#you can’t tell me jon wouldn’t make fun of him (lovingly) you all know he can’t help it

[boomdeyadah]

@jonmartinweek Day 8! Martin’s Poetry 😏 particularly some verses about one overly smug antichrist

[internalsealpanic]

Love Through the Ages (Damian Wayne)

Summary:  Love like baggage needs to be declared.

a/n: This is part one of a series that is a fic rec list disguised as a fic. For these fics, most of the characters will be speaking different languages, so unless specified otherwise assume that the characters are speaking in the first language I mention. They’re all vampires with centuries under their belt. Why wouldn’t I make them all polyglots.  Also, thank you to the proof reading gang for putting up with my shenanigans.  I will have links to the fics I recommend in the fic itself.

Warnings: Everyone is dramatic. 

Masterlist

Series Masterlist. 

You wait by the platform, tapping your feet to the rhythm of the Little Colonel Bojangles Dance. It's been so long since you've seen the movie but your feet can still remember the steps- much to Damian's annoyance. Your feet patter against the pavement, wet from the spring rain, in a soft rhythm that kept your excitement at bay.

You wave to the approaching cab. The passenger of the cab looks away from you, pressing his mouth into the heel of his hand as his eyes stare out into oblivion. Your mouth quirks at the petulant gesture. You haven't seen each other in two decades and he's still mad about... what was it again? You'll find out soon enough.

The cab stops in front of you.

You bow your head, resting your weight on your umbrella. You grin at his seated form postured perfectly with an ease of a man born with the world in his pocket. He's dressed in a black suit and a dark coat that looked far too thick for spring.

"Long time, no see, little prince." You say in a dialect of Spanish too old for the young cab driver to recognize.

Damian raises his brow, articulating his annoyance. It takes you a moment to realize that it was with the accent you'd chosen. It was inelegant and curt and it mangled the curve of the syllables far too easily. In short, it was your favorite dialect.  Rolling your eyes, you try again. This time with a softer, smoother dialect much more modern but still old enough that you could talk freely without worrying about eavesdroppers.

Damian cracks a smile at you. It was wry but soft in the way Damian always was. Your own exasperated smile softens as you look at his eyes, their ever-changing lushness. It's been too long.

You open the door. Damian eases out of the cab handing the cabby what you quietly hope was the correct amount.

But considering the wide-eyed glee on the cabbies face, you can guess that twenty years has done nothing for Damian's spending habits. That was if the tailored suit wasn't a dead giveaway.

You look him over whistling," whose funeral are you going to after the museum?" 

"Yours if we're on schedule." Damian deadpans looking at his watch. 

You snort, sounding like a piglet in mud. Adoration flickers in Damian's eyes but you miss it as you throw your head back.

"Who has a schedule on vacation."

"People who don't like wasting time."

"That's what a vacation is for."

Damian makes an annoyed noise in the back of his throat and you shake your head. Damian wraps his arm around your shoulders. You happily press into his side, reveling in the intimacy of the action.

Damian had been telling you a story in rapid Arabic, the only words you understood were 'Jon' and 'moron', when you pause in front of a pair of paintings. The painting on the left was of Damian, his form drawn in harsh, messy angles. He's hunched over his sketchbook, candlelight glowing softly by his side makes his copper skin and forest green eyes breathtaking. The subject is out of view. The other was a portrait of you dozing off on a workshop table, your flaws lovingly rendered in gentle brush strokes. By contrast, your portrait was lit by the summer sun. Only Damian could make your features look this beautiful.

Vaguely, you remember this.

You remember it only for the countless times it had happened.

"They say that the one on the left is the painter sketching the portrait on the right and that the portrait on the right is of his lover."  You say airily. Damian, not one to disappoint, gives you an unreadable look.

Your stomach turns. You drop the subject. Wordlessly, you two make your way to the exhibit.

"Love through the Ages?" Damian asks, crossing his arms.

"Shockingly love wasn't invented by Stephenie Meyer."  You say. Damian wrinkles his nose at you and you cover your mouth to hide the scraggly smile spreading across your lips.

"I'm shocked your paintings didn't make it in."

He looks down at you huffing, "it's only speculation." 

You're heart twinges at that.  You press a frown to your hand.

"It'll be fun, Dami. I promise. Pleeeeeease."

Damian's stern look gives way to a weary half-smile as he capitulates to you.

"I promise it will only be half as nauseating as Dick's attempts to do family bonding."

"Tt, it would take a miracle to surpass that."

You grin. "Perish the thought."

"They say this stardust came from star-crossed lovers as they traveled through space. Oh and this one is a statue gifted by Persephone to Hades."

You drag Damian all over the exhibit. Pointing to specific exhibits with enthusiasm. He has to admit. It's infectious. Then again, Damian's never been able to resist anything about you. This amount of enthusiasm for something so frivolous would have been obnoxious on anyone else but because it's you, Damian's found himself utterly enamored by it.

"This one," You say, pointing to a series of paintings. They were all beautiful, painted in bold colors. The torrent of emotions radiating off of the canvas. "This one was made by an artist torn between three loves."

"Three? She must have been an exceptional artist."

"Probably was but her name was lost." You sigh.

 "She’s got exceptional brushwork." Damian hums. 

You squint at it. You would think after hundreds of years you would be able to discern that.

"And over there! Look at those postcards!" You say, pointing the three postcards pinned to a cloth in a glass case.  One card showed the northern lights, another with a picture of a thick rainforest, another with a large cave, and another with the pantheon. 

"They're not well preserved are they." Damian comments, scrutinizing the postcards and noting all the imperfections, the little cracks and tears, the water stains, and odd splotches of dirt. 

You roll your eyes, curling your fingers around his arm. "That's cus Hermes supposedly brought them everywhere while he searched for his lost love." 

"Quite the romantic. Do you know all the artifacts?"

"Yup." 

"I see..." Damian drawls.  "Then why are we here then?" Damian winces at how harsh and impatient he sounds. 

"Cus Jon said I needed an excuse to get you here and viola. It worked. I knew you'd cross the sea for a rare exhibit."

I would cross the sea for you, no matter how many times, Damian thinks.

"What about this?" Damian points to a golden coin, shaking his thoughts away. 

You lean back, side-eyeing him. "Care to guess?" His handsome features furrow as he thinks. 

"I think it’s a coin used to pay Charon." He says finally. 

You frown. "Good guess." A smug grin curls on his lips.  You stick your tongue out at him. 

"It’s an old Greek coin to pay the travel into the underworld."

 "Why would they want to travel  to the underworld?" It's Damian's turn to frown. 

"Yanno for someone who's so smart. You're asking the dumbest questions."

"It's a reasonable question." He asserts, his tone oddly defensive.

"Most people can't bear to be apart from their beloved."

Damian hums noncommittally. He understands that. he understands that all too well. 

"Like you and Jon." You say grinning.

Damian glares at you. No real anger behind it. 

"You two bicker like an old married couple." You laugh.

 "So do we." Damian says flatly, stepping closer to you and closing the gap between the two of you. He's looking at you so intensely that your skin sets itself on fire. 

"I often think about burying you under the kitchen patio too." Damian sneers, with a sharp grin. 

You snap out of your daze. Leaning in close and smiling, your hot breath fan against Damian's face.  "Will you do it affectionately?"

The moment hangs still in the air.  If you could capture it in amber, you would.

"Huh? This is new." You say, looking down at the glass case.

"How many times have you seen this exhibit?"

You preemptively shoot him an accusatory look. "What are you?"

"Concerned."

"Pfff!"

You lean down reading the plate. "Says here it's a letter from the late 1700s and early 1800s. An unsent letter to lost love."

"Sounds cliched." Damian says, leaning down next to you. 

"You've said that about everything."

You feel Damian stiffen beside you. You glance at him. He looks mortified. Your eyes follow his and land on the letter. The calligraphy looks familiar but you can't think of where you've seen the scrawl.

Damian tugs at your shoulder.

"(Y/n), let's go."

You shrug him off.

"(Y/n), let’s go." He repeats with increased urgency.

You shove your palm to his face.

Damian wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you into his chest. You flail and kick out childishly.

“Damian Al Ghul Wayne, I will gnaw your arm off.” You hiss but he doesn’t let go. In a last ditch effort to break free of his hold, you wriggle out of your coat.  Landing on your ass, you scramble for the glass case. 

My beloved (Y/n), 

Finding the words to tell you how I feel about you is not an easy feat. I feel as though Ibn Hazm himself would struggle to compose poems to express my feelings for you even then they would be inadequate.

Whilst we are surrounded by such death and misery, here in London, I want you to know that during these dark times, it is you that keeps me a light. It is you that leads me through the void and guides me.

I think I’ve always loved you from the very first moment I laid eyes on your beautiful lopsided smile. Yes. Your real smile. The one only a handful of people will ever see. I have been lucky enough to see it every day.

As time passed, I fell more and more in love with you. You have seen all of me. You have seen the monster within me and yet you still stand by my side. Never faulting in your stance.

I wish I had the strength to tell you this, face to face. I wish I could look into your eyes and whisper words of love my immortal beloved.

With Love, 

Damian

You stare at the letter uncomprehending. Realization slides off of you like rain off a tin roof. You read it over and over again until each syllable is embedded in your mind. “Damian, what the actual fuck?!”

“I-”

“You dork!”

Damian clams up unable to think of a response. Ok, no. He had a number of responses but none of them were appropriate or witty. He searches your features but the only thing he can make out is shock. 

“(Y/n), I was-”

You press your hand to the glass. “How come you never sent me this?”

“The French Revolution.”

“Which one?”

He crosses his arms raising a brow. 

“Ok, nevermind. But still, it’s been 200 years.”

“A lot has happened in 200 years.”

“A lot has happened in 200 years.” You repeat mockingly.

Damian pinches your cheeks in retaliation.   

“I was pinning for more than 200 hundred years!” You protest. 

“So was I!” Damian says, releasing your cheek. 

“Then why didn’t you say anything?”

“Why didn’t you?” Damian asks, accusing and curt. You flinch, something vile and caustic rising in your stomach.  Damian sees it and grips your hand as you fall away from him. He just got you back. “(Y/n)....”

The fear and hurt melt off of your face. “I thought… I just thought you’d...” You ball your fists in frustration, not quite grasping the right words. But Damian already knows what you’re thinking. He’s seen that look in your face. He’s seen it every time you look at the mirror. It was infuriating to watch you like this. Why couldn’t you see just how perfect you are?

Damian pulls you into a hug, burying your face into his chest and resting his chin on top of your head. 

“You are infuriating.” He mumbles into your hair.

“And you’re rude.” You mumble back.

“Yet here you are 400 years later.” He laughs softly. 

You two stand in silence for a long moment. With Damian, silence itself was a language. It was one you’d grown fluent in. An unspoken conversation of confirmations and reassurances. 

He releases you but holds your hand in his. It feels warm. You shiver and Damian smiles at you, smooshing your coat into your face. Both of you can’t help but laugh. 

You step closer to the glass case, pulling him along. Damian follows without resistance, only lacing his fingers into yours. You both stare at the page. His proclamation of love carefully preserved for all to see. You take your phone out to take a picture.  Damian shoots you a glare. 

“You’re not sending that to Jon.” 

“Tim then.”

“No.”

“Fine, for myself then.” You pause seeing the confusion on his face. “In case, you know...” You say waving your hand. 

Damian tilts your chin up. “Beloved, I’m not going anywhere.”

Your chest flutters. After centuries of inaction, you can feel your heartbeat.  

[tracybirds]

To Stumble and To Falter

(A title? you who know my intense dislike of titling fics may all give a cheer, no need for further reading, thank you, thank you xD)

John faints and Virgil is suspicious of the cause. Includes some Dr Grandma bc we need more of that in our lives!

Many thanks to @gumnut-logic for bluntly telling me to write the fic and then reading it over in bits to help me fix it up :D

And if I’ve written Jon anywhere let me know, my H key is being temperamental... I think I’ve got them all but still :D

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

The stumbling step hardly drew attention from anyone else, John tripped so often when bound by the laws of gravity. By his own admission, this particular re-entry had been of the hard and fast variety, the kind that left him a little hazy and wobbly. Only Virgil looked up at the sound of a foot not lifted high enough and banging into the staircase.

The crash that followed however, echoed around the room as brother by brother snapped into action.

“Medkit,” barked Virgil, darting across the room in three bounding steps. His command followed Gordon out of the room as he knelt next to John. He could feel the sluggish pulse beneath clammy skin and hurriedly ran his hand across the lump that was forming at the back of John’s head. There was no blood, he noted with some relief.

“Alright Scott, get his feet up.”

Scott quickly complied as Alan popped up next to Virgil.

“Is he okay?”

“Give him some space, he’ll be fine.”

Alan scooted back, reassured by the authority that rung in his older brother’s voice.

“How badly did he hit his head?” asked Scott.

“Nasty bump, but with a bit of luck nothing more. Look, he’s coming around.”

John’s eyes fluttered open as Gordon skidded into the room, nearly throwing the medkit at Virgil in his hurry.

“Wha’ happened?” mumbled John.

“What do you remember?” asked Virgil, as he strapped the icepack in place.

John batted weakly at his own neck, trying to escape Virgil’s care.

“I was walking up the stairs?”

“Didn’t even make it to the third step this time,” quipped Gordon. “You going for a record or something?”

“Gordon,” growled Scott, and he bounded away with a grin.

“You fainted,” Virgil clarified. He frowned at the lazy way John’s pupils followed the light. “And you’re on the concussion watchlist, congratulations.”

John groaned, a high whiny sound that earned him a cushion snatched from the nearby couch and laid lovingly over his head.

“Thanks,” came his muffled voice. “I feel fine.”

Scott and Virgil shared an exasperated look, remembering the last time an injured John had insisted he was ‘fine’.

“Sure John, whatever you say. You feel okay to walk?”

“Maybe. Is Alan there?”

“Sure is.”

“Might need a hand getting up.”

Alan grabbed his hand and hauled him upright. The change did not improve Virgil’s assessment of John. He pitched slightly to the side and Alan and Virgil both grabbed at him.

“Easy.”

Virgil could feel the tremors running through him, the heavy, deliberate breathing loud in his ears as he held up his brother.

“Dizzy? Nauseous?”

The barest nod sent Gordon hurrying from the room in search of a bowl.

“It’s probably vertigo, it’ll pass.”

“Thanks,” said John, through gritted teeth. “I know that.”

He took a few steps towards the staircase that had been his undoing and paused. The small motion had been enough for the colour to leech from his skin again.

Virgil was at his side immediately, steadying hands against his back.

“Maybe walking isn’t a great idea right now.”

John said nothing, standing as still as he could while he swayed with his eyes closed.

Virgil was several inches shorter than his brother, but this was no object for him, hoisting John into his arms.

His eyes flew open at the touch and he stared up at the ceiling in surprise.

“Medbay or bedroom?”

“I hate you.”

“Medbay it is then.”

“No, bedroom is good,” said John quickly.

“Glad you’ve come around.” Virgil glanced over his shoulder, catching Scott’s eye and nodding towards Alan. “Go update Grandma. She’ll want to check him out for herself.”

“I hope I do throw up,” said John with a scowl. “You’d deserve it.”

Virgil ignored him, knowing his brother was just embarrassed. He climbed the stairs easily, heading for the isolated area of the villa that John made his own when he came to visit.

He kicked open the door, and placed his brother on his bed. John was still scowling up at him.

“Was that necessary?”

“Yes.” He snatched up a copy of Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland and cracked it open.

“I don’t need to be read to like a child.”

“Come on, it’ll be fun. You can explain all the hidden maths to me and I’ll pretend to understand what you’re talking about.”

“Really Virgil, I’ll be fine.”

Virgil shrugged and replaced the book. Swinging the desk chair around, he sat and propped his feet up on the bed, leaning back to look at John.

“Probably.”

“You don’t really think I have a concussion do you? I’m alert, no headache unless I poke in the wrong place, no vomiting or confusion.”

“You’re dizzy, nauseous, unable to hold your balance, and clearly agitated.”

“You’re agitating, that’s why,” muttered John.

“And it’s been a while since you had a fainting spell like that. I thought we had that sorted out.”

John said nothing. Virgil raised an eyebrow, a niggling suspicion starting form in the back of his mind.

“There’s not any particular reason you would know of that would cause that, is there?”

“Long term exposure to microgravity?”

Virgil narrowed his eyes.

John smiled guilelessly.

His brother’s eyes flitted to the bedside table and, in one fluid motion, Virgil vaulted across the bed and yanked the drawer open.

John yelped at the sudden mass lying across him, scrabbling at Virgil’s hands and pulling uselessly against him.

Virgil held the monthly drug planner away from him, scowling at John as he attempted to pry the box out of his hands. He shoved John back and flipped his prize over with a futile hope that only the last remaining days of the month were creating the rattling sound inside. Instead he found nearly every compartment still filled with the little supplement packets John was meant to be taking daily.

“What the hell, John?” Virgil smacked his arm with the box. “Why aren’t you taking these?”

“I forgot?”

Virgil glared at him.

“Try again, you’ve never been less than intentional about a damn thing in your entire life.”

Stubborn silence stretched long in the room and Virgil filled every second with fears and possibilities and visions of his brother collapsing and confined to the Earth forever.

“We trust you John, you can’t just do this,” he growled, waving the box at John. “Your health has to come first, you’re alone up there, and if you get into trouble, who’s going to help you? Alan?”

“It’s not that simple.”

“Like hell it isn’t. You’d really make him come up and get you?”

“That’s not fair.”

“I know it’s not fair.”

The shout erupted from him, its echo only stoking the frustration that yet again one of his brothers had chosen to ignore the medical procedures laid out before them. He took a steadying breath, hating the way his brother curled away from him.

“It’s not fair of you to put us in that position, it’s not fair to expect me to always pick up the pieces.”

“I know what I can handle, you’re choosing to worry unnecessarily.” Fire flickered in his eyes. His face was pale but his cheeks were tinged with blotchy red.

Virgil snorted. At least he wouldn’t have to worry about John passing out again with so much blood pooling in his head.

“This isn’t about you getting to decide, this is about you doing as you’re told. You’re not the only one with a stake in your damn life, stop acting as if you’re the only one who matters in this situation. You take your pills because if you don’t, you won’t just injure yourself, you’ll fracture this whole family all over again.”

“Stop it.”

“No, you stop it. Stop being selfish and think. Do you even care that it damn near killed Alan the last time? Of course you don’t, you weren’t there afterwards. You never are. We care about whether you get hurt or not, you could at least pretend to do the same.”

“Virgil.”

The calm of his Grandma’s voice slammed into him, freezing the moment in place.

For an instant, Virgil could see the room from the outside, him towering over his bed-bound brother, brandishing the box in front of him. John’s eyes were closed, his face pulled into a frown. He lay still with his head tilted up on the pillow, determined that even while he shut Virgil out there could be no chance of accidental connection between them.

“Scott, take your brother please.”

There was no doubt about who she meant. Scott stepped around her and tugged the container from Virgil’s hands.

The short, sharp rattle of pills made him flinch away as Scott laid them back on the bedside table, eyes dark with worry as he looked between them.

“Let’s go,” he muttered, eyes lingering on Virgil’s frozen expression.

Scott pulled him from the room, but the way John stiffened at their grandmother’s gentle hand on his shoulder stayed with Virgil long after the door was closed.

Virgil backed up against the wall opposite the door and sank to the floor.

“What the hell was that?” demanded Scott, dropping down beside him. “I leave you two for five minutes and come back to you tearing out his throat? For what, fainting? Give the guy a break, it’s not like he can help it.”

“I’ll take that bet,” said Virgil, scowling at the door. “He’s not been taking his pills, Scott. Which means we don’t have a damn clue where his vitamin or mineral levels are at now, or how long they’ve been deficit for. And they will be deficient.”

“But you and Grandma can sort him out right? It’s not like this is new.”

“Only if he listens to us. We can’t force him to take them, he’s not a child.”

The image of John, pale and unmoving, floated in front of him again and wrapped itself around his heart. A sigh escaped him as he closed his eyes, trying to blot out the image.

“Look, if he won’t, there’s going to be consequences. His health, our trust, something will have to give eventually and I’m not willing to pay for his mistakes.”

Scott blinked.

“But if there were a way to force him,” he said slowly. “I could make his rotation conditional, it wouldn’t be hard.”

“And why the hell would he listen to you?”

“We could put checks in place so he doesn’t have a choice.”

“Let me rephrase that, why the hell should he listen to you?”

“I get the final say over assignments, I can–”

"You're just as bad as he is," snarled Virgil. "How many times have you explicitly ignored my advice. You can't command him to take them while you're still blasting off with broken ribs."

"They were strapped."

"That's not the point!"

“Okay.” Scott’s hands were surrendered in front of him in an attempt to fend off the vehemence in Virgil’s voice. “Okay, jeez, fine. Are you mad at him or not?”

“Of course I’m mad at him.” Virgil slumped against the wall. “He’s supposed to be the one I don’t have to worry about.”

He didn’t feel mad anymore. He just felt the creeping exhaustion that came with caring for a brother that didn’t want his help.

Scott tilted his head back and exhaled heavily.

“Did he say why?”

Virgil shook his head.

“I didn’t give him the chance.” He ran a hand down his face. “He’s not stupid, he knows how important this kind of thing is.”

“It might have been an accident.”

“For twenty four days in a row?”

“Okay, point.”

The door clicked open and both men sprang to their feet. Before they could say anything, Grandma Tracy held up a hand and walked away, beckoning them to follow her.

They didn’t say a word as Grandma Tracy ushered them into her sitting room.

“How is he, Grandma?” asked Scott, unable to hold back any longer.

“He’ll be right as rain come morning. He’s sleeping now.”

“Is that wise?” Virgil asked, his mind still overrun with worries.

Grandma Tracy clucked her tongue gently.

“You know as well as I do that sleeping doesn’t cause the complications that come from concussion. We’ll keep monitoring him, same as always. Although it looked like a mere scalp wound, not a brain injury, to me.”

Virgil looked over at Scott, the relief mirrored in their expressions.

“The other issue however, that’s more complex.” She opened the door to her rooms and nodded at the seats inside. “Sit down, both of you.”

They sat.

“What’s he told you?” she asked Scott brusquely.

“John’s refusing to take his supplements. He’s gonna get himself hurt.”

“John’s struggling up on Five with daily medications,” she said bluntly. “He’s not refusing. The days are too fragmented, and there’s no chance for him to build habit triggers with the pace he’s keeping.”

Virgil’s stomach dropped. Of course John wasn’t being malicious or stubborn about it. He should have known. He should have asked.

“Well, that’s good, right?” said Scott, nudging him. “It’s not deliberate?”

“It’s not deliberate,” repeated Virgil, still internally cursing the ridiculous conclusion he’d jumped to. To say nothing of the painful accusations he’d made.

Grandma Tracy cleared her throat, drawing their attention again. Her eyes were serious.

“I’ve taken a blood sample, and in a few hours we’ll know the most urgent actions to take. EOS can monitor his daily activity for a few weeks and identify tasks we can tie his supplement use to. Then it’s just a matter of checking in until he’s ready to go back to full capacity.”

“Seems straightforward,” said Scott, glancing at Virgil. “What do you think?”

Grandma Tracy’s eyes shifted to meet his own.

“It sounds like a good plan, Grandma.”

She nodded firmly, eyeing the two brothers in front of her.

“Well if that’s decided, we’d best go break the news to your brothers that they have a dispatch refresher coming their way.”

Scott laughed. “I’m sure they’ll be thrilled to hear it.”

“They do need the practice,” said Virgil with a reluctant smile tugging at his lips as they stood.

They stepped out of the sitting room. He paused, staring at the hallway that lead to John’s room. It seemed to stretch far ahead of him and the way it curved into dark corners somehow seemed all the more ominous for the dread and regret that weighed upon him. His feet were leaden, but he forced himself to turn away from Scott and Grandma Tracy and walk towards the hall.

“Are you coming, Virgil?” Grandma Tracy’s voice was quiet but it broke through the whirling thoughts in his mind.

The door at the far end was ajar, a tiny gap that called to him as a clear invitation.

“Actually, I have something I need to do first,” he said, walking towards it. “You go on, I’ll talk to them after.”

Grandma Tracy smiled.

“You’re a good man, Virgil,” she said, patting his shoulder. “We’ll see you later.”

Decision made, he could move easily again and the hallway seemed to brighten with every step.

Virgil slipped into the room and found John appeared to be sleeping peacefully, the exertion of the day catching up with him at last.

He settled himself back on the chair, watching the slow rise and fall of John’s chest in the gloom. An arm had been flung across his forehead and Virgil smiled to see the small Yoda plaster over the prick on his index finger.

He picked up Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland from where he’d placed it earlier and flicked on his pen torch, a tiny beam of light illuminating the words.

“You can turn the desk light on if you want.”

Virgil jumped slightly at the calm, measured voice. He glanced over and saw John watching him, one eye still closed and the other bright and alert.

“You don’t mind?”

John shook his head and so Virgil did as he was told. The soft glow that lined the desk spilled onto the page and across the room.

There was no sound but the rustle of turned pages and even breathing.

“You could read it to me,” said John suddenly.

Virgil looked up, spotting the shining eye and the tilted head that told him John wasn’t going to hold his fears against him. He swallowed carefully past the lump in his throat. He knew a peace offering when he saw it, knew they held words that would be left unsaid between them. He wouldn’t reject a sincere attempt to mend fences, especially when he had been the fool that smashed them.

He nodded once and John closed his eyes with a content sigh.

“Alice was beginning to get very tired of sitting by her sister on the bank, and of having nothing to do…”

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

Maths and Alice you ask? Some very cool theories about the meaning and context in which Alice was written can be found [here]

[shannygoatgruff]

Stay Safe, Stay Home Writing Challenge - (Call me if you need anything) @waiting4inspiration​

Genre: Romance

Pairing: Modern Ivar x OC

Warning: Language, strong sexual content

Rating: M

A/N:  First my apologies for taking so long to post this chapter. I lost the original version of chapter 7, but I hope you enjoy this slightly longer re-write.  I think this story only has 1 or 2 more chapters and it’s done.  I’m almost through telling the story I wanted to tell.

Next, I got the idea for this from experience I had with an ex, with whom I am still very close friends. We were actually talking about this particular encounter recently, and I thought it would be fun to write it. I will say, if you have never had sex with someone that you are truly friends with, you have no idea what you’re missing out on!  I think the sexiest sex is the kind where you talk to your partner.  Maybe it’s just the stage I’m in my life.  What you’re doing doesn’t interest me as much as what’s going on in your head.

Finally, I used the lyrics to ‘Imported’ by Jessie Reyes without permission.  I love her and that song and when I hear it, I see Ivar and Cash.  I have included the video at the end of the chapter - the vibe of the song is how I see them as a couple.

Enjoy!

Chapter 6 

Chapter 7

When Ivar moved across the floor, there was grace in his movements. His motions were fluid, and because he didn’t use his legs to aid him, how he curved his spine to usher his mobility gave him the agility of a big cat stalking his prey. One-shoulder worked in tandem with the hip on the opposite side of his body creating this... glide, that was simply fucking sexy.  Cash found herself wondering how good the view of him crawling would look from underneath him.      

Crawling for Cash, however, was anything but graceful. She hadn’t gotten very far, just from the dresser to the full-length mirror, but fuck a duck if it wasn’t hard. At first, she tried to be all sexy, and crawl on her hands and knees, but when she realized Ivar couldn’t use his knees, she switched to an Army crawl.  

After the first pass across the floor, she knew this crawling idea was going to be short-lived.  Not only did she not possess the upper body strength to keep it up, but she was also getting hella ashy.  It was bad enough the rain had washed away most of her lotion, but now she was sliding around on the carpet. She was going to look like she had been rolling around in flour at any minute. Her mother would have a fucking fit if she saw the state she was in.

And how the hell was she supposed to get her toiletry tote across the room? It wasn’t like it was a backpack. It was hard enough trying to maneuver herself around, let alone bring something with her.  She had tried dragging it and even pushing it in front of her.  Both ways were taking forever.  At the rate she was going, she and the tote would get to the mirror by her 30th birthday.  

Ivar leaned against the bed watching with curiosity.  He had never seen an able-bodied person struggle so hard to crawl. Why didn’t she just get up on all fours? He appreciated that view of her.  It was much more seductive then whatever the hell she was doing now.  Currently, she looked like she was trying to do the worm in a breakdance competition for quadriplegics.  

“It may be easier if you use your arms.  You have all of your weight on your elbows.  Try using your wrists and hands. That way, you can move your bag with you.” Ivar laid on his stomach facing Cash and demonstrated, “See?  Like this…” 

“See, like this,” Cash mocked in a high pitched voice rolling her eyes as she continued to struggle across the floor.  Suddenly, she felt the sting of his hand as it landed flat on her ass. It sounded much worse than it felt.  It didn’t hurt in the least, but she still gave him the evil eye, “Did you just?” she feigned shock.  

Being the youngest child, Ivar got away with a lot of shit.  He was used to blaming one of his brothers for everything and he always got away with it. It became a little game he liked to play with them that he lovingly titled, ‘How much trouble can I get you in?’  It was during that time that he started doing this mocking, side to side head motion to symbolize his victory.  As an adult, during a triumph, he continued to rock his head in this obnoxious manner, only now, it also included a shit-eating grin, followed by a dab.  

Cash watched the most incredibly mischievous smile spread across Ivar’s face as he bobbed his head and then he dabbed the air.  He spoke some foreign words and seemed mighty pleased with himself. “Oh, chuckle it up, Chuckles.” She rolled her eyes and sat up.  “Ya, perv.”

God, he had been wanting to do that ever since she started crawling. He just wanted to see if her ass was really as soft as it looked.  It was, and it had the right amount of bounce.  “Sorry. I could not resist,” his smile was so big, it was hard to make out what he was saying, “You were making fun of me. It was all I could think to do,” he whined.

Cash turned toward the mirror and started to dump out the contents of her bag. She picked up her wide-tooth comb and folded her legs beneath her. Leaning into the mirror, she fixed her eyes squarely on his image, “If you wanted to cop a feel, all you had to do was ask.”  She watched as his mouth opened and closed, like a fish. 

“What are you going to do?”  He asked, folding his hands in his lap. 

Cash parted her hair down the middle and secured half of it with a ponytail holder. Carefully detangling the other half with a comb, she reached in the bag for a jar and struggled with the top, “I’m going to put my hair in two braids, so I won’t look totally crazy.”  She held the jar out to Ivar.  “Can you open this for me?”

Silently, he crawled to where she sat and took the jar out of her hands.  With one turn he had the lid opened.  “This smells wonderful. What is it?”  

“A moisturizing mask.”

“It smells like coconuts and berries, and…and,” he took another big sniff but couldn’t quite place the scent, “I don’t know but it is amazing.  It smells soft. Like you.”

“Jasmine,” she took the jar from his hand and tried not to blush.  He thought she smelled soft?  “I made this.”

“You make this?”

“It’s not hard,” she shrugged, “All you need are some essential oils for the smell and different kinds of butters.  It’s pretty easy.  It’s good to keep moisture in.  I could even use it on your hair and it wouldn’t be greasy.  See feel.” She titled her hair for Ivar to feel her hair without the moisturizer. “Now you know I must like you because I’m letting you touch my hair.”  Then, she scooped a small amount of product onto her palm before rubbing it into her hair. After she had worked it though she tilted her head toward him again.  “Now feel.”

His eyes grew with amazement.  “That feels awesome.”  Of course, he couldn’t help but bring his nose to her hair.  “And it smells good.” His nose brushed the side of her ear before making its way to her neck, then back into her hair.  “I like this smell.”

Cash giggled at the feeling, but she couldn’t ignore the tiny goosebumps that started to prickle every inch of her skin.  “Do you know how to braid?”  She asked feeling her neck slowly start to lean more into the warmth of this breath. 

“Hmm?” He looked at her eyes in the mirror and noticed that he had been rubbing her arm.  When did that happen?  What the hell was in that jar? “Braid?  A little. I used to help my mother when I was young. She has very long hair.” He watched as a smooth smile crossed Cash’s face.  “Oh, no.  I cannot. I am terrible at it.”  

“Oh, you know nothing, Jon Snow,” she handed him a brush, “you do mine, and  I’ll do yours.”

“And we can have a sleeping party, like girlfriends,” he mocked in a high pitched girl voice and twirled his hair around his finger, “...and paint each other’s nails and do make-overs!”

“That’s a slumber party, jerk. And as long as there are no pillow fights, I’d be okay with it.”  She nudged his shoulder with her own. “But, I hope you don’t want to be my girlfriend.”

Ivar took the comb from Cash and looked at the floor.  He didn’t want to chance to catch her eyes in the mirror, just in case, “I was really kind of hoping that you would want to be mine.”  

“Really?”  Cash asked said softly before capturing his lips for a soft kiss.  “Good. It’s about time.  I was getting gray hair over here, waiting on you to make a move...”  Smiling into his lips, she wondered, how did her tongue always end up in his mouth?  Was she capable of kissing him without needing to feel his velvety tongue on hers?  She pulled away slightly and pecked him a few more times. “Now, I can’t be all kissing and everything with my hair looking like this.  I’m too cute to be looking this tore up. So you helping or nah?”  

Braiding each other’s hair had been the most intimate thing Cash had ever done with a man, besides Glenn, with her clothes on.  Why was it so easy to trust him?  She let him touch her hair – generally speaking, black women don’t let people other their mothers or their hairdresser touch their hair. Hell, Cash’s parents had been married for over 30 years and she seriously doubted that her father had ever touched her mother’s hair. She had known this man for almost 48 hours and she had already let him see her with ashy legs.  What the fuck was really going on?  

It was something more than just being comfortable around him being bushy and ashy, that’s for sure.  Maybe it was the fact that the things that she normally would be embarrassed about she didn’t give a fuck about anymore. She was pretty sure that if she needed to fart in front of him, she would have,  That’s how secure she felt with him.  

Ivar was amazed that he stopped focusing on his the fact that his bare legs were showing and that he was crawling, hours ago. Whatever it was that he was nervous about before he had met Cash in person seemed like a distant memory.  He had just let this woman braid his hair like he was a girl playing beauty shop. 

Granted, the hairstyle looked badass, especially with the way his head was shaved on the sides – but he knew for sure none of his brothers would have let their girlfriends do that.  Hvitserk would talk shit to him about it for years to come because of it, too.  But, he didn’t care, it felt right.  Everything about her delicate fingers gripping his hair and gently massaging his scalp felt incredible. If she wanted to take every braid out and start all over, he would let her.  He would let her do whatever she wanted if it would make her smile.

Speaking of smiling, as he flipped through his phone for more music for them to listen to, his face lit up when he ran across their song. “You feel like singing?” As soon as the opening beat of Imported by Jessie Reyes ft. 6lack started playing, Cash let her head lean back and smiled.  

Ivar grabbed a brush, and handed her one, too.  If they were going to do this duet any justice, they both needed their microphones and to get into character. Mother nature was already setting the scene outside with the rain still beating down against the patio, creating the perfect backdrop for their music video. 

Bringing the hairbrush up to his mouth, he wanted Cash to see how he had choreographed his movements to the song.  He only wished that he had his braces on because he had an entire dance to go with it.  

Hi, my name is 6Lack And sometimes people me SIX-LACK I don’t mind because they stubborn And my bank account is looking mighty fine We can skip the wine and dine Go straight for the wind and grind She wanna cum, I can make it happen, fuck trying

Ivar rolled his hips from his sitting position on the floor with a devilish look on his face that made Cash lick her lips.  Damn, that boy could sing. Plus, he was sexy and gyrating…fuck! She was trying so hard to be good, but the song was talking about going straight for the wind and grind making people cum and sexy stuff and whatnot…she was only human.

Sometimes, I get messy, you can be my biggest secret I ain’t sliding if you wit him Baby, you gon’ have to have to leave him

Ivar wagged his finger at Cash to let her know that he wasn’t the cheating type. He winked at her when she smiled. 

I got morals on Sundays, sometimes on Wednesdays

He shrugged his shoulder and raised a brow.

Really, it depends but,

Ivar tried his best not to laugh at the face she was making at his stage-worthy performance. He was giving her his best big dick energy vibes. 

You, you’re in love with somebody else Maybe I could offer some help (Maybe I could offer some help) Get over them by getting under me

He watched as Cash closed her eyes and began to sing.  He could listen to her sing all day.  She had a beautiful voice and he loved the changes she made to songs. He especially loved what she did to Jessie Reyes’s part of this song.  

But you might O.D. if you get too much of me Might O.D. if you get too much of me

Cash, too, had a routine for this song, but she was not going to do it for him. Instead, she just did what felt natural at the moment.  She ran her hand down her throat to her collarbone then pulled her legs up to her chest. As she sang, she rubbed her cheek against her knee and gave him a vulnerable stare…

Hi, my name is not important I’m not from here, I’m imported I drink liquor like it’s water Hope my liver can afford it I’ve been lyin’ here with I’ve been lyin…, I’ll be lyin here I’m under the covers like

Her voice…that was the same voice he had listened to countless times over the phone, that was singing to him in person.  It was a little overwhelming.  He reached up and cupped her cheek, and when she opened her eyes he leaned in to kiss her. The kiss so slow and deep and it conveyed every thought and feeling that Ivar couldn’t put into words. 

He had so much he wanted to tell her, too.  Like how he was glad she replied to his comment that day on the Jessie Reyes blog for this song.  He had been listening to Imported on repeat because he was still in love with Freydis.  Even though they had been broken up for a couple of years and he didn’t want her back, he couldn’t get over her.  He was stuck mourning for what they could have been. He had so many hopes and dreams for them.  He thought he had found a beautiful woman that could love him despite his disabilities and he would have a chance at a normal life.  But, it didn’t work that way. Nothing in his life ever worked out that way.

Enter this song and this girl: the song was about finding someone to help you get over a broken heart and the girl...she was feeling a certain way because her first serious boyfriend, who she hadn’t been for over five years, was getting married.  Feelings had a funny way of fucking you up.  

But there they were; keyboard gangsters, in their feelings and being flirty.  They were two people on different continents who were never going to meet, so what harm was it to bare their souls?  Nobody ever died from having another friend; especially friends that liked to sing loved musicals and could go into a monologue from a movie with just the last word of a sentence. Really, friends like that were hard to come by.  

Now, if things kept going in the right direction, soon they would be lovers.  

Thank you, Jessie Reyes.

Cash bit Ivar’s neck, causing him to groan and squeeze her body tighter. Good thing the rain hadn’t washed off the scent of Aqua di Gio that seemed to be oozing from his pores.  Damn! How did he know exactly what scents got her going?  Did this man always smell like walking sex?  And was it natural for a man to have skin this damn soft?  

She watched her fingers as they trailed the lines of his tattoo along his left shoulder.  “What’s this?”  She asked as her fingertips came dangerously close to his nipple, before tracing the line back up the head of the figure to the center of his chest.

Ivar watched her nail slowly move across his skin and tucked his lip in between his teeth at the feeling.  “The mythical Norse dragon, Fáfnir.” Did his voice just crack?  She made him feel like a teenager all over again.  

Cash giggled.  She loved the way he suddenly started rolling his “r” and how his “th” started to sound like a z.  Had it always and she just not notice?  “Your accent is stronger,” she let her tongue follow along the line of his jaw, “it’s so sexy.”  

“It’s hard to concentrate on English,” he said matter-of-factly, making sure to slur his Norwegian tongue into his English words,  hands still gripping her waist, gently rocking with her on his lap, “when you do that.”  He pointed his chin toward the ceiling to grant her better access to his Adam’s apple, “You know, I don’t think I have ever been in this situation and had to speak English.”

Cash's eyes opened in bewilderment as she lifted her head. “You know what? I’ve never seen an uncircumcised penis.”  The thought just hit her.  If they were about to go there and she hoped to God they were, they needed to get all of this shit out of the way.  She sat back on his thighs and looped her arms around his neck.  

Ivar’s smile was so big, his eyes crinkled in the corners.  “Now?  You think of that now?  Really?” 

“I’m serious.”  She said settling back with a slight pout, “Circumcision is a big thing in the US, like everybody does it.  But here, not so much, right?  I mean, you’re not Jewish, are you?”  She raised her brow and nudged her head toward him.  “You know what I mean?”

He shook his head.  “You want to know if I am?”

“Kinda?”  Talk about killing the mood.  There were things that she might want to try with him, but she wanted to know what she might be in for first. Nobody liked those kinds of surprises during sex.  “ Is that weird?”  There were just certain things you need to be upfront about. Even though she suspected she wasn’t certain. 

Ivar shrugged with a glint of mischief in his eyes.  “Perhaps you will just have to find out.”  

“Oh, just tell me.”  She slapped his bare chest and rolled her eyes when he made a face like it hurt. “I’ll tell you something.”  

“I’m not telling you that.  But, I will tell you, that I have never seen brown nipples.”  He ran his fingers between Cash’s bra straps and her shoulders, slowly lowering the straps down her arm. When she didn’t protest, he continued to pull the straps lower.  He looked her in the eyes while she bent her arms through the loops to free herself of them. 

Sucking his lip, he let his eyes trail from hers down to her lips, then lower to her neck.  He admired how her pulse quickened when his hands touched just above her cleavage and when his thumbs gently pushed the lace down to expose her to him, he wanted to lick the hollow of her throat.  “You are beautiful.”  

Brown, white, black or pink, skin was skin, and Cash’s was beautiful and the skin on her breasts was just as soft and warm as the rest of her.  He patiently waited while she unhooked her bra and discarded it away from them, before he wrapped his muscular arms around her, burying his face in between her breasts. “I love boobs.” 

“Really?” She said smiling, as he looked up at her from the middle of her chest. “You didn’t strike me a breast man.” 

“I am an everything man.”  He smiled rubbing his face across her soft skin.  “What is that smell?  God…”  

“Ahh…that is Heliotrope Gingembre,  my favorite perfume.”

“Mine now, too,” he said absently.  Closing his eyes with his head laid on her chest.

She kissed him on the top of his head and started to rub the back of his neck, “You think I don’t know that you’re avoiding my question?  I shared.”

“I did not ask you a question and you did not tell me anything.”  He looked up at her and started to bob his head with that shit-eating grin again.  

“I will pop that little bobblehead of yours off your shoulders.  Now you’re just cheating.”  She rolled off his lap and laughed when he pouted at her and started to reach for her like a child.  “Not until you answer me.”  She sat next to him, but faced him and absently rubbed her hand along the hair on his legs.

He watched in amazement as she did.  She didn’t seem the least bit weirded out by his scars. “Okay, I’m sorry. You want to know if I was cut as a baby?” Ivar laid back on the floor and laced his hand with hers.  He looked at their joined hands and held them up to his line of vision before rolling his wrist. Why prolong the inevitable?  She was going to find out sooner or later.  He figured, if she could see his legs and be perfectly with fine them, odds were she'd okay with an unsnipped prick.  “No,  I was not.”  He laid her hand on his stomach with the laziest hint of a smirk on his face.

“Hmm. Interesting,” she responded wiggling her toes.  She chewed the inside of her lip for a moment then shrugged her shoulders.  “Okay,” she got up on her knees and knelt beside him.  Cash let her hands trail down his muscular stomach and found herself smile when she realized that he was ticklish in the spot between his navel and his waist. 

Carefully, her deft fingers slid under the grey waistband of his boxer briefs before she smoothed her hands around to his hips.  Slowly, she lowered the shorts down his legs, never once taking her eyes off of his.  Since Ivar couldn’t hoist his backside off the floor, he aided her by rocking from side to side as she continued to pull the garment down lower and lower. 

And there he was.  Ivar Ragnarsson in all of his birthday glory.  He was a sexy man.  It was the moment of truth and Cash didn’t quite know what to do or say. Was she supposed to comment or compliment?  Was she supposed to touch him or ask questions? There was so much she wanted to do, but she wasn’t sure if any of it was okay.  

“So?” Ivar placed one hand behind his head and the other on his chest.  “No witty observations?”

“Well, you already know you’re sexy, AF.”  She tilted her head and let her fingers trace the dark line of hair that traveled from his navel to the soft tufts at his groin. “But this…it’s different.”

“Different?  What the hell does that mean?” Ivar laughed.  “It looks the same to me.” 

Her eyes got big and she nodded, “Well, you’ve seen it before.  I haven’t…” She touched it.  It felt the same as others she’d held in her hands.  It was thick, had a nice length, and just the right amount of curve to it.  The bounce back, when she pulled it toward her and let it go, so that it slapped back against his pelvis, made a good sound.  By all accounts, it was a normal cock.  It was hard, and hot in her hands and she even noticed how Ivar’s stomach clenched when she made contact with it.  “So does it feel different?”

“Different than what?” He asked with a labored breath as she continued to hold and turn him over in her hand.  “It feels the same to me.”  Did she know what she was doing to him? She wasn’t jerking him or doing anything sexual, not really, merely touching and having a conversation with him.  It was such a turn on.  

“Let me show you.”  He removed his hand from behind his head and placed it on himself. Lifting his head, he attempted some sort of origami thing with the skin.  “This, I think, is what you are used to seeing.”  He rolled his eyes in his head and sucked his teeth, “Whatever.”  He released the skin and smiled.  “My way is much better.  Much more sensation.” 

“Oh, really?”  She was intrigued.  If she were being honest, it wasn’t the cutest one she’d ever seen.  But, that was because she just wasn’t used to it, yet. She was sure in a few days, she would think it was the hottest one she’d ever seen! “How so?”

“This part in there…feels everything, sometimes too much.”  He picked up her hand and placed it back on his swollen member, before closing his eyes at the feeling, “Sometimes, you have to touch it through the skin…”

“Like a clit?” 

Ivar shrugged his shoulders, “I don’t know.  I do not have one of those.”  He let his hand travel up Cash’s thigh and settle right below her hip.  “If direct pressure is applied to you, does it make you,” he wound his hands to try to drive the words forward, “finish faster?”

Now it was Cash’s turn to shrug, “Honestly?  I’ve never had an orgasm with another person.”

“What?”  Ivar sat up, instantly regretting the warmth of her hand leaving his body.  “Are you serious?”  This was great!  Neither had he. But wait…if neither of them had, then this could be the worst awkward first sexual experience in the history of awkward first sexual experiences. They would either be eternally frustrated or their first sexual encounter could literally last indefinitely.  

“Yup. Not ever.”  Cash sat up on her knees so that he had full access to her hips. She placed her hands on his and watched as he slowly started to pull down her panties.  “I think the guys that I’ve been with think all women like the same things.  They don’t want to hear that you might want something different, or they just are in it for themselves. I just usually finish myself off.”

Ivar smoothed the lace down her thighs and held still as she used his shoulders to brace herself against him so she could lift each knee up to allow him to slide the material under her legs. 

He didn’t want to seem like a total pervert but he couldn’t help but look at her. She was right next to him with the most neatly trimmed Mohawk he’d ever seen.  “You’re into landscaping?”  He didn’t reply when she nodded.  Instead, he pressed his lips to her stomach.  “So, when you finish yourself off, do you do it alone or in front of others?”

“Like do I perform?”  She gently caressed his head, “It depends on how deserving the audience is.”  

God, he wanted her.  But, he needed to get one more thing out in the open before that could happen.  He wanted total transparency between them, once and for all.  “Me either.” 

He felt his head being lifted from her warm skin and but he immediately dropped his eyes in embarrassment, “I have never had an orgasm during sex.  The doctor thinks it was stress.”   

“That is so sad,” she wanted to hug him, but she didn’t want to make him feel bad.   She was used to it.  There were millions of women who never had and probably never will have an orgasm – so was the plight of being a woman. But for Ivar to never experience it?  He was too sweet a guy.  It nearly broke her heart. “Do you at least get anything out of it?”

“Yeah. I like giving pleasure to someone else.” He tried to sound upbeat, but it wasn’t exactly a happy subject for him.  What he was saying was true, he used to thoroughly enjoy making Freydis feel good. But, what about him? Didn’t he deserve to feel that way? Shouldn’t he get to experience an orgasmic high, at least once in his life?  At least one time that wasn’t self-inflicted? “ And it does feel good.”

“Do you finish yourself off?”

“Never in front of anyone.”  A devilish smile crept across Ivar’s face and when Cash saw that mischievous twinkle in those beautiful blue eyes, her face broke out in a smile, too.  

Ivar had had many sexual conversations with women before but never before had he had a sex conversation with his partner.  This whole thing, this talking and being together, looking at, touching, and getting to know about each other…all of this intimacy was amazing.  

It was scary as hell for both of them, but damn it all if it didn’t feel natural.  Even if their first time together wouldn’t be perfect, or they would have figure out who couldn’t do what because of physical limitations or just plain dislike, it would all pay off in the end.  Neither of them had a point to try to prove to the other or to themselves.  All they needed to do was enjoy each other.  Who cared if neither had an orgasm?  For the first time, they both were feeling something they hadn’t felt in a very long time.  They felt at home, and safe with each other.   

Cash closed the space between them and pressed her lips to his, “Bed or floor.” She laughed when he laid back and put both hands behind his head.  “Oh yea, carpet burns and group masturbation...I knew you were freaky.” 

Tags: @oddsnendsfanfics​  @a-mess-of-fandoms​​ @waiting4inspiration @simsadventures​ @chipster-21​  @tgrrose​  @alicedopey​   @thelastemzy​​  @naaladareia​ @alexa4040​ @absolutelynotanidiot​ @pokeasleepingsmaug​ @blackcoffeeandgreenteaforme​ @skadithegoddess​  @dina-m16​  @tiyetiye​ @synnersaint​ @lostinthoughtsandfeelings@moonlightsspirit​ @geekandbooknerd​​ @dreamlesswonder86​ @inforapound @youbloodymadgenius​ @cruelfvckingsummer​ @mummybear @flowers-in-your-hayr​ @honestsycrets @thatendymion @jzr201

[mushroomminded]

Chipped Away

1. Bruises

  Edd noticed them when he was waking Matt up for school. A blotch of yellow on his wrist, where his sleeve pulled up in his sleep, swollen bumps on his head, hidden by his hair, as Edd ran his fingers through it.

  “What happened to you?” he asked, gently feeling the welts.

  “What’re you talking about?” Matt murmured into his pillow, eyes still unopened.

  “These bumps on your head, do they hurt?” Edd ran his fingers back through Matt’s ginger locks, then back to the top, feeling for more injuries.

  “Hmm...no, only if I knock them on something,” Matt explained, wearily coming back into reality.

  “What happened?” Edd asked.

  Matt blinked, quiet either from grogginess or thought back to the moment in time they appeared.

  “Hit my head on the lockers,” He said at last, running his own hand over his scalp and pushing Edd’s away.

  “Repeatedly?”

  “Well it was more like my head was forcibly shoved into the lockers…” Matt admitted quietly, his fingers lingering on the bumps.

  “Who-?” Was all Edd could get out, eyes wide at the thought of an attack on his son.

  “Nobody. I don’t know their names.”

  Edd sat at the side of the bed in silence for a moment.

  “Is that what happened to your wrist too?” he asked at last.

  Matt lifted his head and pulled up his sleeves, seemingly unsure about what Edd was referring to. Edd gently took his wrist and turned the bruised side towards him. Matt looked at it as if he hadn’t noticed it before.

  “Yeah,” he said. “There’s some on my side too.”

  Edd’s heart sank. “Can I see?” He asked.

  Matt rolled over in the bed and pulled his shirt up to his chest, poking his nose over it to find the dark spots on his abdomen, but Edd could already see them. A pair on his hip, one under his ribcage.

  “I’m going to have a word with the school,” Edd breathed softly.

  “Have fun with that,” Matt muttered, pulling his shirt back down.

  “When did this happen?” Edd questioned, struggling to hide the rising anger in his voice.

  “I dunno, it’s been going on for a while.”

  Edd bit his cheek and took a quiet breath. “Why didn’t you tell me, kiddo?” he asked.

  Matt shrugged. “It’s not too bad,” he said. “I can handle it.”

  Edd wasn’t too sure.

  Edd drove Matt and Jon to school that day. Neither of them complained about the extra half hour of sleep it allowed them and they were chattering excitedly in the backseat about Jon’s new cards for the card game they played together. The friends went off to their class, and Edd went to administration. He complained about the injuries he was finding on his son. The faculty asked for more specifics: who was causing the problem? Was Matt causing trouble? Was he certain it was another student? Edd didn’t have many answers. In the end, the staff assured him they had a strong policy against bullying and would keep an eye on his son as best they could, but Edd still left with a bad taste in his mouth.

2. Cut

  Edd kept sharp watch over Matt as the days went by, checking his bruises and being somewhat comforted to see them fading away without new ones appearing.

  “I’d tell you if something was wrong, wouldn’t I?” Matt complained as Edd checked him over for fresh marks.

  “You didn’t tell me the first time,” Edd pointed out, separating Matt’s hair to check his scalp. “Now you gotta deal with overprotective monkey mother checking your hair for bugs.”

  “Isn’t that Tomma’s job?” Matt said with a smirk.

  “Stop that, that’s mean,” Edd said, laughing.

  Much to Edd’s comfort, no new bruises seemed to be cropping up, other than the ones Matt usually acquired himself on his reckless adventures with Jon. Things only started getting bad again when Matt approached Edd for some help.

  “Dad, could you help me fix my tail?” He asked.

  “What happened to it?” Edd asked, tearing his eyes away from the television to examine it.

  “There’s a hole in it. The stuffing’s starting to come out,” Matt said, pulling the tail around him to show Edd.

  Edd looked at the hole. Sure enough, there was a long gash on the tail fin, and sure enough, the white fluff inside was falling out and probably trailing throughout the house.

  “Funny,” Edd remarked, “Ten years you’ve had it and this is the first we’ve had to stitch it. Looks like it snagged on something.”

  Matt nodded but Edd thought he noticed a hesitation in the way he did it. He chose not to address it.

  “You can fix it, right?”

  “Sure, but it’s not gonna be pretty,” Edd admitted. He knew enough about sewing to fix a broken seam or attach buttons, but sealing a tear along the fabric is tricky work.

  “Jon said we could ask his uncle Mark,” Matt suggested, lovingly running his fingers across the tail, “He said he’s good at sewing.”

  “Why don’t you try that, then?” Edd said, nodding, “And if he can’t, then we’ll get ourselves some purple thread and fix your tail up the best we can, okay?”

  Matt nodded back then left the living room, pulling his phone out of his pocket and leaving little flecks of tail fluff in the carpet.

    Mark was able to fix the tail, good as new, and Edd was very happy to see the relief on Matt’s face. Time passed and the dark bruises and stitched-up tail soon became only a memory

3. Ink

  A sour attitude was never something that Edd thought Matt would get from time with Jon, but recently that seemed to be the case. Most weekdays after school, Edd found he’d get a text from Matt saying that he was going to Jon’s house and would walk back later in the evening, and most days he come home with an angry face, clutching the sleeves of his hoodie.

  “I’m going to Jon’s house after school,” Matt’s text said.

  “Not tonight,” Edd replied, “I’m making dinner.”

  “K”

  Edd put his phone in his pocket. He wondered how Matt’s mood would change without the almost daily visit to his friend’s house.

  Matt showed up on time, but something was off.

  “Where’s your hoodie, kiddo?” Edd asked as Matt came through the door. Matt winced.

  “It’s in my bag,” Matt said.

  “Why?”

  “It’s got a stain on it.”

  “Go ahead and toss it in the laundry room then,” Edd said, turning back to the stove, “We’ll make sure to get it out for you before school tomorrow.”

  Matt nodded, taking off in the direction of the laundry room.

  Dinner was quiet. There was an unusual heavy aura at the table and Tom seemed to catch it too.

  “Something happen at school, Matt?” Tom asked, watching Matt pick at his dinner.

  “No,” Matt replied. Edd noticed his eyebrows come ever so slightly lower.

  “You sure? You haven’t seemed yourself lately.”

  “It’s fine.”

  “Tom, would you get the salt shaker from the counter for me?” Edd interrupted, looking at Tom as if to say ‘that’s enough, now’s not the time’. Tom looked at him pleadingly, but he still got up to get the salt. The rest of dinner was eaten in silence.

  When Edd went to take care of the laundry, it took no time at all to find the stain Matt was referring to. There was a big blue ink spot all down the back of his hood, getting on the teeth and dripping down onto the dorsal fin and tail. Edd’s shoulders slumped. He knew what caused this. Turning the hoodie inside out he saw just what he was expecting: little creases and stitches in the fabric where someone had sewn closed holes so they’d be invisible from the outside. Edd put the hoodie in hot water and stain lifter to soak and he proceeded upstairs to Matt’s bedroom.

  “Matt, honey,” he started, pushing the door open. Matt was at his desk, arms folded tightly over his chest, staring down at a worksheet. He glanced up at Edd, anger clear on his features, no longer trying to hide it.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” Edd asked softly, lingering at the door.

  “Because last time I did that, they stopped hitting me and started tearing apart my hoodie,” Matt mumbled, looking away and curling more tightly into himself. Edd saw a little shine appear in his eyes. He hurried over to his side, throwing his arms around him.

  “This has to stop,” Edd said sadly. “I know it’s hard, but we can’t just let people do this to you.”

  Matt sniffed, leaning his head heavily on Edd’s shoulder. “Good f*cking luck stopping it,” he muttered.

4. Hair

  Edd wasn’t able to take Matt to school the next morning, having an appointment already scheduled that day. All the while though, he was worrying. Unable to remove the giant ink stain on the hoodie, Matt was forced to go to school without it. Edd lent him his own hoodie, saying if it got ruined, then it got ruined, it’s no big deal, and saying very sternly that he was going to have another word with the school after his appointment and swore this would all come to an end.

  He got a text as he was about to head home.

  “Please come pick me up,” the phone read with the nickname for his son over top.

  “Are you okay? Did something happen?” Edd texted back quickly.

  He waited an agonizing couple of minutes for Matt to text back, but when met with silence, Edd quickly pocketed his phone and drove to the school. He called Matt’s phone.  

  “Hey kiddo, I’m here,” Edd said when he heard Matt pick up.

  “Kay, I’m coming out,” Matt replied. His voice was so soft. He hung up first.

  Edd nervously tapped the steering wheel of his car, scared of what Matt might look like coming out that door. When it finally swung open and Matt stepped through, he had his hood pulled over his head and he ran right into the backseat. Edd turned in his seat to look at him as the door slammed shut.

  “What happened? Are you hurt?” He questioned, putting a hand on Matt’s knee and trying to identify the problem. Matt was trembling softly, not looking up. Edd could hear him sniffling and a sob broke out.

  “Hey, hey, look at me, what happened?” Edd tried to soothe, unbuckling himself so he could face Matt as much as possible. That’s when he noticed the odd ginger strands poking out from under the hood. Surely they couldn’t have…

  Edd very gently pulled the hood back, revealing Matt’s tearstained face and his messy and short new haircut.

5. Break

  Edd was fuming. With no shame, he found himself screaming into the phone at administration, pacing up and down the hallway and running his fingers through his hair. Tom was comforting their son at the kitchen table. Matt’s sobs had calmed but fresh tears would still fall from his eyes as realization came crashing over him again and again. The haircut was horrible. It was choppy and uneven and neither dad wanted to be the one to admit that it had to be cut even shorter to make it look somewhat decent.

  The phone hung up and Edd nearly threw it across the room in frustration, cursing softly as if that would prevent his family from hearing.

  “Not good?” Tom asked softly.

“  I’ve had it up to here with this no-good school who thinks this isn’t a problem,” Edd said, angrily gesturing towards Matt. “For goodness sake! What’s a kid gotta do, kill someone to get in trouble there? They hit our kid, ruin his things, and now this?”

  Matt’s eyes were locked on the floor, hands pressed between his legs. His hurt expression and the tear rolling down his cheek broke Edd’s heart. He collapsed to his knees next to him, rubbing his arm gently.

  “Listen, no more of this,” he said softly, “Whatever we gotta do. If we gotta pull you from this school and find a new one, we’ll do it.”

“  If we have to rip some 12 year olds a new one we’ll do that too,” Tom offered.

  That made Matt smile softly.

  “There we go, he likes my plan better,” Tom said, wrapping his arm around his boy and hugging him to his side.

  “How bad is it?” Matt asked, pulling at a an uneven clump of hair.

  “We’ll find out,” Edd sighed, brushing the strands out of Matt’s face.

  Ultimately, it was pretty bad. Over half his hair had been cut off at the school, and a few more inches had to go to make it even. In the end, his cut looked not unlike that of his former self, if a little shorter in the end. Matt hated it. Edd and Tom tried to help style it as best they could, but in the end, Matt just threw on a beanie anyway.

  Given the day off and leading into the weekend, Edd wasn’t sure he was happy or sad to see how well Matt’s mood improved. Sure, he was still sour about his hair and the dings on his beloved hoodie, but he seemed so relaxed having the time off to be with his family and Jon. When Sunday was beginning to come to a close, Edd noticed Matt’s mood dropping quickly again, his smile fading and replacing with a frozen frown.

  “If you don’t feel up to going to school, you don’t have to,” Edd said. “We should really get this bullying thing figured out first.”

  “It’s fine, I’ll go,” Matt said with a shrug, but his face still held traces of anger.

  Edd tilted his head. Part of him was curious, but the other wanted to give his son the space he may need. In worry for his kid, he pursued. “Seems unlike you to pass up an opportunity to skip school,” he commented slowly.

  “I just wanna be with Jon,” Matt said, shrugging again.

  Edd watched him, the gears turning in his head. “He’s not having trouble at school too, is he?”

  Matt looked at him out of the corner of his eye. His silence said everything.

  Edd sat on the couch, motioning for Matt to sit with him.

  “Dad, I’m gonna be late for class,” Matt said softly.

  “I’ll drive you there, sit down,” Edd said. Matt obeyed.

  “So you’re both getting trouble?” He said.

  “Mostly just me...he just gets trouble for hanging out with me,” Matt confessed quietly, stroking the sleeve of his shark hoodie that they had at long last pulled the stain out of.

  “What kind of trouble?”

  “They’ll shove him around because they know it riles me up,” Matt said, not looking Edd in the eye, “Call us ‘boyfriends’. They’ll usually leave him alone once I’m mad enough, but if I’m not there…”

  “Did something happen on Friday?” Edd asked, putting the pieces together.

  “He said they hit him and stole from his backpack,” Matt said, his voice getting low and his fingers scratching the hoodie fabric.

  “Does Eduardo know?”

  Matt shook his head.

  “Because you’re worried it’ll make things worse…”

  Matt nodded.

  Edd bit his lip

  “I really gotta get to school though,” Matt said, pulling his sleeve. “I don’t want Jon to be... y’know.”

  “Alright,” Edd said softly, getting up. “I am going to talk to Eduardo though. I don’t think either of you will be at that school much longer.”

  Matt nodded.

  And talk to Eduardo he did. The look of shock and horror melting into anger on Eduardo’s face as he explained what happened must have mirrored his own when he first found out.

  “How long have you known?” Eduardo demanded, desperate for somewhere to place his anger.

  “About Jon? I told you as soon as I heard,” Edd said. Eduardo looked away.

  “This is unacceptable, haven’t you talked with the school?” he said.

  “Many times, they won’t listen,” Edd sighed. “I’m very seriously considering pulling Matt from the school, but he’s worried about leaving Jon alone there.”

  Eduardo looked away. Edd knew how important it was to him that Jon do well in school, but he could see how very quickly that thought was dissolving in his mind.

  “I’m taking him home now, I don’t like this,” Eduardo said, reaching for his phone. It buzzed just before his fingers reached his pocket. He pulled it out to read the text. His face fell in a moment of vulnerability Edd had never seen in his neighbor. Eduardo seized his wrist.

  “We need to go, now,” was all he said.

  “Matt needs a doctor, his wrist is fractured,” Mark said calmly. Matt sat on Jon’s living room couch, his face buried in Tom’s chest as Tom held him close. His arms were covered in bruises and his eye was quickly swelling where a well-placed fist must have caught him. Tom didn’t mind the blood from Matt’s nose smearing on his front. Jon didn’t look much better, his glasses cracked and set aside on a table, resting his head on Eduardo’s shoulder as he pressed a bag of ice to his forehead.

  “Okay,” Edd said softly, almost too shocked to speak. He wasn’t expecting this, he wasn’t expecting to find them there, two kids bruised, bleeding, and almost in too much pain to get up. There outside of the school where they were supposed to be safe.

  “C’mon buddy,” Tom whispered, gently hoisting Matt up. Matt whimpered. Edd quickly put his arms around him and lifted him off the couch. Matt was shaking. Edd couldn’t fight the tears that filled his vision.

  He vaguely heard Jon whisper something to Eduardo.

  “Thank you,” Eduardo said, loud enough for them to hear. Edd turned to him, even while there was hurt all over his features, but Eduardo was looking at Matt. “For taking care of my boy.”

  Matt sniffled, but he gave a small nod. Edd turned and carried him out the door to the car. Tom held the door open for Edd so he could put Matt in the backseat as gently as possible.

  “I’ll drive, you sit with Matt,” Tom said softly once Edd closed the door. Edd didn’t argue, climbing in the other side and holding Matt close to him, resting Matt’s bruised face on his shoulder. They must have forgotten his bloodied shark hoodie in the house. Edd buried his face in Matt’s short hair as the car took off, and in his shattering heart he knew that he had let this happen.   

[happyslittlegirl]

Head Over Boots

A/N: I do not own the picture above, the characters, or Kurt Sutter’s creations. I own (Y/N) and the plot. This is my first imagine, so please bare with me.

Trigger warning(s): Some curse words and fighting. 

Word Count: 1745

Based off of: Head Over Boots - Jon Pardi

-

        Here I am, at yet another SAMCRO party. In my opinion, SAMCRO parties are legendary. I’ve been coming to them for a couple of years now, maybe three or four years. Granted, they have them at least once a week, a lot of shit can happen at said parties. For example; Jax getting caught with Ima, prospects hitting on Gemma, and Tig being…. Tig. Despite all of that, who wouldn’t want to party with a whole bunch of sexy bikers? Now, don’t get it twisted, I ain’t a croweater. I don’t chase anyone in a cut, I don’t see joy sleeping with everyone in a charter. I simply come to these parties to drink, play some pool with the members, and have a good time.

           I’m sitting by myself at the bar with Phil behind the bar, he’s a newly patched Son. He was the designated bartender when he was just a prospect, but he’s the only one I trust mixing my drinks. I’m looking into space, absorbed in my own thoughts when they are interrupted. I look to my right and see the one and only, “Tacoma Killer,” Happy Lowman has sat himself beside me. I must’ve been staring longer than I anticipated because next thing I hear is him clearing his throat.

           “See something you like?” Happy asks in a voice so gruff that it sends tingles all the way down my spine.

           I blush and tumble over my words as I answer, “Uh, maybe.”

           Happy chuckles, turns to fully face me and says, “You don’t have to admit anything to me, I can just tell. For the record, I like what I see, too.”

           My mouth drops agape, “Me?” I question flabbergasted. “Really?”

           Happy gives me a smirk that almost has me dropping my panties right here in the middle of the clubhouse. He finishes off the last of his beer, stands up, grabs my hand and leads me to the makeshift dancefloor. The guys pushed all the tables towards the walls to make an open floor plan big enough for people to dance as they wish. Happy pulls me by my belt loops as close as I can possibly get while still clothed. We are now chest-to-chest and I am so close that I can feel his ever growing groin in between our bodies.

I blush again as Happy asks me, “Does that answer your question?”

I giggle as a surge of confidence rises in my body. I wrap my arms around his neck as we slowly start to sway to the beat of whatever music was playing. He grips my hips in his large hands and that lets my mind wander to what else those hands could do. I lean closer to his ear and ‘whisper’ as best as I could considering how loud the music is, “Yes, but I want more.” I turn in his arms so my backside is now pressed against his groin. I start to grind to the heavy bass of the music that was playing throughout the clubhouse. About 15 minutes pass and I’m really feeling myself. I mean I’m dancing with the “Tacoma Killer,’ who wouldn’t be feeling great? I feel Happy grip my hips, making me come to a stop so he could ‘whisper’ into my ear.

           “Little girl, I’ll be right back, Pres needs me outside,” Happy says as he nods towards the entrance. I look over his shoulder to see Jax, Chibs and Tig all waiting patiently for him.

           “Go big guy, I’m not going anywhere but back to the bar,” I smile and squeeze his bicep softly as I pull out his embrace. I start to walk away when I’m suddenly pulled back into Happy’s body as he pushes his lips against mine, hard. We stay like that for a good thirty seconds, and I’m loving every second of it. When he pulls away from the kiss, I’m a little dazed and keep my eyes closed, relishing in the remnants of kiss we just shared. Happy chuckles as he notices my expression, kisses my forehead and finally walk towards the group waiting for him.

           I walk back to the bar and sit myself onto the stool I had previously been occupying. I flag down Phil to get me another vodka cranberry and pull out my phone as I pass the time. I’m scrolling through Facebook and occasionally sipping my drink for about a half hour when I feel someone sit next to me, a little too close for comfort.

           “Hey beautiful,” he slurred as he spoke. I had never seen him before, so he must be from a different charter.

           Rolling my eyes, I give him the benefit of the doubt and reply. “Hi.” Trust me, I am only interested in one man right now and he’s currently outside.

           He gets a sickly smile on his flushed face as he leans so close that I can smell the alcohol on his breath. He asks, “What’s a pretty thing like you sitting here all alone?” I lean as far away as I could, but my back hits the wall, stopping me from getting any further. I look towards Phil, who has an eyebrow raised, watching this encounter closely just in case something happens.

           “I’m not alone,” I reply. “I’m clearly here with, Phil.”

           He scoffs, “Tsk, tsk. You could be having so much more fun with me, baby.” His tone is giving me the chills and not the good kind.

           “Listen, buddy,” I start. “I’m going to walk away now before you say or do something you’ll likely not remember in the morning.” I nod my farewell to Phil as I grab my purse and stand up to make my way towards to entrance. I make it just through the threshold when I spot Happy from across the lot. He’s standing with his brothers near the garage. I go to take a step towards them when I feel a hand wrap around my bicep. I whip my head towards the perpetrator to see that the drunken MC member had followed and grabbed me.

           “Where do you think you’re going?” he seethed as he tightened his grip around my arm.

           “Let go of me,” I practically growl through clenched teeth. I keep tugging my arm to try and release his grip, but it’s no use.

           “Do you know who I am?!” he screamed. “You’re not supposed to turn me down. You’re nothing but a croweater. A sweetbutt. Nothing!”

           I clench my jaw and go to finally rip my arm out of his grip when all of a sudden, I see the creep and Happy on the pavement. Happy had tackled him to the ground and now was leaned over top of him, continuously pounding his face in with his fist.

           I’m pulled away from the scene by Chibs as he looks over my arm to see if I need medical attention. To say I’m in shock is an understatement. I couldn’t move because this all happened so fast. It felt like hours though before Jax and Tig pulled Happy off of the creep. Chibs left my side to go pick up the creep and toss him out. As he was unconscious, Chibs left him out on the sidewalk. I blink repeatedly as I am once again aware of my surroundings and realized what had just happened. I walk slowly over towards Happy as Jax and Tig finally let him go.

           “We’ll leave you two alone,” Jax said as he, Tig and Chibs all walked back inside the clubhouse. Leaving Happy and I outside in the dead of night, alone.

           Happy broke the silence by asking, “Are you okay?” His eyes drawn to the fingerprints already forming on my bicep. I subconsciously begin to rub my arm where I know the marks are as I make eye contact with him.

           “I’m fine, Hap,” I say calmly. “He didn’t know who I was.” I walk up to Happy and wrap my arms around his torso to get close to him.

           “That’s not an excuse, (Y/N),” He exclaimed. “He shouldn’t have put his hands on you regardless of who you are!”

           I sigh in content as Happy puts his hands on my cheeks, keeping our eyes locked. His eyes are so warm, they always make me feel like I’m home. “I don’t have my crow on display tonight, baby,” I say as he starts to calm down. “I’m sorry, Hap,” I close my eyes and lean my head against his chest as he tubs a hand over the base of my neck where his crow was permanently etched onto my body.

           “Don’t be stupid, babe. You have nothing to be sorry for,” Happy says as he pulls my forehead to meet his as he looks deep into my (e/c) eyes. “We really need to stop thinking it’s kinky to act like we’ve never met before,” he chuckles as he pulls me in for a short, soft kiss. “You’ve been my Old Lady for four years. But, god damn, stranger sex roleplay is a god send with you.”

           I laugh and nod my head in agreement. “We can always come up with a new roleplay that’s just as kinky, baby. It can’t be that hard,” I say as I smile up at my Old Man and silently thank God he’s all mine. “I’ve always been in the long haul, Hap.”

           Happy beamed as he replied, “Me too, little girl. Forever. It’s going to be you and me beside each other in rocking chairs when we are old. Talking about shit like the weather on our front porch.”

           I hum in agreement and lean up to kiss him harder than before. I pull away slowly and whisper against his lips, “Take me home, Happy. Show me just how kinky you can be.”

           Happy gets a sexy smirk on his face as he reaches down to pick me up by the thighs, so I’m currently tossed over his shoulder. I let out a yelp of surprise as he smacks my ass and Happy just chuckles. He walks us towards his bike to drive us home, taking his sweet time with me over his shoulder. As he sets me on my feet on the concrete, he reaches for my helmet. Happy clips my helmet on my head, he looks at me lovingly and says, “I’m head over boots for you, baby. Let’s go home.”