he sees Jonathan behind the camera, and that Argyle kid is crouched in front of Robin, talking to the next kid in line to see Santa. All three of them are wearing matching jester costumes.

Eddie steps up to her podium after Argyle and the new kid pass in front of him to see Steve, “Family Video not paying enough, Birdie?”

She rolls her eyes, “Well, the extra cash doesn’t hurt. Joyce asked us to help out.”

He nods at her, and finds his eyes drifting back to Santa Steve.

This kid is much more shy than the last one, tilting her head down and taking short glances up at Steve’s face.

Steve is saying something to her, a low comforting sound that Eddie can only make out the tone of. His one hand covers the entirety of her upper back, and his thumb is moving up and down to try and soothe her nerves. His head is ducked down to be more level with her, looking at her over those half-moon glasses.

Suddenly, the girl’s head snaps up and Steve leans back a bit. “Yeah?” he hears him say.

The girl grins, nodding her head like crazy, then she too is squeezing Steve into a hug. It’s so unfairly endearing, he can actually feel his heart swelling in his chest.

Robin speaks up then, “So..?”

“So?” he repeats dumbly.

“So wha’d’ya think, Munson?” 

“Does he need a Mr. Claus?”

He regrets the words as soon as they’re out of his mouth.

“Uh, wait, I mean Mrs.–Do you have— is someone going to—”

Eddie chances a look over at her…she’s wearing a smug, shit-eating grin. She leans toward him conspiratorially and mumbles out “I wouldn’t mind a Mrs. Claus myself.”

She leans back, still looking smug, but there’s a note of panic in her eyes.

He lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “So would he.” he mumbles out himself, jerking his chin towards Steve.

Robin only shrugs “You never know.”

“You never—what do you know, Buckley?” he asks, stepping closer and pointing an accusing finger into her still smug face.

“I know that there’s some mistletoe hanging above the breakroom door.”

He’s confused for just a moment, then understanding floods through him, “You little—”

A short whistle interrupts his incoming tirade, and Eddie can see Steve Claus moving out of the corner of his eye.

“Sorry folks, it’s time for Santa’s Cookie break!” Robin calls out over the long line of people. “He’ll be back in 30 minutes though, don’t you worry!” the smile falls off her face as soon as she turns her back to them.

Eddie follows her, Jonathan, and Argyle toward the back rooms, “I’m gonna take a nap.” She says, “Tell Santa to grab me before he goes back.” She waves toward a door as she passes it and from the sprig of greenery hanging above it, this must be the breakroom. 

Robin takes a right down a turn in the hall, and Jon and Argyle push out the back door of the building.

He expects more of the same when he opens the door to the breakroom, for Steve to huff and grouse about the kids or the parents or something, but when he does, Steve is grinning ear to ear as he combs through his (now removed) fake beard.

“Hey Santa Stevie.”

“Eds!”

“I’ve got your lunch.” he holds up the brown paper bag for Steve to see. Steve nods, and lays the beard out on an empty chair, taking off his hat and glasses too and setting them both on top before stepping forward to grab the bag. “And you have hat hair.” Eddie laughs.

Steve’s free hand jumps to his head and scruffs up the long hairs, making them stick up every which way instead of just being plastered down on his forehead.

“Better?”

“Sure, big guy.” Eddie pokes Steve’s fake belly.

Steve chuckles, then heads to a table in the corner where he dumps out his lunch bag.

“So what’d Past Steve pack for Future Steve?” Eddie asks, plopping down in a chair kitty-corner from Steve’s. “Bologna and mustard sandwich, Doritos, and half of a leftover Hellfire cookie.”

“And a Coke,” Eddie says, taking a can out of his jacket pocket, “I grabbed one for you from your fridge.”

“Thanks, Eddie.” Steve smiles warmly at him. “You want some?”

“No way dude, you gotta get your energy back after dealing with all those kids, right?” Eddie says, waving him off. 

“Eh, some of them are little assholes, but most of them are really well behaved.” he’s ripping his sandwich in half, “Gotta impress Santa, right?”

He offers him one half, and Eddie takes it.

“It’s really not a bad gig, though the beard is itchy as hell…”

Steve starts talking about some of the kids who have come by in the last couple days of them doing this, having started on that past Monday, the 1st.

There were the kids asking for baseball bats, Lincoln Logs, Malibu Barbie, Rockstar Barbie (“Barbie’s a rockstar now?”, “Barbie can be anything, I guess.”), all the usual things.

Then there were kids that asked for actual Santa stuff, “I don’t want my mom and dad to get a divorce.”, “I wish I had some friends.”, “I want my grandpa to get better.”

“Makes me wish I actually was Santa, y’know? Then maybe I could actually help them.”

Eddie’s heart is definitely getting way too fuckin’ big for his chest.

He puts his hand on Steve’s forearm where it’s resting on the table between them. “You are a good man, Steve Harrington.”

Steve’s face flushes nearly as red as his suit. “Thanks, Eddie.” he glances above Eddie’s head then, “I better go wake up Robin, if she naps too long on top of the potatoes, she gets cranky.”

Eddie snorts out a laugh, “Yeah, better get on that.”

Steve stands up and tugs on his hat, not bothering to put on the beard and glasses yet. The fuzzy white band smushes a lock of his hair onto his forehead. 

“Hold on,” Eddie stands as well, reaching forward to tuck the hair under the bottom of Steve’s hat. “Now you’ll be ready to see your adoring public.”

“Thanks,” Steve laughs, walking with him toward the door.

And of course, Eddie forgot all about the damn mistletoe until Steve’s arm stops him in the doorway.

‘Jesus H. Christ…’

He glances over at Steve, then up at the offending plant.. 

Eddie looks back down, out toward the rest of the store where they’d be clearly visible in the doorway.

“I guess you owe me one, huh big boy?” Eddie chuckles, ‘Stupid plant, stupid Robin, stupid Ed–’

His thoughts are cut off when Steve tugs him back into the breakroom, moves him against the wall, and leans down to press a kiss to his cheek. The opposite to the kiss he’d given Steve three weeks ago.

Steve leans back, a smirk on his lips and a pink flush on his face. “Now we’re even.” he winks, then turns out the door to wake up Robin.

i may have actually kicked my feet and giggled about this one lmao

also, rockstar barbie mentioned here is from the 1986 Barbie and The Rockers set

also, also, i'm getting rid of the 'pre' before the steddie up top, you all know what's happening and where this is going lol - it's steddie.

other parts! Pt. 1 (Day 1) | Pt. 2 (Day 2) | Pt. 3 (Day 5) | Pt. 4 (Day 6) | Pt. 5 (Day 7) [YOU ARE HERE] | Pt. 6 (Day 11) | Pt. 7 (Day 13) | Pt. 8 (Day 18) | Pt. 9 (Day 21) | Pt. 10 (Day 25) also on AO3! this year

[tanadrin]

The subject of this week's You're Wrong About is the 1925 Nome serum run--the event (incorrectly, as it turns out) associated with the Iditarod in the popular imagination--and although I think it's a story a lot of Americans are vaguely aware of, it's terrific to hear it told again. This rendition features Togo, a sort of dog-Gilgamesh whose Enkidu is pulling sleds, some extremely determined Norwegians, and a governor of Alaska named Bone. We are reminded that this feat was accomplished in temperatures of around -50 Fahrenheit (which is -45 Celsius), which is as far from, say, 20 Fahrenheit as 20 is from 90. Conditions in that Alaska winter were so bad that you had to light fires under airplanes' engines to get them to start, an even sled dogs were liable to suffer crippling or deadly injuries from the cold.

Yet despite the incredible danger, and the endurance required, mushers undertook a desperate relay race over 1,085 kilometers to deliver just enough diptheria antitoxin to Nome to buy time for a larger shipment, because an outbreak was threatening that could have doomed hundreds of people--mostly children--to death by what was essentially slow suffocation. A journey that normally took 20 days was accomplished in five, at a pretty brutal cost: the first musher arrived at his hand-off point with three of his dogs dying and his entire face black with frostbite. Another finished his run with his hands frozen to his sled--they had to be unstuck with boiling water. The last legs of the relay were completed in a severe blizzard with hurricane-force winds.

And they did it! They got the epidemic under control, with only around half a dozen confirmed deaths, and another relay was able to deliver even more antitoxin a couple weeks later. Though Balto and Gunnar Kaasen are remembered in particular, it's one of those situations where everyone involved, dog and human, was integral to the outcome. I was also surprised to learn that most of the mushers involved were fairly young men at the time--the last surviving member of the relay died in 1999 (and had over 200 grandchildren at the time!).

[impishtubist]

Happy birthday, @arliedraws ! I'm so happy that our paths crossed online and then in real life 💙 I tried writing you a little ficlet based on your Sirius tramp stamp art, but uh, this happened instead.

---

The new math teacher is cool. 

He walks into class on the first day wearing a leather jacket and carrying a motorcycle helmet under one arm. His dark hair is long enough to pull back into a short ponytail, though some strands escape, and he’s got a neatly-trimmed beard and tattoos. The entire class breaks into whispers, and Harry is fascinated. 

Mr. Black is fun. He dresses and acts like a former rock star, and he makes math interesting for once. Harry can’t remember the last time he paid close attention in this class, and he diligently fills the pages of his notebook as Mr. Black takes them through each lesson.

“Excellent work, Harry,” he says one day as he passes back a test, and Harry blushes furiously. This close to Mr. Black, he can smell leather and cigarettes, and see the way the man’s eyes crinkle at the corners when he smiles.

Mr. Black holds office hours before school most days, and Harry asks Mum if she can start dropping him off early. Mum is delighted he’s taking such an interest in his studies, and agrees. 

“Your father never studied,” she says one day as they’re driving to school. “He still got top marks on everything. Drove me insane. Some of us have to actually work for our grades, and I’m happy you’re putting in the effort, sweetheart.” 

“Morning, Harry!” Mr. Black greets one day when Harry walks into the classroom. Office hours started a few minutes ago, and he’s the only one here. That won’t last long--Hermione won’t be far behind him, and several more of his classmates will come before the hour is up. Mr. Black’s office hours are always busy, which is why Harry tries to be the first one there every day. “I’ll be down in a second. Go ahead and get settled.”

Mr. Black has shed his button-up and is wearing only a thin t-shirt. He’s standing on a stepstool so he can get something down from the top shelf of one of the cabinets in the room. The t-shirt is tight, and Harry watches the muscles of his back and arm flex.

“O-okay,” he squeaks, but he stands there staring at Mr. Black until Hermione comes flying into the room a few minutes later, a dozen questions tumbling out of her at once that Mr. Black is only too happy to answer. 

***

“Harry, are you packed?” Mum calls up the stairs to him.

“Yeah, been packed for ages! Can we go now?”

“Don’t use that tone with me,” Mum says as Harry comes down the stairs, backpack slung over his shoulder. “Why are you in such a hurry to get to Dad’s, anyway? What mischief does he have planned for you two?”

“Nothing!” Harry says, which is a complete lie. He’s been texting Dad for the past couple of weeks about pranks they can pull on Dad’s awful neighbor, Severus Snape, and he can’t wait to try some of them out. 

His parents have been divorced since he was a baby; Harry doesn’t remember a time when they all lived in the same house.They don’t live far from each other, though, barely a ten-minute drive, which means that Harry can attend his school no matter which parent he stays with. He lives with Mum for a month, and then Dad, and they’ve switched off like that his whole life. Neither of his parents have remarried yet. When Harry was little, he’d wanted his mum to marry his kindergarten teacher, but then Mr. Lupin had married Mayor Shacklebolt and Harry had cried for a week about it. He’s fine with it now, though. They’ve got like five kids now, and Harry does not want any siblings. He likes having his parents to himself, thanks.

Mum pulls into Dad’s driveway, and Harry leaps out of the car and runs to the front door. He lets himself in with his key, shouting, “Dad, I’m home! Wanna go--” 

He stops short. Dad leaps up from the couch, startled, quickly disentangling himself from the man he had been sitting with and--and kissing--

It’s Mr. Black. 

“Harry!” Dad says, running his hand through his hair. “You’re, ah, you’re early--”

“Oh!” Mum had come into the house behind Harry, and she stands there with her hand over her mouth. “James, I’m so sorry, I didn’t think it would be an issue to be a little early. I didn’t realize you had, um, company. I should have called ahead.”

“It’s okay, Lils.” Dad gives them both a sheepish smile and holds out a hand to Mr. Black, pulling him up from the couch. “It’s about time we told you both, anyway. Harry, this is Sirius--”

“He’s my teacher,” Harry blurts. “Dad, you’re kissing my teacher.” 

“Er, yes, well.” Dad clears his throat. “We didn’t want to tell you until we were sure…but I’ve been seeing Sirius for a few months now, and--”

“Months?”

“I am sorry, Harry,” Mr. Black says. He’s still holding Dad’s hand. “I met your dad at the shops right before school started. I didn’t realize his son was in my class until I saw you that first day. We talked about it, and we decided it was best not to say anything to you until we knew…well, until we knew that this was something serious. No pun intended.”

He winks at Harry, fucking winks, and Harry is going to die. 

“I’m Lily,” Mum says, breaking the awkward silence, and Mr. Black lets go of Dad to shake her hand. “It’s so nice to meet you. I take it you’re Harry’s math teacher, then? He loves your class. I’ve never seen him so excited about a subject before!”

“Mum!” 

“Harry’s a great student,” Mr. Black says. “I love having him in class.” 

Harry can feel his face burning. “I’m not that special.”

“You are,” Mr. Black says, placing a warm hand on his shoulder. A strong, solid hand. Harry’s knees are going to buckle. 

“I think you’re embarrassing him, Sirius,” Dad says, and Mr. Black steps away. Harry misses his touch immediately. “But we were thinking, Harry…if it’d be alright, Sirius could spend the weekend with us. We could all get to know each other? Maybe go to the cinema, out to dinner, that kind of thing?”

Dad looks and sounds so hopeful. Harry sighs.

“Yeah, alright,” he says, and both Dad and Mr. Black beam at him. “But no funny business, okay? Your room is right next to mine, Dad.”

Dad goes bright red. “Right, no funny business. You’ve got it.” 

Mum kisses Harry on the cheek and gives him a quick hug, and then leaves. Harry’s left standing awkwardly in his dad’s living room with his dad and his teacher, who are dating. Harry grimaces inwardly. The whole time he was noticing Mr. Black’s beard and eyes and muscles, his dad was--was--

Harry stops that train of thought dead in its tracks. He does not want to go there. 

“So we’re still pranking Snape, right?” he asks loudly, more to drown out his own traitorous thoughts than anything else.

“Oh, yeah, definitely,” Dad says quickly. “Sirius even has some ideas about that.”

Mr. Black pulls a piece of paper out of his back pocket and unfolds it. It’s covered in his chicken scratch handwriting. “Where do you want to begin?”

[chvrrycola]

STRAY KIDS X CLICHE MEETCUTES - KIM SEUNGMIN

word count | 0.8k

warnings | food mentions

now playing . . . time to love by red velvet

the other meetcutes

things seemed to be going your way today. you had woken up feeling super refreshed like an hour before your alarm, so you decided to have a nice leisurely morning before you headed off to work. 

you headed down the road to get your first coffee of the day from the shop on the corner, a trip that you had always been desperate to fit into your morning routine but had been unable to because of your unbreakable habit of snoozing your alarm half a dozen times before you actually decided to get up. 

your favourite barista was behind the counter, and looked pretty surprised to be seeing you so early, turning his back right after greeting you to start making your usual. the cafe was far quieter than you were used to seeing it, and filled with a lot more people in suits and dress shirts. you had just pulled a hoodie on over your pyjamas and found yourself crossing your arms a little tighter in front of you to try and hide your comparatively shabby appearance. 

the barista who handed your drink over in the end wasn’t one you recognised, you assumed because she mostly did early shifts, but she handed you your drink with a smile and sent you off to enjoy the rest of your day.

which you would have loved to do, except for the unfortunate fact that as you were pulling open the door to head home and get changed, a considerably flustered looking man attempted to open the door with the force of his shoulder, and rammed straight into you. 

he didn’t knock you over, he didn’t hurt you at all in fact, though the concern that tied his eyebrows together showed he was worried that he might have done. you were far more concerned about his crisp white shirt though, and how it was now neither as crisp nor as white as it had been. 

apologies began tumbling from your lips until the smiley barista came over and offered you the staff bathroom to get cleaned up. you hadn’t even noticed the coffee on your hoodie until the man was gesturing for you to follow him, apparently concerned by the potential stain on your already scruffy jumper.

you went with him, though, desperately pawing at his shirt with your sleeve without saying anything. neither of you really noticed the absurdity of the interaction though, both solely focused on the stain. 

‘i think this is as clean as it’s gonna get,’ he eventually sighed, looking up at you and making eye contact, you realised, for the first time. 

‘i have a couple shirts at my place, my brother leaves them when he stays over because he can’t be bothered to do his own laundry. i can’t promise they’re ironed but they could work?’ 

he looked slightly sceptical, beginning to mumble something about how he didn’t want to risk being late. 

‘my apartment is literally on this street, it would be five minutes if you need it. actually, i can go and get one for you, i don’t want you to feel like i’m trying to abduct you or something.’

you didn’t even wait for his response to your clearly inappropriate comment, heading out of the door and rushing back to your apartment as quickly as you could manage. your mind was almost too busy with the stress of potentially ruining both of your days to think about how this guy was definitely not bad-looking, and that if you hadn’t definitely messed things up by insisting that you weren’t a kidnapper you might have tried to get his number. 

you were back in the cafe in probably under three minutes, dodging round the gradually filling tables to knock on the staff bathroom door. your ‘it’s me’ was probably the least helpful thing you could’ve said given this man was a total stranger, so you swiftly followed it up with ‘i’ve got a shirt’.

the door unlocked and you sheepishly handed the shirt through the gap, opting to wait outside once he retreated back inside. he looked a little shocked when he noticed you still standing there as he left, but you allowed yourself to admit it didn’t look like the horrified kind of shocked. maybe surprised was the more appropriate adjective. 

‘if you live round here, you wouldn’t be able to point me in the direction of a laundrette would you? i’ll come by and collect this on my way home.’ 

you smiled, glad to be feeling less like a burden, and offered to show him the nearest one. it was less than a block, so you set your pace at more of a stroll, hoping it might yield an opportunity for a conversation. 

‘oh sorry, i should’ve bought you another coffee, it slipped my mind,’ he said, a slight lilt in his voice as though he was trying to keep it steady. ‘if you’re around later i can meet you at the cafe when i’m done with work. or like, this time tomorrow, or the day after, or like, any day really, would be good for me.’

‘yeah, i reckon i can find some time.’

you were definitely going to have to stop snoozing your alarm.

[ithebookhoarder]

Blind With Rage

Description: Whilst you've handled witness interviews alone before, as part of your work at Nelson and Murdock, you know that Matt's always close by and all-too ready to step in if you ever need him.

A/N: He protect. He attack. He is a snack 😅...

Warnings: Angst, mentions of violence, mentions of crime, swearing, Matt being a full-on protective baby XD

Masterlist

Being a lawyer, you were used to visiting clients in rough places. Prisons, holding cells in local stations, and even crime scenes - you’d been to them all. 

Even with a vigilante for a boyfriend, and rather unorthodox client base, there wasn’t much that could surprise you. Working at Nelson and Murdock, Attorneys at Law, had pretty much ensured it. 

Still, this morning’s meeting had gone pear shaped and you’d barely seen it coming. 

You’d only been sat with a possible witness for you latest client’s case for about five minutes, before it had happened. Matt had been running late at the time and Foggy was out of the room, talking to officers in the corridor, leaving you alone with the man opposite you - which was totally fine. After all, you'd handled witness statements alone before and it wasn't like there wasn't a dozen officers in the building with you if anything did go wrong. 

Also, you only had a couple questions that needed to be asked before you could go back about your merry way and possibly swipe a quick lunch on your route back to the office. If anything, you were more concerned about your choice of sandwich than the petty thief sat on the other side of the table.

He'd so far been cooperative, corroborating your client’s story that he had been nowhere near the crime scene when the crime had occurred. Picked up by police after a failed pickpocketing, the man opposite had apparently been near the scene of the crime and confirmed your client was nowhere to be seen. In fact, he was pretty quick to tell you who was around when the crime had occurred and just who he thought might have done it.

"Thanks, Mr Jerome," you’d nodded, scribbling the last of your notes on the yellow legal pad in front of you. "You've been incredibly helpful. My client will really appreciate your testimony."

"Anytime, sugar."

Yep. That was it; That was the moment when things took a turn for the worst. 

You could see it now, playing back in your mind in slow motion… the way he’d followed the nickname with a rather crass compliment about how you were looking that day. 

His eyes then dropped, roaming up and down your body in a way that just made you feel dirty without even being touched. 

And when you’d told him to stop? That the meeting was done? He’d lunged. 

Of course, he hadn’t got very far - his handcuffs attached to the table made sure of that. Still, you'd be lying if you said you hadn't jumped at the sudden movement.

You flinched, opening your mouth to say something. However, you never got the chance as the door slammed open behind you with an almighty bang. It was then that you saw who was responsible for the sudden interruption as Matt Murdock came racing into the room so fast it made your head spin.

Wait, when had he got here?

You blinked, staring up at your partner with shock as he reached over and pulled your chair back with a harsh screech, cutting you off from protesting. You could see the fury rolling off of him in waves and for a moment you couldn't be sure it wasn't directed at you.

Thankfully, the source of his rage became clear as he positioned himself in front of you, his focus never leaving the man sat on the other side of the table. He had created a literal human-shield between you, a silent challenge against your would-be assailant.

Without a word, his hand reached backwards, hauling you to your feet and frogmarching you from the room. His grip was ironclad.

"Matt."

"Y/N, don't."

"Wait, Matt," you barked, "Let go of me, I had it under control-"

"-Of course you did, Sweetheart. Wait here," he ordered, his tone lethal as he addressed the police officer waiting for you both in the hall. It was clear you weren't going to be allowed anywhere near that room again and that he was holding this poor officer responsible for ensuring that was the case.

A sudden urge to argue roared up from inside of you, but you bit your tongue as Matt released you. You didn't need to ask if he was ok. It was clear he wasn't from the concerned pull of his brow. If you didn't know any better, you'd have said he was actually worried about you.

"I'll be back in a minute. Mr Jerome and I need to have a quick word - stay here with Foggy."

You weren't entirely sure if talking was actually Matt's plan, given the way his hands were clenched at his side. Still, no one made a move to stop him as he marched back into the room you'd just come from, slamming the door behind him hard enough to make the two-way glass rattle.

He'd always had a flair for the dramatic.

"Wow."

Wow indeed, you thought, staring across the room at Foggy. The fact the other lawyer looked like he was trying not to laugh made it clear what he thought about the entire exchange.

"Whatever sassy joke you're about to make, Nelson, just don't," you grumbled, your cheeks burning in embarrassment.

“I wasn't going to make a joke,” Foggy scoffed, his shit-eating grin only growing as Matt's furious voice echoed from the other side of the wall.

"-You feel like a tough guy, huh? Picking on other people? You utter piece of sh-"

The both of you winced at the sudden flurry of colourful expletives.

“I mean, I’m sure Matt would have thrown himself just as chivalrously in front of me if some sleazy douchebag made a gross comment about me.” 

You eyes were rolling before he even finished the sentence. “Foggy? Shut the hell up.”

[lovekz]

eyes don't lie

syn -> part 2 of ‘what does he have that I don’t?’

warnings : mention of tits, angst ( a little bit ) to comfort, reader wants to be a cosmetologist, rindou studies astrobiology, breakups,

-

the next time rindou sees you, is two years later at one of his parties he held at his shared house with ran.

after your talk, he’d gotten over you within at least 3 months.

now all he had to do was keep living and leaving you where you were at with your boyfriend.

at his parties, he was always the dj, and ran was always mingling (or asleep with someone in his lap, whichever works).

so rindou was upstairs at the balcony where the dj set was, one headphone over his ear.

it’s about 1 am right now, and he’s been up here for a few hours.

he’d leave the stand, but he isn’t sure where hanma ran off to with that girl that brought him a drink.

not like he cared, he didn’t feel like mingling tonight.

he just knows the celebration is for izana learning how to drive (he crashed shinichiro’s one too many times).

so he’ll let izana have all the talk the about him.

rindou feels eyes on him, but he shrugs it off. someone probably has a request or something.

he just hopes no drunk guy tries to propose at the party again.

“does the dj need a drink?” he hears a teasing voice beside him, making him look over.

you were smiling at him, holding a red cup with your phone in hand.

rindou pulls the headphones down to sit around his neck, leaning back into his seat at the sight of you.

of course you were here, you were the girlfriend of izana’s brother.

why wouldn’t you two come along?

“nah, I’m okay.” rindou rejects politely, waving you off and looking back at the laptop.

he expects you to leave with embarrassment, but you don’t and it's so like to you stay.

you take a seat next to the set and take a sip from the red cup.

rindou doesn’t mind, he can use the company after hanma ditched him for some blond with 'great tits' (hanma's words, not his).

“how’ve you been?” you ask him, tilting your head up to look at him.

rindou shrugs, glancing down at you and then back at the DJ board.

“been alright. still studying to be a cosmetologist?" rindou asks, clicking around to change the song.

you nod, almost forgetting that rindou knew almost everything anyone could possibly know about you.

"you still studying astrobiology?" you question right back, tilting your head.

rindou nods, tapping his phone screen to check the time. it's only been five minutes since you came up here.

it was nights like these where you two would sit together and he would play music.

and although you two have talked about damn near everything, you would find something to talk with him about.

through the crowd, rindou catches mikey staring up at him from the far end of the couch.

he'd been watching him for a while now, and rindou thinks he understands why.

"you should probably go. he's looking for you." rindou states, before completely tuning you out.

however, he doesn't miss the hurt look that you present as you make your way downstairs.

suddenly, the music feels like it would be better if it were to be louder.

-

the night after the party was over, rindou was in his room typing away at his computer.

the assignment he was working on wasn't due for another six days, but he wanted to get a little headstart.

he wasn't sure if ran would make him take that road trip to izana's new place with him in a couple days.

rindou was typing so hard on his computer, that he almost missed his phone buzzing repeatedly.

if it weren't for it falling into his lap from its inconsistent buzzing, he would've ignored it.

but your name was read across his screen about a dozen or so times.

missed calls, text messages, voicemails, and facetime calls.

rindou immediately scrunches up his nose in confusion, unsure of why you were desperately trying to get his attention.

he calls back immediately, squinting into the camera.

you answer, and you're outside. walking it seems to be. it makes rindou sit up because of the time on his phone.

what the hell were you doing walking by yourself at 2:20 in the morning?

"hello?" rindou greets gruffly, voice coming out a bit deeper after not speaking for a while.

not to mention those five minute naps he's been offering himself.

a sniffle gains his attention, making him stand up from his desk and almost knock everything off of it looking for his keys.

"are you okay?" rindou asks, putting on his shoes and grabbing his hoodie as he looks at your background.

you won't show your face, but by the sound of your sniffles, you had been crying for a while.

"did i wake you?" you ask, voice cracking multiple times just to get those four words out.

rindou kisses his teeth almost immediately once you dodge his question, growing irritated.

but he knows you're already upset, so he doesn't push you any further than you would want.

"no, i was working on something. where are you?" rindou asks, walking downstairs.

and just by hearing him ask that, you knew he was coming to get you off the streets so late.

"mariana ave and sapin street." you state into the microphone, and rindou is immediately in his garage.

he flicks the button to open the door, and he hopes it doesn't wake his older brother up.

rindou is painfully aware that ran's room is directly above the garage, so he feels when the door is opening and closing on the floor.

though he's a bit confident ran can sleep through a hurricane and earthquake combined.

rindou gets in his car and immediately speeds down his neighborhood to get to you before anyone else does.

-

when the two of you make it back to his house, rindou understands that you might want a shower.

so he offers up his bathroom and a few of his clothes while he heats up his chinese food from earlier, and the food ran had gave him.

he didn't get to ask what happened yet, only because he didn't want to make you hysterical.

the waiting game is a game that rindou has played for years, so he doesn't see a problem now.

once the microwave cuts off, he's stuffing another bowl into it and pressing the number two.

footsteps gain his attention, making him turn around to look at you.

you had on a pair of his psd boxers (just so they'd fit like shorts) and his shirt, your thigh wrapped in gauze.

when the microwave cuts off again, rindou grabs the food and begins plating it for you.

it's probably best if you tell him on your own.

the two of you walk upstairs to his room once he grabs water for the both of you, and sit on his bed.

his essay is still open on his laptop, some of the words jumbled together and not making sense.

but you understand that it was just a draft.

the two of you eat in silence as rindou looks through his disney plus to figure out what he wanted to watch.

he knows a kid movie would be enough to bring your spirits up even a little bit, and that's because he knows you.

and rindou is right.

halfway through moana, you begin to speak.

"he broke up with me." you state mindlessly, pushing noodles into your mouth.

rindou looks at you from the corner of his eyes, before taking a sip of his water.

he desperately wants to say 'oh really?' or maybe even laugh at the fact that you were in his bed now, but he doesn't.

self restraint, rindou reminds himself, twisting the cap on his bottle.

lucky for him, you continue without his feedback.

"didn't know where else to go, so i called you. said he doesn't think i love him." you explained to him.

so you were at his house before you were wandering the streets.

that was probably a good two miles away, which makes rindou's heart ache just a bit.

"is it because of yesterday?" rindou finally asks, leaning back against his headboard as he watches the movie.

your silence gives him all answers he could possibly need from you.

rindou suspects that he's felt like this for a bit of a while, but doesn't let you know that.

last night probably took the cake when you sat next to him and not your boyfriend.

and then rindou thinks about the words izana said to cheer him up after you two had that talk.

'10 years from now, she's gonna have five kids and be miserable.'

minus the dramatic amount of time after that day and the five kids, you were miserable.

and it hadn't been that long since you two were togehter.

self restraint, rindou reminds himself again.

"did you love him though?" rindou asks, finishing off his water bottle with a satisfied sigh.

you nod almost immediately, drinking from your own water bottle.

"i did, but he was the one that grew distant." you told rindou, shrugging to yourself.

rindou knew you desperately wanted to say that line you always say when things happen.

'we made it work.'

but he knows the truth behind those false appeasing words.

you were just holding onto whatever strings you had left of the poor relationship.

"well good riddance." rindou replies, finally letting you know that he wasn't really that fond of mikey.

even though everyone and their great grandmothers probably knew that already.

but it makes you laugh for the first time tonight.

you cover your mouth as your pupils disappear behind the lids, your nose scrunching up in the prettiest of ways.

it reminds rindou why he had a crush on you two years ago.

everything about you was pretty and you radiated such positive energy all the time.

"what happened here?" rindou asks, softly touching the gauze that was wrapped around your thigh with his index finger.

you look down at his hand and hum, pointing your fork to the gauze as you chew your food.

"it's a burn. was eating em's soup when he broke up with me, and i dropped the bowl." you explain to him, rubbing the gauze.

and rindou feels a bit at ease, knowing it wasn't because of a tattoo mistake or because he hurt you.

it was a simple mistake, be it out of shock, anger, or fear.

as long as mikey didn't put his hands on you, everything is fine.

"well. you can stay here until you can get back on your feet. i don't mind, and i'm sure ran doesn't either." rindou informs.

and your eyes shine with adoration when those words leave rindou's mouth.

after everything that went down, rindou still had the upmost respect for you and would always help you.

rindou can see the gratefulness in them, and hope to see happiness in them one day again.

even if it means you still never have feelings for him.

[unmotivatedwrit3r]

Cheese of the Stringable Variety

damian wayne x reader

(A/N): I’ve been wanting to write something like this for a while now and it is by far the most niche thing I have ever written. I intended this to be around 1k, looked at the word count before I’d even gotten to the section I wanted to write this for, and then checked again at the end and viola 3k. I am of Arab-American heritage myself and slowly learning Arabic and connecting to my culture, but this type of string cheese has always been a part of my life and my role in my extended family. I also hope that those who don’t share these experiences can still enjoy this fic, if only for the amount of storybuilding that wormed it's way in. (Also worth mentioning that the having separate bedrooms has no cultural relevance whatsoever; I just like the concept.)

Note: reader is implied heavily to be of Middle Eastern heritage, though there are no features described. The region is also unspecified but the Arabic dialect is Levantine because that’s where my family is from. 

warnings: a lot of food mentions; a mild curse word in Arabic; use of a knife for food related things; discussions of extended family 

wc: ~ 3100

~~

On your way out the door in the morning, you took the braided cheese out of the fridge and left it on the counter, a post-it note on top of it. Leave out of the fridge! was scribbled hastily in your handwriting as you rushed to work. In the apartment behind you, you could hear the sink running. After a long night of patrol, Damian was fortunate his meeting started at eleven am and not eight am. 

Every time your phone screen lit up as you headed home in the evening, it taunted you with the time. You didn’t mean to be back so late; it would take hours to string the four braids of cheese you’d picked up from your جد, your grandfather, the day before. At this point in the evening, you’d probably have to get up earlier in the morning and finish it then. At least an early tomorrow would mean “no sleeping in” rather than “running on five hours of sleep” before a family function. You’d done it before. It sucked. 

You pulled your laptop and a couple other items from your bag before heading to take a shower and change into comfortable clothes. A sweatshirt of Damian’s caught your eye after you’d gotten changed, tossed haphazardly over the edge of your bed. You hung your damp towel in the bathroom before heading back into the kitchen. Halfway there, you turned and grabbed the sweatshirt, pulling it over your clothes. 

“مرحبا حبيبي,” you greeted Damian as he shut the front door behind him. Hello, my love. “How'd the meeting go?" 

“مرحبا أملي,” he replied, dropping a quick kiss on your cheek as he passed through the kitchen on his way to the bedroom.

Damian’s Arabic was better than yours. Every time he said something to you that you understood, a satisfied trill shot through your chest. Ameli, he called you this time. My hope. Damian had a handful of various pet names for you that he cycled through, many of them in Arabic. 

“The shelter proposal’s been fully approved,” he informed you, “so I’m expecting the distribution of funds to begin in the next few weeks.”

“Oh that’s great!” Setting up properly funded, city-wide animal care facilities was one of the first things Damian ever brought up to the WE board. “You've been working at that for years.” The microwave beeped and you silenced it quickly, pulling out the container of leftovers you’d been heating up. You opened the second container and covered it with the same paper towel before placing it in the microwave.  The timer was set once more for 90 seconds. Before the food was done heating up, Damian returned to the kitchen, work clothes traded for a compression shirt and shorts. He owned half a dozen of the exact same black compression shirts. They functioned most often as his first underlayer on patrol. 

“Here, Dames.” You held the first container out to him, a vegan pasta dish he made earlier in the week. It was still steaming.  

“Thank you, beloved.” Damian took the container and sat down at the table, eyes scanning something on his laptop. If you had to guess, it was probably the drugs case the entire family had been working on recently. The two of you had hosted Dick the other day, up from Blüdhaven following the same case. He’d stayed in Damian’s room while the two of you crashed in yours. Dick was at the manor now, but he’d promised to stop by before he went back home. Some part of you figured it was at least partially motivated by the fact that you were inevitably going to be taking home leftovers tomorrow. Dick had tried some before and loved it. He probably wanted some. You didn’t blame him; you already planned to be hoarding your favorites for yourself. (And Damian. But mostly for you. Your family wasn’t vegetarian.)

The microwave beeped again. You pulled the second container out before grabbing forks and making your way over to the table. Your dinner was mostly the same as Damian’s, but with chicken added into the dish. The two of you didn’t always store leftovers that way, but sometimes it was easier to create two separate servings if you expected to be eating at different times. Damian scribbled a note down on the pad of paper next to him and closed the laptop. 

“We’re finally raiding the first warehouse tonight,” he offered, accepting the fork you held out to him. The paper and pen were pushed to the side before Damian started eating. 

“Oh yeah?” You asked around a bite of food. “So that stakeout paid off then?” 

“It did. But Dick and Timothy are following other leads tonight so this won’t be the end. But it should be a good start.” 

“Good,” you agreed. “I’ll be glad when the operation’s dismantled. You wake me up if you need me when you get home, okay?” 

Damian nodded. 

You weren’t sure you actually believed he would wake you, but you knew Babs would even if he tried to convince her not to. Sometimes you thought being friends with Oracle was the only way you stayed somewhat sane while dating a bat. She sent you injury reports. Alfred’s injury reports, not the lame ones Damian, his father, and his siblings wrote in an effort to not get yelled at by their friends or S/Os. 

Dinner didn’t take long. You loaded the dishes into the dishwasher as Damian collected his duffel bag for patrol. 

“Love you.” Damian pressed a quick kiss to your lips and another to your temple before ducking out the window. 

“I love you too. See you tomorrow.” 

There wasn’t secret bunker in your apartment. There was a significant amount of both weaponry and uniform equipment and outside direct access to transportation to one. You watched Damian’s bike disappear behind a false wall before turning back inside. It may not be Gotham-saving, but you, too, had stuff to do. 

The microwave clock declared it just after ten pm by the time you’d completed the handful of household chores you wanted done—the ones you expected to have time for until you got home late. You deliberated for a moment before grabbing two braids of cheese and a bowl that your dad had given you for that express purpose. You’d leave the other two out and string them in the morning. Leaving the cheese out all day had done its job. When cold, it would snap too easily when you tried to string it, and take much longer to do. 

The speaker that lived in the kitchen turned on with a swooshing noise and an acknowledgement that it was connected to your phone via bluetooth. It was a little late for anything too upbeat, but you found a good playlist after only a minute or so of looking through them. You tied back any loose hair, washed your hands, and grabbed a small paring knife from a drawer before sitting down at the table. The knife, sharp as it was, cut through the plastic packaging with ease. 

You moved the empty plastic off to the side and unraveled a twist, cutting each end so that you had two thick pieces a little under a foot long. The second braid was left whole for now. Once you got started, it would be harder to find pieces yet to be strung under the stringy parts already finished. So you’d break apart the larger pieces as you finished the ones before. 

Your music kept you company over the next hour and a half. The huge pieces were pulled apart into larger pieces then into medium pieces then into smaller pieces before finally being teased apart into the stringy texture that gave the cheese its colloquial name. It was just before midnight when you graded your efforts adequate. You poked one final time through the two braids worth of cheese and pulled apart any of the pieces you thought were just a little too big before calling it a day. 

The bowl was full, and you covered it in plastic wrap before putting it in the fridge. In the morning, when you did the remaining two, you’d have to start a new bowl. There was no sense in leaving already strung cheese out on the counter. You washed the knife and tossed the plastic wrappers in the trash before sending a goodnight text off to Damian. 

Goodnight, حبيبي, it read. Then, Be safe. There was no response. You didn’t expect there to be; he’d see it when he could, and you’d see him in the morning. 

Your bed was occupied by just you when you woke up which meant one of three things. Either Damian had gotten back too late that he would have woken you up by joining you, he’d gotten injured and knew he’d fail to hide it, or he needed a little bit of solitude. There was no injury report from Barbara when you checked your phone, but the little marker under your text to Damian from last night said that he hadn’t seen it until after three am, which meant it was probably four at the earliest by the time Damian had gotten to bed. You missed the warmth of waking up to him with you even as you appreciated his decision. It was only eight am now. You would have no doubt woken him up with your alarm. He desperately needed sleep, even if only a couple hours more. 

The remaining braids of cheese were in the same spot you left them on the counter last night. You moved them and a second bowl to the table, then grabbed yourself a bagel for breakfast. Your friends from New York disagreed, but you’d tried both and New Jersey bagels were far superior. 

It was half past nine by the time you finished scraping the hummus from your blender into various containers. One larger container would go with you and Damian to your grandfather’s house. The other one was staying in your fridge. Between the two of you, it wouldn’t last very long. You didn’t make hummus very often despite the fact that you both enjoyed it. What you could boast, though, is that you’d converted Damian to your family’s way of making it. Critiquing supermarket-available hummus became a shared habit. 

The completed bowl of string cheese fit perfectly in the fridge on top of the larger container of hummus. Most of the blender parts went in the dishwasher, and you set the cycle to rinse so that the hummus wouldn’t dry and congeal onto the plastic. The blender blade stayed on the side of the sink, already rinsed off. You’d wash it later. First, you had to finish the cheese. You opened your playlist from last night and hit play, bluetooth off this time. If it was loud, it would wake Damian. 

Damian’s bedroom door opened near silently when you were nearly done with the third braid. You took a momentary break to nudge the tea kettle on by pressing the button with your elbow before returning to your seat at the kitchen table. The bathroom door shut then opened again a few minutes later. His footsteps, quiet even in his home, meant that you didn’t notice him heading into the kitchen until he was already there. After months of living together and months before that where you might as well have been, your partner appearing silently beside you didn’t startle you anymore. 

You never got tired of seeing Damian without his guard up. It was an image only you and his family got to see: a Damian squinting in the morning light, hair a mess of waves that dried pressed against a pillow. The sight of him dressed in nightwing pajama pants and an old college t-shirt was yours, now. 

“Morning, my dear,” you greeted him. Small strands of stiff cheese stuck to your fingers. You picked them off and dropped them in the bowl before getting up to give your partner a hug, wrists bent awkwardly so that you wouldn’t touch his shirt with your hands. 

“صباح النور” Damian murmured, his arms heavy around your shoulders. Good morning. “What are you doing?” He asked as you let go. 

“Remember how I had to pick up cheese from my grandfather’s house the other day?” Damian nodded. “I’m stringing that. I wanted to get it done last night but I got home a little late. So I’m finishing it now.” 

You retreated back to your spot at the table, finishing the last of the third braid. Black caraway seeds were scattered around the table and you brushed them into your hand before returning them to the bowl. “The kettle should be done pretty soon. And your mug is on the counter.” 

Damian didn’t say anything until he sat down beside you, cup of tea in hand. 

“You’re stringing the cheese?”

“Yeah, it’s the thing I’ve been assigned to bring to the family events. I’ve been doing the stringing part since I was a kid but since I started living on my own I’d string it at home and bring it with me. And this year I’ve been upgraded to making hummus, too. I made a double batch so there’s a separate container for just us in the fridge.” 

“You went to a family birthday party months ago and didn’t bring it then,” Damian pointed out. 

“Yeah, if my aunts and uncles host the event,” you explained, “their family is technically supposed to string it. I mean, a lot of the time I’ll get there and they’ll ask me to do it anyway, but it’s not officially my job. And I don’t have to pick it up if it’s not my job. This is the first full family event that we’ve lived together for, I think.” You thought for a moment. “Wait, no, there was thanksgiving. But you were at the manor then.” 

Damian watched as you opened the fourth braid. The plastic wrapping joined the one from earlier. 

“I’ve just got this one left.” You cut both ends and pulled one of them apart. “Do you want to help? You’ve just got to wash your hands first.” 

Damian detoured to the sink before sitting in the chair beside yours.

“How does it work?” 

“You just kinda pull it apart and then keep stringing until it gets to be really thin.” You demonstrated quickly, stringing a small section of the larger piece you were holding until it resembled a pile of embroidery floss. 

“Like this, just for the whole thing. But it will snap if you try to brute force pull it instead of string it.” You handed him one of the larger pieces. “Here, you try this one.” 

Damian’s face of concentration sent a burst of warmth through your chest. He was following your instructions to perfection, entirely focused. It took effort not to burst into a full grin. You watched him for a moment before continuing on. Two songs went by on your playlist before Damian said anything. 

“This takes ages.”

You laughed. 

“Yeah, it does. Which is why I spent nearly two hours at it last night and we’re still doing it now. I’ve gotten so much faster at it, though. I can do two braids in less than an hour and a half. It used to take me an hour each. But it’s faster only if it’s warm. If I have to string it right out of the fridge, it’s harder to do.” You smirked. “And it tastes worse.”

Damian quirked a disbelieving eyebrow. 

“I doubt that.”

“It’s true. Ask my family members when you meet them later.” 

“I will not.”

A laugh burst out involuntarily. 

“Yeah, maybe having a debate with my family about food isn’t a great idea. They’d scare you off.”

“No they wouldn’t,” Damian argued, eyes lowered. “I have fought the League and the worst of Gotham—“

“And it’s still okay to be nervous meeting my family. But you know I don’t actually care what they think right?”

“Tt.” Damian stopped stringing to look at you. “They’re your family.” 

“Yeah, and so are you.” Your shoulder nudged his, hands still hovering over the half-finished bowl of cheese. “And I know for a fact that you know me better than most of them.” Damian scoffed a laugh. 

“I know more about you than your estranged cousins? What a great achievement,” he deadpanned. You rolled your eyes at him, returning to the piece you’d neglected. 

“You’re the first significant other in a long time,” you revealed after a moment. “My family is big, in a different way than yours, and they scare people off. So if a cousin brings someone to a holiday celebration, it means we’re serious about the person we’re bringing. All of my cousins-in-law are the people my cousins brought to gatherings like this.” In your peripheral vision, Damian stiffened. You kept stringing, anxiety twisting in your chest. 

“I should have told you that earlier, I’m sorry, I don’t even know if you’re fine with that implica-” 

Damian’s hand reached out to still yours. 

“حياتي,” he said, head dipping down to meet your eyes. “That’s okay with me.” 

“High-ah-tee,” you sounded out, repeating it back to him. “What’s that one?” 

Damian pressed a kiss to your lips. On instinct, your hands moved to cup his chin. Drying strands of the string cheese in between your fingers had you pulling back. 

“العمى,” now I have to wash my hands again. And you should wash your face, Dames.” 

“Be right back,” he said, moving quickly to the bathroom. You watched him go before turning to wash your hands. Damian hadn’t returned by the time you’d finished, so you moved back to the table, resuming working on the strand you’d left behind.

“You didn’t tell me what it means,” you reminded him as he sat back down next to you. “Hayati, that is.” 

“حياتي,” he said slowly, “means ‘my life.’” 

A smile split your face. “Yeah?” 

“Mhm.” 

“Hey,” you began. Damian turned to you, mid stringing his own piece of cheese. “I love you.” 

Your partner’s lips quirked up into a grin. He pressed his forehead to yours for just a moment before turning back to the cheese. “I love you too.” 

“Now,” you mock-admonished, “if we don’t get this done in the next 45 minutes, we will be leaving late.  And my grandfather hates it when the cheese is late.” 

Damian huffed a laugh, following your lead as you returned the majority of your attention to the bowl in front of you. 

“Maybe we’ll beat your father there.” 

You barked out a laugh. 

“Oh, my grandfather would find that hilarious.” 

Damian’s smirk was visible even as you reached for another piece of string cheese. 

“A first impression that will be remembered, then.” 

“If we’re on time with the cheese and hummus? And your stringing skills are already pretty good? I think my grandfather will just never let you go.” 

“Lucky for him,” Damian said, grabbing the other half of the piece you’d just begun, “I don’t plan on that being a problem.”

[strawberryforks]

small city, small problems // (eventual) dean winchester x reader

summary: you move to lebanon kansas and have two run-ins eith the winchester boys. in one, you’re awesome, in the other… well…

warnings: violence, blood, swearing

word count: 1343

author’s note: requests/asks open & encouraged!

hunting was your job but it didn’t pay the bills. no, that was taken care of by the numerous scams you ran. monster slayer by day (who would willingly go after those freaks in the dark? thinking about it made you shiver) and door to door salesman, telemarketer, pyramid-schemer by night. credit card scams and fake identities had stopped helping you the minute you decided to settle down. now, going by your actual name for the first time in what felt like forever, you house hunted too.

small city, small problems, you thought, settling on lebanon, kansas. you found a duplex for $700 a month and moved all of your belongings in--it took hardly any time because your entire life could fit in the box of your truck. none of it was damp or damaged thanks to the tonneau cover you splurged on.

neighbors could be difficult to deal with but yours seemed unassuming enough. the landlord had described them as an older couple that kept to themselves and that sounded better than rooming with five college students or staying in a rundown motel. you just hoped they wouldn’t notice the blood caked under your nails when you checked the mailbox, or the various injuries you always had when you walked to and from your truck.

you were sitting on the floor, both legs stuck out in front of you, and dozens of newspaper clippings in between them. you planned on taking a break from hunting but when you were in the life and aware of the creatures that go bump in the night, these things tended to fall right into your lap. missing people--this many--in such a small town was never innocent. nor were the all black eyes you made contact with on your way back from the supermarket. a demon problem you could handle but it didn’t quite explain the missing people. It was fine, you would figure it out.

a fist slams against the door in an aggressive manner, one that far too many policemen used for you to be comfortable with. you lift the corner of your mattress and swipe the information you’d found under it. you hide any evidence of your wrongdoings and stuff your phone into your pants pocket. then you pulled open the door. two men stand, wearing suits and presenting badges. you look at the badges first--agent figsbottom and dave. you snort and your hand moves over your mouth quickly as you try (and fail) to stifle laughter. the taller man frowned and his brother’s eyes narrow. “come on in, boys.”

the winchester brothers are confused. this isn’t the level of respect they were used to receiving when posing as federal agents. the thing is, you knew them. well, knew of them. dean and sam winchester were pretty famous in the hunting community so no, you weren’t about to play concerned citizen even though… well, you were concerned. the hell were they on your doorstep for?

“we have some questions for you miss,” dean says. he flashes you a smile along with his badge and sam shoots him an irritated look, placing a hand on his shoulder and shoving subtly. “have you seen either of these people? samantha and owen have--”

you hadn’t seen them anywhere else but on the newspaper. you lift the corner of your mattress and pull out the papers. “they’ve been missing for just over a week. you should be looking for these two if you want a rescue mission and not a recovery one.” you tap your hand against another couple's photo and sam’s eyebrows raise. “i’m a hunter too. just moved into the area. y/n l/n, nice to meet you.”

dean shakes your hand and you tighten your grip in challenge. the two of you stand, staring at each other and aggressively shaking hands until sam’s laughter interrupts your brief pissing contest.

“i’m sam,”

“and your dean,” you look at the shorter brother, right into his green eyes as he nods. “your reputations precede you.”

“all good things i hope?”

you laugh and give a small shake of your head. “so, the case. what do you guys know that I don’t?”

“no offense sweetheart but we don’t need any extra help. you and your partner can pick another town and another monster.” dean says.

you scoff. “no. first of all, i live here now, and secondly, i’m on my own. no partner needed.”

“you hunt alone? that’s a death sentence.”

“death is the only thing certain in life though you and your brother toe the line often--anyways, i’m not phased by it. hell or heaven, they’ll be lucky to have me.” neither of the boys have anything to say to that. sam keeps trying to angle his head just so, wanting to see all of the pages you’ve compiled and dean is staring straight at you, saying nothing. you clap your hands together, breaking up the silence. “want to compare notes or are you going to get the hell out of my house?”

neither winchester wanted to compare notes and so, you chased them out with various threats of violence. the eldest one had the gall to smirk and shout “goodluck!” before climbing into his beautiful ‘67 chevy impala.

—

the next time you see the brothers you’re in mortal danger. you're tied to a chair and bleeding all over the place--head swimming in regret and your own mistakes. if you were conscious enough to be embarrassed you would be. your neighbors, the sweet and unassuming old couple were actually long gone. dead and rotting. a pair of ghouls were wearing their bodies like meat suits and the gardening the old lady did every day like clockwork was her burying bones. they nabbed you while you were sleeping and you were a good fighter but with your limbs still heavy with exhaustion, were no match.

the rope was tight around you and it was stained crimson. they were taking turns biting off chunks of your flesh when the front door was kicked in and you could barely lift your head to see which brother had managed to break the door in just one go-- “impressive,” you acknowledged weakly. there was a struggle. you heard it but couldn’t track it with your eyes, not as they blurred and unfocused.

then you were being untied. you fell forwards and into strong arms. “hey. sweetheart, going to need you to stay conscious, yeah? not going to let a few ghouls be your end are ya?”

you shake your head ‘no’, and fight to keep your eyes open. “sammy!” dean shouts. “we need to get this bleeding stopped.” you’re passed to the taller winchester who puts pressure on the worst bite. dean starts talking to himself or his imaginary friend, cas. “cas you feathered fuck, hurry up!” he shouts to the sky and a moment later there's a ‘whoosh’ and a new hand is on you--on your forehead. light erupts but you only see white.

when you wake up you’re in a bed that isn’t your own--in a room that isn’t yours but that smells like leather, firewood, and vanilla? your face crinkles in confusion and you haul yourself into a sitting position, groaning. then, you notice the eldest winchester, dean, sitting in a chair across the room. he scoots closer to you looking you over to make sure that you’re alright.

“sorry about that,” you apologize. “can i, uh… is there anything i can do for you, your brother and… the angel?” you’re still unsure about that one, but hate owing people (or magical beings) more than you could ever articulate. “to repay you all for…”

“for saving your ass? yeah. there is.”

“okay…?” you’re hesitant.

“if you insist on hunting, don’t do it alone. not ever again. you can stick with us or go off on your own, but the second you find a case, you call me.” you agree easily. you’re alive and he isn’t making you clean toilets or sell your soul, he’s offering to help you.

you exchange numbers and then you’re off. you’ll keep your promise. probably…

[maccreadysbaby]

A Hundred Days to Become a Wayne

batfamily + oc insert

tw: abuse

wanna read more? here’s the table of contents!

part one

❝ PERFECTION ❞

TUESDAY — 10:56PM

THE QUIET MELODY OF FAKE LAUGHTER BUBBLED AND ECHOED THROUGH THE HALLS OF WHITTAKER ESTATE. It had long grown dark across the city of Drew, and the curtains of the downstairs sitting room had been pulled shut, as to keep their guests from taking notice of the exorbitant amount of time they’d spent gabbing about business with Bentley’s father.

The classically furnished room looked like one from Jane Eyre or The Great Gatspy — with intricate curtains and rugs, velvet furniture, deep mahogany walls and a crackling, real wood fireplace that was providing most of the dim light. The massive wooden doors had been clicked shut hours ago. 

Bentley’s father was perched professionally on a velvet chair that sat cockeyed toward the fireplace, swirling a small glass of amber liquid in his hand as he chuckled with his business associates. A man and woman — Bentley couldn’t tell if they were husband and wife or not — sat on an old loveseat across from his father with glasses of crimson wine. Both men in the room were dawning suits, complete with blazers and dress shoes, and the woman was wearing a tight red dress. 

The man had been doing most of the talking. The woman was more preoccupied with the small, ugly dog she had sticking out of her giant black purse that Bentley had seen his father wrinkle his nose at at least a dozen times. She kept patting it and kissing it and mumbling incoherently to it. The child was seriously surprised her deep red lipstick was still on her and not the dog.

Speaking of, the nine-year-old, Bentley, was seated on a little couch behind his father that was pressed against the wall. He was still in the sightline of the visitors, because having a son made his father’s image better (or something like that) and that’s where he was told to stay. He was wearing a white button up and dress pants just as his father had ordered, and his usually unruly, deep red waves were slicked back on his head by a hardy concoction of water, gel, and willpower. One of which was beginning to dwindle a little quicker than the others.

The clock above the fireplace indicated that they’d been speaking in the room for just shy of five hours. It was nearing eleven o’clock at night. His father had informed him beforehand that they’d be in that room until he closed the business deal they were coming for, which, at the pace it was going now, could last another five hours if they wanted it to. 

Bentley had spent most of those five hours staring at the woman and her funny looking little dog. He guessed it was a chihuahua, but it had a tuft of hair on its head that made it look more like a scraggly rat. And with the odd, rich-people hairdo the woman was sporting, they actually didn’t look too different.

But eventually, even that grew boring. Bentley would be lying if he said that he wasn’t both tired and marginally starving by now. Fortunately, the fireplace and conversation were loud enough to cover any protests his stomach was making from not eating since seven that morning. But unfortunately, no amount of crackle from the fireplace or mindless chatter could hide the fact that his eyelids were growing heavy. He’d stifled many yawns so far, probably a dozen, and he couldn’t help but wonder now much longer he’d have to sit there.

You stay right there until the meetings over, his father’s voice echoed in his head. He didn’t dare move or interrupt like he had last time.

He’d already made the mistake of interrupting a meeting a couple weeks ago — he felt really sick, and his natural response was to tell his father.

Alright. Let’s go to your room, I’ll return shortly — was what his father said in front of the associates.

But — can’t you see I’m doing more important things, Bentley? If you really are sick, stay away from me. And don’t you dare throw up anywhere but a bathroom — was what he said out of their earshot. Bentley spent four days sick by himself.

So this time, he was not going to make a mistake.

He’d been sitting up all straight and nice for… some of the meeting. The people weren’t paying much attention to him, so he let his posture slack a little over time. And it had been slacking and slacking until now, his knees were pulled up to his chest and his chin was resting on them. His father’s rule of no shoes on the furniture hadn’t slipped his mind, however, so his dress shoes were sitting nicely in the floor where he’d taken them off.

By the time the clock struck eleven, the room was fading in and out of blackness as sleep threatened to take him. It wasn’t the most uncomfortable position he’d ever slept in. In fact, it was just comfortable enough to coax him into the light slumber that had been taunting him for the past hour and a half.

But thankfully, his sleep was light enough for his ears to perk when the woman chuckled sweetly. “Aw, John… looks like your little helper got a bit sleepy. How sweet is that?” She cooed.

Ah, shoot. Bentley’s eyes snapped open, and he unraveled himself and slid his feet back into his shoes as quickly as he could, albeit being a bit disoriented from sleep. It wasn’t fast enough, though, because his father’s head had swiveled like that of an owl, and he was already scowling deeply at the boy.

“It seems as though he has,” He said in a level tone, despite his face remaining in an irritated, unamused state. “Let me take him up to bed.”

Bentley internally winced. He should’ve tried harder to stay awake. He was so stupid.

His father put his glass down and approached the couch, and Bentley had to use all his willpower not to shrink away. The man stopped ahead of him with nothing more than mere disdain painted on his features, but he reached out and gathered the nine-year-old up in his arms anyways.

It was nice. Or it would’ve been, if Bentley wasn’t afraid of what was coming next. For a moment, anyway, he was able to wrap his arms around his father’s neck and lay his head on his shoulder, to let him carry him out of the room and through the hallways of the estate and pretend everything was fine.

But as soon as they were out of earshot of his father’s company and in a dark hallway across the house, he dropped — yes, actually dropped — Bentley on the hardwood floor. The child made a loud thud, and a soft, tired whimper escaped him. Pain blossomed across his back and he fought the urge to cough from having the wind knocked out of him.

“Get up,” His father ordered sternly. Bentley pulled himself off the floor without a word. 

“How many times do we have to talk about you not embarrassing me during meetings? It’s always something with you. You’re tired, you’re hungry, you don’t feel good,” The man growled, and Bentley winced away from him, staring at the floor.

“I’m sorry,” He whispered, nearly inaudibly, bringing his hands up to wrap around his middle as some vague form of comfort. “I was really tired.”

He jumped when his father’s hand came in harsh contact with his face with a shrill thwack, staggering back a few steps. “Yeah? Well I’m really tired of your excuses.”

Bentley’s hand drifted up to his stinging cheek, and he only let his deep brown eyes flick up to the angry man for a split second. Then he stared at the floor again. “I’m sorry.”

His father moved toward him, and Bentley flinched away, but it didn’t stop him from latching onto the boy’s arm. “Come on.”

He was pulling Bentley behind him so quickly that he couldn’t seem to get his feet under him, and he stumbled around the corner into another dark hallway with an infamous white door at the end. There was a lock on the outside.

“No! Father, please… I promise I won’t do it again. I promise. Please don’t-“ Bentley pulled against his father’s grip, but that only got him jerked violently ahead, and his father’s grip tightened until it hurt.

“Quiet,” The man growled. He pulled the white door open as soon as they reached it, and he shoved Bentley inside without reproach. He slammed into the hard floor again, but his father showed no signs of regret. “If you can sleep during my meetings, you can sleep in here.”

His father shut and locked the door, leaving Bentley in a sea of pitch blackness.

“No! Father, please!” He lunged for the door when fear crashed over him like a tidal wave, frantically twisting the knob to no avail. His heart was pounding in his ears, and his breaths were growing short and quick. His eyes were darting everywhere but he couldn’t see. He couldn’t see.

He knew the room was only four-by-four, a small, empty utility closet. But he was still afraid of the dark.

“Father! I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”

After a few fruitless minutes of fighting with the knob, Bentley gave up, curling up in a little, trembling ball against the door. He flinched at the sound of something closing somewhere, then again when the house creaked, and again and again every time a new noise came. It was dark, and he was tired, and he was hungry, but he wasn’t going to sleep — he couldn’t sleep. Because then the monsters in the dark would come get him.

He wouldn’t be let out until sunrise, if he was lucky.

—

dedicating this story to @sassenashsworld, who encouraged me to post it! 💛

[glitterypin]

Harry the Best Friend update (with unnecessary background lore!)

Harry arrived precisely one hour later than he had originally estimated he would.

Apparently the traffic was horrible (we totally believe that, I've heard a dozen different people commenting that traffic in our city has been terrible for the past couple of weeks and my few excursions to the outside world confirm this).

There is a very specific "beep" Harry's car makes when he locks or unlocks it. My uncanny ability to hear it and recognize it at great distances has been a subject of discussion in the past. Essentially, the beep functions like a reverse homing beacon for me. I hear it, I get up and go stand by the door, within three minutes Harry shows up.

One time my ex and I were sitting at a cafe waiting for Harry and I very suddenly went "he's here" because I thought I heard the Beep. Two minutes later I thought I heard it again, so I said "no, wait, maybe that was it". My ex hadn't heard anything at all. Five minutes passed and Harry hadn't shown up yet, so I was forced to admit it was a fluke and sometimes a beep is just a beep and not necessarily The Beep. And then I heard it again but I was rather dejected to have been fooled twice so I was modest in my hope that maybe this time I got it right. Harry did show up three minutes later.

He had forgotten his jacket in the car and gone back for it. The Beep had sounded indeed three times.

So here I am, full of anticipation, waiting for the doorbell to ring, walking out to the balcony every now and then to see if maybe his car would appear in the corner of the street, wondering precisely how fucking bad can the traffic be after all and suddenly... The Beep.

A pavlovian reaction; the Beep brings a huge smile to my face. The Beep beeps twice more; he had forgotten to take the bag with my Christmas gift with him.

I go sit by the buzzer. And finally, he rings, I buzz him in and run to the front door and I'm on ground level so there's no more waiting time, it is over, I open the door and Harry is THERE! In the flesh!

We hug for a couple of minutes. Granted, we always hug when we meet. Never this long. At some point he tenses as if to pull away but I hold on to him and he relaxes again. I make a move to pull away and he holds me instead. So far the words we've exchanged are mostly our names, "ahhhhh", and "awwww".

And then it's just a normal evening with Harry, as if he hasn't been away for nearly four months. We drink tea. He tells me about his trip (it was bad, the overnight ship was crowded as fuck and he's only slept an hour and currently running on fumes. I feel sorry for him but I also feel a bit special that he's dragging his corpse all the way to my flat to see me even though he should be passing out somewhere comfortable instead.) I tell him about my week. We don't have proper "haven't seen you for four months" news because we talk on the phone and with video calls every weekend. We're also both saving the big stuff for another day. We don't talk about feelings and dawning realizations much. We hug a lot and that's the only concession to our time apart. We don't usually hug in the middle of hanging out. Half the time I sit on the bed next to him instead of in my desk chair.

I got him two Christmas mugs, which makes him laugh and exclaim something along the lines of "fucking yeah" - it's one of our longest running jokes, buying each other mugs. I have more mugs than any of my flatmates (my ex last year and now my brother) are comfortable with, to the point that if they are all washed, they do not fit in the cupboard. Harry only moved out of his parents' home last spring, so his cupboard still has room but he already owns more mugs than is sensible for a person living alone (several of which I got him myself). So, knowing that neither of us needs any more mugs and that if new mugs are to be added to our collections it ought to be mugs we really really want, every now and then we buy each other random mugs just to be annoying and laugh about it.

But anyway, he did complain about not having Christmas mugs (whereas I have five - two of which he got for me last year!), so I got him two. One of them has a silicon lid and he can take it with him in the car. The other one is Very Pretty, he loved it just like I knew he would. How nice to know someone's tastes so well.

I also got him a book. I haven't read it but I've read something else by the same writer and I have a feeling he'll enjoy his style. I asked him beforehand, I said "have you read anything by ..." and he said "no, but I think I would like him". So, the gift of the book isn't a surprise either but it's still appreciated.

He got me a mousepad that reads "I'm too pretty to work". Weirdly, I love it. I don't need a mousepad at home but it will be a good addition to my laptop bag because I've often found myself in offices where I've had to tape A4 papers on desks to get my mouse to work. And I appreciate the sentiment. I feel like it belongs with the mug my brother got me three years ago which read "it's not my fault I'm angry, it's your fault you're all stupid". Harry agrees that I'm building myself a profile there. Suddenly I'm even more eager to start working again.

He also got me a handmade lip balm that tastes like melomakarono, which is hilarious to me. It does smell like melomakarono (or at the very least any spicy winter-y biscuit), the taste on my lips is mostly cinnamon, though. I love it. The gift wrap includes two tiny novelty soaps, a sticker of an elk in a rocking chair with a blanket and a hot beverage, a funny postcard relevant to the island where he works and a smaller card that reads "hit me over and over 2025". The sticker is on the side of my bookcase (where all my other stickers are). The two cards are already taped on the wardrobe door. I'm turning 30 in five months and yet my room is suddenly beginning to look like a teenager lives here. That's alright.

Anyway, we get food and we make mulled wine but only drink half of it. My nephew is here and wants to show him something his teacher gave him at school. He's always been pretty good with my nephew when their paths crossed but now it's just effortless. (I haven't mentioned this but the job he went to the island for is elementary school music teacher. His entire job is dealing with kids around my nephew's age now. I laugh at the stories he brings. Sometimes I wonder how the fuck he manages it, I can't stand kids. He's relatively happy with it. He shows me videos of a bunch of seven year olds singing along to Deck The Halls. I can hear his voice in the background guiding them. I can't fucking believe the clown I went to middle school with is now a proper Teacher.)

We watch a video of a comedian he loves and I like. He has already seen it, it's been out since October and he's been waiting to come home and show it to me. We go out for a smoke a couple of times but the third time we both agree to skip it. We're both enjoying the illusion of making a healthy choice every time we decide to not smoke a cigarette. We both know it's an illusion. We've silently agreed to keep up the pretense.

There is some awkwardness. It feels like last he was here was yesterday but also like it's been years. It's been four months (three and a half actually) but these are very sensitive times for both of us, we are both at turning points in our lives. It scares me that we're not witnessing each other's changes up close but I have faith in our friendship and our honesty. Whatever happens, we're not losing each other - at least not now.

He leaves and for once I do not protest because I know he's tired (and I am, too, tbh). The goodbye hug also lasts longer than usual. We'll talk tomorrow. As soon as he starts making plans with everyone else we'll figure out where and when I can fill the gaps. He's promised to give me a haircut this week. He's stopping by on Christmas Day after the big family lunch. I've promised to go hang out at his place at least once. I try not to think about how many days are left 'till he's back on the island. He'll be back for the Easter holidays and maybe even in May for my birthday and then he'll be back at the end of June for the summer vacations and if we're lucky next September he'll get a teaching position in our city or at the very least somewhere closer than that island.

I didn't mean to write so much. But I guess I want to remember. I've been a lonely person my whole life, largely ignored and unloved by the people around me and Harry is a fairly cool, artsy extrovert. That he somehow ended up choosing this particular sack of wise turnips to be his best friend still amazes me when I think about it too hard. I'm very lucky to have him, he's the most reliable grounding force in my life and one of the very few people I can be totally myself around - even when myself is a pile of depressed garbage. (He's also lucky to have me, because he absolutely needs brutal unapologetic honesty in his life and I bring that to the table, wrapped in empathy and humour.)

Anyway. I could write twice as much and keep going, there's a lot of lore here, we've known each other for fifteen years now. But I'll stop. Other opportunities will arise to talk about Harry, I'm sure.

[aylacavebear]

She Thought She was Normal

Story Summary: Maria really thought she was normal, for most of her life. It was normal for people to have natural talent, she would tell herself the older she got. Many things came easy for her, and that was probably how their rivalry began when she was five and he was seven and she met the Winchesters. Little did either of them know that it wouldn't stay like that forever, both having a far larger destiny than they could imagine

Word Count: 3878

Please don't take my work. I'll post warnings for each chapter. Will eventually be 18+!

Warnings: Mention & Insinuations of Sex, some angst, Cussing, Tattoo, Highly Sensitive Person (HPS) discovery for OC

----------------------------------------- Chapter 15

Over the next couple of days, things seemed to fall into some sort of routine for the five of them. Dean and Maria didn’t avoid each other, but they’d gotten verbally snarky with each other.

There was more than one occasion where someone would have to remind them to be civil to each other, which they did. When Dean’s phone rang on that third day near noon, he begrudgingly answered it.

“Hello?” he groaned, annoyed at the last comment Maria had made.

“So, where I am supposed to meet someone? I’m in Lebanon,” the man on the other end said.

“Dad?” Dean asked, sitting up in his chair.

“Yeah son,” John told him, and Dean could tell that the man was smiling.

“Meet me at the diner in town,” Dean told him, smiling a little himself.

The other four looked at him, but he didn’t say anything, just grabbed his jacket and keys before he left, leaving them wondering what had been said. They had a vague idea as to the gist of the call, John had made it, finally. They’d still been looking for a way to kill Azazel, wanting to do more than just send the demon back to hell. If they just sent him back to hell, he could just come back to earth to possess a different person, starting his antics all over again. 

An hour later, Dean and John pulled into the garage. John was impressed and Dean was smiling, happily as the two made their way into the war room, then the library, “So, I hear you have some intel on yellow-eyes. Dean wouldn’t tell me anything till we were here,” John said as he stood at the end of the tables in the library.

“Nice to see you too Uncle John,” Maria chuckled.

John chuckled a little in return, a bit uneasy seeing Sam, and the girl next to him, remembering how the two had parted ways a few years back, “I’m just glad you’re okay. You went off radar for a while.”

She smirked, “I wasn’t the only one,” she replied a bit sassy.

“I had my reasons,” John replied.

“Yeah, so did I,” she retorted back.

Damn the girl had gotten mouthy, but he couldn’t help but smirk and chuckle a little, “Alright. So, what’s the news?” he asked.

“His name is Azazel, and he’s a night of hell, or a prince of hell, depending on the lore,” Sam explained.

“Oh, and we’re all getting tattoos,” Jess added.

John ignored the part about the tattoos, “Any luck on finding a way to kill him?” John asked, more serious than before.

“Not that we found yet,” Bobby told him.

“I might be able to help on that front then,” John said, smiling a little.

That got all their attention, “We’re all ears,” Bobby said, and they were all hopeful at this point.

“There’s a legend, or at least that was what I thought it was. A Colt. Back in eighteen thirty-five, when Haley’s comet was overhead, same night those men died at the Alamo, they say Samuel Colt made a gun. A special gun. He made it for a hunter. A man like us, only on horseback. The story goes, he made thirteen bullets. This hunter, used the gun a half dozen times before he disappeared, the gun along with him. They say this gun, can kill anything,” John explained.

“Kill anything like supernatural anything?” Dean asked.

“Yeah. I think I might have tracked it down, to a hunter who might have it,” John replied.

All of them were hopeful at this point, “Tattoos first, then we’ll work on getting it,” Maria said, feeling hopeful for the first time since she’d learned the demon’s name.

“I’m not getting a tattoo,” John chuckled.

“If I have to get one, so do you John,” Bobby grumbled.

Maria grabbed the book with the anti-possession sigil in it, showed it to John, and explained the importance of it. John was not happy but also knew that it was a good way to protect all of them. When Maria saw the comprehension cross John’s face, she smiled, triumphantly. 

“Alright kid, you win. When we doin' this?” John asked, still not keen on getting a tattoo.

“I’ll set it up for tomorrow, give you some time to settle in,” Maria replied, proudly as she moved into the war room to make the phone call.

Dean gave John the tour while Maria made the call, setting it up for when they opened, at nine the following day. Jess had already talked her into getting the tattoo in the same place that she was. Dean and Sam had opted for their chest, near their heart. Bobby on the other hand had decided on his back, over his shoulder, which John would also choose. Maria pulled out chicken for dinner, letting it defrost in the sink until it was time to cook, in a few hours. She felt more than hopeful now. They knew the demon’s name, and now, there might be a way to kill it. They’d also found a summoning spell in one of the books, plus, they had a dungeon to hold the demon in.

Maria was humming to herself as she moved around the kitchen, gathering what she would need for dinner when Dean stopped in his tracks in the doorway, Before she could look over at him though, John moved past him into the kitchen, looking around. That pulled Dean to his senses, putting on that cool guy facade again. John was thoroughly impressed with the bunker.

“To think, Will kept this a secret,” John said quietly, still in awe.

“He was a Men of Letters, or was until before I was born,” Maria said without turning from her task of putting spices on the counter for the chicken.

“Looks like I’ve got a lot to catch up on,” John chuckled.

“Well, I’m gonna get dinner started and can fill you in, if you want,” Maria suggested, “Unless of course, Dean already filled you in,” she said that last part with a smirk as she glanced over at him, letting him know she knew he was there.

He rolled his eyes before he went back into the library, annoyed. John sat down at the kitchen table, “So, what’s up between you two? Still rivals?” he asked, bemused. John knew how Dean felt about her, but it wasn’t his place to bring it up.

“He’s a jerk and yes, we’re still rivals,” she replied plainly, which made John chuckle.

Maria explained what her father had told her in the letter she’d found on her pillow that first day, leaving out the weird stuff about her, that she still hadn’t gotten around to facing. John was fairly impressed and decided it might be nice to have a place to call home again. The thought of being able to be rid of the demon who had killed his wife more than two decades ago had been his only goal since then, even if he had wanted more for his boys than this kind of life.

“I heard about what happened between you and Sam. There’s still time to patch things up,” she suggested as she put the chicken in the oven and turned to look at him.

“That kind of thing works both ways,” he told her.

“So, be the bigger person and understand he’s an adult,” she replied bluntly.

John chuckled a little at her bluntness, “After we take out yellow-eyes. How’s that sound?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

She crossed her arms over her chest, “If it were me, I’d do it before. You never know how long you have, being a hunter. It’s not like those that have gone up against Azazel have survived,” she told him, making a point he couldn’t find an argument to.

He took a deep breath and sighed, looking at the table in front of him, “That was a low blow, but I’ll let you have that one, and… I’ll think about it. That’s the best you’re gonna get,” he said quietly.

Maria shook her head and got busy peeling potatoes, annoyed at how stubborn John was, which Dean had clearly gotten from him, although, in a way, so had Sam. John went to the garage and grabbed his bag before looking for a room to at least sleep in for the night. He was still debating staying there, especially with the unspoken conflict between him and Sam. Maria waited till she was working on the gravy before she hollered for Sam, who looked confused when he entered the kitchen.

“What’s up SIs?” he asked her.

She didn’t look over at him, not right away, “You and your dad, you two can patch things up,” she told him.

“Sis…” he said, not wanting to have this conversation.

“I’m serious Sam,” she stated as she turned around, “It might take being the bigger person for once, letting shit go. I know you don’t hate him and you’d be devastated if he died, so don’t lie to me,” she stated, narrowing her eyes a bit, then sighed, “We’re going up against Azazel. He killed both my parents, your mom, and who knows who else he is gonna try to kill to get to us. All I’m saying is that… you have an opportunity, to have a better relationship with your dad, just in case.”

He said nothing, just absorbed her words. She had a point and part of him hated that. Sam grabbed a beer out of the fridge before he went back into the library, lost in his thoughts. Her words had hit him fairly hard. Neither Jess nor Bobby pushed him. They could tell he needed time to think, even if they had no idea what was going through his head.

Dinner came and went and the six of them sat in the library, drinking and sharing stories again. Jess and Maria were looking forward to getting their tattoos in the morning. The guys though, not so much. The girls showered after dinner, shaving their nether regions so that the tattoo could only be barely visible above their jean line, leaving plenty to the imagination of how far down it would go. Maria was having second thoughts about where she had agreed to get the tattoo but knew there was no backing out of it now. 

In the morning, the girls dressed in loose-fitting sweats and went commando for the tattoo, none of the guys knew. Well, Sam knew about Jess’s, but not Maria’s. She was keeping that to herself. Maria found Jess in the kitchen, up just as early as she was, the coffee pot had just finished.

“This is gonna be so much fun,” Jess told her excitedly.

“I’m not sure I can go through with this,” she replied nervously as she poured herself a cup of coffee.

“Oh come on, don’t wimp out on me now.” Jess pouted.

Maria groaned a little as she sat down across from her, “It’s just… that’s a really sensitive area, that’s all.”

“Yeah, but if you ever end up with a guy, he’ll find it hot as hell. Trust me,” she winked with an insinuating tone.

She rolled her eyes, “I don’t have time for a guy.” Jess chuckled, “Maybe after this whole demon business is done, you might,” she said optimistically.

Again she groaned at the thought. She had spent her entire life being a hunter and wasn’t sure if she’d be able to stop doing it after Azazel was taken care of. She really didn’t know anything else. The guys joined the two of them almost an hour later, looking a little nervous, which made the girls chuckle.

-----------------------------------------

Dean almost burst through the door when he heard Maria let out a pained, quiet scream that sounded also like a groan. He’d already gotten his tattoo and it was tender, but he wasn’t letting on. The girls had been behind that closed door for almost a half hour now and the brothers were trying not to worry. Sam was smiling though, knowing where Jess was getting her tattoo and he couldn’t wait to go exploring to see it all. 

“Remind me to never let that girl talk me into something like this again,” John groaned, joining his sons in the lobby area of the tattoo parlor.

“What’s the matter Dad, don’t plan on getting any more tattoos?” Dean teased him with a smirk.

He ignored that as he joined their gaze on the closed door, “Those two still in there?” he asked.

“Yeah. Sounds like wherever they’re getting theirs, it’s tender,” Dean answered, trying not to sound concerned.

“They’ll be fine,” John chuckled.

Just as Bobby joined them, the door opened. Jess was laughing while Maria was glaring at her a bit, “I’m never letting you talk me into something like that again,” Maria told Jess, feeling the skin where her tattoo was burning a bit, which was normal.

“Just put that burn cream on it like the lady said and you’ll be fine, baby,” Jess teased her before she went over and had an intimate moment with Sam, not even caring that the others were there, “Can’t wait to show you later,” she whispered in his ear.

“Looking forward to it,” Sam smirked.

Dean just rolled his eyes but the adults chuckled. John realized how much his youngest son loved that woman and that was enough for him to decide to be the bigger person and put the past aside. 

“I’m so glad I didn’t drive here,” Maria groaned.

“Rethinking the whole tattoo thing?” Dean teased her as he smirked.

“Shut up,” she growled before she went outside.

The others just chuckled to themselves as Dean found her response amusing. There were only a couple options for driving back, Dean’s Impala or Bobby’s little beat-up car, neither of which were appealing to Maria at the moment. They joined her outside moments later, all of them but Dean went to Bobby’s beat-up car, leaving her to sit with Dean. She glared at Sam who just shrugged with a smirk before he got in Bobby’s car.

“Looks like you’re riding with me sweetheart,” Dean smirked.

Maria looked more than annoyed but got into the passenger seat and crossed her arms, doing her best not to slam the door of the Impala. The car hadn’t done anything wrong and she didn’t want to take her annoyance out on it.

“Don’t call me that,” she said somewhat coldly when he got in the driver’s seat.

Dean made a mental note of her reaction. He figured if he couldn’t talk to her normally, he’d at least find ways of annoying her. It wasn’t the attention he wanted but it was amusing nonetheless, “Alright Sweetheart,” he told her, that damned smirk plastered on his lips again.

Maria didn’t even look at him as she attempted to sit so that the sweats she was wearing didn’t rub against her tattoo. However, the moment he started driving, she felt every bump in the road and made plans not to leave her room when they got back until her tattoo healed. She couldn’t even understand how Jess wasn’t bothered or in pain, let alone had made plans to be intimate with Sam that same night. Give her demons, werewolves, vampires, even ghouls any day of the week, but a tattoo in a very sensitive area and she turned into a baby. She put on a hard outer shell though, not wanting to let Dean see that she was weak.

“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours,” Dean told her with a smirk as he drove down the one-lane paved road.

She looked out the passenger window, arms still crossed over her chest, “No,” she replied, flatly, but annoyed.

That made Dean raise an eyebrow, more curious than ever about where she’d gotten hers, “What’s the matter, not up for a little show and tell?” 

“Drop it, Dean,” she told him in a low growl, which only made him chuckle.

The moment he parked, she was out of the car before he could even turn off the engine, grabbing two beers before she locked herself in her room. Maria carefully slipped out of her sweats and grabbed one of her oversized shirts out of her dresser, changing into it. However, the bottom portion of it brushed against the tattoo, causing her to push her ass backward before grabbing the shirt to hold it off of her.

“Never again,” she grumbled as she sat down on her bed, carefully. 

Maria put some of the burn cream on it that the tattoo artist had given her, which gave some much-needed relief. The tattoo artist also explained that Maria was more sensitive than most, so it would probably cause her more discomfort than her friend. She popped the beer and took a decent drink out of it when she heard a knock on her door.

“You okay in there?” Jess asked her, trying not to chuckle as Sam was behind her, kissing along her neck.

“I’ll be fine, but I’m never doing that again,” Maria grumbled.

“You gonna come out of there?” Sam asked her.

“No,” Maria replied flatly.

“Dean’s cooking tonight. He’s making burgers. So, at least come out long enough to eat,” Sam chuckled as Jess teased her fingers along his back.

“Would you two just go get a room already and let me be,” Maria groaned, leaning back on the headboard.

“Stop being a baby about this. The tattoo was your idea,” Sam told her, doing his best not to chuckle at her behavior.

“It may have been my idea but your girlfriend out there is nuts and I’ll never let her talk me into anything again,” she grumbled.

All that did was make the two laugh as they walked to their room, leaving Maria to lick her wounds. She could take a beating from a monster but that tattoo had hurt more than any wound she’d ever experienced before. At least the burn cream was helping a little. 

Dean couldn’t resist retrieving her himself. He really wanted to know where she’d gotten her tattoo. Once he was done cooking, he knocked on her door, “Dinner’s ready Sweetheart,” he told her with a smirk as he leaned against the wall next to her door.

“Go away Dean,” she groaned.

“Come on, it’s just a little tattoo,” he pushed.

She could hear the cockiness in his tone and it was annoying her, “Just leave me a plate outside my door,” she grumbled.

“If Jess can come out to eat, so can you,” he teased her, which pissed her off.

The moment she stood up, her shirt brushed against her tattoo, and she inhaled deeply as a pained groaned escaped her lips, “You’re an ass, you know that,” she snapped at him as she carefully slid her sweats back on.

“And you’re being a baby,” he quipped.

“Fuck you,” she muttered under her breath before she unlocked and opened her door. Seeing him there with that smug look and a smirk to match made her want to hit him.

“Awe, what’s the matter Sweetheart?” he asked, more to annoy her than anything.

She pushed him so that his back was against the wall as she forced herself to walk normally, not wanting to give him more ammunition to annoy her. He just laughed a little before he followed her, wondering why she had to look that good in sweats. The others were already sitting at the kitchen table. Maria barely kept the grimace off her face as she sat down, adjusting quickly so her sweats and thighs weren’t touching her tattoo, at all. Most of them caught it and chuckled silently, mostly because getting the tattoo was her idea.

“You alright there kid?” Bobby asked her, raising an eyebrow, sounding amused.

“I’m fine,” she answered, shortness in her tone, which made Dean smirk again.

“Leave her alone Dean,” John told him, noticing the smirk.

“What?” Dean asked innocently as he sat down on the other side of the table.

She glared at him, almost daring him to say something or look at her the wrong way. Due to the burn, she was ready to go off on him. John just gave Dean a look before they all served themselves. Jess found her discomfort hilarious, knowing it would only last a few days while it healed. Whether Maria wanted to admit it or not, Dean was a really good cook. She kept the annoyed look throughout dinner, not giving him the satisfaction of a compliment on the meal. There was some conversation but she stayed out of it, tuning it out due to the burning that had returned to her tattoo. It was quite the turn of events since when they were younger, he had been the one refusing the compliments on her cooking.

“You gonna help clean up?” Sam asked Maria, his face contorting a bit as he did his best to attempt to keep from smiling, let alone laughing. Jess had told him where Maria had gotten her tattoo.

Maria glared at him so badly that if looks could kill, he would have been dead ten times over. That was when Dean lost it laughing. Luckily Maria was done eating. With every ounce of stubbornness she had left, she got up and stomped off to her room, not even flinching at how badly her tattoo burned. It wasn’t until her door was locked behind her that she almost crumbled, carefully removing her sweats before sitting back on her bed as she had before, applying more of the burn cream. A sigh of relief left her lips as she leaned her head back on the headboard.

The way they had messed with her was just how their family was. It was all in fun. She was more annoyed at herself for being so sensitive down there than anything, something she wouldn’t have known without the tattoo experience. She also vowed to never again let Jess talk her into anything else like this, ever again. Maria glanced at the book on her night table. She hadn’t moved it since the night she had set it there and debated reading it. She had no plans of leaving her room anyway, not until her tattoo healed more first. 

“Not tonight,” she sighed quietly before climbing under covers.

That was when she realized that sleeping was going to be an even bigger issue for her. How was she supposed to even get comfortable and not let anything touch that spot? Then she remembered the little bit of gauze the tattoo artist had given her for the first night. She carefully climbed out of bed and pulled it out of her sweatpants pocket. Maria applied a little more of the ointment before applying the gauze bandage, sighing at the feeling of relief. Maria had been too distracted by the pain to remember everything that the tattoo artist had told her and hadn’t been in the mood to ask Jess. She wasn’t in the mood now either, but planned on asking her in the morning, or whenever she rolled out of bed.

----------------------------------------- Chapter 16

Tag List: @deans-spinster-witch @kazsrm67

Link to the master list for this story.

[sweetjuniperandboiledsatan]

Chapter 29 – Further Questions of Female Suffrage

Full story here: Not a Doctor, Not an Angel Either Rating: M Pairing: John Marston x F!Reader; Javier Escuella x F!Reader Word count: 39,387 Chapters: 29/41 Warnings: Sexual content, mention of alcohol and cigarettes, blood, violence

In the past few weeks you've spent with Sadie, she had told you repeatedly that you wouldn't truly learn unless you've seen action, and each time she brought it up, you easily dismissed the notion, thinking it might have just been her own version of tough love. You've never given it much thought, really—until now.

You found yourself a couple of miles away from Shady Belle, taking cover behind a boulder, its rough texture pressing against your fingers. The midday sun blazed overhead as Sadie cautiously surveyed the clearing ahead. She informed you casually that there may be about a dozen or more Lemoyne Raiders that had set up a camp there.

You fumbled with your Colt revolver, your hands slightly trembling with apprehension. "I've never shot anyone, Sadie," you muttered as you tried to wrap your head around the reality of the situation. "I've never killed anyone. I don't think I ever can!"

You have desperately tried to explain to her that target practice and taking down the occasional deer were already more than enough, considering before all these, the mere recoil of a gun would send you staggering backward. Now that you could manage to hit a bottle or two out of five in a row, you'd like to believe your lessons were already over, and she had taught you everything you could possibly learn.

Today, however, Sadie had a point to make – as far as she was concerned, lessons weren't over yet.

"Listen, darlin'," Sadie said reassuringly, "I get that this ain't what you signed up for, but sometimes, life deals us a hand we never expected. We ain't lookin' for trouble, but if it comes our way, we need to be ready."

You stole a glance at your Colt, its metal glinting brightly in the sun. You felt your heart pounding relentlessly. The thought of aiming your weapon at another human being sent shivers down your spine, but then you firmly reminded yourself why you were here in the first place.

The only reason why you asked for this crazy woman's help was so you could stop feeling sorry for yourself. You've been so weak and helpless all this time. Perhaps knowing how to fight back could've made all the difference that day your father was killed, or when the Braithwaites took Jack or even the last time you went face to face with your father's murderer.

"You're gonna be just fine. I got your back," she said, gently placing a hand on your shoulder. Her eyes remained fixed on the makeshift tents ahead.

Drawing in a shaky breath, you whispered more to yourself than anyone else, "Alright. Fuck. FUCK. Let's do this."

Sadie's plan was straightforward (at least to her, anyway). Given the odds you faced, your best bet would be to approach the camp quietly. Sadie would take the offensive, eliminating any stragglers on the outskirts, as you provided cover. As you get closer, you were to stay low, keep an eye out for any Raiders, and keep covering fire as she maneuvered.

"You see any one of 'em, you point and shoot," Sadie instructed. There was no room for hesitation. She reminded you – just aim, shoot, and keep her alive.

As the two of you braced yourself for the attack, you heard the bushes behind you rustle, causing your heart to leap into your throat. You swivelled around, Colt at the ready.

"Woah, woah, woah, easy there, partner!" Javier whispered. You've shot him once accidentally, and he had no intention whatsoever of going through that again. Arthur was with him. The pair approached you and Sadie, and now, all four of you were huddled together in a rather humorous display of caution.

Arthur leaned in, whispering just loud enough for the group, "We were out fishing and saw you ladies headin' this way. Armed like that, sure didn't seem like a goddamned Sunday picnic you were planning on." Arthur said.

"So what's the plan?" Javier chimed in enthusiastically, rubbing his hands together.

Sadie shook her head at the audacity but instantly realised that a significant advantage had just presented itself. She leaned in closer to you, "Seems like we've got ourselves an impromptu raiding party, darlin'. The more, the merrier, I s'pose. I don't want you getting killed on your first rodeo, and with these two around, we'll have some extra insurance."

She looked at your faces and decisively directed, "Javier, you're with me. Arthur, you're with [Y/N]."

With that settled, you and Arthur swiftly moved to a huge tree, giving you a vantage point over the Lemoyne Raiders' camp. The heat was stifling, but the intensity of the upcoming confrontation made the air feel even heavier. The tree was a little further from the action, but it provided enough cover for both of you.

Arthur readied his revolvers. Every so often, his gaze flitted to you, but you purposely averted your eyes. You clutched your weapon tighter, your palms slick with sweat.

"What? We still ain't talking?"

Taking a moment, you replied, "Just make sure I don't end up dead, Mr. Morgan, and we can call it even."

A faint smirk played on his lips, but his eyes remained serious. "Don't you worry none, I ain't gonna let that happen," he whispered, his voice steady. You found his seemingly calm demeanour, like he'd been through this dance a million times before, both comforting and slightly disconcerting.

Sadie made the first move, expertly dispatching two unsuspecting Raiders who had ventured dangerously close to her spot (most probably to take a piss). Gunshots broke immediately after, the acrid scent of the gunpowder filling the air. That was your signal. Arthur and Javier followed suit, making every bullet count as they maneuvered through the Raiders' camp.

For you, however, time seemed to stand still as the sounds of the battle overwhelmed you – the pop and crack of firearms and the desperate cries of each Raider they've successfully taken down. 'Move! Damn it, move! Just point and shoot, that's all!' But no matter how much you berated yourself, your feet remained rooted to the ground.

Arthur was already a few paces ahead. He turned around to check if you were right behind him. His eyes widened with concern when he noticed you weren't advancing. 

"Move, [Y/N], now!" he urged you in desperation, momentarily letting his guard down.

Then you saw it. As your partner grew increasingly distracted by your inaction, he had failed to notice a Raider creeping up, his weapon raised. He had Arthur dead to rights. Without thinking, instincts taking over, you aimed your Colt and fired – pop! Pop! The bullets hit the Raider just as he was about to pull the trigger on Arthur. The man fell, a surprised expression on his face as he crumpled to the ground.

Arthur looked at you, stunned. "Nice shot!" He called out, a sense of relief and admiration in his voice. "Now get over here!"

The fight continued around you, and there was no time to dwell on the life you had just taken. With each subsequent shot and move you made, you found your rhythm, your reactions sharpening as the minutes passed. Arthur, meanwhile, never strayed too far from your side. He fought fiercely, but every so often, his eyes would search for you amidst the chaos, making sure you were safe.

The hideout was slowly cleared, and as the last Raider fell, a tense silence settled over your surroundings. You looked at your companions. Their faces were smeared with dirt and sweat, a few scratches and bruises here and there, but alive, nonetheless.

Sadie clapped you on the back, "You did good out there."

As you prepared for the journey home, the adrenaline from the fight began to ebb away, and you felt a sharp, persistent pain on the side of your abdomen. You had dismissed it at first, but the pain and discomfort only grew more pronounced.

"Hey, you alright?" Javier asked, noticing the discomfort you were in. Reluctantly, you lifted your shirt, revealing its source. Your face drained of colour as you saw the dark stain on the clothing, the vivid red of fresh blood.

Sadie's eyes widened with alarm, and Arthur was quick to approach. "Dammit." He muttered under his breath.

"It looks like it just grazed you," Sadie observed – she was right. The wound appeared to be superficial, most likely a bullet grazing your side rather than penetrating deeply – a stroke of luck, you thought, realising that should you have stood inches away from your spot earlier, you would've been pretty much dead by now.

Still, you knew that even seemingly minor wounds could turn serious if left untreated. With trembling hands, you pressed a cloth against the wound, applying gentle pressure to slow the bleeding. The pain was sharp.

Javier watched with concern. "You're gonna be alright," he assured you. "It's not too bad. We need to get you home and patch you up."

*

Back at the camp, the four of you made quite the sight. With your arm draped over Javier's shoulders for support, you leaned heavily on him while Sadie took the lead, guiding your unsteady steps toward your tent. Arthur followed close from behind. The commotion drew the attention of several gang members, who watched in curious concern. Dutch and Hosea stood from their seats on the veranda, their eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

"It's fine. I can do this." You tried to convince them. But they were having none of it.

Sadie gave you a stern look, her eyes unyielding. "You ain't in any condition to be actin' tough," she stated matter-of-factly.

Javier gently cut you off. "Stop being stubborn." He helped you inside, carefully setting you down on the bedroll. The dim interior was a stark contrast to the dying light outside. His eyes constantly darted from your face to the injury on your side. You began to instruct him, but your voice came out weaker than you had anticipated.

"Javier... get my bag," you whispered, grimacing from the pain.

He quickly did as he was told. As he started cleaning the wound, he looked up, his dark eyes searching yours for assurance. He tried to be gentle, but his uncertainty was evident.

"Easy there," you whispered, wincing slightly when he accidentally pressed a bit too close to the wound.

Javier's eyes widened in alarm. "Lo siento," he whispered apologetically. "I'm trying to be careful, but..."

"It's okay. Just listen, and I'll tell you what to do." Despite the pain, you gave him a small, reassuring smile.

Outside the tent, you could hear the faint murmurs of Sadie and Arthur's conversation, occasionally glancing inside to see how you were doing.

"Ain't' too bad for your first time, huh." Arthur quipped, peeking into the tent and handing you a flask of whiskey. You took a swig, the fiery liquid providing temporarily relief as it dulled the biting sting of your injury. You exhaled deeply, savouring the brief reprieve as Javier diligently tended to your wound.

"What the hell happened?!" John's voice was agitated, jolting you from your moment of respite, as he pushed past Arthur and Sadie to get a look at you. His eyes locked onto the wound, then Javier's hands, covered in your blood. His face contorted in anger and worry, and his eyes met yours for a brief moment. but it felt more like an eternity.

You did tell him last night you’d talk today, but you purposefully went out with Sadie (although at that point, you were oblivious to what she had planned all along) using it as a convenient excuse to avoid him.

"We got her, John," Arthur assured him, indicating that now might not be the best time for too many questions.

***