#the real issue is NOT falling asleep in a moving vehicle | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

whump-a-la-mode · 3 years ago

Note

Could you do a story where the villain tries to break into the hero’s house but finds them barely conscious (broken ribs maybe) and they decide to help them? Idk if you’ve done smtg similar, sorry

Ooh, this is a fun one! There’s more story here than real caretaking, but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless. Thank you so much for the prompt!

CW//Strong language, implied violence against children, injuries

When that week had begun, Villain would have been lying if they had said that kidnapping a hero was on the very top of their to-do list. In fact, it was so low on their list of priorities that was little more than a contingency plan. A vague idea. There were far more useful things they could do than stooping to the level of their adversaries and taking captives.

That had been at the start of the week, however. When Villain’s life wasn’t a complete disaster. They’d started their Monday morning with a cup of coffee and a pile of plans to carry out.

None of them had included staking out in the bushes outside the home of a particular Hero. But, here they were, stalking through undergrowth, picking up burrs on their clothes all the way.

Now, those plans had been tossed in the nearest wastepaper bin. This was of a far greater importance.

The heroes were cruel. No villain in the city would dispute that point. There was no level to which they would hesitate to stoop, from kidnapping to bioweaponry to manipulation.

But a child? A child should have been off limits. A child was innocent, far too young to be involved in the waged conflicts surrounding them. It was why Villain had never wanted a Sidekick in the first place. When the kid approached them, though, they knew that refusal wasn’t an option. The poor thing was washed up, on the brink of falling into a far worse world. In desperate need of a wing to be taken under.

Sidekick was just a kid. Villain was mentoring them, training them, nothing more. They could hardly fight, much less win any conflict they found themself thrown into. They were far more of a civilian than they were any sort of threat.

And the heroes had taken them. Driven up alongside them and tossed them into the back of a van. A kid, Villain’s kid, now sat in a cell somewhere, in hero custody. A child turned into a bargaining chip.

The only problem with that? Villain had nothing to offer in return. The heroes knew that full well. That was why they’d taken the kid in the damn first place.

They wanted Villain. Sidekick’s release in exchange for their imprisonment.

It was a deal that was simply untenable. As much as the idea of their own captivity horrified them, it would bring along with it another consequence: Sidekick would have no one to go to.

They simply couldn’t go along with it. They needed their own bargaining chip, their own cash in the pile.

Hero was going to be that chip.

In a way, to them, it was revenge as much as it was strategy. Hero was the only one of the heroes that Villain had ever truly interacted with. They were young as well, only a new inductee into the ranks of the protectors of the city. That meant, too, that they were weak.

It had been easier than Villain had expected, to find the home address of one of the city’s heroes. But, so it turned out, just about information could be bought and sold from any number of unscrupulous street characters-- for the right price, of course.

And, here they were. With heavy, clomping steps, they approached the back of Hero’s home. Their uniform and mask covered nearly every inch of their expression, blending them into the shadows and grass they moved through.

A few hours prior, they’d scouted out the building, making note of a second-story window that never seemed to lock quite right. Of course, most of the time, this wouldn’t be an issue-- no criminal would be bold enough to hook a ladder all the way up there.

But Villain didn’t need a ladder.

With a hop, skip, and a jump, solid ground disappeared from beneath them. It wasn’t flight, per se, but diving deeper into the logistics of levitation bored most. What mattered was that, to Villain, gravity was no deterrent.

Now at the height of the window, they hooked their fingers under it. They cringed as the frame let out a terrible screeching noise, their heart lunging between their lungs. Dammit, dammit, dammit!

But, from within the bedroom, there was no reaction; aside from a low, exhausted groan. Was Hero asleep? It certainly sounded like it. They supposed that that was why they had decided to make their attack in the middle of the night.

Gritting their teeth, Villain pushed the window open the rest of the way, siddling their body through and collapsing upon the crumbling carpet below.

Another groan.

“Mom?”

Villain stiffened as they scrambled to first their knees, then their feet. The bedroom was standard, in most ways. A bed, a dresser, a closet with a single broken, dangling from a single nail.

And a hero. Hero laid upon the bed, covers tossed off of their body and to the floor. One of their arms was folded so as to cover their eyes, all while yet another groan escaped their body.

As the villain approached the edge of the footrest, they could not help but taste the choking sensation of a trap. Had their accomplice sold them out? Had Hero seen them during their scouting mission? There was no way they had slept through all this!

But, this wasn’t sleep. No. Sleeping people did not twitch painfully in their unconsciousness.

They dared take a step closer, examining their incapacitated target. Their shirt had been pulled up, nearly to their chest, as though they had been desperately trying to cool themself down. Or... Or to relieve the pain of an injury.

From their naval to their chest, and likely beyond, though it was covered by their shirt, their skin had turned a deep, flushed, blue color. The edges of the bruises, in certain places, had even begun to turn sickly green and purple colors.

Villain knew broken ribs when they saw them. They knew for a fact that they were not the one to have inflicted these wounds. Hell, they hadn’t faced the hero in battle in nearly a month!

So who had?

When they had entered the home, they had had no thoughts in their mind besides those of their child. The hostage video the heroes had sent them, in which Sidekick shivered in a lonely, cold cell.

Now- Now they had two people to worry about. Certainly the heroes had their own doctors, didn’t they? No doctor worth their salt would leave a patient in this condition, especially not alone!

“Hey.” Villain’s stomped their foot. “Get up, you deft ass. I’m trying to kidnap you.”

Hero’s arm lazily flopped onto the bed as their eyes fluttered open.

Every muscle in their body tensed, making the bruises on their exposed stomach twist and flex.

“What the absolute- Villain?” They shifted, as though they were about to sit up-- but they did not. Instead, they lay only groaning on the bed. “Get out of my house, you piece of shit! Get out! You shouldn’t be here in the first place!”

Villain knew that voice like a ringtone. That undertone of terror, masked by layers and layers of fury, like a canine’s medication hidden in peanut butter.

“You’re beat up halfway to hell.”

“And you’re going to be if you don’t leave my house!”

The villain raised a brow, dropping their hands to the side.

“Go for it. I’ll give you a free shot, even.”

Hero narrowed their eyes, twitching once more on the bed, but moving no more than that.

“I said, hit me, you damn do-gooder.”

“I’m not stooping to your level.” Hero defended hastily.

“It seems more to me.” Villain placed one threatening hand upon the bed-- not touching their foe, but close enough. “Like you’re a bit stuck. Like your abdomen is so fucked that you can’t so much as sit yourself up.”

“More like I’m not wasting my energy one someone as low as you.”

“Isn’t that your whole job?”

Hero gritted their teeth.

“What in the hell do you want?”

“Unimportant, at least for now.” A shark encircling its prey, Villain moved to the side of Hero’s bed, forcing them to turn their head at an awkward side angle in order to see their attacker. “I think the most important thing, right about now, is getting you to the nearest medic.”

“I don’t need an ambulance.”

“I didn’t say you did.”

And, like that, the Hero was hoisted up into their enemy’s arms. Their injuries minimized their thrashing, leaving them as a rather compliant captive.

“I have some medic friends who would just love to know what in the hell happened to you.” Villain turned, beginning to head out the door. Their vehicle was parked at only a few block’s distance. “They don’t treat heroes often, but, right about now, you don’t look like too much of a hero to me.”

“What do you want from me?”

“I was just getting there, wasn’t I? We’re getting my damn kid back.”

“We?”

“Did I stutter?”

#hero whumpee #villain caretaker #whump #whumpblr #whump community #whumpee #whumper #caretaker #hero villain whump #hero x villain #hero villain prompt #hero villain scenario

388 notes · View notes

bentforkent · 3 years ago

Text

CAMP FIREFLY - chapter one

word count: 4,210

content warnings: brief joking mention of child death

read on ao3 / read on wattpad (coming soon too lazy to upload there rn lol) / previous part / next part

Emily wakes up on the first day of camp feeling like someone is sitting on her chest. It’s the same atmosphere as usual; her head rises from the same old flat pillow to the same old bunk above her. It’s the same atmosphere, sure, but today feels fundamentally different, for it’s the first time she’ll be interacting with real campers. Children. A gaggle of young folk coming to her every day for instruction or nurturing or a hand with the hot-glue stick. She’s been trained for this, of course, but what if she messes up a craft? What if she accidentally says “fuck”?

Wide awake, JJ and Penelope are up and bouncing around the cabin cheerily by the time Emily wiggles her toes and comes to from Dreamland. Emily had only awoken in the first place because the early-rising pair tuned the radio to something upbeat and relatively staticless, cranking up the volume. Emily would’ve considered that very rude had she not already slept in for an extra hour, and had she not been greeted with incredible excitement once her eyes popped open.

“She’s awake!” JJ cheered, Penelope replying with a soft good morning!. Emily took her time pulling her body from the mattress, and now sits still-groggy on the floor by her bunk, trying to do her makeup in a tiny, fogged compact mirror. Penelope is standing behind JJ, braiding bright purple ribbons into her hair.

It’s so early it’s still dark outside, so the three of them are illuminated by a sorta-eerie yellow light, an old light bulb wired smack in the center of the cabin. Penelope’s bags are packed by the door, and when Emily notices them, she feels a pang of sadness upon remembering that Penelope will be moving out to her own cabin with her own group of campers today. Emily will get to stay with JJ, which she thinks is quite nice, because the only other option was a single room all the way over by Rossi’s office all by herself. And she’s finding that she quite likes spending time with JJ and Penelope, so newfound solitude would be a drag.

The bunch have spent their past week in training--learning the lay of the land through semi-degraded VHS tapes of Rossi when he was young and sprightly still, walking through the camp and delivering very specific instructions on how to deal with very specific situations. Penelope was in charge of teaching the fun stuff---chants and traditions and how to make friendship bracelets.

On a particularly sweaty, boring training day, Emily pulled Aaron aside--away from the group who was watching an old-Rossi-video about the lake just behind the camp--and asked him if everything was always like this. Emily wasn’t entirely sure what the “this” was, whether she meant peppy or hot or musty or involved, but Aaron had nodded his head sympathetically and walked Emily back to her seat with a whispered, “You’ll get used to it.” Emily was only a tiny bit aware of Penelope’s eyes fixated on her as she slumped back down in the sticky plastic seat and focused back on Rossi-with-hair explaining the stupid history of the stupid lake.

And used to it she got. Spencer, too.

Turns out he shared the same sentiment as Emily--the, “I’m not entirely sure what’s going on, and I don’t know what the hell I’m doing here, but I don’t hate it,” sentiment, as they’d so concisely dubbed it, when they sat together in the back of the big room training was taking place in, gossiping and giggling as Rossi, real Rossi --- old Rossi --- stood in front of the small group and explained yet another probably-self-explanatory camp rule.

For as much training as it feels like they participate in --- or sit through, rather --- Spencer still wakes up on the first day of Real Camp so stressed out he checks for gray hairs in the mirror.

It turns out that you can sit through a series of convoluted VHS tapes and Penelope-lessons and still not know a thing about what you’re supposed to be doing. It also turns out that while Camp Firefly is clearly very loved, it’s not the most...efficient summer camp of the area. Or the most safe. Or staffed. Or large. In fact, Spencer marvels at the fact people even send their kids here to stay. It’s not that the camp is poorly run or anything (to imply that would be to question the abilities of him and his friends, Spencer acknowledges), but there’s got to be better options, is the point.

Besides the small handful of counselors Spencer had become close with, the staff only consists of a trio of kitchen staff, one (one!) lifeguard, and a male nurse that Spencer had spoken to once and left the conversation supremely uneasy at the poor guy giving any medical advice. Spencer made a mental note to try his hardest to not have any health issues during his time here.

The kitchen staff are older---like, appear-in-the-old-training-videos older, but they entertain the rest of the newer, younger staff with stories of their youth. The nature of Camp Firefly means that they have stories about Spencer’s friends, too, as the majority of them have been going to the camp every summer since they were children, aging up into their jobs as counselors.

Spencer hears about the time an elementary-aged Derek begged to help serve food to the other campers just because, and about the time Penelope and JJ (when the story is told, they call her Jennifer) passed a petition calling for Rossi’s retirement around the whole camp, just because he cancelled the Talent Show. (The petition turned up only 4 signatures, and the Talent Show is no longer a Camp Firefly tradition).

It’s awe-inducing to Spencer that these people around him have lived whole lives in these dingy cabins. They’ve known each other for ages, built relationships and traditions and memories and stories, all because their parents chose the cheapest sleepaway camp option.

Spencer wonders how different his life would have turned out if he’d been indoctrinated into Summer Camp Culture in his youth, whether he’d even be at Camp Firefly now. Probably not. Definitely not.

Everyone is hanging out around Rossi’s office when the first bus arrives, lounging against the walls and picking at their cuticles. The sun is meandering its way over the horizon finally, but it still feels impossibly early. The group wears bright orange Camp Firefly t-shirts that are meant to be matching, but budget things mean that some of the shirts are more worn---Aaron’s has the sleeves cut off, and the logo is largely rubbed off of JJ’s---and some are brand new.

The crackling of the bus’ tires signals it’s presence before the vehicle peeks over the hill, and when it’s finally in everyone’s line of vision, it’s like a switch flips. They’re hooting and hollering, jumping and dancing in the name of welcoming this bus. Spencer has a wild grin on his face, and when he meets Emily’s eyes, they share a look of fondness and excitement.

After the first bus arrives, the day goes by as quickly as a montage--a cluster of quickly moving vignettes.

Spencer watches as a young girl stares up at Derek, eyes wide and full of wonder. He’s lifting her--and three other girls’--duffle bags with ease, muscles flexing and shiny with sweat. Same, Spencer thinks, realizing his expression is most likely the same as the girl’s. Derek flashes him a quick, hot smile, and Spencer grins in return.

Emily executes her first craft--a cluster of glitter and string and construction paper--flawlessly. Each group introduces themselves to her with a chorus of “hi Emily,” and it warms her heart more than she expected. One girl missing her front tooth hangs back as her group is leaving--Penelope’s group is leaving--just to tell Emily that she likes her “funny makeup.” It’s just eyeliner, really, it’s not that funny, but the sentiment makes Emily smile nonetheless.

Aaron has some trouble with children in his group picking beds, a small verbal scuffle breaking out between two campers vying for the last top bunk. Aaron, ever a mediator, solves it with a stern glance at the pair and a reminder that the other option out of the two is a bed near a window, another highly-sought-after spot. They fight for the window bed next, and Aaron feels a gray hair sprout on the spot.

Once all of Penelope’s campers have unpacked, she takes them on a top-secret trip down to the lake. It’s definitely not top-secret, it’s a staple of every group’s first-day tour, but Penelope has a knack for making her campers feel special, so they creep around the sandy shore on their tiptoes, whispering, while Andrea the Lifeguard looks on.

Despite the speed and relative easiness of the day, everyone finds themselves exhausted, greeting each other with pantomimes of falling asleep and loud sighs. It’s not been a bad day at all, but a long one, and in an attempt to remedy the feeling Derek graciously offers to run to the supermarket and pick up some fun snacks---a counselors only affair.

Spencer volunteers to accompany him on account of him wanting to spend obscene amounts of time with Derek, and also on the account of Rossi offering his expensive car for Derek to drive. Oh, to feel buttery leather seats and hear music and smell anything but dry leaves and B.O.

As soon as their campers are pawned off to other people and sufficiently supervised, Rossi tosses his keys to Derek, who catches them with a jingle.

“Be back soon,” Derek promises, and Spencer punctuates with a wave and a smile.

The fluorescent lights buzz in Spencer’s ear, comforting him. Bzz, bzz. Hope you like the air conditioning, they call out to him. He sure does.

Normally the energy of these 24/7 high-budget chain grocery stores freak Spencer out. It’s always too bright, too loud, too full-of-people. But tonight, there’s not a soul around except him and Derek and the high-school-aged cashier, so Spencer’s actually feeling particularly soothed. The sounds of Derek’s feet dragging on the shiny floor and the squeaky wheel are good sounds, he decides. He could still do without the candy-coated pop music wafting through the speakers.

The shopping cart remains empty for about fifteen minutes before either of them address it. Derek and Spencer spend those 15 minutes wandering aisles, relatively silent save for short, casual remarks like, “Oh, maybe we should get barbecue chips,” or, “JJ loves these Fruit by The Foot.”

Derek pauses from where he’s pushing the cart and turns to Spencer. “We should probably start shopping for real now, huh?”

Honestly, half of Spencer thought they had been shopping for real already. But apparently, if you’re not putting things in the cart, it doesn’t count, he learns. (Derek might be a misguided teacher in that lesson, though.)

“I like to take my time here, because it’s about the only time during camp I get to be alone,” Derek explains, tossing a loaf of bread into the cart absentmindedly. Bread is not on the list.

Spencer tugs at his fraying string bracelet. “Oh. Sorry, then,” he says. Three boxes of graham crackers are set delicately next to the bread.

“For what?”

“Well, you’re not really alone right now,” Spencer observes.

Derek shrugs casually. “Sure, I guess. But you don’t really count, Spence,” he says.

He means it kindly, Spencer knows. But it’s an odd thing to hear--what does that mean? Is he implying Spencer is too boring, or too quiet? Before Spencer can spiral too much, Derek notices his uncomfortable silence and continues, “Hey, no, I mean because I like spending time with you. Like, it’s easy. I don’t have to think about it.”

Spencer has a flash of a vision of Derek dipping him right there in aisle 6 and planting a nice firm kiss onto his lips. In that vision, there’s a fog machine whirring and some Chopin playing. Vision-Spencer nips at vision-Derek’s lower lip.

Instead of all that, present-moment-Spencer nudges Derek’s shoulder with his own, murmuring a happy little “likewise,” and clinging onto the sound of Derek’s chuckle.

Derek kept his hand on the center console the whole drive home, and Spencer desperately wanted to reach out and grab it, to open his palm and lay in it, letting him be engulfed like a weighted blanket. But he kept his hands to himself, squarely on his thighs.

It’s dark when they return, and the bright LED headlights of Rossi’s fancy car seem out of place when they pull back into the camp. Everything seems out of place. Spencer can’t put his finger on it --- the buildings haven’t shifted, and the camp is exactly the same as it was before he left, and yet he’s got this strange premonition that something is just...off.

Spencer’s shoe is untied, and he can feel the laces whipping his ankle as he and Derek trek to Rossi’s office to return his keys to him. He’d reach down and tie them if not for the plastic bags of groceries in his hand---god forbid he let food sit on the dirty, unpaved path, no matter how many layers of plastic packaging protect it. Besides, the air feels thicker than usual, and each time the knit of his shoelace brushes his skin, Spencer is reminded just how uncomfortable everything feels and how desperate he is to be inside.

Everyone is packed into Rossi’s office when the pair gets there, and Spencer’s stomach sinks the tiniest bit.

Penelope and Emily are lounging in those sticky plastic chairs, showered and smelling like a cocktail of cheap, fruity shampoo. Behind them are Aaron and JJ --- JJ’s standing to braid French braids into Penelope’s wet hair, and Aaron just appears to be shaking out pent-up energy. How he isn’t tired, Spencer doesn’t know. Confused, and with hesitant movements, Derek pushes away a stack of bright-white papers on Rossi’s desk to make space for the grocery bags. “What’s everyone doing in here?” he asks. “I thought we were doing Shifts tonight.”

Now that campers have arrived at the camp, it’s become a little more complicated to hang out as a group in the evenings, as they’ve all got an obligation to be in their cabins just in case. Liabilities, and all that.

The first year Aaron was old enough to become a counselor---he was the first of the bunch to age up into the job---he devised an elaborate, elaborate system that allowed the group to socialize without any sleeping campers being left alone.

It’s complete with maps and rules and a very strict set of time shifts, so in addition to Spencer and Emily’s official training, they’d been trained on the side by a very drill-sergeant-y JJ in what Aaron all those years ago so aptly dubbed “Shifts.”

Neither Spencer nor Emily have got it down yet.

“Rossi has an announcement,” Aaron says, pulling his ankle up behind him into a simple hamstring stretch.

“Yeah, I heard he’s gonna promote you to Head of Grocery Shopping, Der,” Penelope teases, peering jovially at Derek through the corner of her eye.

“Haha,” Derek deadpans, and tosses her a pack of fruit snacks that he’d picked out specifically for her. They're the good brand, the blue bag, and she accepts graciously with a kiss blown in his direction. Derek catches it, and presses it to his cheek.

Emily has noticed that Rossi always slinks into his office after his guests have arrived. He’s never there waiting, never anticipating. She has no clue where he’s coming from, although she assumes it’s from his cabin. He always makes an entrance, always sits with a weird old-guy sigh, and then launches into whatever reason he’d called the meeting in the first place.

On cue, Rossi swings the door open and lowers himself into his chair slowly. Emily anticipates it and then there it is---Rossi sighs that damn sigh, and leans forward onto his desk. Although no one else moves, the air shifts towards him as well, and it feels like the seven of them are all standing nose-to-nose.

Penelope slips Rossi a fruit snack discreetly, sliding it across the table to rest by his elbow.

“You know I love you all very much,” Rossi starts, and Emily feels like she might puke. That’s the thing about her Rossi prediction --- the important part, the part where he speaks, is the part she’ll never be able to guess.

So, she feels like she might puke. Not because she feels ill, of course, but in her experience all of that cheesy, “I love you” bullshit always prefaces the worst news, and she has absolutely no clue what is about to come out of Rossi’s mouth. Her mind leaps to the worst possible conclusion---”You’re firing all of us,” she blurts out, relieving the tension just a tad as JJ bursts into snickers behind her.

Another sigh. “No, I’m not firing you.”

“A kid died?”

“Jesus, Emily, would you let me finish?” Rossi says.

Then, after a deep breath, “Developers are coming tomorrow to look at the land. I’m planning on selling Camp as soon as this summer is finished.”

Oh, Emily thinks.

It hits them like a punch to the gut.

There’s hardly room to breathe in the cabin, let alone fall to the floor, but somehow JJ makes it work. The sound of her knees hitting the wooden floor reverberates and warps through the space.

Emily and Spencer exchange a watery glance and mirror each other, biting the inside of their cheeks at the same time. They share a small, spiritless smile at the misfortune.

Penelope is gasping short and shallow breaths as she staves off cries, reaching down and behind her for JJ, who has tucked her head into her knees, pulling off an emotional Child’s Pose on the filthy floor.

Penelope crying is awkward because Emily is sitting right there, upset as well but characteristically less overt about it. Their knees are touching --- Emily’s right to Penelope’s left --- and yet, there’s no tissue for Emily to give Penelope, no way to console her without feeling irreparably out of place. Emily sinks lower into her seat, wishing she had the confidence to place her hand on Penelope’s leg as a tender signal that she’s there and she understands.

Derek is shoved into Spencer as Aaron pushes past him and out of Rossi’s office. It’s not a malicious push, and the sad look Derek gives Spencer is one of pity both for Aaron and for himself, too. An anguished cry comes from outside, from Aaron, and everyone’s eyes widen a little at the sound.

It’s impressive to Emily just how immediately everyone started crying. Before Rossi had even finished his sentence, there were tears welling up in Penelope’s big hazel eyes. Emily almost feels jealous at the brazen displays of emotion. She wants to love something so hard that she could cry at the drop of a hat over it. Nothing has ever touched her as Camp Firefly has touched Penelope, touched JJ, touched Aaron, touched Derek.

“I feel like my world is crashing around me,” Derek admits shyly. “As stupid as that sounds.”

Spencer nods. He knows the feeling. They sit on the porch of their cabin in creaky rocking chairs, a cloud of bug spray encompassing them.

“It’s like, I grew up at this camp. This camp saved me as a kid.” Derek shakes his head.

This camp is saving me now, Spencer thinks wryly before tucking that thought away in a deep corner of his brain. “I’m really sorry, Derek,” he says sincerely.

The door to the cabin creaks open, and a teary-eyed child steps out onto the porch. His feet are light, and he closes the door behind him slowly, clearly not trying to wake any of his fellow campers. “Derek?” he asks quietly. “I can’t sleep...and I kinda miss my mom.”

“C’mere, then,” Derek says tenderly, and gestures for the boy to sit in one of the unoccupied rocking chairs. “Spencer and I were just talking about how much we miss our moms, right Spence?”

Spencer agrees with a nod and a kind smile directed at the boy, then he takes a backseat to the conversation unfolding in front of him. He watches as Derek effortlessly consoles the weeping child before him by sharing his own stories of similar plights in homesickness and offering jokingly to sing the cabin to sleep next time.

After a few minutes Spencer’s mind starts to wander, curious on how the rest of his friends are sleeping tonight after the news of Camp Firefly’s imminent closure. He hopes Emily is chatting with JJ just as he’s chatting with Derek, comforting her and providing the very few words of solace that would help in this situation. He thinks of Penelope and Aaron, all alone, and he half-considers walking over to each of their cabins just to check on them. He doesn’t, though, because it’s technically against the rules, and because Derek is standing, wrapping up his conversation and holding his hand out to help Spencer up out of his seat. The camper, who Spencer has learned is named Alex, scampers inside, tears dried.

Derek holds intense locked eye-contact with Spencer for a second. His eyes are soul-searching, making it clear that he has something he would like to say to Spencer. Maybe he wants to thank Spencer for listening to him talk, or accompanying him to the grocery store. Spencer quickly flips through a plethora of ideas of what Derek could say next like he’s flipping through a book, but he comes up short.

Derek’s mouth is open slightly, like he’d taken in a breath to speak and then lost his train of thought. The sight of him makes Spencer sweat a little, and just for a moment he feels like maybe he should break the short distance between them and kiss him.

Then Derek is tearing his eyes away, dropping Spencer’s hand, murmuring a gentle, “Sleep well, Spencer,” and retreating inside and to his bunk.

“Goodnight,” Spencer replies, but Derek’s already tucked himself in and turned his back to where Spencer stands by the open door.

Emily is always the last one to fall asleep. She knows this based solely on a feeling, an energy that settles over the camp when everyone else’s eyelashes are finally closed and their breathing patterns slowed. It takes a little longer on this night, considering the 40 new bodies in the vicinity--Welcome, Campers!--and the obviously upsetting news that’d been delivered to her and her friends, but finally Emily feels it. She’s the only one awake.

As much as Emily doesn’t like to spend time to herself, as she often finds herself in rabbit holes of self-loathing thoughts, this nightly hour-or-so of atmospheric solitude is comforting. Usually.

Tonight, she’s reeling with visions of land developers coming to the camp in fancy suits, and clipboards, and leather loafers that are far unsuited to trek through Camp Firefly’s unpaved land. And it sucks to imagine.

Emily has only spent a week or so here at the camp, so she doesn't feel like this loss hits her particularly hard. The only reason she’s even at this tiny camp in the first place is the fact that it’s on the exact opposite end of the country from where she’d spent her spring.

When summer ends, and this camp is gone, all she’ll need to do to heal is move to a new city, and make new friends. Then she’ll repeat the process once she gets hurt or bored. The collection of people who have known and loved Emily Prentiss is so impossibly large, and as a result, large is the collection of people who have lost her and haven’t thought about her since.

With regret, Emily recognizes that the group she’s met and befriended this past week will eventually forget about her, remembering her only as the charismatic figure who took over the Craft Cabin the year the camp closed.

And yet, she feels differently than usual. She thinks of pretty Penelope, who is so sweet and sheepish and shy around her, but blooms into wide smiles and rosy cheeks around others. Of JJ, who eagerly taught her how to braid and make friendship bracelets on only their second day of meeting. Derek and Aaron, the rare macho men who haven’t made her want to gouge her eyes out but instead make her laugh constantly. She thinks of Spencer, the quiet intellectual who she feels such a warmth toward, considering him her baby sibling or her protegé.

She’s not entirely sure of what this emotion is, what it means or what it will mean in the future. What she does know, though, is that she’ll take up as much space as possible until her quiet disband from the mismatched group of friends. It’s how she always goes.

It’s then that she decides fuck the developers and fuck Rossi’s plans. If she’s going down and away with this camp, she might as well make it count. As she closes her eyes, finally ready to sleep, a plan begins to formulate in her mind.

- - - - - - -

next part

#criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds #criminal mind fanfic #penemily #moreid #idk what to tag this as idk just reblog it if u care about me. :D #camp firefly

23 notes · View notes

youngjusticeslut · 4 years ago

Text

Mistake

Fandom: Young Justice Links: FF.net // AO3 Characters: Jade Nguyen, Roy/Will Harper, Lian Harper Rating: G Word Count: 1.5k Summary: Jade hadn’t planned for a reunion. It was supposed to be quick, a short, silent goodbye on a rooftop and then quickly disappearing into the waiting shadows. She could handle that.

After her confrontation with Will, Jade runs far longer than she needs to. Too much is on her mind. Even more is on her heart, weighing on her chest with a ferocity she hasn’t felt in years. It’s a jarring feeling. Seems she’s losing touch on a number of things, as of late. Her shoulder burns, screaming for her to stop, but her instincts tell her she needs to keep going. If she stops, she’ll collapse, and she can’t do that.

Not here. Not when she’s still close enough to turn around and go running back.

She hadn’t planned for a reunion. It was supposed to be quick, a short, silent goodbye on a rooftop and then quickly disappearing into the waiting shadows. Jade could handle that.

What Jade couldn’t handle, apparently, was seeing Will again. Seeing him meant confronting the reality of her decision. When Jade decided to leave them, she knew the consequences. Lian would grow up without a mother. Artemis would lose her sister again and Will would face another hardship in his already turbulent life. In her mind, Jade had made her peace with it because she knew it was for the best.

Her peace, however, relied entirely on the fact that she wouldn’t have to face the people she’d be hurting.

The confrontation was entirely her fault. She was supposed to be there for two minutes, tops. Everything had started out fine. She’d found an adjacent rooftop with a decent view, and waited just long enough to get a glimpse. Just one glimpse of her daughter, she’d thought that would be enough.

And yet, the moment Lian came into view, Jade lingered. A glimpse wasn’t enough.

Lian was barely two when Jade left. A year had passed, and upon seeing her for the first time since, the fact plowed into her chest like a vehicle going full speed. She looked so much older. Her daughter was growing up, and she wasn’t even there to see it.

That’s when Jade made her first mistake— she stayed to watch her. She watched as Artemis pulled her laptop out of her bag and started working at the kitchen table, pausing every so often to pet Lian’s head before continuing her conversation with the Quaraci refugee they were currently housing. She watched her husband spoon out ridiculous portions of ice cream and serve it to everyone at the table, saving himself for last. It was so like him, leaving himself for last, that it sent another pang through Jade’s heart.

Her second mistake— she allowed herself to sit there and miss them.

For so long, Jade had told herself she was better off alone. She’d found the notion of family childish, a fantasy better lived in fairytales. Families are liabilities, people who hold you down, or worse, be used against you. She rejected that idea entirely. And then, she’d made the brilliant decision to fall in love. Go figure.

Of course, she wasn't dumb. She didn't see a white picket fence and two dogs in their future, not even when Lian was born. She’d helped him find Speedy for her daughters sake, not so they could play house in the suburbs of Star City. And yet, Jade let herself play along. She’d sit at the kitchen table and feed the baby, tossing out endless quips as Will cooked them both breakfast. They ran errands. Evenings were spent sparring, or in the rare instances where Lian slept for more than an hour at a time, they would indulge in a little television. When Artemis moved in, it became even more of a joke. A real sitcom.

For the briefest of moments, Jade had allowed herself to feel comfortable. That’s when she snapped out of it.

The very things that she once found endearing— Lian’s laughter, the sound of Will’s alarm clock, Artemis studying at the kitchen table— immediately became suffocating. She couldn’t sleep. Every insecurity she’d ever had played nonstop in her mind. Rational thoughts. Irrational thoughts. They rang all the same, loud and constant. She had no business being there. More than that, her very presence endangered them.

And so, she’d told herself they were better off without her. It became her mantra. Every contrary thought she had, every time she so much as entertained the idea of staying, all it took was that same, monotone phrase to shut it down fast. It didn’t matter if it hurt. Pain was something she was used to.

When Jade left them, she made it quick, in the early hours of the morning when everyone was sound asleep. She left a note on her pillow for Will to read when he woke up. There were so many things she wanted to say, but in the end, the only thing she could manage was “I’m sorry”. Because it was true. She was.

After that, she kept busy. If she kept moving, kept working, then she didn't have to think. If her mind wasn’t kept busy, she would start thinking about them. Did Lian still remember her? Was Will’s new company successful? How did Artemis do on her final exam for that class she hated? Those thoughts were dangerous. No matter how many assignments she took, how many Shadow jobs, how many times she would tell herself that they were better off without her, heer mind kept turning to them.

It was odd. This had never been an issue for her before.

On the day that celebrated an entire year since her departure, she found herself up on the rooftop. One more time. Just once more, to see that they really were just fine, and then she’d disappear out of their lives, for good.

As she sat there, watching and missing them, she saw exactly that. They were just fine. Lian didn’t really need her. There she was, smiling, without a care in the world. Will seemed happy. Even Artemis was flourishing. Her presence wasn’t needed. Not in the least. It was exactly what she’d come to see, and yet, it left her hollow.

And then, Jade let her guard slip. Two minutes turned into ten. Then fifteen. That’s when she made her third mistake— when Will came outside, she didn’t leave immediately.

In retrospect, she should have. At the time, she even wanted to. But she didn’t. Something about his voice, low and smooth, sent a shiver down her spine. His eyes, his words, begged her to stay. His fingers on her chin, and the way his hands made her feel safe. It was everything she’d pushed away, told herself that she didn’t need, or deserve. When she finally turned away from him, her eyes burned. The tears come without warning, hot and sudden, trickling down her cheeks as she fights hard to keep her voice even. She told him she wasn’t coming back. She meant it.

Jade has exactly one safehouse in the area, on the outskirts of Star City. It isn’t big, or even nice. It takes everything in her to keep going, to keep running until she reaches it. When she finally gets inside, her legs give out from underneath her. She collapses on the floor, her breath coming out in hard, ragged gasps.

She still sees Will’s face in her mind. The touch of his fingers lingers on her skin, and it feels like there’s a gaping hole in her chest, hurting worse than the one put in her shoulder by a bullet.

It doesn’t make sense. Nothing makes sense. She knew she’d never be able to see her daughter grow up. She knew that there wouldn’t be any more afternoon outings to the park, or lazy weekend mornings waking up in her husband’s arms. She knew that she wouldn’t be there to see Lian’s first day of school, or her high school graduation. She knew all of this. Jade had made her peace with it, so why did it hurt so much?

The tears come harder, faster, the more she thinks about it. Lian’s smile is burned into her mind, and she realizes that she’ll never be able to hold her again. She’ll never get to run her fingers through her hair again, or hear her high-pitched babble. These were all things she told herself she didn’t need, and she knew she didn’t, but god, she wants them so badly that it consumes her whole.

Jade stays like this for a while, on the floor, trying to regain control of her breathing. She can’t do this again. Knowing that she’s missing out is one thing. Seeing it happen is something else entirely. Slowly, she picks herself up, leaning against the wall for support.

It’s for the best, she tells herself, over and over until the tears stop. Jade wouldn’t have made a good mother anyway. Or a wife, or a sister, for that matter. Will, Artemis, Lian… they’re better off without her. Eventually, her presence will become nothing but a distant memory to them. A bitter taste in the back of their throats, one easily washed away.

As for her, she will manage. Pain, no matter how intense, is temporary. Eventually, Jade will stop thinking about what might have been. She will take comfort knowing that they’re safe, and happy. Even if it hurts. Even if she wants nothing more than to see them, she will stay away.

Just like she told Will, it’s time to move on. For the both of them.

#young justice #jade nguyen #roy harper #lian harper #will harper #yj #yeah I'm still not over that scene in exceptional human beings what ABOUT it #been in a dark mental place lately #decided to write for a bit #also I missed my girl #please come back in season 4

37 notes · View notes

desperationandgin · 5 years ago

Text

Deep in My Soul: The Cellist Series Part 4

Rating: General Audiences

Also Read On: Ao3

Summary: Jamie and Claire are separated, but Claire finds a way to cope.

A/N: So, the Cellist series began in December, as part of the Winter of Want collection. Because I needed something Christmas based and it was Jamie and Claire's first meeting, it just happened to work out that each month was happening in real time. Therefore, it's currently April 2020 in this series. Which means Jamie and Claire are having to detail with COVID-19 just like everyone else. I know, I know.

ALSO, this is very belated birthday gift to @missclairebelle. I first brainstormed these beautiful babies in a group chat with you and @smashing-teacups. You keep me smutty and honest, K ♥️

Deep in my Soul: Cellist Series Part 4

Claire hasn’t seen Jamie in twenty days. Not face-to-face, not for an embrace or a kiss. When the virus began to spread, and Scotland issued shelter-in-place orders, it was Jamie who’d had to continue doing his job. Rescue personnel would always be essential, and because of the risks, Jamie made the decision for both of them to stay at the firehouse until further notice. They spoke every day, multiple times, and FaceTime was a blessing, but that didn’t make up for the fact that neither of them had the other to collapse with.

He’d only moved in with her on the first of March, and they’d managed two weeks of finding their new normal only to have it turned upside down. Claire had no idea how the apartment she’d lived in for years by herself could suddenly feel so empty without him.

The daylight hours have been filled easily enough; moving his things in forced her to purge some of her own and organize the closets. She works on the balcony garden and finally gets around to cleaning all of the cupboards. There are books to read and television shows to binge (the trashier things she only watches with Sesh as her witness). On the morning of the twentieth day, she begins teaching herself how to knit, but it comes to a stop once Sesh runs off with the end of her yarn. There are plenty of things to keep her busy during the day, but at night, after supper for one and something mindless on Youtube, all she can do is count down the minutes until Jamie’s call before bed.

Sesh arrives in the living room from down the hall, arching her back in a stretch before jumping gracefully onto the couch. Rather than go to Claire, the black cat plops down on top of a blanket Jamie brought when he moved in.

“Traitor,” Claire murmurs, but there’s an unmistakable lump in her throat. “I miss him too.”

As soon as the phone vibrates in her hand, she swipes to answer, greeted by an extreme close up of Jamie’s… she blinks, squints and, as he pulls back, realizes it’s only his finger accidentally in front of the camera.

“I thought Sesh and I were about to be scandalized,” she quips with a grin as his face finally comes into view.

“Wha?” he asks, clearly distracted as he nods at someone she can’t see, and a door closes somewhere behind him.

“Nothing, love,” she replies, smile fading a bit. “Is everything alright?”

The endearment is all he needs to fully focus on her, feeling the warmth of her even through the phone. Jamie gives her an apologetic smile. “Do ye ken how restless people are getting, Sassenach? ‘Tis only busier by the day, and I’ve agreed to pick up another shift.”

“You look exhausted.” She squints at his features on the screen. “When’s the last time you slept?”

“Only just woke. I’m no’ even sure what day it is anymore. Is it mornin’ or night?” He asks his question in half-jest with a sleepy smile. “I rolled over and called ye, that’s all I ken.”

“It’s a quarter to ten at night. You go on at midnight, then?” she asks, her heart still catching up to the knowledge that he’s essentially started his day with her.

Checking a piece of paper he pulls out of his pocket, he nods. “Aye. Which means I have a bit of time wi’ ye. How was day infinity of yer self-isolation?”

“I’ve given up on knitting indefinitely. Sesh supports this decision, just so you know.”

Jamie grins. “Fine wi’ me. I like being the knitter in the family.”

With one sentence, her heart leaps at the promise of endless days with Jamie coming home to her, his family. It makes their separation now seem small, an obstacle to overcome together and look back on as the time they knew forever was certain.

“As long as you promise to knit me a blanket in your spare time. Whenever that may be,” Claire adds with sympathy in her voice.

“Technically, I have some time now, but I would rather spend it speaking wi’ ye, mo nighean donn. Unless ye go to sleep on me.” He calls her after every shift - her rule, even if they only speak for a few moments, and she’s fallen asleep often enough that he now has a folder on his phone entirely of screenshots as proof.

“I’m not falling asleep,” she promises. “I miss you too much.”

His face softens as he leans forward, sitting on the edge of the bed with his arms resting on his thighs. “I ken. Christ, I miss ye, too. To kiss ye right now, Sassenach, would be heaven.”

“I would settle for your arms around me.” She never was someone who appreciated the value of a good hug. Not until Jamie wrapped her in his arms for the first time and she’d pressed in against the solid warmth of him. There was no going back then, and without him, there’s been a gnawing hollowness growing around her heart.

Everything she feels passes on her face, and Jamie feels frustration tug at him, recklessness and duty warring with one another as if the angel and devil were on his shoulders. “I promise, when this is over, I’m putting in for the time away and you and I are going somewhere verra remote and verra beachy.”

That pulls a smile from her, and Claire settles in on the couch. “So far, I’m very much enjoying this idea. Beaches and the ocean do sound appealing.” She hums. “The Maldives?”

“Aye, that sounds obnoxious enough to brag about when we’re home,” he agrees, enjoying the way she tosses her head back and laughs.

“I’ll start looking into it,” she promises once she’s recovered. “How have you been feeling?”

“Och, fine. Ready to sleep in my own bed again. Ready to stay in it wi’ ye for at least three days.”

“Don’t tease,” Claire groans, sighing softly as Sesh, who has apparently had enough of the conversation, jumps gracefully to the floor. For a moment, Claire’s eyes follow her cat all the way to the cello case in the corner. Jamie is saying something she’s missing as an idea slowly comes to her.

“Are you going to be busy in half an hour?” she interrupts, looking at him.

He squints at the camera. “I figured I would still be talking to ye in half an hour, Sassenach.” Confusion etches his features as he watches the wheels turn on her face. “Why?”

“I’ll call you back. Half hour,” she promises.

The video cuts off before he can get another word in, and Jamie stares at his phone, confused but not worried as he stands and stretches. He takes the time to wash up and eat something, and he’s finishing a sandwich she dropped off for him earlier in the week when she calls back. But it isn’t video this time, and he brings the phone to his ear. He doesn’t even have a chance to speak.

“Come outside.”

He doesn’t move as his mind tries to process what it is she’s asking. “Do what?”

“Jamie, come outside.”

The smile in her voice and the realization of what she’s saying both hit at the same time, and he’s on his feet, phone still stupidly to his ear. Leaving the building, he walks out into the car park, and there she is. She’s wearing the same black dress she always wears for concerts, but she’s makeup-free, curls loose and tumbling over her shoulders. Cello between her thighs, the light from the quarter moon is enough to make her glow, ethereal in the dark. There’s the space of a small vehicle between them - not close enough to touch, but near enough to see her face.

Claire smiles at him, takes in the look of sheer shock on his face, and begins to play. It’s a relatively known piece, at least the beginning - a Bach suite in G. She closes her eyes, the memorized piece falling away from the Prelude and segueing into Allermande.

As Jamie watches, he slips his phone into his pocket, and when she doesn’t stop playing, one hand moves over his mouth in shock and surprise. To play for him at home is one thing, but as the music swells and echoes in the night, his colleagues wander out in curiosity to watch and listen. She sways with the music, moves her body as if she’s the instrument and the cello is merely a tool for the notes to pour out of. She plays and the audience grows, but when she opens her eyes before beginning Courante, she only looks at him.

There may be others watching, but this moment is only for the two of them.

Vaguely, Claire is aware of the crowd, but her focus is intently on Jamie. She misses the nights after making love, curled on her side and tangled with him as they take one another in. His eyes are never so blue as they are after he’s spilled into her, loving her with every fiber of his being. Her eyes drift to his lips, missing the way he deftly and delicately moves over breasts, missing the way he claims her, strokes her.

She continues to play, and he continues to look right at her, moonlight catching the glint of burning gold in her eyes. He’s never wanted someone so badly and been denied it. His gaze finally drifts from hers to the long line of her leg, then up to watch the muscles of her bare arms, her nimble fingers moving as easily over the strings as they do along his body. By the time he reaches her face again, her eyes are closed once more. He realizes that she’s playing the entire piece, a full twenty minutes, and he brings a hand over his chest. The overwhelming love he has for her causes a tightness in his throat that he tries to swallow back, attempting to keep his emotions in check. He never did understand it, when people were moved to tears by music, but now he knows the feeling intimately, wiping away the dampness on his cheeks.

When the last note is carried off into the night, Claire finishes with her eyes closed and head bowed a bit. The applause snaps her out of it, smiling softly, almost shyly, as she stands and curtseys to Jamie’s co-workers.

“Alright, all of ye, go,” Jamie finally says, turning to usher everyone back inside, though he doesn’t miss the soft smooching sounds coming from Angus, shoving him in the back jovially as he walks inside. Once he and Claire are finally alone again, he stands with his back to her for a moment, eyes trained on the door as he waits to be sure no one will return.

“Did you like it?”

When he turns, she’s already placed her cello and bow carefully in their case, and she’s watching him. She’s pulled her jacket from the back of the chair, arms loosely wrapped around herself, looking at him as if he holds the answer to every question she’s ever wondered in her life.

“What in God’s name sort of question is that?” he asks, a tone of amusement making a smile break wide on her face.

“Just checking.” She steps as close as she dares to and studies his face. “I miss you, Jamie Fraser.”

It goes against every instinct he has not to reach out and touch her, to kiss the longing right off her lips. “Aye. I miss ye too, Claire Randall.”

“This is better than FaceTime, but it still isn’t enough.”

“Anything less than being able to take ye in my arms isna enough,” he agrees.

They lapse into silence, studying one another’s full bodies for the first time in days. It’s a quiet appraisal that ends when she speaks again.

“When this is over, I would very much like for you to spend one of those three days off doing nothing but holding me while we plan our future vacation.”

He smiles easily, despite hating that he can’t reach out and pull her into a very thorough and appreciative kiss. “I can arrange that,” he promises. “For now, all I have is the promise of days spent doing nothing but sunbathing and making love to ye.”

Just the thought of him over her, loving her, is enough to make her skin flush with warmth. “You are a man of your word. I’m holding you to that.” Her voice suspiciously wavers, the longing for him turning into an emotional note in her voice.

“I swear it, a nighean,” he vows. “I’ll never stop loving ye.”

“I never doubted that.”

For a few heartbeats, they stand in one another’s orbit in shared silence before a gust of wind makes her wrap her arms tighter around herself.

“Ye should go, Sassenach. Go, be warm and cozy wi’ a cup of tea before bed,” he urges. “I’ll call ye when my shift is over, aye?” His voice is gentle, wishing he could reach out and push a curl behind her ear.

“I love you. I’ll cook tomorrow and bring a few nights’ worth of suppers. Any other requests?”

“Only to have ye, so home-cooked meals will have to do.” He pauses, studying her again and once more feeling emotion swell in his chest. “Thank ye. For coming here, for barin’ yerself.”

“No one could see me but you,” she says with conviction, eyes on him, unblinking. “That was only for you.”

Those times she’s played nude, when he could kiss along the supple curves of one side of her body in an attempt to drive her to distraction - those were the moments she conjured with her music, and he understands her immediately. “Soon, Sassenach. No’ tomorrow, but soon.”

“Until then, feel free to send me salacious text messages,” she quips, moving to gather the folding chair up, putting it in the boot of her car.

“Oh, aye? How salacious are we talking, Sassenach?”

Claire contemplates it as she puts her cello in the back seat, then turns to face him. “I wouldn’t mind a photo or two.”

He raises an eyebrow. “That could possibly be arranged.” Christ, this woman.

“I’ll see what I can do for you in return, Mr. Fraser,” she practically purrs. Then, with more seriousness, she blows him a kiss. “The best I can do for now.”

“I’ll take it,” Jamie says sincerely, his smile warm and tender. “Text me when ye get home?”

“I will.” She stands there, then takes a breath, huffing it out. “You have to go inside, or I can’t leave.”

Ducking his head, he smiles softly, then nods, accepting the burden of strength this time, knowing it will be her turn the next. “Goodnight, Sassenach. I love ye.”

“I love you. Be careful.”

Jamie turns to go, finally reciprocating her blown kiss.

“Always am.”

#outlander fic #jamie x claire #jamie fraser #claire fraser #outlander #the cellist #my fic

196 notes · View notes

thatfragilecapricorn30 · 4 years ago

Text

The Nightmare

Written for The X-Files Horror Exchange, hosted by @xfilesfanficexchange. The prompt is from @baronessblixen - I hope you like what I did! Tagging @today-in-fic

A/N: The title is inspired by the painting “The Nightmare” (1781) by Henry Fuseli

prompt: demons | 4k words | season 5 | horror

Mulder and Scully drove through the Vermont countryside, carefully navigating the winding roads covered in leaves. It was early fall; the trees had just begun their metamorphosis and the view was stunning. Scully wondered if Mulder specifically picked their current case so they could enjoy the seasonal foliage, because if so, she very much appreciated that level of planning.

They pulled up to a small inn with Victorian architecture; the house looked like it belonged in a novel with a governess as the protagonist. It was very quiet - the only sound was the wind rustling through the trees - which unnerved Scully, who was used to the incessant din of city living.

They got out of the vehicle, both admiring the tableau. She turned to look at her partner. “Really, Mulder?”

“What?” he asked, as he tried to pull their luggage from the trunk.

“Is this really a case or are you trying to get a free vacation on the bureau’s dime?” she chided.

He squinted at her, confused by her line of questioning.

She gestured to their surroundings. “Vermont in October… quaint bed and breakfast… are we really here for work?”

“I hate to disappoint you, Scully, but this is not a romantic getaway,” he said, “but it could be if you play your cards right.” He waggled his eyebrows.

Mulder continued, “This town is so small that this is the only accommodation available. Unless you’d prefer to camp out in the woods?”

Scully rolled her eyes and followed him inside, where they met the proprietor, Grace. She had gray hair but her presence belied a much younger woman. Grace showed them to their rooms and advised them that she would be around to answer questions and cook them breakfast in the morning.

Scully had to admit that this place was a lot nicer than some of the other motels they had stayed in. There were big windows that faced the changing forest and the bathroom even had a clawfoot tub. The only problem was that the heater was on overdrive. The climate was definitely cooler than Washington, but it wasn’t cold enough to warrant the sauna-like temperature. She couldn’t find a thermostat, so settled for opening the window a touch to let in the fresh air. Scully was marveling at the view when she had the sensation of someone watching her. Usually it was Mulder, which should make her uncomfortable but she was used to it at this point. However, when she turned around he wasn’t there.

“Mulder,” she called out. They were lucky that they snagged the two rooms that had a connecting door, so they didn’t have to traipse down the hall to talk to each other.

“Yes, dear?” he responded through the open door.

She made her way over to his side. “Were you just in my room?” she asked.

“Nope,” he said. He was pulling clothes out of his suitcase. She wondered briefly how none of his suits ever seemed to be wrinkled even after being packed away but hers always were.

“My room is really hot. Have you seen a thermostat around?”

He suggested she check with Grace, so she went down to the first floor. Scully didn’t see her anywhere, so she decided to explore a little. There was a parlor with sofas and chairs to sit on and a dining area with a few tables of varying sizes. Scully examined the portraits hung on the wall: many of them were black and white and seemed really old. As was common for the era, no one pictured was smiling and their blank stares made her shiver. She heard a creak behind her, but when she turned around there was no one there. Scully laughed to herself; she was getting spooked for no reason.

Scully returned to the photographs.

“That was my grandmother as a child, with her family,” a voice came right over Scully’s shoulder. She jumped a little.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” Grace said with a slight laugh.

She continued, “They all lived and died in this house. My great-grandfather decided to convert it to an inn to make some extra money, but my family has always lived on the premises, even to this day.”

“Wow, so this house has been here a long time,” Scully commented.

“Yes, it has. My ancestors almost lost the property during the depression that occurred in the late 1800s. But my great-grandfather found some old railroad bonds that were worth a lot of money so he was able to pay off his debts. Family lore alleges that he made a deal with the devil in exchange for the bonds,” Grace chuckled as she said the last part.

Scully tried to keep her expression neutral but thought it was a strange story to share with a guest.

“Of course, I don’t think that’s true at all,” Grace continued. “More likely it was a rumor started because some of the townspeople were jealous of his good fortune. But a lot of my guests seem to really enjoy hearing that little story, particularly during this time of year.”

“My partner would love that story,” Scully said with a smile. She knew he was one of many that would get a real kick out of a tale like that, especially while staying in an old bed and breakfast, right around Halloween.

“How are the two of you settling in?” Grace asked.

“Now that you mention it, my room is actually really hot. Is there a way to turn down the heater?”

Grace frowned. “That’s odd. I actually haven’t turned the heat on yet. It’s still early enough in the season that the sun does a good job of warming the house. Though, it’s cool enough outside that if you open the windows, you should be fine.”

“Scully,” Mulder interrupted, now standing in the entryway to the parlor, with the case file and notes in his hand.

“Are you ready to go?” he inquired. She knew that they were due at the police station so she said goodbye to Grace. On her way out, she glanced back at the portrait on the wall, and could almost feel the stare of Grace’s great-grandfather, the alleged deal-making gentleman, on the back of her head when she walked out.

----

It was late by the time Scully and Mulder returned to the inn. They had met up with the local detective, who gave them access to the evidence and even more detailed case notes. Scully conducted an autopsy while Mulder visited the crime scene. After the long day of travel and work, she was happy to have a comfortable bed to sleep in, even though she was too tired to try out the clawfoot tub. Scully drew the shades, but left them parted slightly, so that she could feel the soft breeze from the open window. She noticed that it was full moon and hoped that its luminescence wouldn’t keep her up. She closed her eyes and fell asleep quickly...

Scully woke with a start. She attempted to roll over to turn on the bedside lamp, but realized she couldn’t move at all. It’s okay, I’m still half-asleep, she thought. But when Scully tried to sit up, it felt like there was something pushing down on her chest. A feeling of panic began to overwhelm her and her breathing became shallower. Her room was completely dark, which was odd because before there was a sliver of moonlight between the shades. The most terrifying part was that she could hear loud, raspy breathing. Was it hers? Or something - someone - else’s?

After a few moments of paralysis and her heart practically beating out of her chest, everything dissipated - the labored breathing gone, the weight removed from her sternum, and the darkness lifted. Scully slowly tried to move and once she realized that there were no lingering issues, she ran to Mulder’s room. Fortunately the connecting doors were unlocked.

She jumped on his bed and shook him awake. “Mulder, there’s something in my room.”

Mulder woke up instantly, asking “What’s going on?” as he started to get out of bed.

“I swear someone is in my room!” Scully exclaimed, trying to keep the hysteria out of her voice.

Mulder got out of bed to investigate and she followed him closely behind. He flicked on her light, which illuminated the room and showed that nothing was out of place. Mulder checked the closet and her bathroom, while Scully remained by the connecting doors. It seemed silly to be scared, but all she could think about was the pitch blackness, not being able to move and the noisy panting that sounded like it was from a person. Scully blushed a little when she saw her gun was on her bedside table. There was really no reason to bother Mulder when she could protect herself.

He met her at the doorway after his inspection was complete. “There’s no one here, Scully.”

She shifted on her feet, reluctant to be alone again. He must have been able to sense her hesitance at sleeping in her own room because he led her back to his bed, where she sat down.

“I’m sorry, Mulder, I really thought there was someone there.”

She started to explain the incident as Mulder got back into bed. She hoped that he wouldn’t comment on the fact that she was making herself comfortable as well, by laying down next to him. She didn’t want to go back to her room but she also couldn’t bear Mulder making a joke right now when she was still feeling a little frightened.

He listened to her tale with interest and then asked, “Scully, have you heard of sleep paralysis?”

“Mulder, I’m a doctor. Of course I have.”

“Well, I hate to be the voice of reason, but your experience matches all the symptoms,” he stated with a chuckle.

“But it really felt like something was holding me down…” she trailed off, shivering slightly at the memory.

He brushed back a lock of hair that was plastered to her cheek from sweat.

“Did you know that hundreds of years ago, people didn’t know about sleep paralysis as a medical phenomenon and used to believe that a demon was sitting on your chest? And that’s why you couldn’t move?”

Scully wrinkled her nose. “Mulder, your bedtime story needs some work.”

Mulder laughed, “I can certainly arrange for sweet nothings to be whispered in your ear, if that’s what you’d prefer.”

She snuggled into the covers a little more, and raised her eyebrows as if to say go on.

“In Newfoundland, the creature on a person’s chest was called The Old Hag. It’s actually a popular figure in their culture. There are a few ways to prevent the Old Hag from visiting, one of which is to sleep with a bible under your pillow…”

Scully fell asleep to the slow cadence of his voice and the feeling of his fingers brushing through her hair.

----

The next morning, Mulder and Scully ate a quick breakfast in the dining room. There didn’t seem to be anyone else staying at the bed and breakfast, which added to unsettledness Scully felt. Once Grace left the house to tend to her garden, Scully turned to Mulder conspiratorially.

“I probably shouldn’t be telling you this, but…” she paused for dramatic effect. She owed him for letting her stay in his room last night, and she knew he would like this story.

“...Grace told me that there’s a legend in her family that her great-grandfather made a deal with the devil.”

Mulder looked intrigued. “Do tell.”

“Apparently, he was going to lose the house but found some railroad bonds out of the blue. So I guess he sold his soul for them?” she mused.

Mulder leaned back in his chair. “You know, Scully, in Greek and Brazilian mythology, you can make a deal with the devil, or rather a demon, at a crossroads. It’s also a popular theme of a lot of American folk music. I bet we could find one around here, see if her story is actually true.”

Scully glared at him. Now he was taking this too far. “No, Mulder. We have a real case to work on. Plus, even Grace doesn’t think the story is true.”

“So why are you telling me then? Do you think it has something to do with last night?” he questioned.

Scully turned back to her oatmeal. “Of course not. I just thought you would find it interesting, is all.”

It was a small lie. She had forgotten about Grace’s tale until Mulder mentioned demons last night when he was providing historical explanation of sleep paralysis. Naturally, she didn’t think there was a demon (or Satan himself) in her room last night, but it was an odd coincidence.

“Uh huh,” Mulder said skeptically.

Instead of arguing, Scully glanced at her watch. “Come on, Mulder, we have to get going. We’re meeting the detective in twenty minutes.” She pushed away any thoughts of demons and deals out of her mind, so she could concentrate on her job.

-----

When they got back to the bed and breakfast, Scully decided to test out the tub. She was happy that there was hot water and some nice soaps for her to use and that it actually looked clean. But when Scully exited the bathroom, she was concerned by how warm her room still felt. It was so strange: old houses tended to be drafty, not the other way around. Scully attempted to open her window even more, but it wouldn’t budge past the three inches it was already opened. She wondered if she should amend her opinion of this place.

It was only ten o’clock, so Scully decided to go downstairs and see if she could find Grace or a thermostat. It was eerily silent and only a few dimmed lights were still on. Grace didn’t seem to be around anywhere. Scully was, once again, drawn to the photos hanging on the wall. She tried looking for the one Grace showed her but it wasn’t there anymore. However, upon closer examination, the portrait was still there, but Grace’s great-grandfather was no longer in it! Instead, it just featured his wife and daughter, sitting on a divan. Scully could have sworn that the first time she looked, there was a man standing behind the two women.

Suddenly, the lights went out. Scully was so startled, she let out a little yelp. Luckily, she made it back to the staircase without running into something because there was moonlight streaming in from the windows. Scully exhaled and reminded herself that this was nothing like last night, which was sleep paralysis. Even still, she hurried upstairs before she could be disproven. Once back in her room, she triple checked that her door was locked, just in case. She thought about telling Mulder about what happened, but she didn’t want to give him any more reason to go looking for a crossroads.

However, it didn’t matter, because a few hours after Scully fell asleep, she was awoken again, but this time by Mulder.

“Scully! It happened again!” he whispered eagerly.

“What?” she grumbled, still half asleep.

“I woke up and couldn’t move. The room was completely dark, even though it’s nearly a full moon. The same thing that you experienced!”

Scully sighed, “Mulder, you said it was sleep paralysis last night.”

“Scully, I don’t think so. I’ve experienced sleep paralysis and this was different. Plus, the story you told me at breakfast changed my mind about this situation.”

He walked around to the other side of her bed and pulled back the covers and started getting in.

“Mulder!” Scully exclaimed. “What are you doing?”

“Oh, I’m not staying in that room. That was freaky, Scully.”

“So you’re going to sleep here?” she asked, incredulously.

“What, you can sleep in my bed but I can’t sleep in yours? It’s the twentieth century.”

Scully sighed, “That doesn’t even make any sense, Mulder, but fine. Just don’t hog the covers.”

She turned over so her back was to Mulder. She could hear his breathing even out as he drifted off to sleep and it was surprisingly very soothing. Scully tried to concentrate on that instead of the weird things she had experienced in this house. She couldn’t wait to go home.

----

Scully was not one to give into her imagination, but all day she’s felt like someone was watching her. It was a prickly feeling that gave her goosebumps. It started in the morning, when she went downstairs for breakfast and noticed that Grace’s great-grandfather was back in the portrait. Scully did a double-take when she walked by, and stared at it for a full minute, completely stunned. She was either going crazy or something very weird was going on. Neither explanation was very good.

A few hours later, when her and Mulder were in the car, they drove through a four-way intersection that didn’t have any stop signs. Mulder laughed about the hijinks bored teenagers get up to, but Scully couldn’t help but notice that they had passed through a rural dirt crossroads. There was no one else on the road and no sign of life at all, which was eerie, but Scully ignored the feeling. Luckily, they were able to close their case so tonight would be their last in Vermont.

Later that night, she wasn’t looking forward to sleeping alone in her room, even though Mulder was just on the other side of the wall. She got ready for bed and kept thinking she saw something out of the corner of her eye. But whenever she whipped her head around (and almost gave herself whiplash), there was nothing there.

Scully could hear the TV in Mulder’s room, so she knew he was awake. She decided to see what he was up to. When she walked to their shared doors, he was sitting on his bed, flipping through the few channels available before landing on a nature documentary.

Without turning to look at her, Mulder asked, “Scully, are you going to bed?”

“Mhm,” she said, non-committedly. “We don’t get a lot of channels here, huh?”

She was trying to come up with a topic of conversation that would justify her loitering in the doorway. But she didn’t have to, because Mulder walked over to her and put an arm around her shoulders, guiding her into the room.

“Why don’t you stay here tonight?” he asked with a slight smile. “That way we can protect each other.”

“That’s not what.. I wasn’t…” she tried to argue but Mulder’s smile just widened.

“Oh, of course. I’m the one that actually needs protecting. You would be doing this as a favor to me,” he kept going.

Scully laughed. She appreciated him not giving her a hard time. Mulder could be really sweet, when he wasn’t driving her absolutely crazy. They both got into bed and Scully pretended not to notice that they each had their designated side now. She trusted Mulder, had since they first started working together, and sleeping in the same bed wasn’t actually as weird as it should have been. She just hoped it would be an uneventful night...

----

For the third night in a row, Scully awoke to a pitch black room. There was no moon light streaming in from the window, even though that was the case when she fell asleep. She couldn’t even tell if Mulder was still beside her. The feeling of something pressing down on her chest was back and she couldn’t breathe. Her heart rate started ratcheting up. There was something breathing loudly in her ear. That couldn’t be Mulder, could it? She thought. Scully lay paralyzed for a few moments until the pressure let up. She blinked and the room returned to normal, meaning the glow from outside was bright enough that Scully could see the outlines of furniture. Was it still here? Scully didn’t know and was terrified. The room felt oppressively hot, like a sauna. She pulled the covers completely over her and Mulder, even though she knew a thin comforter would not protect her against anything natural or supernatural. She moved closer to Mulder, gently placing her palm over his mouth and pinching his upper arm. He grumbled and tried to pull away from her, so she placed her lips against his ear and whispered, “It’s here.”

He froze and turned his head slightly to look at her. She wondered if he could feel the thick air too.

Suddenly, a loud BANG sounded through the room. Both of them screamed and jumped up. Scully turned on the lamp, as Mulder grabbed his gun. Her eyes travelled around the room and noticed the bathroom door was now closed. The loud noise must have been the door slamming shut.

Mulder got up to open it, but it was jammed. He eventually pushed his way through using his shoulder. Scully was right behind him and saw that all of the toiletries had fallen off the counter. The bathroom had a small window, but Scully could see that it was secured.

“Maybe it was a draft?” she asked quietly, even though she knew that was unlikely. If anything, the rooms were stuffy and too warm, which would not indicate any type of draft.

Mulder just raised his eyebrows incredulously. He picked up a can of shaving cream off the floor, now with a cracked cap. It must have hit the floor with some force, indicating that the vibrations from the door slamming wouldn’t be enough.

“Regardless, I’m not staying in this room,” Mulder announced. Scully sighed, but didn’t disagree with him. They both moved to her bed instead, but Scully didn’t sleep at all until the first rays of sun appeared over the horizon and the room was bathed in golden light.

-----

Their flight left the regional airport at noon, and then they had to connect in Newark before finally making it back to DC. Scully was looking forward to sleeping in her own bed, uninterrupted, unlike the past three nights. She and Mulder didn’t really talk, just packed up their belongings and brought them to the car. Scully returned their room keys to Grace, who was trying to push coffee and muffins on the pair before they left.

“Grace, if you don’t mind me asking: whose room did I stay in? Like before this place came a bed and breakfast?” She hoped that it wasn’t a rude question.

Grace looked at her strangely but responded with: “It’s funny that you ask, the two rooms you stayed in were actually the master suite a long time ago. My great-grandfather needed an office after he opened the inn so he connected the two rooms. You haven’t seen anything… strange… have you?” she asked curiously.

“Um, no, just wondering,” she said, probably a bit unconvincingly.

When they finally reversed out of the driveway, Scully looked back at the inn. It still appeared to be a charming bed and breakfast but after her stay there, she couldn’t help but feel a sense of foreboding instead. She glanced up at the window of her room and saw a dark figure standing in the window.

Scully blinked and the shadow person was gone. She quickly turned back around in her seat.

“Scully, are you okay?” Mulder asked. She nodded but didn’t say anything.

“So what do you think? Poltergeist or crossroads demon looking to make another deal?” he queried with a grin.

Scully fiddled with her seatbelt. “Neither, Mulder. It was sleep paralysis. We just both happened to experience it at the same time.”

Mulder’s mouth dropped open. “Do not tell me that’s what you really think.”

Scully started snickering at the expression on his face. “I had you.”

“You did not.”

“I so did. Anyway, Mulder, I’m surprised by you. Why didn’t you want to stay and investigate more? We were practically living in an X-File.”

“Ah, you know. We don’t get paid enough to work two cases at the same time. Also, sometimes it’s nice just to let things remain a mystery.”

Scully rolled her eyes and laughed, “That was deep, Mulder. But I have another theory: you were scared.”

Mulder looked offended, “I wasn’t scared! You came into my room first. I was just doing you a favor the other nights.”

Scully started to debate that he was the one that screamed last night, which Mulder denied. She knew that this argument would entertain the both of them until they arrived back home, at which point they would call a truce. Mulder would help Scully with her luggage and she would make sure that he was going to stop for dinner, since he never had food in his fridge. And they would both agree that some mysteries were better left unsolved.

#i tried to write a mix of spooky and humor #the horror part was a fun challenge since i don't usually read (or write) horror #but i love scary movies and shows #i hope i did the prompt justice #the x files #txf #the x files fanfic

15 notes · View notes

captainxsassafras · 4 years ago

Text

Angel Voice

Ok, so this is really the first piece of writing I've actually finished since I graduated from college. Haha, yeah. I've been a bit of an unproductive writer the past lil bit, BUT I'm here today and I finished this. Not gonna lie, I am hella nervous for this. It's nothing emotionally involved or really intense (ok, there’s not angst, but I get real emotionally involved in fluff, so maybe I’m a liar), but I read the idea of Shinsou doing ASMR from secondhand-trash and the anon over there and, ya know, magic happened! Haha, I kid. Just cuteness, a few saucy phrases here and there! Please be kind to me!

(Also, I’m so sorry. I will figure out how to put stuff under the cut. Please be patient with my tech illiterate ass!)

@queensynderella

@secondhand-trash

Angel Voice

Shinsou x Reader

Warning: lots of fluff?, attempted assault (not Shinsou!), suggestive comments, a hot mess of a reader!

Word Count: Just over 5000... I think.

~~~*~~~

Fucking fuckity fuck fuck. You had not slept at all. Not a single wink.

Sorry, kind sir. I have no spare winks to give. No winks here.

This had been going on for months. Months!

It was starting to affect you.

Hahahah… That was a lie. It had been affecting you. You were just adaptable and great at lying so nothing was really wrong!

…Ok, that was a lie too. Your sleep schedule was shot. Your brain was shot. Your work was… by some miracle still ok, but you weren’t about to keep betting on that.

So, here you were. Finally off work and almost falling asleep waiting for the train in the humid, afternoon heat.

This is probably what Hell feels like. Sleep-deprived, foggy, humid, and full of sweaty humans.

You jolted fully awake from a doze as the train arrived and people began crowding against you.

Yippee. A crowded train with strangers pressing in close on absolutely zero sleep.

Nevermind. This was Hell. Waiting for the train was just the appetizer.

Your phone buzzed.

It was your best friend. She knew that you'd been having trouble sleeping and had been your solid rock. She'd been your support when it started and had helped you brainstorm remedies when it had continued. So it wasn't really a surprise when she sent you a link to an asmr video with the message, 'he has the voice of an angel! 😇 if this doesn't help you sleep, nothing will! luv ya boo! good luck!!! ❤❤❤❤❤'

She was right.

His voice was deep, but soothing. He spoke in a soft, calm cadence that immediately put you at ease.

The video in question was a request from a viewer. It was a description of a calm hike through the woods on a nice day.

It was heaven.

You had your first night of decent sleep in months.

(And if you were being totally honest, you did actually cry a bit when you woke up feeling more rested and clear-headed than you could remember.)

From that point on, you fell asleep listening to 'Angel Voice' every night.

And quickly discovered that you couldn't listen to the more...exciting rp videos before bed! They sent your poor, stupid heart wild and kept you wide awake plus some tasty adrenaline! Definitely not the desired effect! Not unpleasant. Just kinda detrimental to the whole helping-you-sleep thing.

But his calm, descriptive videos and dulcet voice sent you straight to dreamland.

For a month straight you fell asleep to his tones and barely bothered to look at the voice artist's name.

Angel voice worked!

***

Ok, now you were tired.

A frantic call to work this afternoon had you covering your sick coworker’s shift. This meant you were both awake way later than you had recently been staying up and you were working with a double shift's worth of leftover energy.

Ok, you were dead. Running on empty. There was no leftover energy.

You dumb, tired feet trudged along the stupid, dark street and your dumb, heavy purse cut into your stupid, aching shoulder.

But despite your exhaustion, you still held a canister of pepper spray--safety off, thank you--clutched tightly in your hand.

The hackles on the back of your neck rose. The hair on your arms stood on end. Chills ran down your spine.

You could feel eyes on your back.

Someone was watching you.

It was a very unpleasant feeling this late at night all alone on a half lit street.

Ugh, this street was so different after dark!

You normally made your way home during rush hour when the street was busy with foot and vehicle traffic, well-lit by the sun, and full of chatter and life.

It was almost lifeless and eerily quiet now.

Creepy.

It needed more streetlamps.

Humming very quietly to yourself, you tried to keep your mind off of the intense foreboding grabbing at your chest.

That same shivering chill ran through your body right before a harsh hand clawed at your arm, jerking you back. You cried out as your sore shoulder twisted and adrenaline-fueled panic surged through your entire nervous system.

You whipped around, pepper spray at the ready and a fierce scowl on your face, to empty the canister straight into the guy's eyes.

You wrenched your aching shoulder out of his hand. Without conscious thought, your foot rose and met his groin in a beautifully placed front kick.

Ding! Ding! Ding!

We have a winner!

He fell.

A convenience store! There was a convenience store nearby!

Heart pounding, you fled to the little 24 hour convenience store across the street and, from the safety of the front counter, called the police.

Your frantic eyes scoured the area near the man, waiting to see if he would rise and run.

Although, you did get him pretty good. You hoped he wouldn't run away. That'd be a) frustrating because you didn't really have a way to identify him so he'd probably get away and b) scary because you kicked him in the nuts! Guys held grudges for things like that!

Was that movement?

It… didn't seem like the attacker was moving…

Oh! It was another guy and it looked like he was wearing a costume!

A hero?

Looked like it! He was tying the felled grabber up with… not sure, but it was incapacitating the guy who grabbed you, so yay!

You left the store and slowly approached the man.

"Um, hi," you said with a hesitant wave. "This was me." You bashfully gestured to the man still lying (now tied up) on the ground.

"Hey, there. Thanks for doing my job for me," he replied with a bit of a smirk. He had a deep, slightly rough voice and up close you could see dark, wildy messy hair.

Uh-oh. You needed to explain. This was absolutely self defense!

"He, uh, grabbed me from behind and I kind of panicked and, well…"

"Don't worry. I saw what happened. He started following you a few blocks back, but I couldn't do anything because he hadn't done anything yet."

Oh.

Oh, damn.

You felt sick. He had… he had been following you?

Your knees trembled.

The hero noticed and stepped forward to you.

"Hey, hey. Come here."

He led you to the curb and sat you down, a hand rubbing comforting circles on your upper back. "It's gonna be ok. You clearly know how to defend yourself, so I wouldn't worry about.."

His soothing voice soon began to pull you out of your fear and calm your racing brain. His hand continued rubbing your back in rhythmic motions and soon your shaking began to slow and finally stop. Your thoughts came back to the moment and you noticed something. Something very familiar...

"Holy shit. Angel voice!"

The hero stopped his rambling speech, one eyebrow raising in an amused arch. He didn't say anything else, just waited for you.

"Do you do asmr?"

"Uh… yeah?"

Boy, you wish you could've captured his face.

Befuddled?

Was that the right word?

Yeah. Pure befuddlement.

Then blushing.

Holy hell! He was blushing! It was really hard to see, but the slightest bit of red colored his cheeks in the dim light.

"Thank you so much!" you cried, maybe a bit loudly. He flinched just a little, looking surprised. "Ah, sorry. But seriously! You're the reason I've been able to sleep for the past month! I've been having sleep issues for almost a year and a friend sent me one of your videos and, well, tada. Sleep happened!" It was your turn to blush.

The look he was sending your way now was… hella cute. He looked delighted. Elated. Even in the dark, his eyes were shining and he had a goofy little half smile that lit his whole face with happiness.

The smile highlighted the bags under his eyes and you briefly wondered if that had something to do with his decision to make asmr videos. The thought fled when he raised a self-conscious hand to rub the back of his neck and started speaking.

"I'm glad they've been helping you!" The very corners of his eyes crinkled just a bit. "It makes my night to hear that!"

His deep voice wasn't loud or overtly excited, but it was warm and full of sincerity.

Your stomach did a stupid flip.

Nope. Not happening. You refused to be a hero groupie. Too much drama. Too many fans picking each other apart. Too much shade. You needed sunshine and most groupies you knew threw shade like confetti.

Also, he was a professional at work. This was his job. You needed to respect that.

A deep internal breath had you back where you should be. Thanking a professional hero for helping apprehend a man who had attacked you and thanking him for his generous work that helped you sleep well.

The two of you talked quietly for a few bit waiting for the police to arrive. It was nice. You asked about hero work. He asked about your job. You two chatted about a couple of random things and by the time the police arrived your chatter was comfortable and easy.

Everything after was a whirl. You had to give a statement. They needed to take you to a hospital just in case. The hero gave his witness statement and then had to leave to help out with a robbery in a different neighborhood.

You left for the hospital looking back and feeling little starbursts of melancholy disappointment needling your chest.

You'd probably never see him again.

Ah, well. Guess he'd stay Angel Voice.

***

Shit.

Crap. Crap. Crap. Crapcrapcrapcrapcrap.

This was stupid.

You had barely talked to him for a half hour. And, yeah, he was sweet. Ok, he'd been crazy nice. And so fucking attractive. He'd been easy to talk to and the conversation between you two had been entertaining and full of wit.

But you had no way of directly contacting him. You'd looked him up, but hadn't gotten much info on him. It looked like he was an underground hero, so that made a lot of sense. It, however, did not make it any less frustrating.

You didn't know what you'd do if you managed to get ahold of him anyway!

"Hi! You sorta bagged a guy who tried to assault me (but I took down first) a few weeks ago and I haven't been able to stop thinking about you since then even though we had like a half hour conversation, half of which was you coaxing me out of a panic attack. Want to go on a date?"

Of course, you could always comment on one of Utube videos, but that had about a 1 in 1,000,000,000 chance of working and felt a little too…. Stalker-fan.

There was also the raging guilt and embarrassment you felt over crushing on a hero who had just been helping you as part of his professional work. He had been at work! It was part of his job to comfort you! He was literally in the business of saving people and making sure they were ok. And that was exactly he had done. He didn't need to be harrassed because your dumb brain said, 'Oo, shiny!' when he smiled. He had been at work. You shouldn't read anything into his behavior, because there really wasn't anything other than a pro hero doing his duty.

Nope! You needed to get over this.

A notification buzzed and you checked your phone.

Mind_kitty has posted a new video! Watch now!

With a defeated sigh, you deferred the notification for later. You could listen and relax on your way home from work.

A movement out of the corner of your eye caught your attention and you snapped your head up as a coworker hustled over with a look of panic on their face.

Uh-oh.

***

And now, here you were, sitting wearily on the train and hurtling towards home.

Ugh, what a day.

After everything that could go wrong had miraculously (horrifically? Fiendishly? Miraculously seemed too positive…) gone up in flames at the same time, you had spent the rest of your work day running around like crazy putting out all the fires (only one of which was, in fact, a literal fire so not actually a terrible day).

Your feet were sore and a headache that had started with your coworker's news and grown from there threatened to overwhelm you.

There were still a few stops until yours, so you slipped your headphones out of your bag and opened your Utube app.

Thank you unlimited data!

You found Angel Voice's latest video and began to play.

(Ok, you now had actually figured out his Utube username and finally bothered to remember it, but he'd started as Angel Voice to you and it just worked in your mind!)

Ahhhhhh…

Why does he have such a great voice? It was perfect! Deep and smooth and perfectly made to whisper sweet (or not so sweet) nothings in your ear while you gently played with his wild purple hair. Fuck, his hair was so pretty! You'd bet your left buttcheek it was soft as clouds…

Ugggghhhhh... Fine.

You were crushing on a pro hero.

Are you happy, universe?

Your fated journey to become a groupie had begun. Might as well accept it and focus on more important things… like Angel Voice's hair.

Or, you know, his voice…

You fell into the sound of his speaking.

Hah, it was like an automatic reaction at this point. Your shoulders started to unknot and that stereotypical breath you didn't know you were holding in rushed out in a grateful sigh.

However, it didn't take you long to realize that he hadn't started into the asmr immediately as you were expecting. Paying more attention, you rewound the video to the beginning and actually listened to what he was saying.

"I'm not sure exactly how to do this." He let out a dry half chuckle. "I haven't completely convinced myself I should. But, um…"

He paused with a frustrated sigh, then seemed to take a deep breath.

"Ok, to hell with it. I'm doing this. Dear, girl I met the other night who took a guy out by kicking him in the nuts."

Was he talking about you? Was there another girl who kicked a guy in the nuts on his patrol? Damn, he met a lot of kickass girls on patrol! Good for her! She was getting a personal shoutout from Angel Voice!

"I know it might seem kind of weird to be doing this over Utube, but I missed my chance at first, then the police arrived and everything was crazy and I had to leave to help out another pro."

Wow, sounds intense. Bet that was stressful. Oh, wait. Hah. You knew it was stressful.

"So I blew my chance to ask for your number."

He wanted her number? Damn! Super lucky girl!

Wait, this wasn't an rp video was it?

You pulled out your phone to check, but the title and description didn't mention any kind of rp. Aww! This was real! And it was adorable!

A tiny piece of sad ripped itself free of the fuzzy feelings you were experiencing. He had been so kind and you'd had such a fun time conversing. It would have been really amazing if this were for you. You had really liked the piece of personality you'd been able to see.

"I'm really hoping you'll hear this video, and hear it in time, because I'd love to go get coffee with the girl who accidentally body-slammed her coworker on her birthday."

Holy.

Shit.

That…

THAT WAS YOU!

That had been you! Your stupid coworker had snuck up behind you at the end of the day in a semi-dark area of work and shouted in your ear to scare you.

It had worked.

You'd been so scared that you'd grabbed him, flipped him over your shoulder, and body-slammed him into the floor.

And… and you'd told Angel Voice that night as you sat talking about some of your more notorious takedowns.

This was for you.

This video was for you!

What the fuck?!

This video was for you!?

You had to rewind a hot second to hear what came next.

Then you had to pause and go back yet again, because your mind was in such a frenzy and your heart was beating so loudly in your ears you couldn’t concentrate on what was being said!

“So if you hear this and, um, you’re interested at all, girl who took down a fully grown man in five seconds, I’ll be waiting at the spot we first met at five pm today. I, uh, really hope I’ll see you there again.”

The video ended.

Your heart was still aiming for professional drummer in your chest.

You could see him raising his hand to rub at the back of his neck with that last statement. He’d done it that night and you could picture it in your mind.

Wait! What time was it?

4:50 pm.

No.

Nonononononono!

You were going to miss the meeting.

You were still six train stops away from yours and that alone would take you fifteen minutes! Not to mention the next fifteen minutes it’d take to get to the meeting place!

Of course, that was walking speed. You could run.

Frantic eyes looked down at your shoes. Not exactly running shoes.

Whatever, you’d make do.

You wanted to see him again.

You could just imagine the disappointment on his face if you didn’t show and that melancholy from earlier reared its weepy head and cried out in frustration because you didn’t want to hurt him!

And you really wanted to see him again!

The next fifteen minutes were the most agonizing you could remember enduring in recent history. This was worse than the time you spilled coffee on your favorite author and his manager had yelled at you for five minutes while they changed! I mean, that had been pretty bad, but the author had been incredibly nice about it after getting back and even mentioned it humorously in the book you had asked them to sign. It was still easily the most awful you'd ever felt and you’d really wanted nothing more than to run away.

This. Was. Worse.

So much worse because you couldn’t actively work towards your quickly approaching deadline and destination. You had to sit there… waiting.

Your leg was bouncing up and down and a few fellow train riders were giving you slightly concerned looks. You were too wound up to care.

Finally, finally!

You arrived at your stop, hurried off the train as quickly as you could without being the absolute worst human ever, and ran.

Your shoes remained on your feet until you almost killed yourself stumbling over them, then they were in your arms.

Decorum be damned!

This was a matter of life or date! (And preferably not death by shoe!)

You made it to the spot where you’d met him at exactly 5:12 pm.

You were sweaty.

Hell, that was an understatement.

You were pretty sure you’d left a trail of sweat behind you and you could feel it running in rivulets down your back. There was probably a stain back there… And on your armpits… and on… everywhere.

You knew your hair was an absolute mess.

But as bad as you knew you must look, you felt worse.

Your lungs were on fire. You had absolutely no breath left in your entire body. It felt like you had a knife in your side. In both sides actually. Your entire body was trying to imitate an oven with the level of heat radiating off your skin. Your legs were simultaneously wobbly and shaking and you weren’t sure you’d trust them taking another step at the moment.

And now you had sweat in your eye. Stinging.

But none of that even mattered.

All of that was stupid and trivial and inconsequential because he wasn’t there.

You’d taken too long.

He was gone.

No vibrant purple hair and sleep-deprived eyes.

No stupid half-smile.

That melancholy came back and instead of quietly tugging at your heart, it hit you square in the chest with an emotional cast-iron frying pan.

No.

No!

Damnit!

You’d really wanted this.

He was… he was so fucking witty and kind that night.

He’d been soft and understanding and hot. And fucking adorable.

And… and… he wasn’t there.

Fuck.

You slumped in place.

Every ounce of your physical exhaustion caught up to you in an instant and you felt the mortifying sting of tears trying to sneak their way out of your eyes.

Talk about adding insult to injury.

It wasn’t that bad. This wasn’t that bad.

So, you didn’t get to meet up with a cute hero for coffee. Big deal. Poor unfortunate soul. It was nothing to cry about.

But you’d really wanted to see him again.

Guess it didn’t matter anymore.

You turned, ready to march across the street to that convenience store and buy half of their ice cream, but something tickled your brain.

Something out of the corner of your eye.

Your head whipped around.

There!

It was a flash of purple down the street.

Your eyes snapped to that portion of the sidewalk.

It was purple hair.

Crazy, wild, tousled, purple hair!

You knew that hair!

But your stupid legs literally wouldn’t run anymore. And he was far enough away that you wouldn’t catch up if you could run.

You reacted without thinking.

You really acted without thinking.

“ANGEL VOICE!”

You shouted his name at the top of your lungs.

Sorry.

You shouted your own private, very personal nickname that you had only spoken out loud to your very best friend and, unfortunately, him.

In the middle of a crowded street.

During rush hour.

Your brain was an utter masterpiece of stupid.

You stood there, frozen with the realization of your own idiocy, as the head of purple hair stopped, looked to the side, looked to the other side, then tuuurrrnnned around.

Made eye contact with you through the busy crowd.

Then doubled over laughing.

You couldn’t hear him from where you stood, but you could feel him laughing.

You could see it in the way his bent shoulders shook and his torso convulsed, nearly spasming with the force of his laughter.

And there you stood, still stuck to your spot.

You’d called him Angel Voice out loud in a crowd out loud in front of a bunch of strangers out loud.

And as much as you wanted to run, you couldn’t even twitch.

Not as you watched him finally finish laughing and fully turn to face you. Not as you watched him begin to walk toward you through the throng of people (just beginning to turn back to their own business in the aftermath of your outburst). Not as he stopped directly in front of you, a delighted smile on his sleepy, stupidly attractive face and the corners of his eyes still just slightly crinkled with laughter.

“Hey there,” he said and it felt like the softest slap to the face you’d ever received.

Your frozen body finally remembered its fight or flight reflexes and, wouldn’t you know, you suddenly learned how to fly.

As you turned to bolt, Angel Voice reached out, calling to you.

“Hey, wait! You’re just gonna run after all of that?”

He didn’t grab you.

That detail broke through the panic.

Even though he reached out with his hand, he didn’t grab you.

You stopped.

“I wanna run because of all that!” you blurted.

His chuckles sent a wave of heat down your spine, both embarrassed and… otherwise. Ok, fine! He had a sexy voice! And it turned you on more than you liked to admit!

Who let him have a voice like that?

It was not freaking fair!

“I’d rather you didn’t.”

Fuck, he sounded sincere.

You slowly turned around, face still burning.

You two stared at each other for a minute.

A smile crooked your lips.

“So, uh, what’s a place like you doing in a voice like this.”

Silence.

“Fuck.”

Your hand came up to rub at your forehead as he began laughing again. A full, big laugh instead of a chuckle.

“I should probably just give up on the talking thing, shouldn't I?”

“I hope not. I could listen to you all day,” he said with a small grin.

And now your heart it was afluttering.

“I feel like that should be my line,” you mumbled, watching him catch his breath from all that big old laughing through the fingers splayed across your face.

There was a pause in the conversation. It wasn’t uncomfortable, but it hadn’t really achieved comfortable silence.

“So, um.”

You looked up from your hand.

Good fuck, he was doing the rubbing the back of his neck thing again. Illegal. Freaking illegal is what that was. No man should possess that level of cute.

“I mentioned grabbing coffee in the video. I’d like to assume you being here means you’re interested?” The sentence ended with a slight upturn, indicating a question. He looked up at you, uncertainty in his gorgeous violet eyes.

Why the hell was he uncertain?

This mortherfucking hottie with a voice made for swooning (and spooning) was nervous about asking you to coffee (adateadateadateadate).

Without thinking, you voiced this exact thought out loud (sans the date portion... and the spooning. Spooning was for non-dumbasses).

Angel Voice looked absolutely floored.

“I’m sorry, but do you own a mirror?” he asked. There was a tension in his voice that almost had you shrinking into yourself.

Ouch.

Damn.

Ouch.

Well, at least he was blunt.

“You’re fucking gorgeous.”

You met him on the floor.

Dead. Ass.

He just called you gorgeous.

There was a set to his jaw now and a sort of light in his eyes. He looked very… determined. Set, was what you’d call it. He seemed very set on a decision.

"It was great talking to you the other night. I can't get out of my head how funny and smart you were. And you're so fucking cute I want to wrap you up in my jacket and stay there forever."

His face was blazing red now. His ears too. Ok, that was hella adorable. You felt your own self flush with happy bashful feelings. I mean, he himself had just supplied you with the sappiest, schmoopiest mental image you’d really ever conceived.

“I’d really like to go get some coffee together.” He went quiet for a minute, seeming to mull something over in his head, and that stupid hand came up to rub at his neck again.

Ugh, he was gonna kill you with that!

“Would you go on a date with me?”

If your heart was fluttering before, it was nearly palpitating now!

“Yes! Please! I mean, yes I want to go on a date with you!”

He smiled, a breathless, bewildered, almost (dare you think) dorky smile. It was fucking beautiful.

"Wow," he exhaled.

A snort escaped you. "Again, I feel like that should be my line."

But you smiled back.

And there you both stood, almost dazedly smiling, little happy thoughts buzzing through your minds.

“We should probably head to a cafe if we’re going to get coffee,” Angel Voice finally murmured.

You started.

The both of you were standing like idiots in the middle of the sidewalk, just staring at each other.

“Coffee, right. Anywhere in mind, Angel Voice?” The nickname slipped out almost by accident.

He held out his hand to you and you took it gently.

“Angel Voice, huh?” he laughed quietly. “I think I can go with that.”

“Hey, it’s not my fault! You still haven’t told me your name.” You sent a playful tug along the arm you held by the hand and felt a little thrill of joy when he returned it just as playfully. "You're officially Angel Voice until you enlighten me."

The two of you had started walking. He seemed to have a destination in mind. Man with a plan. Nice.

“I know a cafe nearby. Do you mind?” he asked, softly pulling you along in invitation while leaving enough slack for you to object if you wanted.

Man with a plan who asked nicely. Nice.

“Not at all, Angel Voice.” You had a point to make and a guy to tease!

He chuckled again.

“My name is Hitoshi. Hitoshi Shinsou.” That slightly devious grin crept back onto his face. “But Angel Voice works for me.” He snuggled in close to your cheek, the side of his body leaning comfortably into yours. Then he whispered in your ear and you nearly fell over. "Especially if you're screaming it as loud as you did earlier."

Good lord, your knees nearly collapsed.

His voice, his stupid voice, saying such a frisky thing so close did such a number on you that you couldn't respond for a moment. It was all you could do to keep breathing.

His voice was going to be the death of you! You couldn’t think. Should you respond? What did you say to that? Something equally as frisky! But his voice!

He tensed a bit at your lack of response.

"Was that too much? Did I cross a line?" he asked, still speaking low right in your ear.

"Son of a bitch, if you don't stop that right now, I'm gonna jump your fucking bones right in the middle of this street." Your voice was full of urgency, but if he didn't stop you really were liable to unleash every single ounce of wild attraction you felt towards him at that exact moment, street full of people be damned!

He stopped walking.

Oh, shit. You could hear the Cheshire grin.

"You mean, like this?"

You sagged against him, letting your knees tremble. Your hand, still tangled, clutched his tightly.

His chuckle this time was less… benevolent than before. "What? You called me Angel Voice." His thumb ran soothingly over your hand. "I had to see if I could tempt you."

You couldn't help it. You turned your face to bury it in his jacket. What a magnificent, teasing butthead you'd just gotten yourself tangled up with. It was amazing!

"That’s going to come back to bite me, isn't it?"

“All the time.”

A tiny little butterfly crept into your stomach. You didn’t want to read too much into it (although after his teasing, you didn't really feel like it was reading into things), but ‘all the time’ sounded like there was going to be, well, plenty of time. It was a very welcome, warm idea.

As soon as your legs de-noodled (Hitoshi making snarky comments like a brat the entire time), the two of you continued on in an easy silence, exchanging teases every so often. The sun was setting and the entire world was covered in golden tones. Rush hour was winding down and the foot traffic in the area was dissipating, leaving a much more comfortable number of people around.

Your brain focused on the soft, warm quality of the light, the muted shocks of excitement zipping through your lower back, and the soft weight of his calloused hand surrounding yours.

You gave a little, light squeeze.

"I'm so happy I ran, Angel Voice.”

He just chuckled and squeezed back.

#welp there you go #shinsou #hitoshi shinsou #shinsou hitoshi #bnha #mha #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #bnha shinsou #mha shinsou #shinsou fluff #hitoshi shinsou fluff

30 notes · View notes

inspirationdivine · 4 years ago

Text

Perchance To Dream || Lydia and Jared

Timing: During the POTW Parties: @themidnightfarmer @inspirationdivine Summary: When Jared’s glamour fails, he seeks out a safe place to hide and reflect

He’d never had so much trouble keeping himself in check. Jared was usually very disciplined with his glamour, it was firm even while he was asleep most nights even. But it seemed exhaustion was unlike any other external factor, and he found himself actually having to concentrate hard on keeping his appearance ‘normal’ as he went about his shopping. He was slipping, he felt himself slipping before he caught his reflection in a window as he passed by, he was losing control and his skin was fading out of it’s fake hue. It was only a matter of minutes before he’d lost it, and with how brutal his natural appearance could be, he needed to get home fast. He cursed having walked into town. Of all days to have decided not to have the safety of a closed vehicle. There was a bubbling panic in his stomach as he passed yet another dark window, able to see his eyes shifting from blue to purple. “Fuck.” and he took off running. He didn't think about where he was going, but when he arrived at the gates of Lydia's home he felt saved. He sprint into the gate and around the garden out of sight of any prying eyes. Or he would have had he not been tackled to the ground.

Lydia was completely unaware of the situation happening just outside her garden. She had a backlog of emails as long as her that she was busy with, and a kitten toying with her left hand, keeping her distracted as she tried to type. “Hey! Gentle,” she scolded the tabby cat when she was bitten a little too hard. Just then, O walked in urgently, speaking fast. “We have neutralised a threat in the garden. Tall male individual with grey skin, purple eyes, please advise.” They were watching her carefully, in case she began to panic. Lydia started at the zombie for a long moment, before putting the pieces together. “Oh! That’s Jared! Tell Jeremiah to let him go!” She told O, standing up and picking up Niamh as she followed O out to the garden, where Jeremiah did indeed have Jared in a head lock and pinned to the ground. “It’s alright! He is a friend!”

He was still trying so incredibly hard to get his glamour under check that his skin rippled like an awfully colour blind chameleon. Jared, despite this, sat completely still. He hardly even moved his chest to breathe as he was locked and held into the grass. As soon as he was released however, he rolled backwards and out of the reach of his captor to look up and find Lydia with his eyes. Grass stained and dirty now, but he still managed an exhausted smile when he found her. “I uh...didn’t call again I guess?” he said quietly hoping for a joke but really just regretting forgetting that she might have taken steps far beyond anything he’d known about before the mushrooming had happened. In fact it felt silly now that he had insisted Cap stay with her considering the small animal yawned as he emerged from a hedge to greet him only now.

“No, you didn’t. Fortunately, I like you anyway,” Lydia laughed, giving him a careful, warm hug, careful to avoid the grass stains as she did so. “It’s good to see you.” Lydia turned to smile at the little distant Raiju that she had grown rather fond of seeing loitering in the corners. Jared had been right, she had appreciated its companionship, and had barely noticed it was there. “Someone, at least, has been anxious for a visit. Why don’t you come inside? It’s been a while, and I’ve missed you. It also looks like your glamour is having some issues.”

Jared accepted the hug with as much enthusiasm as his tired and slightly sore form could muster, he kept the smile on his face just for her as well. The nymph spared the security team a glance and then looked down to offer Cap a scratch behind the ear for all his good work guarding, even if Lydia had much more qualified people on hand now. He was happy to move away from the very intimidating team that were slowly dispersing around them from the threat he’d posed moments ago. He definitely didn’t want to not have Lydia's favour coming over unannounced; he decided in that moment, from now on he’d text (or he’d try to remember to call but there were never any promises). Following her inside he informed her “That’s why I sprinted over, I was planning on coming to visit this week, and then I sort of got trapped and I figured….you were the safest place to go since I was having so much trouble.” He waved a hand however and added “But it’s uh...no big deal I guess...how have you been. Feeling good with all your new security in place?”

“I completely understand. Jared, you are eternally welcome, and I shall ensure that everyone is quite aware of this in the future, regardless of what face you decide to wear next time.” Lydia walked over into her kitchen. “Can I get you anything to drink, or to eat?” The busywork of getting out her glasses made it easier to answer the question. The last few days and the blood weighed heavy on her mind. Her back had healed in a week with as many ups as downs. “I adopted a cat! Niamh, who is floating around in the garden somewhere. My wing has healed. Not everything is quite as it should be, but I can hardly complain. Things are good.”

She was so wonderful, Jared was so pleased to have met someone who was so kind to him even when he’d potentially scared her. What with the breaking and entering of her proprietary after she’d had a VERY bad experience and all. “Uh yeah sure I’ll have some water or something.” he smiled, as he listened to her update him on how she was getting on he let the rest of his glamour fall away. Lydia wouldn’t mind, and it’d help him concentrate on her words more than his exhaustion. “You’re all healed up!! I was really hoping for you to recover, I was telling my kids about you the other night. Can’t wait to tell them you’re doing well.” he grinned. He wanted to give her a hug in delight but wasn’t sure the reception he’d get so instead bounced on the balls of his feet. “And a cat is a great companion, Niamh is a great name.”

Lydia busied herself with picking out a nice crystal glass for him, getting a lemon from the fridge and cutting a slice of lemon to drop in beside the ice before pouring him the water. When she turned back, he looked as he should, beautiful in his abject inhumanity. “You were telling your kids? What, like bedtime stories for the puppy bonedoggles? Jared, you are the most adorable vicious creatures nymph I’ve ever met,” Lydia laughed, enthused by juist his presence. It washed away the blood and guilt on her conscience as she turned to hand him his glass. “She’s wonderful. Not quite as colourful as your kids, but great all the same. So, what’s up with your glamour?”

“They like to hear stories, they respond well to names they can put faces to, so yeah...I told the bonedoggle pups about you last night.” Jared maybe would have been a little defensive if she hadn’t laughed along with her words. Instead he beamed at her. “Not that they’re pups anymore, they’re young but growing fast.” He took the glass and immediately took a long drink. His hand catching the drips that had escaped the edges of his lips before he spoke again. “I’m real tired I guess? Not being doing too well the last few weeks, but it’ll get better. As soon as I can get some good sleep I’m sure it’ll get better… hopefully.”

“That’s… disarmingly cute. If I hadn’t met them, I wouldn’t believe they were even the littlest bit dangerous, you know,” Lydia smiled right back at him. “Really? How big are they now?” He drank so fast Lydia raised her eyebrows, pouring herself a glass of whiskey to go with his glass of water, before turning her attention back to him. “Has something happened?” Lydia asked gently, leading him over to the sitting room couch, so that they could sit side by side, her wings tucked away at her side. “Do you want to talk about it?” He could tell her anything, but Lydia wasn’t about to pry. That said, maybe if he was so tired by it all so much so that he was losing control of his glamour, maybe it was time to start talking about it.

“Oh well they are cute Lydia come on, they’re little faces are to die for….although they’re definitely not as cuddly as normal puppies I’ll give you that.” Jared joked lightly. He gulped down the water and then excitedly put the glass down so that he could hold his hands out to show her how big the pups had gotten. “Almost ready for their second trip for bones.” The words held pride he knew she might not understand, but he felt he could be himself about his kids with her, even if she didn’t fully agree she wouldn’t shoot him down. SItting down heavily on the couch he leaned back and fought off a yawn and the ache in his bones settled in. “Oh I just… didn’t have a very good time with the mushrooms this year, and then...sleepwalking, I can’t seem to get any rest...nightmares you know in amongst it all.” He shrugged at her and smiled despite his words. “I’m sure it’ll work itself out, I have hope at least right? Can’t be bad all the time can it?”

“The first time we met they were going to eat me!” Lydia protested with a laugh, her eyes widening with surprise as he gestured how big they were. “They’ve grown so fast! I assume that’s wonderful news!” Lydia smiled as he lit up with pride, his eyes bright and wonderful. “Sleepwalking? Is that new?” Lydia asked, her brows knitted as he talked. “Do you still feel bad about the human you killed?” Lydia asked softly, without any judgement. He had seemed cut up about it, in the same way Deirdre had been about Emma, in the same way Lydia’s stomach churned when she thought about what had happened a few days ago with Dot.

“They were not!” He protested in return but focused more firmly on the warm feeling in his gut as she enthused with him. It’d been a while since he’d been able to gush about his kids, just through sheer circumstance, and it was refreshing to have someone to allow him to indulge. Jared nodded slowly, he’d been trying to think of Ronald less and less, but it hadn’t been going exactly to plan. “I never meant to see him again, but I guess I fudged the words when I made him promise not to tell anyone. Forgot to add that he shouldn’t come back either… I… I fed him to the kids… I wish… I hadn’t had to and he’d just stayed away from us like I’d hoped. I wasn’t even in the right mind. It was like a bad trip and all of a sudden I was awake and it was all too apparent that I’d done something irreversible you know?” He wasn’t looking for sympathy, he wasn’t even sure if he was making sense. But the nymph knew that Lydia wouldn’t mind, or at least he hoped. She was so wonderful but he’d understand if she didn’t want to hear it all. He looked up at her from where he’d slouched in the cushions, like she’d have the answers, but he knew that was a lot to ask someone. “I’ve always been a bad shot too, the mushrooms gave me focus where I didn’t want it.”

Lydia shifted where she sat so she could touch his shoulder. There wasn’t more she could offer him really, other than the comfort of just being heard. Sometimes, that was enough. Sometimes, it was impossible to help in any other way. “You did do something irreversible, but so did he,” Lydia began softly, trying to listen carefully. Well, if she had known he fed human corpses to his kids, that would have been useful a couple days ago. Not that that was the point now. “Even if he wasn’t promise bound to stay away, he wasn’t welcome and he knew it. Humans are far from my favourite, but they have basic modicums of intelligence no less than ours. He came irregardless, to take something from you. Or do you think it was something else that brought him there?”

Jared let his head droop to the side and his body lean into her comforting touch. “I don’t really know why he was there, but I can’t imagine it was with good intentions. I know people got all muddled up while they were there, the stray sod got a little bit out of control and all while I wasn’t really focused. But he’d have had to get there first.” he hadn’t really considered Ronalds intent on the farm, he’d been too shaken by having shot him. But now that he thought about it, he’d do anything for his kids...and if Ronald really had come back for them and not just shown up by accident like he’d feared, then he was a little less regretful. “I suppose if it was him or one of my kids I’d glad it was him…” he allows the words to escape his lips and then he grimaces. “Preferably no shots would have been fired while I wasn’t awake but I guess that’ how it was, can’t really do much now you know?” He spared her a pained smile, trying to mask the ill feeling swirling behind his eyes. “I feel like I should feel worse? But also I’m too tired to really think all that deep anyway, sleepwalking takes it outta you apparently.” he chuckled weakly.

As he leant into her touch, Lydia wrapped her arm around his shoulders sideways. It was hardly the most comfortable of positions considering their egregious height difference, but it was comforting to have him so close. “So he was confused once he was there, but that doesn’t mean he hadn’t had nefarious intentions before, whatever that looked like,” Lydia spoke quietly, gently. Clearly, obviously feeding him a biased world view, but sometimes that was what was needed, especially when Jared was so painfully biased against himself. He saw himself as the automatic villain, the cruel creature of the night, who had lost his way on the mushrooms. In Lydia’s humble opinion, it was as if the mushrooms had shown him the way, had made his aim true. The mushrooms had allowed him to react decisively, rather than risking any of Jared’s kids. “No, you can’t do much, but you are still permitted to feel. There is no should when it comes to emotion, only what is.” She gently traced patterns back and forth on his arm. “Sleepwalking? How long has that been going on?”

He felt a little touch deprived at that moment. Jared hadn’t realized how much he’d withdrawn these last few weeks and he hadn’t really felt he would be allowed to reach out considering what he’d done. He’d even stopped himself from giving Lydia a hug earlier. And yet here she was offering him comfort despite what the mushrooms had done to him. He shifted to lean into her, fully letting her ease his mind without question. He wanted to be told he wasn’t terrible, so he was willing to believe her blindly. “Yeah, he couldn’t have shown up by accident.” he decided. “I’m not sure, it could have been going on for ages and I wouldn’t have noticed at first.” he said, “I didn’t realize for far too long that Things had been moved, chores had already been done. But then it got worse, I woke up walking into the lake the other day...that wasn’t so fun. I heard other people are also sleepwalking so… it’s not mushrooms, I thought at first it was but I don’t think it is now.”

He melted into her arms like giraffe shaped putty, and Lydia shifted to accommodate him, so that he had as much space and warmth as he needed. “No, he intended to be there,” Lydia agreed encouragingly, hoping that the guilt would slowly melt away. “He was only human.” She reminded him. But as Jared explained more deeply about his sleepwalking, Lydia’s brows bent in a frown. “You were doing chores in your sleep? That’s almost helpful.” Lydia joked lightly, but she could see that he was entirely shaken by the entire situation, so she held him closer. “Other people? People you know or strangers? That’s… seriously disconcerting. I wish I knew how to help. Do you need anything?”

The nymph stifled a yawn, feeling incredibly safe and warm by Lydia's side, especially with the stress of keeping his glamour steady not buzzing on his skin. “Only human.” Jared repeated back to her, her outlook on species didn’t fully compute with his own ideology, but he supposed if it had to have been anyone, a human like Ron deserved to go the most. “Almost.” he chuckled in agreement. “Except I’d been doing things twice and I don’t really have the cash for extra of anything at the moment. Also the kids didn’t really enjoy whatever they could feel over our connection, got a few bites for being unresponsive.” he waved a hand dismissively at the bites however, he got nibbled all the time it didn’t mean much, he was just more upset that his kids had felt unrest at his state. “A few strangers, but some people I know as well. There doesn’t seem to be a system to it, it’s all just random. Oh god no Lydia it’s okay, it’s just a bit...unsettling I guess? You’re not sleepwalking or anything?”

Only human, Lydia echoed in her mind, because he wasn’t the only one reassuring himself of such things. She pushed that thought aside, unable to bear it right now, not when Jared needed her here. “Oh, Jared, if you ever need money, you need but ask.” She offered gently, but her eyes widened sharply as he described his kids’ reactions. “They bit you? Jared, are you alright?” Sure, he described them as sweet little things, but Lydia remembered the teeth on those Bonedoggles. A nibble was not just a nibble, no matter what Jared said. “That is disturbing,” Lydia agreed softly, making a mental note to ask about it to others, who might know more about dream disturbances. “No, I still haven’t been sleeping too well generally, since the attack, but I haven’t been sleepwalking.” Lydia dropped her cheek against the top of his head, taking his hand with the one not wrapped around his shoulders and squeezing his hand. “If there’s anything I can do for you, you can always ask. I am here for you.”

“Don’t offer me money. I'm not a very good investment, I don’t tend to ever have enough to pay it back in anywhere near a timely manner.” Jared mumbled in response. He waved a hand, less enthusiastically than before stifling yet another yawn. “They have teeth, anything with teeth can bite, it's normal.” he hummed. At that point his eyes started to close, he was fighting a losing battle. He heard nothing else she’d said, missing her comment of not being able to sleep herself completely. His own selfish exhaustion had decided to flaunt it’s willingness for rest in her face. He’d fallen asleep in her arms.

“That doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt,” Lydia replied. “But if you insist-” She looked down at him, and he didn’t look back up at her. His eyelashes were pressed closed, casting spidery shadows on his cheeks. He breathed quietly and slowly. Here, in her arms, he would not wander anywhere. He could rest safely here. His weight too, was the first weight pressing down on her all week that soothed rather than suffocated. Lydia’s eyes stretched to the raiju, lurking in the corner of the room, Cap watching Jared curiously. “Come here then,” she murmured, and the pile of two became three.

#wickedswriting #para #chatzy #jared

12 notes · View notes

wocfics · 5 years ago

Text

Step By Step

Kim Namjoon Series

Arranged Marriage Series

Main Masterlist

KNJ x Poc Reader

Warnings: None

Word Count: 2k+

“Shhh...come on YoungMi, please get some sleep for mommy.” You paced around your daughter’s room while rocking her in your arms. You glanced over at the clock that read 2:43 am and took a deep breath. YoungMi whined and cried quietly in your arms. You knew she couldn’t help it since she was sick and the poor thing couldn’t get sleep. After getting prescribed medicine, the doctor said it should work after a couple of hours but Namjoon, being Namjoon, forgot to give it to her before her bedtime and you were left to fix it. It had only been a few minutes since you gave it to her and she started to quiet down.

Ever since that day at the building, you and Namjoon haven’t been on the best of terms. You avoided him as much as possible, only talking to him when it was related to the child you both shared. You didn’t have long to think about the living conditions since all of your stuff had already been moved in anyways. You did what you had to for your baby, wanting nothing but the nest for her. That was a few months ago, of course and now you had to deal with a sick, crying baby. Although you weren’t talking to Namjoon as much, you were able to figure out his schedule since it was a must.

5 am- Namjoon wakes up and so does YoungMi

5:30- Namjoon has eaten breakfast while you feed the baby as well and let Namjoon hold her for a while before heading to the studio.

6 am- YoungMi goes back down after being tired from waking up so early and you take a shower.

7 am- You cook yourself breakfast and do any cleaning that wasn’t done the night before while learning Korean through an app and books, with help from Jimin.

7:45- YoungMi wakes up and you get her dressed for the day.

Between 8 am and 10 pm you give MiMi her tummy time so she can learn to crawl, feed her and you make a grocery list for later, make lunch and do laundry.

By 12:30 YoungMi is down for her nap while you eat breakfast and learn more Korean, taking notes.

1:15- MiMi wakes up from her nap and is fed again.

2pm: You and the baby go out to the grocery store and spend some time at the Han River.

5pm: You start cooking dinner and brush up on your studies since you’re still waiting for a few phone calls for your esthetician job.

6pm- You feed MiMi again and turn on soft music for her to listen to while she sits in her bouncer and watches you make dinner.

7pm- You give MiMi her bath

8pm- You eat and put the rest up for Namjoon

9pm- Namjoon comes home and goes right to spend some time with MiMi before bed while you learn more Korean.

10pm- Namjoon takes another shower and goes to bed while you go to bed in the other bedroom.

You had all of this figured out within the 3 months that you’ve been living together. Sometimes Namjoon will send a text to see YoungMi on his lunch break at the building so you bring her there, but you won’t say a word to him and the boys can tell that there’s a lot of tension between the two of you. They don’t speak on it, since most of them have their own issues going on already with their wives. When you do need a break, Namjoon’s mother, the angel that she is, will take the baby to give you some free time in which you do squeeze in a few sessions with a personal trainer since you wanted to get your body back.

Now, in this room with your daughter slowly falling asleep, you sniffled some since she was starting to make you sick, all from taking care of her. You kissed her head a few times, rocking back and forth. Even if your eyes felt heavy and you wanted to sleep, you knew you couldn’t until she was okay. Motherhood was definitely taking its toll on you and your body but you wouldn’t give her up for anything. It was hard, but you knew you could do it and even if you and Namjoon didn’t see eye to eye he was a great dad, a little forgetful but great to MiMi.

Laying her down in her crib and placing a blanket over her, you walked over to the humidifier in her room and filled it with more water, turned it on and walked back to your own room. Hearing the other door open, you froze and turned to see Namjoon coming out of the room, shirtless and wearing boxers while scratching his chest and staring at you. “She okay? I heard her crying.” He grumbled. God, why does his voice have to be so deep and sexy at this hour? If you didn’t hate him so much right now you would probably be pregnant again. You hadn’t gotten laid since the night your daughter was conceived but you were sure he got his fill while you suffered.

“She’s fine now, you forgot to give her the medicine she was supposed to take hours ago.” He cursed and rubbed his face. “I forgot...I’m sorry. Hectic day and-” “It’s taken care of now, just go back to bed.” You cut him off, not really in the mood to hear what he had to say. Closing your door behind you, taking a deep breath, you sat on the edge of your bed and rubbed the back of your neck and that’s when your door opened and in walked Namjoon, closing it behind him and clasping his hands together. Was he for real? Right now at this hour and still wearing boxers?

“Y/N...we need to talk about this now. It’s been months and this is getting ridiculous. I know we don’t know much about each other but we do have a daughter together and I would like for us to get along for her sake. There’s an award show coming up and the company wants us to invite the wives, ever since the announcement people have been waiting to see all of you so I need you on this, Y/N, please. There’s already enough stress with this comeback and the new album dropping soon.” He paused for a few seconds and looked at you. “We can talk more about it in the morning, you can even sleep in the bed with me and move your stuff into the room. I want to work this out.” He added.

He looked like a God when he was begging like this. Blinking a few times, you rolled your eyes twice as hard as he spoke and picked at your pajama shorts before looking up at him. “I want you to apologize. Apologize to me for what you said. You wanted me to stay out of your way, you wanted me to stay in the extra bedroom and not bother you while you work and I gave you exactly what you wanted and now you hate it. I’ve been giving you what you’ve wanted besides this marriage that I had no say in...I just want you to know, that as hard as it is for you it was hard for me too, Namjoon. To be pregnant by myself with no help, drive myself to the hospital and give birth alone and then take care of her for 2 months by myself. No help, just sleeping when she sleeps and eating when she isn’t crying. So, with that, the only thing I want from you is an apology. I’ll fix everything else tomorrow and we can figure something out but I just need you to understand that I’m also overwhelmed too.” You climbed under the blanket and looked at him.

“Please, let me get some sleep, call your mother in the morning to pick up MiMi and keep her for the day.” Namjoon nodded and gave you a small smile. “This will all work out, I promise. All relationships have obstacles and this is one of many that we will get through. Things will get crazier but I promise I’ll try my best for both of you. Um, goodnight, Y/N.” He nodded his head once again before leaving the room.

Great, now you were stuck staring up at the ceiling and thinking about what he just said. Clearly he needed to redeem himself and you could tell he felt guilty about what you went through while being alone and pregnant. Also, you had forgotten about the award show and even the whole announcement. You stayed away from most of your social media except for Instagram, which you kept extremely private and you wouldn’t dare to go on Twitter even though you had thousands of notifications. What were you gonna wear to this award show anyways?

You and the other wives had your fittings in one dressing room, all matching colors with your husband, your color was gold. You were placed in a short dress, black with gold details, the back was only slightly low and the dress itself stopped at your mid thigh, almost feeling like a second skin. Your jewelry was gold as well, a few rings, earrings, a gold diamond choker and a a bracelet. Your shoes were black, keeping those simple. You did your own hair, keeping your curls but less volume and did a simple smokey eye with a brown lip.

You waited with the other wives, quietly talking amongst them and taking in how beautiful they all were. Jin’s wife was last to get ready, being the diva that you thought she was but once you all were ready, you waited for the boys. Looking over your fresh manicure that you were not used to having, you played with the rings on your fingers while the boys walked out, all dressed in their own style of suits but they matched the dresses overall. Namjoon stared at you, his eyes looking over your body and you glared at him before getting into the vehicle that was to escort all of you to the red carpet.

The amount of cameras and people that were on the red carpet was overwhelming. You weren’t ready at all but Namjoon, kept you next to him, holding your hand while you all walked and waited to take pictures. The screams were insane, your body tensed up every now and then but you kept a small smile on your face while posing and taking pictures. While the boys spoke, you and the other wives took a few photos together, it was weird that people knew your names and asked you to turn and take photos for them.

Each couple had their interview, which thankfully you didn’t have to speak much and Namjoon did almost all of the talking. He led you inside, his hand on your lower back and waved at a few people. Once inside, you walked to your seats. “Are you okay?” Namjoon asked and you nodded, confused as to why until you heard the fans from afar, some cheering and others yelling bad things at you and the other wives. Scrunching your eyebrows, you held Namjoon’s hand and squeezed it while staring at the stage as they got things together.

At one point during the show, the boys got up, more than once to accept awards and then to perform. You sat next to Jimin’s wife who was on your right, dancing in your seats to most of the songs and grinning when the boys performed. The whole night was something you never thought you would have the luxury of being in. The idols were nice, at least most of them, some of them didn’t take the time to say hi but it didn’t bother you. You knew why but you didn’t let it ruin your night.

The boys were phenomenal, winning so many awards that even they were shocked. Although it was long, it finally ended and you were able to go home. As Namjoon walked over to you, sweat on his face, you grabbed a napkin and patted it away for him, fixed his collar and jumped when you heard someone behind you call his name. Jackson Wang, of Got7. He jogged over to you two and briefly spoke to Namjoon, asking him to come to the after party.

Within the two weeks that you moved back into the main bedroom, worked out your schedules and your daughter got over her cold, things were looking better. The fandom was still shaken up, but on your end, this was what you wanted for your daughter, a great life and even greater parents.

You nodded to Namjoon, seeing as he was looking at you for confirmation for the after party. Of course, you would be going with him since Jackson insisted.

The after party was a different atmosphere, more relaxed than the award show. There were drinks, actual food and music playing. The building in which it was being held was beautifully decorated, red carpeting and a chandelier in the middle of the room. The first thing you did was grab a glass of wine and took a sip while Namjoon introduced you to a few people. Jackson made his way back over. “You made it and you brought your beautiful wife.” He cheered and finished his glass of whatever he was drinking and held out his hand to you. He kissed the back of your hand and you full on smiled, giggling. “Wow, Namjoon-ah, you really outdid it. She’s so beautiful. Your dress is amazing.” He commented towards you and you thanked him as he spun you around.

From the corner of your eye, you can see Namjoon’s jaw tighten visibly and he pulled you back to his side and stared down at you. Jackson was still holding onto your hand, looking over your rings and showering you in compliments, your face was burning from it all and Namjoon took your now empty glass from you and went to get you another one.

“So how does it feel to be Mrs. Kim Namjoon, huh? Where did you two meet and how come I didn’t see you first?” He joked and you laughed, explaining that you met in California a little over a year ago. You let go of his hand as he talked about his music and the trips he had lined up, you noticed Namjoon standing by the bar, watching you, carefully and you hugged Jackson goodbye, his hands rubbing your back before letting go.

Once you were in front of Namjoon, he leaned down to your ear. “We’re leaving now.” He ordered and grabbed your hand, pulling you with him out of the building and towards the car that was waiting for you. He sent a quick text and the other members came piling into the car with you and you all drove off.

You didn’t know what caused this sudden change in character for him but something told you he was angry about whatever it was. Maybe Jackson being too friendly or maybe he just wasn’t feeling well. Whatever it was, you were gonna ask him once you two got home anyways.

#kim namjoon #bts imagines #bts ot7 #bts poc #bts fanfic #bts x poc #kpop poc #namjoonxreader #namjoonimagine #pockpop #bts x black reader #black reader

209 notes · View notes

adarlingwrites · 4 years ago

Text

Absolution

Summary:

noun: formal release from guilt, obligation, or punishment

The Capital Wasteland lauded the Lone Wanderer as a hero, a Messiah, a savior who’s willing to give her life for the Good Fight. Beyond the legends, the propaganda, and the mythification that surrounded her legacy, there is only one person who knew her bare soul. She gave him his absolution, and now he will fight for hers.

XXIII

January 6, 2278.

“People of the Capital Wasteland! It’s me, Threeeeee Dog, your master of ceremonies. Everyone ready for the wasteland's latest news? Me neither, but it’s that time again.

We haven’t heard from Miss 101 for quite a while now. Three Dog was even starting to fear the worst after eyewitnesses reported sightings of Talon Company mercs lingering near Rivet City, the last location she was seen alive with her ghoul friend, Charon. GNR sources confirmed the body of five mercs in the metro tunnels that connect from Anacostia Crossing to the Museum station. Sounds like they messed with our dynamic duo and fucked up real bad. If the kid and her bodyguard survived the ambush, Three Dog is still confirming, so stay tuned. Here’s to hoping the Wasteland Avenger and her faithful Ghoul Reaper are still alive and kicking. The Capital Wasteland needs people like them.

And now, for some music. Here’s Billie Holiday with Crazy He Calls Me.”

“Wasteland Avenger my ass,” Percy mutters.

Beside me, my partner tosses and turns, unable to sleep. I roll on my side, and see her back turned to me, arms defensively around herself. We’re huddling together for warmth in a single bedroll, under a musty tent. The campfire outside continues to burn, providing us with additional heat.

“Charon, are you awake?”

I grunted in response, my chin settling on top of her head.

“You got a little scary earlier today, big guy,” Percy tells me, and I wince. “I didn’t want to issue an order, but that’s the only way I got you to stop. What happened?”

With one arm, I prop myself up, and with the other, I pull her into an embrace. She turns and presses her forehead against the crook of my neck.

“I blacked out.”

“Was it an episode? Are you alright?”

“I’m fine. It wasn’t an episode.”

“Did Phillips really piss you off that bad?”

I look into Percy’s eyes. They were searching mine. I nod, and I press my mouth against her forehead.

“Huh. That’s the first time you ever reacted to someone saying shit about you.”

“I was pissed about the things he said about you,” I corrected her.

We lay in silence for minutes. Just when I thought she had finally fallen asleep, Percy extends her arm and wraps it around my waist.

“I’ve been thinking about what he said. About Dashwood… and me.”

I let her continue, running my gloved hand through her hair.

“He’s got a point. Like Dashwood and Argyle, we’re friends, yes, but our relationship really is unequal.”

I get the feeling that she’s going to bring up the contract again.

“When you’re ready, let’s get rid of the contract together. Promise me?”

“That may take a long time, Percy.”

Looking in my eyes with wet ones, Percy gives me a pleading look.

“I don’t care how long it will take you. I could be old and gray and I’d still wait for that day. Please?”

Please. Damn that word.

“I promise.”

“There’s something else that’s bothering me,” Percy continues.

“What if I keep making the wrong decisions, Charon? What if I screw Paradise up? What if I screw Project Purity up?”

“There’s no room for doubt now,” I tell her.

“I know.”

Letting her go, I sit up and take my shotgun. “I’ll keep watch,” I tell her.

“You should rest too,” she tells me, peering up from the sleeping bag.

“I am trained to go with less sleep. I insist that you rest, angel.”

Percy chuckles, voice soft.

“Fine. Good night.”

I left our tent and stood guard outside.

It was around four in the morning when Percy started screaming, and I rushed into the tent to see what’s wrong. I had to put my arms around her and press her against my chest again to calm her down. Her pulse was racing, she’s sweating despite the cold, and her skin is pale and clammy. I move her closer to the fire, where she clings to me, trembling.

“Percy, are you alright?”

My partner nods. She takes a bottle of water from our pack, and drinks desperately, a stream of water escaping her lips.

“Just a bad dream…”

As my night terrors became less frequent, Percy is starting to have them more often.

I wish I could do something to help her.

Taking off her glasses, she presses her hands against her face. “God, what’s happening to me?”

“You’ve been through a lot of distress for the past days.”

“Yeah, yeah you’re right. I am,” she replies. Percy stretches, then gets up.

After having a breakfast of Cram and tucking our gear safely into our pack, we got on the motorcycle and I started driving again. The sun is rising in the east, where we’re heading.

“Are you sure this will work?” I ask her through the roar of the engine.

“Knowing the Brotherhood, they won’t spare any resources to help me. But I still need to try.”

I kept quiet and drove on. When we arrived at the Citadel, one of the guards eyed us and our vehicle.

“A working motorcycle? Never thought I’d see the day,” he comments, opening the gates for us.

He was smart enough not to say anything about my presence and just let us through. The last time he did, things got ugly.

I follow Percy into one of the buildings, where the scribe that gave us the location of Vault 87 usually stays.

“Scribe Rothschild,” Percy calls his attention.

“Ah, Persephone. I’ve heard about the ambush. I’m glad you survived. Have you retrieved the GECK?” the scribe asks. His eyes were glued to the terminal he’s using.

“We ran into some problems, but we found a way to get in through Lamplight. The thing is, the residents are asking me for a favor in exchange for entry. We need to save their friends from Paradise Falls. I’m planning to launch a full-on attack, and I need all the resources you can spare.”

At the last sentence, Rothschild looks up and gives Percy a scrutinizing look. “A full-on attack? You know that the Brotherhood is spread thin as it is, with the mutants crawling about in DC.”

Shoulders tensing, Percy folds her arms. “I thought this chapter of the Brotherhood is dedicated to protecting people. How can you even let Paradise Falls continue to exist? They should’ve been wiped off the map years ago.”

“I told you, Persephone. We cannot spare resources for that. You will have to find another way to get in Lamplight, force your way in if needed.”

“But they’re children, Scribe.”

Rothschild gives my partner a long, hard look, and shakes his head.

“I’m sorry.”

Groaning, Percy massages her temples, brows furrowed and scowling. “I should’ve known that this would be a waste of time.”

Then, one of the tin cans approached us. This one is old, battle-hardened. Her hair was graying and there were lines at the corner of her eyes.

“Excuse me. I can’t help but overhear your conversation with the scribe. You are James’ daughter, am I correct?” she asks Percy, and my partner looks at her with wary eyes.

“Yes. You know me?”

“Indeed! I am Star Paladin Cross. On behalf of the Brotherhood, I welcome you to the Citadel. I am proud to say that I was friends with your father. I helped guard the purifier from the super mutant horde, and when James left, I escorted you and him to Megaton. Is there anything I can do to help?”

Percy looks at me with wide eyes, and back to the elderly paladin.

“Thank you. In five days, we will be launching an attack on Paradise Falls to rescue the slaves and end their operations, once and for all. I would appreciate it if you can join us in the battle.”

“Your father would be proud. I’d be honored to join you on your mission,” Cross replies, extending her hand to my partner, and she shakes it. Cross looks at me, and I expected her to scowl in disgust, but she merely nods, acknowledging my presence.

Maybe this old lady isn’t so bad.

“Meet us at night in Gob’s Saloon in Megaton, on the tenth. We’ll discuss tactics there. See you, Paladin.”

As we turn to leave, Percy stops in her tracks.

“Wait. Paladin Cross, are you any good with big weapons?”

Cross smiles and stands proud. “Brothers are trained well and tempered in the fires of battle.”

Percy smiles, and I can tell she’s formulating several ideas in her mind.

“Good! I look forward to discussing tactics with you.”

“It’s always a subject worthy of discussion. Farewell, friend.”

After changing the fission battery of the motorcycle, I start the engine again, and Percy gets on.

“Where to next, Percy?”

“Rivet City. I need to check if Flak and Shrapnel carry missiles.”

January 8, 2278.

“-get this! Little Miss 101 and her trusty bodyguard are still alive, and have been spotted cruising around the wastes on a motorbike. Where the hell did they even find a working one? Regardless, they’ve been very active for the past few days. What are they even up to? Off to start a motorcycle gang? Just joyriding around? Whatever it is, the Capital Wasteland’s buzzing with excitement due to the return of the Wasteland Avenger and the Ghoul Reaper, now on wheels! Hahaha, bad guys better watch out!

Until next time! This is Three Dog, and you’re listening to Galaxy News Radio, bringing you the truth, no matter how bad it hurts.”

“So what are you up to, Nosebleed? And why are you leaving Dogmeat with me again?”

Across us, DeLoria smokes a cigarette, on break from barber duty. Bottles of Nuka and whiskey littered the table. Percy wipes her mouth with a handkerchief.

“Because if I leave him at Moira’s, she might attach him with a fifth paw or something. It’s a secret, Butch. Wouldn’t want to spoil the surprise.”

“You’d better not be starting a rival gang, Perce. Once a Tunnel Snake, always a Tunnel Snake.”

“I have no plans of competing with you, DeLoria. How’s the gang anyway?”

Butch falters, sagging. “Well, uh, there’s no new members yet, but only because I’m so busy with being a barber! Gotta get that dough. Ain’t like you who can scour the wasteland for caps.”

I snorted. Percy laughs outright.

“Yeah, you’ll probably end up as mole rat chow if you tried that.”

DeLoria crushes his cigarette in a nearby ash tray and flicks the butt towards Percy, which she dodges.

“C’mon, for old time’s sake. What are you two up to now? It’s getting boring around here. The Butchman needs some action.”

“Butch. You cried when we came across a radroach on the way here. I’d rather not get you involved in something so dangerous.”

The greaser frowns. “But that was a radroach! You know I hate ‘em scurrying little freaks with their scratchy legs, eugh. I can shoot and I can stab anything else!”

“You can’t even shoot without almost shooting Percy,” I tell him, and his frown deepens.

“Oh yeah? Like the two of you can do better…”

Percy snickers. “Charon is a trained soldier, while I spent my free time in the vault at target practice. Just let it go, Butch. You’re safer here.”

“If he wants to be useful, maybe we can use him as bait,” I say, and both of them turn to me. DeLoria looks annoyed as hell, while Percy gives me a blank stare.

Fuck, this is what I get for trying to joke.

“Not funny, asshole.”

“Wait. That might work,” Percy mumbles.

“Percy, what the hell!” DeLoria exclaims, looking a little hurt.

Percy moves next to DeLoria, and she cups her hand near DeLoria’s ear to whisper. Then, the greaser looks at her with wide eyes. “No way. That’s crazy Percy! How are you gonna even-”

“Keep your voice down! Do you want in, or not?”

Butch groans, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, fine, I’m in. But if I die, I’ll fucking haunt you, Perce. You too, Charon.”

Standing up, Percy drags Butch to the Muddy Rudder’s exit. “I won’t let you. Which is why we need to work on your aim.”

I follow the two up the stairwell, where Butch complains the entire time.

At the top of the ship, there are a few security guards patrolling about. Percy speaks to one of them, then she leads us to the far edge of the ship.

“Do you have your pistol with you?” Percy asks Butch.

“Yeah, always. What-”

“Unload it.”

“Why would I do that?”

“We wouldn’t want to waste bullets and shoot anyone now, do we? Just do as I say, DeLoria.”

Butch does as he’s told and tucks the clip in his jacket pocket. “What now?”

“Aim.”

He does as he’s told, but his stance is off. Percy sighs.

“God, you can’t even aim properly. Charon, help him.”

Ignoring the greaser’s complaints, I shove his feet with mine in an effort to correct him. Once he was in the proper position, Percy perches a bottle cap on top of the 10mm.

Ah. I get it now.

“Practice shooting without making the cap fall off,” Percy instructs him, and steps aside.

DeLoria fires, but it falls off.

“Dammit. This is stupid.”

“Just keep practicing, Butch.”

It keeps falling off, and at that point, I was getting annoyed.

“No, not like that. Don’t use your joint. Don’t wrap your entire finger around the trigger. Use just your distal phalanx to fire,” Percy instructs.

“My what?”

Ah, fuck it. DeLoria’s involved now. Might as well continue teaching him.

“Percy, should I demonstrate it for him?” I ask my partner. She nods.

DeLoria begrudgingly hands me the gun. Percy perches the cap on top of the pistol, and I shoot. It remains steady.

“Watch Butch,” Percy tells the greaser. “See how he doesn’t flick the trigger? Try exhaling as you fire too. Breathing can throw off your aim.”

“Great, now you’re teaching me how to breathe too? Where’d you even learn all this, Perce?”

I do it again.

“Well, aside from target practice in the vault, I came across this simulation thing. It’s like a video game, but if I die in it, I die in real life. I watched the soldiers do it.”

“Simulation? What?”

“Yeah, it’s hard to believe, I know. But it was supposed to be a virtual training exercise for soldiers to get ready for the Battle of Anchorage, 200 years ago.”

The cap fell off of the gun as my breath hitched. I hand it back to DeLoria.

“Now, try it again.”

This time, Butch gets it.

“I did it! Whooo! Look out Wasteland! The Butchman’s coming for you!”

“Oh, shut the hell up,” Percy comments.

With a cocky smile, Butch goes back to practicing.

“Meet us at Megaton in two days, Butch.”

“Yeah, yeah. See you.”

I follow Percy down.

#lone wanderer #female lone wanderer #charon #fallout charon #charon fallout #fallout 3 charon #charon fallout 3 #oc: percy zhou #butch deloria #fanfic: absolution #series: through river acheron #fallout 3 #fallout #fallout fanfic #writers on tumblr

3 notes · View notes

touchingoldmagic · 4 years ago

Text

Day 12 - Epic Moment

Day 12 of the 30 Day Ghostbusters Challenge!

Author’s Notes: In the spirit of IDW adapting some ghosts from The Real Ghostbusters into their storylines, I couldn't miss the chance to include a dragon in the comic'verse.

"Well there's something you don't see every day."

Peter slowly drew his thrower as the shadow of the large green dragon passed right over their heads. If their arrival in Ecto hadn't alerted it to their presence, probably no other sudden movements would, but he didn't particularly want to take the chance.

"Wow!" Ray said, head craned back to look. "It's gotta be at least twenty feet long!"

"Closer to twenty-five," Egon opined, likewise pulling his thrower.

All four men watched the reptilian creature warily, but it only continued its slow circle above them. Even from a distance its large yellow eyes were visible, but the elevation made it hard to tell if it was watching them or not.

The Ghostbusters had arrived at a construction site in the picturesque Massachusetts countryside. The road curved steeply up around the hillside, a guardrail the only thing between the road and a steep drop down to the valley below. At the top of the hill a home was being built. Currently only the foundation had been laid, outlining what would eventually be a very large manor.

"So someone was building a house and the local fire-breather took offense?" Peter wondered drolly.

Winston shot him a look. "Man, we went over it on the drive up, you'd know if you didn't fall asleep."

Peter shrugged, unconcerned. "It was a long drive."

"The construction workers unearthed what they claim looks like ancient pottery," Ray explained. "Inevitably they broke it when they were trying to clear it out, and once that happened, the dragon and multiple other entities appeared and construction was halted. They said they put it all--oh, over there, I'll bet." He spotted a pile of pale debris under a tree on the edge of the property. Egon was already heading in that direction, PKE meter out.

As if it were a choreographed act, as soon as the two scientists approached the pile, at least a dozen vapor-like ghosts burst from the trees and descended toward them together.

Two proton streams shot out from Winston and Peter, who were used to hanging back and providing cover fire for their science-minded teammates, but the spirits were agile as silk ribbons (and fairly resembled them as well). They curled and dodged around the proton streams, scattering through the air.

"Aren't they usually a little more groggy when they just wake up?" Winston grumbled.

"Took us a couple hours to drive out here," Ray called back. "They must be quick learners."

"Great," sighed Winston.

The swam of ghosts were all similar in appearance. Very elongated, thin and flat like streamers, mostly sickly pink or green or yellow in color. Like banners they floated and waved in the breeze, but they had definitely identified the Ghostbusters as a threat and were arranging themselves to dive down again.

"Here they come!" Winston barked out in warning. Ray had pulled his thrower to help provide cover. Egon, kneeling at the base of the tree, ignored all of them in favor of studying what he found there.

Peter spared a glance away from the swarm, keeping an eye on the dragon to see if all the sudden action had spurred it to change its pattern. It was still circling; maybe it had gotten a little closer, it was hard to tell.

Taking advantage of his distraction, one of the spirits swooped down and slammed into the psychologist. It knocked him off balance and then, apparently inspired by the action, picked him up in a surprising show of strength and chucked him straight at the guardrail on the side of the road.

It all happened too fast for the Ghostbusters to react. In the time it took to gather breath to shout, Peter was over the edge and gone from view.

Ray's mind froze in horror. He didn't remember moving, but suddenly he was there at the edge of the road, clutching the metal railing and calling Peter's name. Winston stood beside him, and the pounding footsteps of Egon were coming up behind him.

Then a strong rush of wind caused all three to shield their faces, and a shadow blotted out the afternoon sun.

When Ray could see again he immediately looked upward, following the feel of the wind as it had rushed by. The dragon was climbing higher skyward, wings pumping steadily, and Peter clung to the stiff ridges that ran along its spine between its shoulders.

"Oh good, he's... riding the dragon." Winston's deadpan voice might have wobbled a little at the end.

Ray whooped in relief, both hands in triumphant fists over his head. "Go, Venkman!"

"Get me down from here, brainiac!" Peter screamed back at him.

Egon had reached them at the guardrail by the time the dragon made a graceful arch in the air and glided down toward them, wings extended. It looked like a paper airplane coming in to land. A twenty-five foot paper airplane.

"Hey, looks like he's on our side," Ray said with a grin.

"Or maybe he tried to make Pete a snack and just has really bad aim," Winston pointed out. "What happened to the ghosts?"

"They retreated when we vacated the immediate area they’ve claimed," Egon said, indicating the trees behind them with the hand still holding his PKE meter. The other hand held the largest shard of pottery he had been able to reclaim from the pile. "I believe this explains it. These are the Roman characters for Genius Loci, a benevolent spirit usually bound to a certain place to protect it. The soil I found inside the pottery was most likely from the location the Loci had been protecting. I believe the dragon spirit was purposely bound to the artifacts to help guard against the release of the more aggressive ghosts, and all were set free when they were broken."

In the time it took for Egon to give his conclusion, the dragon had landed. The wind it stirred up was considerable. Not as bad as a helicopter, but Egon had to raise his voice to be heard clearly, and all three of them held up a hand to shield their eyes.

Despite its great size, the dragon pulled in its wings and landed in the road beside Ecto with a dainty little dip, displaying its grace even in the way it curled its tail to avoid striking their vehicle. Peter was still perched on its tall back, clinging to its dark green spines in a death grip. His boots were several feet above the heads of his teammates.

"Hey Pete, Elliot giving you any trouble?" Winston asked innocently.

"Better be respectful, Winston. He could set you on fire." Peter eyed the ground, debating if he could jump down from the creature's back without twisting an ankle. He wanted both feet back on solid ground, immediately or sooner.

Apparently the intelligence of the dragon was enough that it understood the issue. Before Peter could make a move to disembark, its pointed teeth gently closed on the top of Peter's pack and it lifted him down to the ground.

Taken by surprise, Peter squawked with hands flailing, until his boots touched the ground. Then he coughed and tried to reclaim his dignity. The dragon released him and drew its head back, neck arched like a jade-green swan.

"Huh. Yeah, thanks, Smaug." Peter craned his neck to check his pack for monster teeth-sized punctures, then made a face. Dragon slobber smelled just as bad as slime.

"But Peter,” Ray said, “he's completely the wrong color for Smaug."

Peter gave Ray a look.

#ghostbusters #ghostbusters fanfiction #ghostbusters fanfic #ghostbusters comics #ghostbusters idw #idw comics #peter venkman #ray stantz #winston zeddemore #egon spengler #genius loci #dragon #ghostbusters 30 day challenge

11 notes · View notes

amyscascadingtabs · 5 years ago

Text

i’ll walk through hell with you

chapter 5. love, you’re not alone

read on ao3

read earlier chapters

Amy mourns, important conversations take place, and a new decision is made.

june, cont.

Amy has never called in sick for three days in a row before.

She's been on leaves, and the odd sick day is inevitable when you have a kid at daycare, but it's never been more than one or two days before she’s at least attempted to work from home. Now she can't even make herself do that.

Technically, she’s perfectly healthy, which should probably exacerbate the guilt she feels over calling in sick, but not even her FOMOW is strong enough to drag her out of the cave of misery she’s dug herself into.

It's unlike her. She's Amy Santiago, she's a vessel of productivity more days than not, and even on lazier days, she'll have the energy to go about her daily life. This zombie-like existence, where it'll take three repeats before she notices her own name and she's uncertain when she last ate a full meal, isn't what her life is like. She's been sad before, she's been heartbroken and on the verge of giving up, but it's never enveloped her quite like this. She’s never felt this alone with her pain, because there’s no one to be mad at, no external circumstances or evil forces at work. The only things she can be angry at is her body, bad luck, and maybe fate, but she can’t put up a fight against either.

On the first day after what she supposes is the start of an early miscarriage, Amy googles, scouring the Internet for more information about chemical pregnancies. Her research feels largely pointless. It’s common, there’s nothing she could have done, it’s all down to a chromosomal accident. A chemical pregnancy can be seen as a good sign, one of the websites encourages her, and she snorts. It’s proof you’re able to get pregnant at all, she reads, and maybe it’s true, but it doesn’t give much comfort. After eight months of trying for twelve hours of euphoria that were ruined by a genetic fluke, she’d have wished for more reassurance.

On the second day, she gets out of bed and dressed, thinking she can trick herself into going back to work and pretend like everything’s fine if she gets far enough. It nearly works and Jake looks relieved when Leah and her hug goodbye, but once she’s in the car, the panic attack from two days ago flashes past her eyes and she’s shaking until she can get out of the vehicle and walk back up the stairs to their apartment. She spends the rest of the day in bed. At first, she doesn’t cry, but then she hears Leah asking from the other side of the door about what she’s doing and her heart shatters hearing Jake try to explain that mama’s just tired, she’ll play with you again tomorrow.

On the third day, she really tries. She gets started on a presentation for work and lets Leah pretend to make her coffee in her play kitchen, and she does feel better until her phone buzzes with news from the Santiago family group chat; David and his wife are having another baby. A welcome surprise, the message reads, and Jake has to hold her until she stops crying. Amy’s wracked with guilt as Leah brings her stuffed animal after animal, her eyes wide with distraught confusion.

It’s after the fourth day things take a turn. As far as her days of mourning - because she supposes it is mourning, after all - have gone, day four is subdued. Equally as gray, but not as sharply painful. It’s as if someone muted the volume in their apartment and slowed down their movements, turning everything into a lackadaisical haze. Even Leah is quieter than usual, almost acting a bit nervous around her, but when the evening comes she lets Amy read her bedtime stories and she falls asleep with her hand on Amy’s cheek. It’s the most peaceful and content Amy’s felt since six days ago.

“We have the best kid,” she mumbles as she curls up with her head on Jake’s shoulder ten minutes later, and he gives her an agreeing smile. “I think I’m going back to work tomorrow.”

“Are you sure?”

“I need to get back to normal. I’m starting to miss it, anyway.”

“Can’t cure that FOMOW easily, huh?”

She ignores the comment. “Is the precinct still standing without me?”

He laughs. “Barely. On that note... I got a request from Holt to go on this stakeout for two days. I think I have to take it, because, well - we’ve taken a lot of days off recently.”

“Yeah, of course. I can handle a bit of solo-parenting.”

“Actually -” Jake’s voice is apologetic, tinged with a bit of regret, and Amy’s instantly on edge, lifting her head from his shoulder. “- I was thinking Leah could stay with my mom for a few days.”

“Why would she need to do that?”

“Ames, don’t take this personally -”

“I’ll decide that for myself.”

“But I think it’d be better for both of you.” Jake’s eyes are boring into hers, and there’s a gravity to his tone she wasn't expecting. “I know you don’t want this to affect her, but I think it does, even if she doesn’t understand why, and… maybe you need a couple days on your own.”

She blinks, trying to make sense of his words. “So now I can’t be a parent to my own daughter because I'm sad over this?”

“Not what I was saying.”

“Sure sounded like it.”

“Don’t make this into something it’s not,” he asks, face twisted in a pained expression, and it takes all her self control not to get up and slam the door to their bedroom. She’s learned from her mistakes, though, so this time she listens. “I love you, so much, but I don’t know how to help you when you don’t want to talk to me, and I don’t know what to say to Leah when she keeps asking why you’re sad. She notices so much - it doesn’t feel fair to her.”

“No, but it’s not forever. It’ll get better,” she says, more to ease her own remorse. “And what do you mean I don’t want to talk to you? We’ve talked.”

“Not for real.”

“What do you mean, not for real?”

“You haven’t asked me how I feel about this, for example.” She opens her mouth, but he shakes his head. “Don't do it because you think you have to. I know it’s worse for you. But I’m disappointed, too, you know?” He bites his lip. “I think we all need a break before we go crazy.”

She wants to object, but part of her knows he's right. They’re going crazy. Mostly her, but she can tell it’s affecting her family too, despite how desperately she wishes it wasn’t. She reluctantly swallows her anger for now - most of it is only poorly concealed guilt, anyway - and nods.

“Okay.”

“Okay?” The tension fades from his expression as he exhales, watching her like he’s searching for signs of protest.

Amy shrugs. “I feel like the world’s worst parent. But sure.”

“You’re not,” he whispers, wrapping her in a hug as she buries her face in his neck for comfort. “This is just really, really hard.”

Her bad conscience is even worse when she wakes up the next morning. It's made easier by Leah jumping with glee at the question of whether she wants to have a sleepover at grandma’s house, but hugging her daughter goodbye at daycare is still extra difficult. It takes five minutes longer than usual and enough cheek kisses to make the toddler try to wriggle herself out of Amy’s arms, and she’s still fighting tears when she gets in the car. She turns the music up so she won’t have to think, but her phone shuffles to Paper Rings by Taylor Swift and endless memories of family dance parties to the song flood her brain.

She turns it off.

Five seconds later, she turns it on again and lets the memories be a welcome reminder of why she has to keep fighting. By the time she reaches the precinct’s garage, she’s singing along at the top of her lungs.

She expects her first day back at work to be complicated, making abundantly clear how much she’s missed out on, but it’s not. After helping Holt out with a briefing, going through emails and submitting a work order for another broken fridge, she’s back to feeling like her efficient, professional self. She can do this. She can move on with her life and put this behind her. She can even follow the squad out for drinks later and have a glass of red wine for the first time in two months, enough to get her tipsy and laugh too loud at Rosa’s narration of a lively debate between Charles and a suspect about the ranking of different cheeses. Karen texts her a video of Leah pretending she’s Elsa from Frozen and gliding over the living room floor while singing the same lines of Let It Go on repeat, and her heart aches a little, but the guilt is easing. Jake sends her an update on the stakeout, asking if she’s doing okay, and for once, she doesn’t have to lie when she writes back I’m doing good.

She starts her second day back doing paperwork, but she doesn’t get far before she’s interrupted.

“Hey. Amy.”

She looks up from the stack of papers. “Rosa?”

“I need your help with this witness.” Rosa cocks her head in the direction of the corridor. “I know she saw my perp, but she’s confused and I don’t think she trusts me. I was wondering if you could help me talk to her? You’re much better with the emotional ones.”

“Ooh!” Amy shines up. “Is this another case for the Sleuth Sisters?”

“If it’s what gets you on board, then, sure.”

Rosa briefs her on the case before they go in, and it doesn't take much to wake Amy's excitement. As much as she loves being a lieutenant, likes the administrative work and appreciates the more flexible hours, she does miss the constant surprises and adrenaline rushes that come with being out in the field. She even misses this, the simple interacting with people in order to both help them and discover new clues, anything leading closer to a solved case. She enters the room with a pep in her step and an ambition to help, but freezes when she sees the witness.

At first, she wonders if it's the same tension she’s felt the handful of times she's had to question a familiar face - an identical twin of a high school bully, or a former neighbor she held a grudge against - but it only takes a closer look to realize that's not the issue. Amy doesn't recognize this woman.

The witness simply happens to be very pregnant.

She doesn’t ask, because it’s not pertinent to the case, but Amy would put the woman at around six-seven months. Too far along for it to go unnoticed, not yet at the point where it looks like you’ve swallowed an exercise ball. She remembers loving that part of pregnancy, with the nausea gone and the energy returning. Her jealousy is a physical ache when she sees the witness placing her palm high up on her stomach, smiling in the same way Amy remembers she would do whenever she’d feel kicks.

The woman is shy at first, talking in a low voice with short sentences, and she keeps her hands atop the baby bump the whole time. Amy doesn’t blame her - she knows how naturally the instinct comes - but it doesn’t keep her from wishing the woman would stop drawing more attention to her state.

She doesn’t remember what questions she asks. She doesn’t remember what the woman answers. She makes notes but isn’t sure what she’s writing. All she can focus on is how the witness seems to personify the romanticized pregnancy glow, with shiny, thick hair and a cute bump. Amy’s using so much willpower in order not to cry, panic, or leave the room, it’s making her sweat, and yet she can tell from Rosa’s quizzical glances that her behavior is conspicuous. She can’t hide her envious anxiety, because every instance the woman touches her belly is another reminder of the pregnancy Amy thought she had and lost.

Amy rushes towards the women’s bathroom the second it’s over. She needs to breathe, put her head between her knees and let the tears come until she’s cried out every drop of frustration over her situation, the unfairness of it all, the deep shame in not even being able to feel happy for someone else anymore. She’s disgusted with herself. Eight months of limbo trying to conceive has officially made her insane.

She’s leaning over the sink and splashing cold water on her face when Rosa catches up with her.

“Amy? What the fuck was that about?”

“Nothing. It was nothing,” she rambles. “I’m good. Great.”

“No, you’re acting weirder than usual, and something’s clearly up. Come on.” Rosa’s grip on her wrist is firm without feeling pressuring, and Amy’s too shaky to protest, so she follows her friend to the evidence locker.

“Can you sit down?” Amy nods. “Okay, great. Do you need your meds?” She manages another, more tentative, nod. “Okay, wait here and I’ll get them. Handbag, outer pocket, right?”

Rosa disappears before she can confirm the information. She returns a couple of minutes later with two cups of tea and a prescription bottle, handing Amy the anxiety medication and gesturing at her to sit down before giving her a stern look.

“Okay, Santiago. Tell me what’s up before I get mad at you for making that witness feel weirded out.”

“I’m sorry.” Amy twists the cap, swallowing one of the pills before sitting down on the floor next to Rosa, their backs against a shelf of cardboard boxes. “You didn’t tell me she was pregnant.”

“No, because I didn’t know it was something you would act all loony about.” Rosa raises a brow. “What’s up? Are you pregnant again? That’s usually when you’re crying in here.”

She sighs, twisting back the cap and placing it on the floor beside her. “No, I’m not pregnant.”

“So?”

“We’ve been trying since fall,” Amy blurts out, admitting it to someone else for the first time in six months. “With IVF, now, but I’m still not pregnant. I almost was. Or I was, but I had an early miscarriage, so… no.”

Rosa nods slowly, bringing the cup of tea to her lips. “Damn.”

“It took eight months before we got a positive test. Ovulation testing, scheduling, IVF with shots and pills and money and a billion doctor’s visits. Then we finally found out I was pregnant.” The words are flying out of her, an unstoppable flow once she’s found them. “Except not even a day later, we found out it wasn’t happening, the numbers were too low. Chemical pregnancy. It’s why I was gone last week.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.” She bites her lip. “God, it’s so good to tell someone.” “Uh-huh. Wait.” Rosa scrunches her nose and knits her brows like Amy just critiqued The Holiday. “You haven’t told anyone?”

Amy laughs. “How would I do that? Call a briefing, stand in front of everyone and say hi, just so everyone knows, I’m trying to have another baby but I have shitty ovaries so it’s not going well and it’s making me depressed? Sure.”

“Not a public announcement, dum-dum. But you could have told your friends.”

“I didn’t want people to know. It’s been hard enough to deal with on my own. ”

“And I get that,” Rosa nods. “But there are people here who care about you. We could have been there for you.”

“How? Steered me away from every pregnant woman in case I start crying? I’m sorry, Rosa, but I don’t see how it would work.”

“Maybe not, but we could have helped! I could have known not to ask you to work with me on this specific witness instead of sitting through that shitshow!” She groans. “I know you hate accepting help or whatever, but you’re not alone in this, even if you think you are.”

Amy looks down at her shoes. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to be sorry. Just… don’t torture yourself over this more than you have to. It’s not worth it.”

They sit like that for another moment, no sounds but the occasional sips of tea and heavy breaths as Amy feels the anxiety fade from a heavy storm to a cool breeze. She still feels guilty over ruining the case for Rosa, for the poor pregnant woman who probably thinks Amy’s a sociopath, but the tea and company are helping more than she can express. She knows Rosa’s right, too - she’s been keeping this pain mostly to herself for so long, never considering the option of talking about it. It’s a little bit of performance anxiety, a little bit of embarrassment and a little bit of stigma. She’s not supposed to struggle with getting pregnant.

“I guess I was afraid if I talked about it, it would make it more real.” The realization takes shape as she speaks it. “Like, as long as we didn’t tell anyone, I could pretend it wasn’t happening.”

“But it’s already real, isn’t it? Talking about it won’t change that.”

“I guess not.”

Much to Amy’s surprise, her friend, who could and probably would break Amy’s arm if she hugged her without asking, lays a hand on her shoulder and squeezes it gently.

“Look, I get if you don’t want to talk about it right now. It’s fine. But if you want to come over tonight, watch a Nancy Meyers movie and drink tequila, you can. I won’t bully you if you cry.”

The sentiment is sweet, and so very Rosa of her, it makes Amy throw her arms around her best friend in gratitude, risking the fact that she might lose her arm. Rosa grunts, but then she leans into the hug for a brief, precious moment before disentangling herself.

“I’ll expect you at eight,” Rosa says before collecting their teacups and standing up. “Bring pizza.”

This time, Amy manages a proper smile. “I’ll be there.”

She tries to get back to work, but her focus is done and the precinct appears calm, so she takes the freedom of working from home for the rest of the day. There are only three hours left until she’s supposed to pick up Leah, anyway, and the apartment could use some cleaning. Her daughter’s room, in particular, is a mess so thorough Amy’s nearly impressed, but mostly shocked by how a person so tiny can create so much chaos. There’s no question about which parent the child inherited her non-existent organization skills from, she thinks, and gets to work on pairing together different puzzle pieces with their boxes.

It’s when she’s laying on her stomach, trying to get a hold of the pieces that’s made their way underneath Leah’s bed, that she finds something. There’s a plastic bag pushed all the way to the wall, and she reaches for it to see what it is. She can’t see clearly through the packaging, so she unwraps it, pulling out a white toddler-size t-shirt with black arms and fancified gold writing that reads Promoted To Big Sister.

The heaviness in her chest returns with a vengeance when she realizes Jake must have ordered it - either during the few hours they thought they were having another baby, or even earlier. She clutches the item to her chest and closes her eyes, anticipating the tears.

“Shit. I was hoping you wouldn’t find that.”

Amy turns her head to find Jake standing in the door opening. It's clear from the messy hair and crumpled t-shirt that he's coming straight from a long work shift without showering first, and the bags under his eyes make her wonder when he last slept.

“It's okay,” she says quickly, folding the item so she can't see the design. “Just… can you take it?”

He nods, taking it from her hands and sitting down across from her on the gray long-pile rug, putting the shirt behind his back.

“I can hide that better. I'm sorry.”

“Don't be.” Amy snivels. “It's fine. I'm fine.” She stands up, picking up a stuffed Ikea shark from the floor and putting it on Leah's bed.

“You're cleaning.”

“Yeah.” She finds an illustrated Harry Potter-book at the foot of the bed and returns it to its shelf. “It calms me. How was the stakeout?”

“Good,” he nods. “How are you?”

“I'm okay. I think. How are you?”

His smile bears heavy traces of exhaustion. “Also okay, I think. Did a lot of thinking while I was away, actually.”

“Yeah.” Amy picks up a basket of fabric vegetables, putting them near the play kitchen before she sits down across from Jake again. “So did I.”

“Do you want to share, or…?”

“No - you go first.”

Jake grimaces. They’ve gotten better at this over the years, finding a balance between his hesitancy to lay bare his emotions in serious conversation and her tendency to read into details and draw the worst conclusions posthaste, but she can still sense his discomfort as he reaches for a stuffed dragon from Leah’s bed, squeezing it to keep his hands occupied.

“I know I don’t know what it feels like,” he says slowly. “It’s not my body that’s…”

“Broken,” she fills in reflexively.

“Putting up a bit of a fight,” he corrects her with an unyielding look. “But you’ve been acting a bit like it doesn’t hurt for me, too. I know it was only a day, but for that day… I was already ordering that shirt for Lee, you know? I was so excited.”

“I know. I’ve really been busy feeling sorry for myself, huh?” She tries to laugh, but the chuckle dies out like a droplet of water swallowed by a raging fire.

“No, you’ve been suffering. Don’t be mad at yourself for that. Just… you’re not alone in this.” His hand reaches out to hold hers, and she squeezes it tight.

“It’s funny. Rosa told me the same thing today.”

“You talked to Rosa?”

“Yeah. I’m going over there for Nancy Meyers and tequila tonight.”

“Good, you need it.”

“I do, huh?” This time, the quiet laughter survives. The corners of Jake’s mouth quirk up.

She's missed seeing him smile, she realizes. She's missed sharing happiness with him. They’ve had moments of hope, and even when everything has felt dark, they've still smiled and had fun with their daughter; but she wonders when they last laughed at something trivial just the two of them. It feels like ages.

“I miss our normal life,” she says, because it's the only way she can think of to describe it. “I’m sorry I brought you into this mess. It's all my fault.”

Jake frowns. “No, we agreed on trying IVF.”

“I meant, I'm sorry we're struggling at all.”

“I don't think I get it -”

“It's my body that's the problem, right? If only you’d married a woman with well-functioning ovaries, you wouldn't be sitting here.”

She's serious, but the way he narrows his eyes and looks at her like he doesn't know if she's joking or not, makes her giggle. He joins in, shaking his head in disbelief, and for a moment, it feels like old times.

“I know this might be hard to believe,” he grins, “but Amy Santiago, I did not marry you for your ovaries.”

“Well, that's a relief.”

“I swear. I love you, more than anything in the world except our daughter, and that means I love all parts of you.”

“Even my shitty ovaries?”

Jake rolls his eyes lovingly. “They wouldn't be the first thing I listed, but, yes. I love them too.”

She laughs again. “Thanks, babe.”

“You're welcome.”

“I love you, too.” Amy closes the short bit of distance between them, wrapping him in a close hug as they sit there on the carpet. She's sniveling again, drying her eyes against his flannel, and he strokes her upper back and kisses the top of her head as he holds her. “So, so much.”

They sit like that for a moment, not moving more than the slightest of shifts, another soft kiss pressed to a neck or a cheek.

“Do you want to think about the next step?” Jake asks, and she nods.

“We still have two frozen embryos left - we could transfer those and hope one sticks.”

His eyes gleam in that mischievous way she recognizes so well, maybe even from the first day they became partners. “And are we doing both at once?”

“I guess we might as well, right?”

Jake pumps his fist in a childish victory gesture, and it's Amy's turn to roll her eyes. Her skepticism is half-hearted, though, because it's hard to remain unaffected by his infectious happiness.

“I can't wait to be a family of five with you,” he whispers into her ear, pulling her onto his lap, and she groans.

“You’ve got to stop saying that, I swear you’re going to jinx it.”

august.

Maybe it’s the fact that she’s gotten used to it, that she’s not forcing her body to produce an unnatural amount of mature eggs, or that she’s filled with so much now-or-never furious ambition, but Amy experiences their second attempt with fertility treatments to flow much easier. She takes the medications, is thankful they don’t involve as many injections this time, goes to checkups, and does all she can to maximize her chances in the meantime. No tip is too absurd in comparison with her desperation for this to succeed. She tries acupuncture and changes her diet. She cuts back on caffeine despite the headaches it gives her, and takes even more vitamins. She does a few tries at fertility yoga, which mostly fail when Jake walks in on her doing a very wobbly supported shoulder stand and explodes in laughter, or when Leah insists on watching and is silent for exactly one minute before she wants to use Amy as a jungle gym and tries to climb on top of her in bridge pose. At first, Amy’s frustrated, but then she thinks of the sources she’s read about laughter being able to boost fertility, and lets the yoga session turn into a giggling tickle fight with her toddler. It’s much more fun, anyway.

She continues the tips after the transfer, too. She wears fuzzy socks for her day of bed rest even though it’s the end of July and their bedroom is uncomfortably heated as is, because keeping your feet warm is supposed to boost chances of implantation. She orders jasmine scented candles for the same reason, but it only takes a minute after lighting one for her to realize she’s wildly allergic. In the end, there’s nothing to do but wait, hope, and try to relax.

They decide to go all-in for the relaxation part. Truthfully, it’s not as much a decision as an offer from Charles and Genevieve to tag along for free on their family vacation after a pair of Boyle cousins dropped out, and not as much relaxation as it is a change of environment to chase their dare-devil two-and-a-half-year-old around in, but it is a paid-for one-week-trip to a family-friendly resort in Mexico and they’re not going to say no. Amy packs two pregnancy tests in her bag, and they’re on their way.

She worries about whether being on vacation with Charles will inevitably mean an abundance of intrusive questions and terrifying dining choices, but either Genevieve or Jake must keep him in check, because it’s neither. Rather, having two extra adults present ends up hugely improving the vacation - there's always someone guarding the kids, and Amy finds herself finishing reading one book, a poetry collection and listening to two podcasts already in the first four days. She gets her daily workout in by chasing Leah around, trying to prevent her from jumping headfirst from the deep end of the pool. She takes turns with Jake to pretend they're sea monsters who want to eat Leah's toes while she floats around with her swim ring and puffs, laughing merrily at them both. She discovers that the best way to get her daughter to let her put on sunscreen is if she gets to watch YouTube clips on the iPad meanwhile, and reaffirms that the best way to get Jake to put it on is to do it for him, then accept his offer of returning the favor. They try out all of the resort’s playgrounds and eat a ton of ice cream to keep cool. On one of the days, Jake and Leah take a nap together in the shadow spooning on a daybed, and Amy takes about a hundred pictures before scooching her bed as close to theirs as possible.

With her heart full, and her relaxation levels higher than they've been for a long time, she almost forgets it's time to take a pregnancy test.

It's evening by the time she remembers.

Charles and Genevieve have offered to babysit Leah for a night in exchange for Jake and Amy watching Nikolaj the next, which gives them the rare chance to have a proper date night. Amy gets dressed up, opting to go the extra mile with a sleek, black, v-neck dress that hasn’t seen the light of day since their honeymoon, and paints her lips a matte red for a pop of color. Standing in front of the bathroom mirror, she worries it’s too much - the dress sits tighter over her hips than it used to and the makeup feels like she’s overcompensating - but the way Jake’s gaze lands on her once she steps out, how his eyes widen and he swallows a gulp of air, makes her stresses dissipate.

Eight years of dating, five years of marriage, and he still looks at her with as much awe as he did their first night together.

He’s wearing a familiar pastel pink button-down, paired tastefully with dark jeans and the curls she still goes crazy for, so Amy figures she looks at him the same way.

It is with great willpower they make it down to the restaurant in time for their reservation, only stopping once to make out against the wall of a hotel corridor. They’re seated at a nice table near a window with an ocean view, and it takes the waiter placing two drink menus on their table for Amy to realize why it feels like she’s forgotten something.

“Shit,” she mumbles, biting her lip as she reads the wine list.

Jake looks up, a horrified look on his face. “What? Don't tell me they only have Orangina for orange soda.”

“No, it’s not that. I just remembered I don’t know if I can drink. I forgot to take a pregnancy test.”

“That’s today?”

“Yeah. I was going to take it this morning, but then we slept in and Leah woke us up by jumping in our bed...” “And then Charles knocked on our door and asked us to come down to the breakfast buffet in five minutes,” Jake nods, bringing his hand up to his chin as if he’s in deep thought. “Well, we could leave and take it now?”

Amy considers it, but as much as she wants to find out, she also wants to sit here forever. Something about the restaurant’s lighting is making her husband look especially gorgeous, and it’s been way too long since they last sat through a proper nice dinner. She needs this. They need this.

“No,” she decides, intertwining her hand with his across the table. “Let’s have a quick dinner. I won’t drink anything, and then we’ll take a test.”

“Okay. Then I won’t drink either,” Jake declares, flipping to the non-alcoholic drinks with his free hand. “Yes! Regular orange soda!”

“You don’t have to just because I can’t -”

“Ames, I’m repeating, regular orange soda. This is the opposite of a problem. Plus,” he shrugs, “I literally just want to spend time with you.”

His tone is so genuine, his smile so sweet, she can’t stop herself from leaning forward and kissing him despite the looks from their fellow restaurant-goers.

The dinner is wonderful, yet Amy can’t shake her nervousness. It bothers her. She’s having a luxurious meal, toasting in fruity soda together with the love of her life, and she can’t even be fully present in this moment because she’s worried about what the test will show. If this attempt has failed, she’ll have to do another full round of IVF, even though the thought of more injections makes her want to scream. If they get another negative test, it’ll be ten months and counting of this taking up too big a part of their lives, and Amy’s tired.

She wants to be pregnant and she wants to have another baby, but she also wants to enjoy life with her family without worrying about cycles, ovulation tests, and clinic check-ups. She wants to go on more of these date nights, more vacations, and share a glass of wine with her husband in the evening because she can. She’s tired of rules and recommendations, of counting, scheduling, and planning. For ten months she’s tried to be patient, but now the exhaustion has begun to creep over her.

They rush back to the suite once the dinner is done. Jake waits outside the bathroom while she takes the test, tries to make her hands stop shaking as she washes them, and carefully places the test display-down on the sink. He hugs her when she comes out, and she lets herself relax for a second in his arms even though she feels sick with anxiety.

They sit on the balcony, drinking from glasses of alcohol-free champagne in silence until the timer on her phone rings. Jake goes to get the test from the bathroom, but Amy feels like she knows the result before he’s given it to her.

The test shows a bolded, plain, Not Pregnant, and she scoots it with her foot across the balcony, getting it as far away as possible.

“I’m sorry, “ Jake whispers, letting her lean her head on his shoulder and squeezing her hand.

She exhales, forcing herself not to cry. “So am I.”

“What do we do now?”

“First, I say we order a bottle of real champagne.”

Jake raises an eyebrow, but he doesn’t object.

Much like it was a sudden thought that awakened a long lingering feeling when she first suggested they’d start trying, this time it's the immediate and overpowering negativity bringing up the growing sensation of impending burnout, that makes her say what she's thinking.

“I want to stop.”

Jake looks at her with as much shock as if she’d said she was thinking of canceling her Staples Rewards Membership. “You want to… stop?”

She nods.

“Like.. just… stopping?”

“You heard me. I don't think I want to do this anymore.” Amy draws a shaky breath, looking down at their intertwined hands. “If we have another go at IVF, we have to do the whole thing again. I guess we could, but it’s so much money, Jake.”

“We could work it out,” he mumbles.

“We could. I just don't know if I want to.”

“But… you wanted another baby.”

“And I still do.” She thinks of all the families she’s seen at the resort over the last few days. Sisters and brothers playing together, a light-haired toddler taking a break from swinging to run and kiss their baby sibling’s head, tiny infants with sunhats and baby swimsuits eliciting screams of happiness from being in the water while their big siblings try to entertain them. It’s painful to imagine never having her dream of more than one kid fulfilled, but it’s infinitely more agonizing to feel like she’s missing out on the wonderful life she does have.

“But it's been so long. It’s been so much pain, time and tears, and I'm still not pregnant. Remember when you said we’d do IVF as long as I felt it was worth it for me?”

Jake nods slowly. He’s watching her with a wistful look on his face, which is somehow more heartbreaking than the negative test.

“I don't think it is worth it for me anymore,” she whispers.

“I… are you sure, Ames?”

“No,” she confesses. “Yes. For now, I’m sure.”

He wraps his arms around her again, neither of them saying anything as she twists her head so their foreheads are touching. Trailing her fingers against his jawline, she cups his face, lips brushing against his with the softness of doing it for the first time and the familiarity of doing it for the thousandth. He’s a little surprised by the move, but then he’s kissing her back just as carefully, one hand tangling in her hair before he draws back.

“I’ll go get us that bottle of champagne,” he says, and squeezes her hand another time before leaving.

The sun’s starting to set, painting the sky a captivating roseate-orange blend. It fills Amy with a sense of peace and relief - a hope that her life will soon feel more like her own again.

Checking her phone inside, she sees that Charles has texted them a picture of a soundly sleeping Leah. She ignores the trio of winking emojis he’s written after encouraging them to have a good night and sends back two hearts instead. She’s already missing her daughter so badly it’s physically painful, and her eyes linger on the picture long after she’s replied, but she reminds herself that tomorrow is only hours away. Tonight is date night, and she’s determined to make it a good one despite its unconventional start.

Jake returns ten minutes later, all out of breath from what he describes as a brisk walk to the corner store to buy the fanciest bottle they had for a decent price, and she smiles and kisses his cheek before accepting a glass.

“This is beautiful,” she says, moving aside so there’s space for him on the patio loveseat.

“The sunset?”

“This night. The sunset. You.”

“You’re beautiful-ler.” His reply is as reflexive as her eye-roll.

“I mean it. I want to enjoy this night with you. Hell, I just want to enjoy my life,” Amy gives the abandoned test a death-glare, “without this constant stress. It’s ruining everything.”

“It hasn’t ruined everything...”

“No, but everything would still be better if it wasn’t there, you know?” She shrugs and he nods, taking a sip from his glass. “I want to get back to our normal life. This vacation is making me realize how much I miss it.”

“What do you miss?”

“Being relaxed. Having any sort of free time. I miss being able to just live our lives with our amazing daughter, and not be constantly thinking of whether I’ve taken this and that medication or gone to this and that appointment and what day of what cycle it is.”

“I get that.” There’s a playful smile on his lips, and she’s about to ask what he thinks is so funny before he speaks again. “Do you think maybe we make such great kids that the universe couldn’t handle more than one? Think about it! Your brain, and my good looks - maybe it’s too powerful a combination, and if we have more children, everything will, like.. explode.”

It’s a ludicrous theory, but he delivers it with so much conviction it makes her snort, laughing until there are tears in her eyes.

“I’ll have to admit,” she says when she can finally form words again, “it sounds way more plausible than any other explanation.”

There’s a lighter atmosphere between them after his joke, the warm evening air a little easier to breathe. They change the topic, drink more wine, and she makes less note of what they’re talking about than how content she’s feeling. It's like just making the decision to stop and accept the situation, rather than doing everything in her power to change it, is a giant block of stone off her shoulders. Without it, she can feel like herself again. The painful thought of never having another baby still bites at her, but for once, she's able to push it aside and refill her glass instead.

She wonders when they last had a proper date night like this. She’s certain it’s been too long - if nothing else, then for the way she finds her eyes resting in certain places after a while. The one unbuttoned button on his shirt, revealing a bit of slightly tanned chest. The way his fingers wrap around the thin glass. His neck, practically asking to be peppered with nips and bites. His arms, his hands, the thighs she can't help but rest her hand on.

A moment of deep eye contact, meeting his curiosity before she blushes, looking away.

“Another thing I miss about my life,” she says, struck with sudden confidence. “Having sex with you without always thinking about whether I’ll get pregnant.”

“Woah there.” Jake coughs, examining her expression. “Did you have four drinks already?”

She shakes her head.

“Hmm. Anyway - it's okay, Ames.”

“For you, maybe.” She swallows the last in her glass. “Less so for me.”

His cheeks turn a dark crimson. “I'm sorry -”

“It's not your fault,” she assures him. “Honestly, I haven't let it be about me. Or us. But - god - I miss it being just for pleasure.”

“Me too.”

The heated glance he gives her is a physical sensation, making desire pool in the pit of her stomach and sending her nerves on full alert when his hand touches her bare inner thigh, softly stroking.

“I can't remember when we last were child-free together for a whole night,” she whispers, and he smiles a knowing smile. “Let's make the most of it.”

“If you say so.”

She pulls him in for a searing kiss, sighing with pleasure as he moves his hand higher, closer to where she's aching for if to be.

“Let's go inside, babe.”

She’s nervous about so many things - whether she’ll change her mind tomorrow, whether this counts as giving up, if it makes her weak - but as Jake’s fingers brush over the faint bruises from the last injections with so much reverence, and he makes a point of kissing the thin white stripes on her lower abdomen that remain tangible proof she once carried their child inside of her, she decides those thoughts can wait. His lips move to her centre, and she gasps so sharply, he places a hand on her hip to keep her still.

“Don’t you dare stop,” she breathes, feeling the vibrations of his laugh before he sucks harder and everything is forgotten except the blissful sensation of his tongue against her and the building, pleasant tension as he pushes her closer to the edge.

It’s a night of relief, in more than one sense.

#we're nearing the ending guys hold tight it'll be good i promise #my writing #b99 #brooklyn 99 #brooklyn nine-nine #peraltiago #jake x amy #b99 fic #brooklyn 99 fic #brooklyn nine-nine fic #b99 fanfiction #brooklyn nine-nine fanfiction #jake x amy fic #jake x amy fanfiction #peraltiago fic #peraltiago fanfiction #iwthwy

53 notes · View notes

something-tofightfor · 5 years ago

Text

Triple D: Delos Does Disney (Part 1)

Pairing: Logan Delos x Reader

Word Count: 3595

Rating: PG-13 (for now.)

Author’s Note: Another look into the ‘Here Comes the Sun’ Logan and Mrs. Delos, set about a year into their marriage... so 6 months after the end of their ‘Hands to Yourself’ bet. I love these two, and I love giving Logan all of the happiness he deserves.

Summary: You and Logan spend a day at Disneyland right before Christmas... but of course, there’s a lot going on.

Tag list: (Please let me know if you wanna be added, removed, or moved to a different category!)

General:

@the-blind-assassin-12 @its-my-little-dumpster-fire @obscurilicious @sweetybuzz25 @suchatinyinfinity @lexxierave @gollyderek @poindexted @ificouldhelpyouforget @elanor-of-imladris @thesandbeneathmytoes @luminex3 @geeksareunique @weallhaveadestiny @mfackenthal @thesumofmychoices @yannii04 @beautiful-thinking @drinix @agentlingerie @blah-blah-fuckit-shit @dreams-with-thoughts

Logan Delos:

@nananananananananananabatman @damalseer @chibiyanai @life-is-a-melody

People I haven’t heard back from and were on before:

@banditthewriter @breanime @padfootagain @madamrogers @songtoyou @ethereal-heavcns @editboutique @marauderskeeper @ilkaeliseb @delicatelilyflower @king4thesirens @ymariejp @mr-robot-x @rageshots @shinebrightlikeafanbase @littlemermaidprobz @introvertedlibrary @writing-for-a-chance @yesixoxo @ilikebeachessushiandsmallanimals @likeorions @swiftyhowlz @dylanobrusso @malik-payne @lynne1993 @traeumerinwitzhelden @ladyblablabla @dreamwritesimagines @audreychaz @tc-elliot @kind-wolf @honeyydippaa @binbonsadoration @ificouldhelpyouforget @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @ms-delos @jeanettexkillian @avengerswhore @elioelioeli0 @wangmangagavroche @projectcampbell @giggleberts

“Wake up.” Logan’s voice was quiet in your ear, beard scratching against the skin of your cheek as he spoke. “If you want to eat breakfast, you’ve got to wake up right now.”

“It’s so early, Lo.” You groaned, turning your head back toward the pillow. “How are you already awake.” He bounced gently on the bed, laughing.

“I’m already up and showered, Mrs. Delos.” Despite still being half asleep, you smiled as he addressed you. You’d been married for just about a year, but Logan never tired of calling you by your title, especially when he wanted something, even if it was just to make you smile. “You need to get up, too.” I know. Sighing loudly, you stretched, feeling his weight against your legs and finally opened your eyes, the room still somewhat dark around you.

“What time is it?” You rubbed your eyes, swallowing, and Logan leaned forward, his lips settling in the hollow of your throat. He didn’t reply right away, instead leaving light kisses against your skin as he worked his way up and toward your jaw, teeth nipping at you and his still damp hair falling against your cheek. Don’t start something you can’t finish, Delos. Your hands dropped to his head, fingers tightening in his hair as you guided his movement. “Logan, come on.” He groaned quietly, puckering his lips once more before kissing you quickly on the mouth.

“It’s almost seven. Park opens in an hour, and we’re meeting Juliet, Mark and Emily at noon for lunch. They’re there already - they got the Extra Magic Hours.” It’s already seven? You sat straight up, eyes going wide. “What?”

“Logan, we have no time, we need to -” He grinned, and you could tell he was quite amused with your sudden urgency. “God, you should have woken me up when you got up, and…”

“Hey.” He reached out, fingers warm on your bare shoulder. “If I’d woken you up, we would have gotten into the shower together, and you know how that would have ended… we’d be really late.” You’re right. “It’s fine. Just get dressed, and we’ll go have breakfast before we take the shuttle over.” Despite the early hour, you felt excitement at his words at the same time that you felt a genuine appreciation for your husband, who knew without you telling him that you’d need the extra sleep to deal with the Christmas crowds at Disneyland. “Well?” He’d shifted on the bed, propped up on one elbow while he stretched out, watching you. “Unless you want to wear pajamas…” Rolling your eyes, you threw the blankets off of yourself, stepping out of bed and over to where your bags were, knowing that Logan was taking the opportunity to stare.

“I’m not wearing pajamas, Logan.” You looked over your shoulder at him, winking. “Don’t think the House of Mouse would appreciate me walking around like this.” He laughed as you stood, walking into the bathroom with a stack of clothing in your arms.

“No, they wouldn’t, but I definitely do.”

---

You ate a quick breakfast in your hotel’s restaurant, your last name doing wonders toward getting you a table despite the fact that it was relatively busy. While you ate, Logan scrolled through his phone, a small smile on his lips as he conversed with Mark. “Emily’s already been on two of the rides, and she met Mickey and Minnie.” He turned the phone toward you, showing off a picture of his niece and sister, both wearing matching pink headbands adorned with sequined ears and bows. “Mark says it’s actually kind of busy.”

Swallowing your last sip of orange juice, you leaned back in your chair, eyeing your husband. Even after three years of being with Logan, you didn’t think you’d ever get tired of looking at him. It didn’t matter if he was dressed for work - head to toe in tailored clothing, not a hair out of place, or decked out in his cowboy attire, his favorite black hat perched on his head and tilted forward to obscure his eyes… or even as he was that morning, wearing dark jeans and his comfortable boots, a hunter green Henley shirt with the buttons undone and sleeves pushed up to his elbows with a pair of obnoxiously expensive sunglasses perched atop his head, hair virtually product free. No matter what Logan chose to wear, you’d enjoy it, taking every opportunity to stare at him. “Of course it’s busy, Lo. It’s two weeks before Christmas.” He laughed, shaking his head as he turned his attention to the server, a young man that handed him the check without saying a word, eyes focused on Logan.

“Yeah, well, Em’s never been here for Christmas before, and I wanted to…” He pulled out a few bills, tucking them into the folder. “It’s been hard for her since Juliet and Mark have been so preoccupied with Isaac, and so I wanted her to have a good weekend.” You smiled at your husband, feeling yourself grow warm. Logan didn’t want his own kids, and it worked out well because neither did you, but he had no issues with spoiling Emily rotten, something he’d been doing ever since she’d first been born. You knew that his niece would always be his favorite, but Isaac was quickly earning a large place in Logan’s heart, too. “You ready?” Pulling yourself out of your thoughts, you nodded, standing.

Logan took your hand, guiding you through the crowded dining room and toward the front of the hotel, ignoring the people that stared the two of you down. They’re looking at him, not me. You were getting used to it, and though it was still a shock to you - that people were interested in what you were doing or wearing or where you were going, especially when you were with him. But the feeling of Logan’s fingers tightly linked with yours always grounded you, no matter what - and he knew it, Logan seemingly unable to go more than a few moments without touching you in some way. As the two of you boarded the shuttle that would take you from your hotel to the park, you glanced around at the people already on the vehicle. There’s no seats. But there was one, in the very back, and Logan steered you toward it, sitting down and pulling you into his lap with a grace that still sometimes shocked you, his arms settling around your waist as his chin rested against your shoulder. “You sure, Logan? It’s a long ride to the -”

He turned his head and kissed you, pulling you closer. “Yes. Nowhere else I want you.” From anyone else, the near-constant flirting and reassurances of his love and affection would have been overkill, annoying even, but from Logan? You knew why he did it, why it was important for him to tell you almost by the minute how he felt, showing you that he wanted you close, that you were never going to be too much for him… and it was another thing about him that you’d grown to love. Even after he’d changed his life, he’d still been aloof with his partners, allowing himself to connect with them but never in the ways that had quickly become normal for you.

He’d kept the real parts of himself hidden, because he was still hesitant to trust people in the way that he’d needed to in order to truly fall for someone, and since he didn’t lie, baring his entire soul was not an option. When you’d been with him in the Bahamas, it had been different for both of you from the minute you met; you turning to him in a moment when you’d needed comfort and just wanted a connection, the fact that it was with a stranger making it easy to open up, since you didn’t know if you’d ever see him again, and him allowing himself to get caught up, to be interested in a person, even for a short time. The fact that you hadn’t known him at first had been a huge selling point for him, because Logan didn’t have to try to impress you - you didn’t expect anything from him.

Thinking back on the earliest days of your friendship - before there had been a relationship - you were glad that both of you had given the other a chance, glad that you’d taken the risk, thrilled that he’d done the same - because it had led you to your present life - tucked safely and securely onto the lap of your husband and surrounded by excited children and their families as the full shuttle bounced down the road and toward Disneyland.

You were surprised that Logan had even wanted to go to the park, because the two of you had never been before, despite living (in good traffic) only an hour away. When Juliet and Mark had talked about taking Emily when her school let out for the holiday, Logan had immediately jumped into action, helping to find a nanny for the two days that Juliet had proposed and calling in a few favors to do whatever he could to make Emily’s first Christmas Disneyland trip as special as possible. You weren’t new to Disney, but you had to admit that the thought of walking around the park all day with Logan excited you, simply because it would be a new experience for the two of you. Wonder if I can get him into some ears…

The trip to Disney was just the start for you and Logan; after spending the day in the park with the three of them, you’d be jumping onto a plane and heading back to Nassau to spend Christmas on the beach, an extended three weeks away from California and Delos exactly what the two of you needed. And the fact that you’d be going back to the place where you met, without the possibility of getting caught in a hurricane? You were so excited you couldn’t stand it. But Disney first, then beach.

The plaza came into focus outside of the shuttle windows and more than a few of the kids began squealing, pressing their hands against the glass. “You excited?” Logan spoke into your ear and you could hear the smile in his voice. “You do like Christmas.” It was true - there was something about the holiday that you’d always enjoyed, and you went overboard every year, decorating your house with hundreds of tiny lights and garlands, setting up a massive tree on each floor - and since moving in with Logan and his high ceilings, you’d been able to get an even taller one than you were used to. “Sorry you couldn’t decorate this year.” You shrugged, turning and shifting on his lap as you reached up to cup his cheek.

“It’s fine, Lo. This trip’s gonna be better than a tree or lights or-” He surged forward, kissing you hungrily, not paying any mind to the people around you. “Logan, you…” You swallowed after he pulled back, lips tingling as you took a deep breath. “There are kids, Logan, you can’t just…” He winked at you.

“I just did.” Pressing your lips together to keep from laughing, you waited until you had room to stand before raising yourself off of Logan’s lap and stepping forward, falling into line with the others as they exited. “Tickets are on my phone,” Logan called out as the two of you made your way across the large plaza, lamp posts decorated with wreaths and garlands, multicolored lights visible between the greenery. You nodded at him without stopping, pulling your purse from over your shoulder and setting it in the basket before stepping through the metal detector, grinning at the employees that nodded you through.

Logan followed, and before you knew it, the two of you were waiting in the lines to enter the park, his fingertips pressed against your lower back. “I can’t wait until we’ve got warmer weather.” He sighed, and you felt the pressure of his fingers increase. “You’re wearing too much clothing.” Fighting back a snort, you stepped forward, waiting as Logan reached past you to scan his phone, the employee taking both of your pictures and handing you paper tickets.

“Logan, it’s not like it’s cold out.” You rolled your eyes as you crossed the second plaza, stopping for a moment to take a picture of the entrance, smiling at the snowflakes and wreaths that adorned the lawn and the front of the building atop the hill. “I almost wore shorts today, but I didn’t want…” I didn’t want to listen to you and your sister constantly asking if I was cold. You turned to look at him, watching as his eyes widened. “What?”

“Not cold?” He shook his head. “Are you kidding me? This isn’t -” You looked down, shaking your head at your chosen outfit - a pair of jeans that were well worn and fit you perfectly, black slip on Vans and a fitted gray sweatshirt with an oversized hood - before you looked back at Logan. Wonder how long it takes you to pull your sleeves down.

“Logan, it’s like 65 degrees and sunny. That’s perfectly acceptable ‘shorts and a hoodie’ weather in December back home.” He rubbed at his face for a second, but didn’t say anything. “Anyway, I didn’t, so…” You shrugged again, pointing at yourself. “Didn’t you just say you wanted me in less clothing?” He grumbled, reaching up to pull his sunglasses down to cover his eyes. One point, me. “Ready to go in?”

“Yes.” He was pouting, but you knew as soon as you passed beneath the bridge and onto Main Street, his attitude would change. “Still think you…” You rolled your eyes as you reached for his hand, feeling yourself growing excited as your steps quickened. “Slow down, we’ve got all day.” But you didn’t, and as soon as your eyes landed on the massive decorated tree in the center of the square and you inhaled the scent of gingerbread, you knew you wouldn’t. Nope. This might have been for Emily, but I’m gonna enjoy it, too.

“Come on, Logan, let’s have them take our picture with the tree.” He let you pull him toward the short line, families bustling around you, and while you waited, you scanned the rest of the square, trying to decide what you wanted to do after you got your picture taken. Logan had dropped your hand while you waited in line, his arm wrapping around your waist and holding you close, and even as you handed the employee your phone, he didn’t let go. “Logan, what are you -” But he cut you off again with a kiss, keeping it a little less indecent - but still thorough - this time as he dipped you back slightly, your surprise turning into a laugh as he pulled away, grinning. “Logan!” You looked over at the woman, who was holding your phone up and smiling too, head moving back and forth. “I’m sorry about him, he -”

“It’s fine, do you want a normal picture, too?” Yes, I do. But you didn’t know why you bothered, because even as you posed with Logan, his arm around your shoulders and his sunglasses again atop his head, you knew that you’d be posting one of the first images, because that was your Logan. “Got it.” The woman was grinning as the two of you stepped back toward her, hand reaching for your phone. “Enjoy the rest of your day at Disneyland, Mr. and Mrs. Delos.” Oh. The recognition didn’t deter Logan as the two of you walked deeper into the park, but you stopped, turning your head.

“Wait, Lo, I want -”

“Don’t tell me you want one of those ridiculous pairs of…” He stopped talking as he saw the look on your face. “Really?” Yes. You nodded at him, unblinking. “Alright.” The two of you entered the shop off to the right of the tree, immediately heading over to the wall where the headbands were displayed. Eyes moving over the colorful wall, you reached out, stopped, and then shifted your hand over, choosing a pair of shimmering black ears with a red bow. “No.” Logan was standing back, arms crossed loosely over his chest. Excuse me? “No, those are…” He reached past you, biting down on his lower lip. “What about these?” Logan chose a pair that had donuts in place of ears. “They’re different.”

“No, Logan, come on.” You kidding me? You put the original pair on, glancing at yourself in the mirror before turning to look at him. “Well?” He eyed you for a moment and then shook his head.

“Nah. I was joking about the donuts, but I still don’t think those are…” He shrugged. “Try these.” He reached past you again, pulling another headband off of the shelf. “I like these.” They were all silver, and while you did like them, they didn’t look right on you. “Yeah?”

“No, Logan, I don’t…” You trailed off, turning toward the counter, where there was a small line of people already purchasing things and then back to Logan, frowning. Maybe I won’t get a pair. Discouraged, you were about to turn away when an employee stepped forward, carrying a box. Jackpot. Waiting until she’d restocked the shelves, you pulled a pair off of the hook, sliding it onto your head and turning to look at Logan before you even glanced in the mirror. “These.” He tried to keep the disinterested look on his face but couldn’t, and you saw the gleam in his eyes as he watched you.

“Really gettin’ into the festive mood, aren’t you?” But he was laughing as he nodded, letting you pass. “You gonna let me buy ‘em, or….”

“Only if you pick out a pair for you, Lo.” You tuned in a slow circle, eyes moving over the spinning kiosk and then back to the wall. “What about that one? They’re Star Wars ears, Logan, look, there’s R2, and they light -”

“Absolutely not.” Logan shook his head again, mouth set in a firm line. “No light up ears for me, thanks.”

“You’re being ….” You sighed, taking a deep breath. Don’t fight him. “Alright, Logan. That’s fine.” Walking past your husband, you stepped up to the counter, setting down the chosen set of ears - glittering red and white peppermints with a bright green sequined bow between them. The transaction only took a few seconds, the employee cutting the price tag off for you as she handed you the receipt with a wink. “Thanks.” You ignored Logan, stepping back in front of the mirror and put the headband on, adjusting your hair. They look good. You didn’t know what Logan’s issue was, but you decided to let it go - after all, it was barely 8:30 in the morning, and you had fourteen hours until the park closed.

“You ready?” Logan’s voice was soft and as you heard it, you sighed, nodding. “I really like those on you,” he said as the two of you walked up Main Street toward the center of the park, side by side but not holding hands. “Look.” You’d made it almost to the end of Main Street, the statue of Walt and Mickey visible when Logan stopped you, one hand going to your shoulder. “I don’t mean to be... “ He licked his lips, shaking his head back and forth, and you noticed that Logan’s sunglasses were still on the top of his head, an indication that he wanted you to see his eyes when he spoke, though his gaze was distant. “I’m gonna let Emily pick out a pair for me, or a hat, or whatever she wants.” Oh. You felt yourself relax, breath leaving your mouth in a rush. “They came to the park with their old ears, and I figured after lunch, we could all go and get a new pair, but you…” He shook his head. “You wanted ‘em to walk around with this morning, and I didn’t want to say no, so…” He shrugged. “I’ll get you a second pair when I-”

“I don’t need two pairs, Lo,” you replied, feeling bad for the frustration you’d felt toward him. “It’s fine, I just -”

“You gonna tell Em no?” He raised one eyebrow, using the hand that had been on your shoulder to push your hair away from your temple, knuckles trailing down and over your cheek. “I’d like to see you try.” Fighting back a smile, you rolled your eyes at Logan. “That’s what I thought.” He took a breath, eyeing you, and you were relieved to see that the look in his eyes had changed back to normal, the warmth back in them. “What’s first?” Excited again, you turned your head back and forth, trying to figure out which side of the park looked less busy. It doesn’t matter, I don’t think.

“Tomorrowland,” you said, pointing - this time with two fingers, which got a laugh out of Logan. “There’s less to do on that side of the park, and then when we meet them for lunch, we’ll be closer to… well, wherever it is that we’re meeting them.” Logan’s grin was as large as you’d ever seen it, and he leaned in, kissing you quickly.

“First stop, Space Mountain.” He took your hand and started walking to the right, fingers tight around yours. “And I’m not even gonna tell you where what we’re doing for lunch.” He looked down at you, winking. “That’s a surprise for you, too”

---

83 notes · View notes

nctzendreamz · 5 years ago

Text

assist :: johnny suh

summary: johnny saves you every single time.

warnings: mentions of alcoholism & subtle cheating.

pitiful is what you felt every time the burning sensation filled your chest. the music raved, and sweaty bodies surrounded you. not that you cared about anything but being drunk.

to say you had a drinking problem was an understatement. deep down, you knew why you drank so much. to ignore real life issues. even being tipsy was better than being sober for you. you felt prettier when you were wasted. you felt more confident when you could barely walk. it didn’t make sense, but it was true.

guys also always seemed to approach you when you were drunk, compared to how no one wanted you when you were sober. like right now. you couldn’t see him, but you knew he was grinding against you, clearly looking to get lucky. maybe if you got drunk enough he would, but you weren’t there yet. suddenly you felt a hand grabbing your wrist, pulling you away from the party, and you could be blind and still know who it was.

[[MORE]]

“johnny!” you wined, attempting to get out of his hold.

“don’t.”

“let me have fun!”

“this isn’t fun, y/n! this is stupid and dangerous. that guy literally looked fifty years old.”

“really?” your voice was quiet as you two went outside, you now using his arm for support. everything started to kick in quickly, and you knew you had drank too much. “johnny, you need to get me home.” you cried, holding your stomach.

“you’re about to throw up aren’t you?”

all you could do was nod your head hysterically, even in your drunk state embarrassed that he had to witness this. it took no time for you to feel that familiar feeling in your stomach, and everything that you tried to drown away came out in chunky form.

“you’re okay.” he whispered, rubbing your back softly, while giving anyone who dared look at you a mean glare.

you gasped for air, putting your hands on your knees. “oh god.” you said, throwing your head back in the bush and releasing more. you hated this feeling, yet you loved drinking. it made no sense.

johnny put a hand around your waist “i think you’re done. at least until you get home.” he slowly walked you to his car, helping you into the passengers seat. you didn’t have to look at him to know he was fuming.

“are you mad at me.” you pouted, feeling the drunken tears on their way.

“yeah. i am.” he muffled as he started the car.

“why?”

“because you scare me.”

“if I scare you so much, why do you always come and save me before I do something dumb?

“because I still care, y/n!” he yelled, looking right at you now.

“you broke up with me.” you couldn’t even yell back. you couldn’t even see him. everything was blurry.

“for your own good, y/n.”

“no. you just didn’t want me anymore.”

he took a deep breath, squeezing the steering wheel tightly. “you’re drunk.”

“fuck you.” you muttered, attempting to get out of the vehicle, but not able to open the door. now you were looking at him with fuming eyes. “did you really put the fucking child locks on the door?”

“fitting, isn’t it?”

“literally just let me out, johnny!” you screamed, kicking the door even though you knew you were too weak to do anything about this predicament.

“so something can happen to you? no.” now he was pulling out the spot, making his way to your apartment. “sit there and relax.”

“i don’t want to be in the car with you.” you said in a childlike manner, crossing your arms over your chest.

“better me than a random person.”

“why are you being so mean to me?”

“i’m not. i’m being honest.”

you may have been twisted, but that didn’t mean you forgot that johnny never lost an argument. it was better to shut your mouth and pray he would leave you alone after he dropped you off. he had someone else to go home to anyway.

when you two finally did arrive at your apartment, you were asleep. johnny considered carrying you up the steps, but woke you up instead.

“i can’t move.”

“yes you can. you just have to try.”

“just leave me in here. please.”

“no. come on, y/n.” his voice was stern, and it made you attempt to get out, only to fall into his arms. “you’re okay.” he encouraged, rubbing your back just as he did when you threw up. “you got this.” his encouragement always made you feel like you could do the impossible. it took a lot of falling and much needed assistance from him to get in the elevator to go up to your apartment, but as always, you did it.

the second you stepped in your apartment, you immediately went to remove your clothes. you didn’t care if johnny saw. it wasn’t anything he hadn’t seen before.

“you need to brush your teeth.” he instructed, following closely behind you.

“how the fuck am i supposed to brush my teeth when I can barely stand?”

“come on.” he said, placing your arm around his shoulder, and leading you to the bathroom he knew oh so well. he tried to let you stand on your own, but when he saw you wobbling from side to side, he wrapped one arm around your chest while the other was on your waist. the two of you sat there for a minute, looking at your position. if he didn’t know any better, he would think you were sober right now.

“you used to do this to me in the morning, when I was too tired to go to work.” you slurred, eyes barely open.

“yeah.” he whispered, turning on the water for you and grabbing your brush. oh how he wished this was just you being tired. he smiled in adoration when he saw you make a sad attempt to brush your chompers.

when you spat into the sink, he handed you your towel and you wiped your face. you immediately left his arms and ran to your bed, wanting nothing more than to rest forever. all you had on your body was some panties, and you expected it to stay that way. you also expected johnny to leave, but you were too drunk to know what he was doing.

it wasn’t until you felt him at your feet, slipping your pajama pants over your behind did you realize he was still here.

“i don’t want these on.” you whined.

“you say that until you wake up freezing.”

“if I do, which I won’t, I’ll get up and put some pants on.”

“no you won’t. you’ll be too scared.”

“whatever.” you said with your face in the pillow. “you can go now. i know she’s waiting for you.”

he didn’t comment, but instead pulled a shirt over your head. one of his shirts to be specific. then, he allowed you to stick your legs under your thick sheets, and tucked you in.

“you warm?” he questioned, rubbing your back softly once again.

you simply nodded your head in response, already falling asleep.

“okay.” he whispered to himself, pressing a kiss to the side of your head before getting up. he went to your kitchen to grab the typical hangover cure; two Advil��s and a glass of water, and placed it on the table beside your bed.

“why do you do this?” he heard you question in a small voice. he knew you were drunkendly rambling and that he didn’t have to answer you, but he could never deny you of anything he could give you. still to this day he would give you the world.

“because i still love you.”

“then why did you leave me?”

“because sometimes people work better apart.”

“but....but...”

johnny felt his phone vibrating in his pocket, and he knew who it was. she was calling to see where he was. see whether he was still at the studio. telling him how much she missed him and couldn’t wait for him to come to bed.

as he stared at you, drifting into dreamland, if that’s even where you were going, he realized he couldn’t leave you.

just for tonight, johnny. he told himself.

can’t make it tonight, babe. i have an early schedule so they want us to just stay at the dorms to make it easier. i’ll make it up to you though.

just like you did earlier, he stripped himself of all his clothes minus his boxers. there was a time where nothing felt better than getting to do this every night. get in bed with you and dozing off peacefully. tonight was no different even though it had been awhile. when he tried it with her, it just wasn’t the same. he knew he was forcing it. he knew it was you he wanted.

he stared at your back, taking no time to wrap his arms around your waist and pulling you to his chest.

“baby.” he heard your raspy voice call out as you scooted closer to his chest. God, he missed hearing you call him that, and not when you were drunk. when you could say it anytime. he knew you were only saying it because your mind was in another place, but he didn’t care.

“i’m here.” he whispered, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. all of this was wrong, but it felt so right.

“i love you too. and i’m sorry I wasn’t good enough for you. i’m sorry I...i couldn’t be better. i drink too much and i-

“shh.” he cooed, nuzzling into you. “just sleep.”

maybe he should’ve went back to her, or back to the dorms, but he couldn’t. you were his home. you always will be. and just like you could never shake off the alcohol, he couldn’t shake you.

#nct #nct 127 #nct johnny #johnny #nct imagine #nct scenario #nct imagines #nct reaction #nct masterlist #nct angst

129 notes · View notes

mlovesstories · 5 years ago

Text

Shake It Off Part 4

@spngenrebingo square: accidental confession

Warnings: cussing, arguments, flangst. I think that’s it.

Words 1600

Summary: YN overhears something she shouldn’t have.

Jensen x Reader!Platonic

Jared x Reader!Platonic

Danneel x Jared!Platonic

Gen x Reader!Platonic

Tag List

Ask Box

Masterlist of Masterlists

“Hello?”

“Hey, YN. It’s Jensen.”

“What the hell do you want? I used to really respect you. Now you just treat me like crap even though I don’t do anything-”

“I’m sorry, but he needs you. Hold on.” YN heard shuffling and then hurried breathing.

“Jared?”

“I- can’t-”

“Okay, I gotcha. You need to breathe, Jared. Give the phone back to Jensen real quick.” After a few seconds of background noise, Jensen’s gruff voice could be heard on the other end.

“Yeah?”

“Pressure. Use pressure,” YN said quickly. “Where are you?”

“Trailers. Umm. Okay, buddy,” he started soothing his friend. “I found a down pillow… and one of our thick winter jackets.”

“Perfect. Use them.” YN heard Jensen moving things around.

“Okay, I think we’re good. He’s calming down now.”

“Awesome. Have him call me if he needs anything else. Or you can. As long as you’re not an ass. Good night, Jensen.”

______

“Hi, YN.”

“Hi, Jared. Oh! Hey, Gen!” YN saw the couple on her phone screen.

“Hey, YN!” Gen waved.

“How you doing?” YN smiled softly.

“Better, thanks,” he appreciatively responded. “Sorry about Jensen,” Jared said.

“I’m glad he called me. Glad you’ve improved. Have you been taking care of yourself like I told you to? I’m sure your loved ones have been saying the same thing.”

“I’m fine,” he became defensive.

“Jared, it’s okay. I’m sorry. You know you need to do something though. Self-care is so important. You know this,” YN reminded him.

“Yeah, but it’s so hard when I’m worried about having another medical issue!” He raised his voice, and YN backed away from her phone on instinct.

“You have no control over that and you know it. Jared, no matter if you worry about it or not, stuff will happen or it won’t.”

“We’re working on it. It’s gotten better,” Gen looked from YN to Jared next to her.

“I got a letter in the mail,” Jared sighed sadly. “The state froze my license until I can get stable on meds.”

“Yikes,” YN huffed.

“Should be able to reinstate it soon though.”

“Good,” YN offered a grin.

“It’s so- I don’t know. It’s like my freedom has been taken away.”

“I’m sorry. I can see how you would feel trapped.”

“Yeah, pretty much.”

“But we’ll get through it. We always do,” Gen reassured him.

“Go read or something, Jared. You’re getting tense. I can see it on your face.”

“Alright. Thanks, YN.”

—————

“Danneel?” Jared breathed quickly into the phone.

“What’s wrong?” The woman’s voice became serious.

“I’m having a panic attack,” he whispered.

“How can I help you?” Danneel asked soothingly.

“I don’t know…”

Danneel calmed him by talking to him about the kids and what she and Gen had done together that day.

“Thanks, Dee. Didn’t want to bother Jensen. Not that I’m not bothering you, but-”

“Padalecki!” Danneel shouted into the phone.

“What?” Jared asked, alarmed.

“You aren’t a bother. Now get back to work, mister. I’ll see you this weekend.”

Jared gave a tired laugh and thanked her.

—————-

As a thank you, Jared gave YN the best fan experience at another con at no cost to her. She was able to stay backstage, get photos with everyone, and stay in the green room between panels. YN watched Jared closely, but he seemed to be doing okay. As she walked from her audience chair to the green room after the Gold Panel, she heard arguing and stopped.

“That’s why you don’t like her? Are you serious?” Jared raised his voice. “Because she looks like someone you used to know?”

“This girl and I dated in high school! She got pregnant after we broke up, but she said the timing was off, so it wasn’t mine!”

“She doesn’t look like you. Besides, what are the chances?”

“I heard her say her mom’s name was Cindy. That was the girl’s name!” Jensen became flustered.

At the realization of the topic of conversation, YN froze.

Mom got pregnant at 16. She had me at 16. What the hell?

“So you think she’s yours, and that’s why you’ve been freaking out?”

“I had somebody look into it…”

“You did not, Ackles!” Jared groaned.

“YN’s mom’s full name was the name I knew…”

YN couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She slid down the wall that she was leaning against. Her rear thudded against the carpeted floor.

“What was that?” Jared asked.

YN stood when she realized they were going to come her way. She ran with tears falling down her face.

Jared and Jensen picked up her belongings on the floor, and they chased after her.

“What’s wrong?” Jared spun her around at the end of the hallway.

Tears streaming down her face, she answered. “You were mean to me because you thought I might be your kid? Wow. Classy. You treat your kids like this? Hold grudges and cop an attitude?” She wipes her face.

“Uh- You heard-“ Jensen stuttered.

“Yeah. And you know what sucks? You may be right. My mom was not the best at keeping track of guys she decided to hang out with, but you would really stoop that low? Be mean to me because of some bad relationship 25 years ago?”

“YN-“

“Forget it. Lose my number. Both of you.”

YN stomped down the hall and slammed the exit door.

————-

“Gen, don’t.”

“YN, you know you can’t be angry forever. And who knows if it’s true anyway?” Gen sulked on FaceTime with YN.

“Jensen said he looked into it. Same high school, same name. It makes sense. Except for the fact that she did sleep around. She doesn’t know who my dad is. She never did.”

“I’m so sorry, sweetie. This is a lot to deal with.”

“As is life, I guess. Tell Jared hi. I need to go,” YN cut her off.

“YN-“

“Good night, Gen.”

————

“Mom?”

“Hi, YN. Since when do you call me? You ignore my calls.”

“I need to know something. And I need the truth.”

“Okay…” her mom said, puzzled.

“...Is Jensen Ackles my father?”

YN heard a cough in the background and her mom’s throat clearing.

“So it is true?” YN elevated her voice. “Wow, Mom.”

“That’s why I didn’t tell you! He got famous in LA. He didn’t even know. Don’t blame him. I didn’t tell him because his career skyrocketed and I-“

“Didn’t want to ruin it with me. Got it. I need to go,” YN whispered.

“YN, just listen.”

“Thanks for telling me. Talk to you later,” YN said shortly.

———-

“I can’t even- I don’t know what to do.”

“It stinks, sweetheart. I can’t even imagine. I’m sorry,” YN’s best fried said on a Monday evening.

“The convention was great, but he just had to ruin it! I have to take a DNA test! I might be Jensen Ackles’ kid! What? And my mom knew!” YN leaned into her friend on her couch. As she took another bite of ice cream, she turned up the cheesy rom-com they were about to watch.

“I know, honey. You’re so strong.”

YN sniffled.

“Yeah, sure,” she rolled her eyes,

“You are. Who knew this would be my life. Be Jared’s hero and Jensen’s bastard kid.

“I’m always here to stand by you. I love you,” her friend wrapped an arm around her as YN snuggled into her.

_____

“It’s positive,” YN sighed to herself.

YN to Jensen

It’s positive. I just heard back from the company.

Jensen

I know. I just heard too. Do you want to talk about it?

Nope. Apparently I was kept a secret to not ruin your life. Not gonna do it now.

Jensen

YN…

Congrats, you have another kid, DAD.

Jensen

You aren’t ruining anything.

Does Danneel know?

Jensen

Told her as soon as I found out.

Good. I’m not about to keep secrets like that. Don’t worry, I won’t sue you are shout it from the rooftops. Go live your life. I’m not mad about it. But you could have treated me better. Grow up.

Jensen

I want to be in your life.

You messed up that opportunity when you treated me like crap.

Jensen

Come on, YN. Can I just call you? Please?

I’ll think about it. I need to go eat too much and get hungover.

Jensen tried to call her anyway. YN turned off her ringer and left her apartment to go to her local bar.

______

“Hey, sweetheart,” a man approached YN.

“Go away, sleeze bag,” YN stared straight ahead.

“I’m sorry you think that about your father.”

YN recognized his voice.

“What IN THE HELL do you want, Jensen? How did you even find me?” She turned to face him.

“Is this seat taken?”

“I guess it is now,” she blinked and shook her head rapidly, trying to keep herself alert.

“I think you’ve had enough. You look like you’re about to fall over.” Jensen took her beer glass and slid it toward himself to block access to it.

“Have not,” she reached for it, drowsy.

“She’s had enough, cut her off,” Jensen told the bartender. The employee confusedly narrowed his eyes at Jensen. “Here’s fifty bucks, now go serve somebody else,” he growled to the bartender.

“Yes, sir,” the worker smiled and walked over to a few waiting customers.

“Asshole,” YN groaned, slurring her words.

“I might be an asshole, but I’m not letting you get any more plastered than you already are. Come on, sweetheart.” He tried to guide her off of the barstool, but she swatted at him. “Fine,” he returned. Jensen threw her over his shoulder and walked out of the bar. He heard a groan. Jensen put her back on her own two feet before she turned away from him and threw up into the bushes outside the bar entrance. “Okay, let’s go.” Jensen stood her up again and walked her to a waiting vehicle. YN fell asleep in the car. Her father woke her up when they arrived at the Ackles’.

“This isn’t my apartment,” she noticed, groggy.

“I’m not letting you have a hangover by yourself. You’re going to be awfully sick tomorrow. Let’s get you inside.”

Jensen walked her to a downstairs bedroom, and she plopped onto the mattress.

“Goodnight sweetheart. I know you don’t think this, but I do love you.”

She was asleep before he finished his sentence. He laughed to himself watching drool fall from her mouth.

“You’re going to regret it all tomorrow,” he whispered with a smile. Shutting her door, he walked up to the master bedroom.

Tag List

Ask Box

Masterlist of Masterlists

SPN Genre Bingo (including Shake It Off)

@spnsuper17

Forever Friends (Everything):

@katymacsupernatural

@unicornblood4ever

@ellie-andthemachine

@fangirl-moment-x

@empirialwolf

@winchesters-favorite-girl

@super100012

@waywardnewcomer

@percywinchester27

@waywardsuns

@supernatural-jackles

@mcallmestiles

@mandyreese

@sdavid09

@kingandrear

@bellero

@rosiewinchester

@seality

@blogsnowflakeme

@jaycc7983

@luci-in-trenchcoats

@cherryblossom1997

@because-you-never-know-when

@lauren-novak

@sleepylunarwolf

@fainthearteddaisy

@choosemyname

@internationalmusicteacher

@mersuperwholocked-lowlife

@find-sammys-shoe

@encounterthepast

@spn-tw-37

@torn-and-frayed

@dreaminemz

@giggles1026

@xiumin-girl99

@bertiemaklinn

@encounterthepast

@strangedeerconnoisseur

@iamnerdperson

@sbcamp08

@mangueweaschester

@idksupernaturalman

@skylarraker

@monkeymcpoopoo

@silverstripe101a

@thevelvetseries

@jennawinchester152a

@samsgirl93

#supernatural #mlovesstoriesshakeitoff #mlovesstories #jared x platonic reader #jensen x platonic reader #supernaturalrpf

78 notes · View notes

moonlight-frittata · 5 years ago

Text

I’m Not Drunk, You’re Drunk

@sailorsunspot gave the prompt, “Catra and Adora get drunk while they’re in the Horde together”

They’re about 16 or so in this (I put them at around 18 or 19 in the show).

Word Count: 1913

---

Adora twisted the cap off a glass bottle Catra handed to her with a shit eating grin. The harsh stench of alcohol assaulted her senses, forcing her to hold the liquor at arm’s length. She blinked over and over, trying to stave off tears caused by the strong fumes. The clear liquid inside was most likely Horde back alley hooch, but could just as likely be fuel for a Class B skiff from the smell of it.

“Where the hell did you get this?”

Catra leaned back against a crate, looking quite pleased with herself.

“I have connections. A few of the senior cadets have a still system somewhere. And one of them owed me a favor.”

The pair sat across from each other behind a pile of spare tank parts, holed up in a storage room of the vehicle hanger. It was one of the numerous hiding spots they snuck off to after dinner to unwind before curfew. Catra dropped hints all day she had a special surprise for this particular evening, keeping tight lips whenever Adora tried to needle the truth out of her.

“You sure this won’t kill me immediately?”

“Live a little Adora, no one lasts forever.”

“Not wanting to die is living plenty!”

“Helen assured me it’s safe enough.”

Adora sighed.

“Have you tried this before?”

“No.. but that’s why I thought we could do it together.”

Adora turned the bottle over in her hands one more time, the smell of alcohol still irritating the tip of her nose.

“I don’t know, Catra.”

“Come on, are you scared I can handle it and you can’t?”

Adora rolled her eyes as Catra snatched the bottle out of her hands and took the first swig. She tipped the bottle upright and swallowed a mouthful. The effect was immediate. Tears stung the corners of her eyes and her face scrunched up in pain. A rough, uneven cough escaped her lips from the burn in her throat that traveled to her chest.

“...yep!..*cough cough*..it’s...good stuff..*cough cough*..Adora!”

Catra shoved the bottle into Adora’s hands and continued coughing into the crook of her elbow. Despite the self induced pain, Catra’s mismatched eyes twinkled with mischief. Adora knew exactly what she was trying to do. A challenge had been issued. One that would be held over her head with unrestrained malace and taunting until the end of time if she refused to rise to the occasion. Adora turned the bottle over in her hands for a moment, weighing the pros and cons in her head while Catra recovered her composure and flashed a cocky grin.

“Ah, what the hell..”

Adora tipped the bottle in Catra’s direction, raising it in a gesture she once saw Shadow Weaver use with a goblet of wine at a banquet for Hordak, and swallowed.

There was no real flavor to the swill she somehow willfully ingested, except maybe an after taste of rusty metal and jet fuel. Adora’s torso hitched in a shudder as the bite of drink seared her tongue and back of her throat on the way down. The warmth of alcohol settled in her belly like hot embers in a furnace. She sucked in air through her teeth and nodded her head encouragingly at Catra before another shudder rippled through her body.

“Bleh. Okay, we did it. Now what?”

Catra took the bottle back and set it between them on the concrete floor. The clear liquid swished back and forth inside before it settled, the container still mostly full.

“Um, I don’t know. It’s supposed to make you feel different. Do you feel different?” Catra asked.

Adora ran her fingers over her chest where the lingering tingle of alcohol settled uncomfortably under her sternum. She felt like her insides had been cleaned out with hot metal, but other than that she didn’t feel anything in particular.

“Maybe we need to drink some more?”

---

“...ahahaha, how many reps are you gonna mess up until you finally fall over, Adooora.”

Catra lay sprawled across a bundled up tarp she pulled off a pile of broken turret parts. Her tail drifted slowly back and forth.

Adora swayed on her feet, one hand propped against the wall, the other holding the half-empty bottle of liquor. Every time she bent over to put the bottle down, the world rushed up to meet her eyes and she had to shuffle her feet to keep from falling down. Catra joked she looked like she was attempting a kettlebell exercise from training.

“You’re just jealous I’m super strong, and can balance real good and can do, other stuff, Catra. Ca-tra. Cat rahh.”

The usual lilt of her best friend’s name felt strange on her tongue. Cat..ra. Adora moved her lips in silence, trying to figure out the normal sound they were supposed to make. Catra. She lifted her fingers to her lips, noticing they felt numb and slow. Just like everything else floating on the fringe of her sight.

“I, think you are drunk. Adora.”

Catra fell back against the tarp and laughed in a raspy staccato clip. After a beat, she moved to sit up but without any of her usual feline grace and nearly tumbled onto her face. It only made her laugh even harder.

The point of Adora’s shoulder blades dug into the concrete wall behind her, solid and steady against the rocking motion of everything else in the room. She gave up the effort to place the bottle on the ground, deciding instead to join Catra on her tarp. Adora made it across the room in a few strides, falling heavily beside her friend.

She lifted a limp wrist and pointed her finger.

“I think you’re the one who’s drunk. Ca-te-rah.”

The glass container dropped between them with a soft thud against the canvas, the liquid inside too shallow to spill out when the bottom hit the ground.

“I mean, that was the point...”

Catra’s words slurred together, a drawl in her annunciation. She turned over towards Adora.

“I’m impressed you didn’t chicken out. Miss future force captain.”

Adora leaned back to close her eyes for a moment, thinking better of it as the world tilted too much.

“I’m not as good as you might think. I can be insubordinate.”

Catra watched closely as Adora sounded out each syllable like a foreign word.

“Pffft, when have you ever been insubordinate in your life?”

Adora’s eyebrows knit together, her blue eyes grey and cloudy with thought.

“I’m...I’m being insubordinate right now! I do stuff people think I won’t do. I didn’t tell Shadow Weaver when Lonnie cheated on her Geometry exam. I lied about Kyle’s one mile time so he wouldn’t fail for the fifth try in a row. I cover for you when you’re late to training, or when you piss off the instructors.”

“Oh yeah, you’re such a martyr, Adora,” Catra whispered. The reply came out sharp through the haze of intoxication.

Adora turned to her.

“Whaat’s that supposed to mean? You’re the one who’s always telling me to lighten up and not care as much.”

“That dumb stuff doesn’t mean anything, Adora. Geometry test? One mile? What does that even really matter. None of it involved you or could actually get you in trouble.”

“Are you serious??” Adora’s voice rose to a breathy shrill. “It could put any future promotions at risk if they knew I lied!!”

Catra shrugged her shoulders and rolled her eyes, but her usual flippant tone was less convincing than usual. The tips of her claws dug into the soft skin of her palm at her side.

“Yeah right Adora. We all know you can get away with anything in Shadow Weaver’s eyes. Perfect Adora! Pride of the Horde! That old witch could walk in here right now with us piss drunk and I would be the only one to get the living shit beat out of me. Once for the drinking, and twice for getting you drunk.”

“That’s not..that’s not true!”

Adora’s head bobbed back and forth, the slur in her words growing more pronounced with every sentence. Her forehead wrinkled from how hard she seemed to be concentrating on the conversation.

“I would definitely get punished, are you kidding me? But I got drunk anyway! Because I always go along with your plans in the end.”

She flourished her arms and fell back dramatically. Catra scowled at her, then stared at a spot on the ceiling, annoyed by the turn of their conversation. Adora stayed silent for so long after her outburst Catra wondered if she fell asleep.

“And also Catra,” Adora said bolting upright. “If none of that stuff matters, why are you giving me a hard time about it?”

The hair on Catra’s back bristled. She stared at her knees and bit the inside of her cheek.

“Catra?”

Their shoulders were flush against each other where they sat on the tarp. Catra’s heartbeat spiked in her ears. The comfort of the closeness grew stifling and too much. Adora tried to place her hand on Catra’s forearm, but she moved it away. Nothing dramatic. A subtle shift of the elbow, but it said enough.

“Wait, are you mad at me?”

“We’re just drunk. Don’t read into something that’s not there.”

“Catra..”

Catra rolled to her side and onto her knees, leaning heavily against the crates around her for support as she rose to her feet. Everything moved back and forth like a pitching ship, no matter how still she held herself. Something screamed danger to where the conversation was taking a turn. The drunken cloud was not clearing, instead focusing on a place she was not interested in talking about.

“Come on,” Catra groaned between deep breaths, “we should get to bed before -”

Her ears twitched to the side as the inevitable sound of too much fun filled the storage room. Adora was on hands and knees, retching over and over off the edge of the tarp onto the concrete floor. Catra bit her lip, trying hard not to get sick herself from the sound. It wasn’t something she usually had an issue with, but she also wasn’t normally drunk off her ass when she held Adora’s hair back from a fever.

The dry heaving stopped almost as fast as it began. Adora whimpered quietly, crawling a few feet away from the puddle of puke on the floor. Catra sighed, her anger flickering out before it ever grew into something else. With slow, deliberate steps she closed the distance to help her best friend. Because even if she was mad at Adora, she’d still always have her back.

“Alright cadet. Let’s get you to your bunk.”

Catra held her hand out. Adora lifted her head, eyes glassy and lidded with drunken fatigue. She took the outstretched palm, but Catra still needed to half drag Adora to her feet.

As they turned to go, the back of Catra’s foot bumped into the glass bottle on the ground. It still had some Horde hooch left inside. She started to bend over and pick up the bottle, but her eyes swam and stomach flipped and she decided to leave the spoils of war alone. With one of Adora’s arms slung over her shoulder, the pair shambled back to their barracks.

“...so I guess we lived a little, huh?” Adora mumbled, barely coherent.

Catra chuckled.

“Oh yeah. And I won’t let you forget it for a loooong time.”

#catradora #she-ra #angst #fluff #friendship #look I actually published a thing I wrote!#it was lots of fun writing these drunk dummies ahaha #laura writes #moonlight writes #...I can't remember my writing tag...

72 notes · View notes