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collecting-stories · 3 years ago

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Cardigan - Rafe Cameron

Request: heyy for the ts anthology, can u do one for cardigan with rafe? love ur writing🤍

TS Anthology Series | Outer Banks Masterlist

_ . ◦ ⭐︎:*.☾.*:⭐︎◦∙._

The summer you turned thirteen was the same summer your dad showed up again. Driving the same lemon of a car that he’d pulled out of the driveway in when you were six, he looked like he hadn’t aged. Or maybe you just didn’t remember him all that well because his face felt the same but you were different. When you missed your best friend’s birthday, a trip to the gymnastics gym on the mainland and a towering cake with fondant replicas of all her favorite things, she was rightly pissed.

Thirteen felt monumental, like the movie the two of you had snuck onto your mom’s Verizon bill, and you had both made a pact that you would be there for each other no matter what. That promise included birthdays and, more seriously, dads who showed up after seven years of radio silence because they didn’t want to “miss anything else”. But you didn’t mention your dad because hers was so great and you felt a little like you were floating on an island and no one could understand you enough to reach it. But then you missed her birthday and she swore not to speak to you and that felt more crushing than the dad thing until her brother stepped in. Always the one playing referee in when you fought, Rafe was a few years older and, in your mind, a lot smarter.

It felt pretty important that an older boy would make the time to talk to you, especially when he had to know that his sister was avoiding you at all costs. He’d just gotten his permit and, like any good brother, showed up in the car he wasn’t supposed to drive with a minor in the passenger seat, to take you around the island for the afternoon.

“My mom said she thinks we’re gonna move.” You mentioned, less casually than you would’ve hoped. The windows in the truck were rolled down and you had your legs up, feet placed precariously on the window ledge. There was a particularly nasty bruise on your knee from falling off your skateboard three days ago and a few short hairs you’d missed shaving. You were relatively new to both shaving and skateboarding so there were bound to be mistakes, you just wished they were less visible.

“Off the island?” Rafe asked, concern etched into his tone. You assumed the concern was for his sister, what would Sarah do if you moved? Who would put up with all her antics?

You shook your head, “to the cut.”

“Why?”

“She can’t afford the house on her own anymore and my dad has been lousy with child support.” You repeated back all the things she had said to you. Why she didn’t take him to court like the other kid in your grade with divorced parents was beyond you. Rose told her that it was the only way to ensure he paid what he was supposed to but she hadn’t been able to bring herself to hold him accountable.

Can’t believe you’re gonna be a pogue.” He said it like it meant something worse than you moving to the mainland.

“It’s not forever. My grandma’s house is there, we’re gonna stay with her until we can get back up on our feet.” You shrugged, “at least my dad’ll stay away then.”

But you dad wasn’t the only one who kept their distance. It felt like the distinction over your mother’s life choices held a greater impact on your friends than they had let on. A year into pogue life and Rafe seemed to disappear almost completely. It had always been an odd kind of friendship in the first place but you’d thought that it could’ve withstood a change in address.

Sarah kept in touch, unbothered by labels or mailing addresses. She’d been to your grandma’s a hundred times before you moved and she continued to go there to see you after. The two of you played in the backyard, doing tricks on the trampoline until gossiping about kids at school became more important than cartwheels. You’d lay there whispering as if someone might overhear, telling each other stories from the week that you were separated. Rafe always came to pick her up, staying in the car and honking the horn for her but never coming over to see you.

It felt a little lonely even though you technically retained most of your friends.

In tenth grade you got the role of Eponine in the teen camp production of Les Miserables that the local theatre was putting on. You were technically sharing the role with another girl your age but you couldn’t help being excited nonetheless. The boy playing Marius was in two of your classes, a senior who had lofty city dreams and a nice smile. He flirted almost constantly with you, brushing your hair back, telling you how pretty you were, inviting you out after practice. You told Sarah you were “pretty sure” you were on your way to having your first real boyfriend.

But maybe the ominous casting of Eponine over your life should’ve been hint enough that things weren’t destined to work out that way. The boy who played Marius had an actual girlfriend, home from vacationing with her family in time to watch her boyfriend on stage, and you were supposed to accept that he was just “connecting to the character” when he was with you. Either way, your On My Own struck a different chord in you and after the show was over you didn’t join the other cast members in the lobby to greet people.

“So when you get to New York...do I get to leak all those videos of you and Sarah doing your Genie in a Bottle routine?” Rafe asked, pulling a chair next to you at the makeup table. Yours was halfway off but you’d stopped scrubbing at your face to stare at yourself in the mirror. Self-pity was a powerful procrastinator.

“You’re supposed to be in the lobby.” You pointed out, ignoring his comment, “I look like a ghost raccoon that just climbed out of a dumpster.

“Now there’s an analogy.” He laughed and picked up the cotton pads you had sitting on the counter, soaking one in micellar water and turning your head to face him.

You bit your bottom lip as you tried to keep your composure. It’d been a while since you and Rafe had been alone and last time he was just your best friend’s cute older brother. Too old for you and way out of your league but you were fifteen now and seventeen didn’t feel so far away.

But Sarah was your best friend and she would be mortified if she found out that you had even entertained the idea of her brother, let alone had serious thoughts about it.

“I’m sorry,” you said as he swiped the cotton pad over your cheek.

“What for?”

“I know we’re all supposed to go out tonight for dinner but I kinda just wanna go home.” You replied.

“Sarah might’ve let it slip about-”

You groaned, “don’t even say his name.” You weren’t sure if it was embarrassment at having let yourself totally believe he liked you but hearing Rafe bring it up made you feel even worse.

“Hey, you’re so much better than that loser,” He insisted, “I’ll beat the crap outta him though, just say the word.”

It was that same year, just as school was ending, that you turned sixteen. A short stay in the cut at your grandma’s house had helped your mom get back on her feet. A new job, better than the one that let her go, afforded a moderately sized house back on Figure Eight and a birthday with all the friends that had left the two of you behind.

Sixteen felt a little more important than thirteen had, especially because, for two whole weeks, time suspended and you were technically only a year younger than Rafe. You still hadn’t told Sarah that you liked her brother, though she did seem a little suspicious when the crush on your co-star dissipated almost overnight. The boys of the past had no hold over your growing infatuation with Rafe. Maybe it was foolish but you couldn’t help thinking that maybe it wasn’t.

Especially not when he showed up at your house the same way he had when you were thirteen, though this time he had his actual license and not just a permit. He told you it was birthday drive around the island, that he was in charge of stalling you while Sarah set up a surprise party at your house.

“I don’t think you’re supposed to tell me that it’s a surprise.” You teased, sipping at the iced coffee that Rafe had brought you when he picked you up. You swished the ice around once before sipping again.

“It’s a party either way.” Rafe replied, shrugging his shoulder.

“So, we’re just driving around until she texts you?” You asked. Rafe turned into the Island Club, circling the parking lot once and then turning back around.

“I’m yours until Sarah says otherwise.” He said, the words erupting butterflies in your stomach. You could practically feel yourself heat up thinking about what those words could mean if he wasn’t just your best friend’s brother.

“Well...then do you wanna go to the beach?” You suggested, “Jaxon showed me this really cool spot on the south side that’s practically hidden.”

“Jaxon?” Rafe sounded judgmental when he said the other boy’s name, whether he meant to or not.

“Yea, we’ve been on a couple dates. You know him, he took me to prom,” you supplied, thinking of the way Rafe had sulked on the staircase while you and Sarah had gotten your pictures taken on the front lawn of Tanney Hill. The last picture in the bunch, despite his sulkiness, was of you and Rafe. You’d asked and he had obliged, coming down onto the porch to take a picture with you before everyone left for the dance.

It was your favorite picture, even more than the countless ones of you and Sarah or the few of you and Jaxon. He was just a place holder anyway, someone to take your mind off the thing you couldn’t have. Not that it was working, especially when you were driving around with Rafe at the moment.

“I remember him.” Rafe replied, “so this special part of the beach?”

“It’s so pretty.” You confirmed, “Sarah and I went there a couple weeks ago but she only ever wants to sunbathe.”

“Don’t say it like you’re surprised.” He said, pulling his car off to the side of the road when you told him to.

You were out of the car first, letting the door fall shut behind you as you headed up the wooden ramp to the beach. The drop off at the top was a little steeper here than anywhere else, the beach mostly desolate. You stopped at the top of the walkway, turning back to wait for Rafe. He was standing at the bottom of the ramp staring up at you.

“Are you coming up or what?” You called.

“Yeah,” he nodded, walking up the path to you.

“I know Sarah’s planning a big birthday for me, but I’d much rather have this...” you admitted, “just like, coming out to the beach with you...”

“Oh yeah?” He asked, grinning down at you.

“Don’t tell Sarah,” you joked, “she’ll be mad-”

“Why, cause I’m your favorite Cameron?”

Maybe it was being sixteen or maybe it was that you were feeling particularly bold, out here on the beach with just Rafe, no threat of prying eyes to interrupt you. Either way, you had been thinking about telling him for a while now and it felt like the time...even if getting rejected ran the risk of ruining your birthday.

“I know I’m just Sarah’s best friend but...I really like you Rafe.” You said, “and I know it’s like a million to one that you like me back but I just felt like I would explode if I didn’t tell you.” You waited a beat for him to say something and when he didn’t you kept talking, “Sorry, I know this is so weird-”

“It’s not weird.” Rafe cut you off, “I’m just shocked that you seriously think I only see you as Sarah’s best friend.” His tone was teasing as he brushed a piece of hair behind your ear and cupped your cheek. “You’re so much more than that.”

It was Sarah who told you, days before your eighteenth birthday. She’d seen Rafe with someone else when her family took a weekend trip out to Chapel Hill to see a game. There was a girl there, hanging all over her brother. He swore she was just a friend, told Sarah not to tell you, but Sarah wasn’t dumb and she wouldn’t help her brother cover up an indiscretion. So she told you flat out that her brother was cheating on you.

When Sarah first found out that you and Rafe were dating, she had been as mad as her thirteenth birthday. How could you go behind her back and date her brother? The anger dissipated slowly, over the course of the summer it became clear that were not going to leave her in the dust for Rafe. She wasn’t wholly supportive of the relationship but she was supportive of you and if Rafe was who you wanted to be with than she’d be happy for you.

But if she had to choose, it would always be you over Rafe.

“I didn’t want to tell you, I really thought about not saying anything but...you deserve to know.” It was the justification she used as your face fell, all the giddiness from planning your eighteenth birthday fading in the blink of an eye.

“He cheated?” And it felt like a punch to the gut. “Are you sure?”

“He said she was just a friend but...I don’t hang on my friends like that.” Sarah remarked.

You fiddled with the phone in your lap, Sarah’s comments turning over in your head. You could refute them, tell her that you’d just talked to him the night before and he told you how excited he was to see you, how much he loved you. He’d used the word love...that had to mean something right? You could call him, ask him straight away if he was actually cheating, but you suspected that he would only lie to you. And if he wasn’t cheating, if he did tell the truth, would you believe him? Sarah was your best friend and once she had planted the seeds of doubt in you, they seemed to flourish there.

You didn’t say anything else about it to Sarah that night and when Rafe called to talk, like he always did, you pretended that everything was fine. But that could only last for so long. A week before your party, on the same special part of the beach that Rafe had first kissed you, things ended. Rafe had sworn to Sarah that the girl at school was just a friend but he couldn’t lie to you, and he didn’t try to either.

“It was a mistake,” he insisted, as if it was the type of thing you could brush off.

“But you still made it.” You replied.

“I didn’t mean to.” Rafe didn’t have any good reasons for why he had cheated on, only that he had and that, since you now knew, he was apologetic. “I don’t even talk to that girl anymore. She meant nothing to me.”

“Obviously she meant more than we did.”

Rafe had been it for you for a long time. He seemed so out of your league and you had thought a million times that you would’ve done anything for him. He was the ideal for everything that you wanted and for a while, when you had it, had him, it had felt like a dream. But now you were waking up to reality and it wasn’t a sunset on the beach.

“I love you.” He said it like it was something you were neglecting to remember.

“Not enough.”

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need-a-fugue · 4 years ago

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Trustworthy (Chapter 3)

Summary: You’ve spent the last three years teaming up with Santiago Garcia on every mission you had a hand in coordinating… and the past several months plotting with him to take down the biggest bad to hit your radar. But even all your time at the DEA and all your experience in the field couldn’t have prepared you for this.

Pairing: Frankie “Catfish” Morales x Fem!Reader (slow burn)

Warnings: Does fluff warrant a warning? Well, before we get into the gritty mission, here be some fluffy fluff. Oh, and language. Because I speak that shit.

Thursday came sooner than anticipated, and with it came that awful rush of dread that enveloped you each and every time you set foot in an airport. You’d think you’d be over this by now, your job shuttling you off to the far corners of the Earth, making it so that the only way you could ever get to where you needed to be – Bogota, Juarez, Islamabad, home – was by plane. But… no. The fear of plummeting to an inevitably fiery death inside a giant can filled with the recycled breath of dozens – even hundreds – of strangers was one you were simply never going to get over.

“Holy shit, you weren’t kidding,” Benny barks out amid a thunderous laugh as he watches you down another pill and chase it with a tiny bottle of vodka. “Is it even safe to take Xanax with alcohol?” he asks, his face screwing up in confusion, a hint of concern breaking through the amusement. “Are you so scared of flying that you’re willing to risk an OD?”

“Seems strange, given your profession,” Tom mutters as he sidesteps Ben to slide into the row of seats behind you.

You offer no reply, instead blinking your eyes shut in an attempt to block out the awful activity of preparing for takeoff. The doors haven’t even closed yet, people still steadily boarding the plane, your new teammates still stowing bags and chatting merrily around you, and yet you’ve already buckled in, pulled the lap belt as tight as it will go, and downed your second Xanax in an hour.

“She’ll be alright,” you hear from above. You crack open a single eye and look up to see Santiago looming over the back of your seat. “Fish,” he calls out, tossing a quick glance at the man still struggling with fitting everything into the overhead compartment. “You sit with her. Tell her about all the times you’ve flown. Keep her calm.”

“I’m calm,” you mumble under your breath.

He looks down at you and raises a brow, gaze holding yours even as he tells his friend, “And don’t let her pop any more pills.”

“No shit,” Ben chuckles as he steps out into the aisle, relinquishing his seat just as Frankie finally slams shut the door on the overhead bin. “We’ll have to scrape her off the floor otherwise.”

Frankie slides in next to you, the tiny armrest barely allowing for any space between you and the scorching heat radiating off of him. Normally you might be okay with that, it certainly felt good in the chilly parking lot the other night. But right now you’re feeling flush and hot and on the verge of possible combustion, the odd suck and click sound of the plane’s door shutting and sealing you in causing a bead of sweat to begin sliding down your temple.

“Truth be told, I’m not too wild about being on flights where I’m not the pilot,” he says, his soft voice pitched perfectly to sound just over the hum of the plane, the new buzzing in your ears, and the sudden woosh of air from the vent that he reaches over to switch on above you.

“Comforting,” you mutter, shutting your eyes against the harsh, dry air blowing down on you, but inclining your head back into the steady, cooling stream just the same.

“Just don’t tell her about how many times you’ve crashed, Fish,” Ben laughs from across the aisle. You bolt upright and crane your neck around the man beside you so as to stare the giggly child down, wide eyes gleaming with a very real threat that actually causes his smirk to break and a subtle, “sorry,” to slip past his lips.

Frankie takes your hand, pries it away from the armrest that you’d been holding in a death grip, and he gives you a little nudge with his elbow, encouraging you to lean back in your seat. “I’ve never crashed,” he corrects, shooting Benny a swift, reprimanding glare before turning back to you. “I’ve just… had a couple of rough landings. But each time everyone walked away fine.”

“Yeah?” you question, critical brow cranking high. “And how often do people walk away from rough landings on a commercial airplane?”

He lets out a soft chuckle. “Not often,” he admits. “But they also don’t go down often, so there’s that.”

Your eyes blow wide, slight gasp catching in your throat as you eke out, “Are you trying to jinx us?”

He twists in his seat to look at you, his fingers wrapping just a little bit tighter around your hand as you inadvertently shake in his grasp. “Trust me, princesa, this is the least dangerous thing we’re gonna do this week.”

The heady bolt of fear subsides a bit, quickly replaced by a tinge of confusion – princesa? – and a hint of irritation. Your face twists into an overdone pout – “Don’t call me that.” – but you can’t deny that his words do, somehow, put you at ease. Or perhaps the Xanax is just kicking in. Either way, you find yourself settling back into the seat, body and mind both suddenly sluggish and heavy. You twist towards him, away from the window and the blinding glare of the early morning sun as it reflects off the stark white wing of the plane, and you let out a small disgruntled grunt as the too-tight lap belt digs into your hip.

Frankie easily contorts himself in his seat so that he’s able to face you bodily, smiling – perhaps teasing – eyes never disconnecting from yours as he too settles in and reclines his head to the headrest. “Gotta have some kind of callsign over the radio,” he states, the corner of his mouth pulling up into a coy, crooked smile. “You don’t like princesa… how about loquita?”

“Fuck you,” you bark out amid a snort of a laugh, the offended pitch to your voice and wide-eyed stare setting him to very nearly vibrate with stifled giggles.

He takes a moment to swallow down his obvious amusement, holding your gaze all the while. Then he clears his throat and pulls his features into a stern set. “Don’t take it personally. I’d call anyone who hates to fly crazy.”

You issue out a short, incredulous scoff. “Maybe if I were the pilot, I’d like it. If I were in control.”

“Yeah,” he admits with a nod and a sigh. “That helps.”

But the truth is, you don’t actually think it would help that much. Because, well… “What person in their right mind thinks, you know what I’d like to do? I’d like to ignore the fact that God gave me legs instead of wings and I’d like to leave the ground. I mean… the ground is the safe place, man. What are you thinking?”

He smiles over at you, a soft, tender expression that sets off a flutter deep in your core. “What kind of person wants to stay on the ground with everybody else when they can climb into the heavens and move through the clouds?”

You bite back the grin that begs to break out and instead flatten your face in the most deadpan expression you can muster. “Are you fucking with me right now?” He merely shoots a wink in response, the light from outside your window reflecting in his deep brown eyes as they pierce into you. You roll your own eyes, but can just barely hold back the quirk to your lips as you say simply, “You’re the crazy one.”

He lets loose with a soft chuckle and shifts further in his seat so that he’s entirely facing you. “You never wanted to play in the clouds?” he asks, grin pulling wider. You feel a new heat – a welcome and comforting one, not the panicky, dizzying burn from before – blossom inside of you as you notice a single dimple cave in on the side of his stubble-dusted face.

A long sigh escapes you. “I mean, I did watch a lot of Care Bears growing up,” you offer, working to keep your expression still and set. But his smile simply grows and it’s just a breath of a moment before you break and let loose with a beam of your own. “God,” you nearly whine as an airy chuckle spills out of you. “Play in the clouds? You’re so cheesy.”

“Hey, I happen to really like cheese.” He raises a rather serious brow as he asks, tone low and sincere, “Can you imagine what the world would be like without cheese?”

You force a stoic glare, bite back a smile. “It’d be terrible. No nachos or pizza…”

He shakes his head slowly, sadly. “All the macaroni would be naked.”

You release a soft sigh. “One third of those popcorn tins would be empty.”

“Or filled with, I dunno, kale-dusted popcorn or something.”

You snort out a laugh, nose wrinkling in disgust. “What would we eat with tomato soup? Grilled eggplant?”

He shrugs. “What would Green Bay fans wear to the game?”

And again, you laugh, this one full and buoyant. “Poor Wisconsin, their entire economy would collapse.”

“What about the French?” he asks.

And it’s your turn to offer up a shrug. “They’ve still got wine.”

He stares at you for a lingering moment before his eyes flicker just past and out the window. “Maybe it sounds a little cheesy,” he begins, ticking his chin towards you, towards the tiny airplane window behind you. “But look out there and tell me there isn’t a part of you that wants to climb out there right now and bounce through those fluffy little bastards.”

Your brows pull tightly together, a quick flicker of pure shock shooting through you and causing you to whip around so fast that a crack sounds from your spine. Outside the window are, in fact, hordes of white puffy clouds peppering the bright blue sky. “What…?” you choke out, utter confusion lacing the word.

When had you taken off? When had you reached altitude? How had he managed to distract you so effectively as you climbed thousands of miles into the sky in this deathtrap tube?

You stare out the window for a long moment, giving yourself time to breathe, to comprehend. Allowing your fingers – which had just clamped painfully down on Frankie’s hand yet again – to slowly relax and loosen their terrified hold. No, there’s no part of you that wants to go out there and bounce around in the damn clouds. No. Way. In. Hell. But there is a part of you that begins to get lost in the soft, subtle beauty stretching out all around you. It’s still scary as hell. But it’s also… amazing.

Frankie watches as you continue to gaze out at the sprawling sky, bright blue on this beautiful day, a day he’d like nothing more in this world than to be out in, flying through the wide-open sky. Your hand remains wrapped around his, even if the intense grip has slackened. And your shoulders are still nearly pressed to you ears, so tense and taut. But there’s a sort of wonder wrapping about you now too, a look of, if not joy, at least appreciation.

“Los cielos,” he mutters from behind, seemingly to himself, his tone dreamy and airy and full of something like… wonder. You toss a glance over your shoulder and catch the way the sun lights his face as he stares just past you, his eyes fixated on the world beyond. You stare for perhaps a beat too long, not realizing until his gaze slowly shifts from the window to you, catching you in the act. The dimple caves again, wide smile pulling once more as he locks onto your eyes, light laughter bubbling out of him as your gaze pings away in a swift moment of embarrassment. He squeezes your hand, tightening his grip on your fingers for a single, quick, perfect millisecond before he utters, honeyed voice once again carrying more than a hint of teasing, “Cielo.”

Confused, you look back up at him, your brow twisting. But you let out a groan the moment he tenders another wink, the moment you realize that he’s just offered up another ridiculous callsign suggestion. You roll you eyes again, but make no move to pull out of his hold nor turn from his heated gaze. “So much cheese…”

He laughs again, his grin pulling tight as he watches you settle back into your seat with an exhausted sigh. You raise a brow in question, in challenge. And the smirk fades to a stony façade as he gives a single, definitive nod and declares, as though all has been settled, “Cielo.”

000

The flight knocks you for a loop. Less than an hour in, you’re passed out, snoring away on Frankie’s shoulder. You wake at one point to discover a pool of drool leaking from your gaping mouth and soaking through the shoulder of his button down, but you don’t even have the wherewithal to be embarrassed, nor the grace to apologize. Instead, you lazily swipe at the mess and turn with an incoherent mumble before dropping your heavy head against the cool glass of the window. You’re pretty sure you hear the tinkling of laughter coming from across the aisle – pretty sure that’s the sound that woke you from your drug-induced slumber to begin with – and you can definitely discern the throaty whispers of shut the hell up and you’re an asshole, Ben coming from the man by your side. But you’re too laden with sleep to really process or care.

For the next however many hours, you dream. Dream of bouncing through clouds in a bright blue sky. Dream of slinking through the jungle with strange men by your side. Dream of falling and floating and somehow rising to fly. You sleep and dream – and snore and drool – until an all-too familiar laugh sounds from above, a barking command of, “Hey, get your ass up, agent,” echoing in Santi’s exasperated – yet amused – tone. You blink open your eyes, tilt back your head, and see both him and Tom glaring down at you as they stand – bent awkwardly from the low ceiling of the plane – in the row behind. “Everybody else is already lone gone, bonita. Get your ass off the plane.”

Your brow furrows and your middle finger rises steadily upward, but somehow the rest of your body feels too heavy to move and it takes a kindhearted gentleman in a tattered old ballcap to ease you to your feet and out into the aisle.

“The second one was a mistake,” you mutter wearily as you nearly faceplant into Frankie’s chest.

“Yeah,” comes from behind in an annoyed scoff as Santiago reaches over to collect your bag from beneath the seat. “I’m confiscating your Xanax.”

The ride to the run-down inn and resort – far from the city and cheap as all hell – passes in a blur. But by the time you arrive and check into your little bungalow, you’re feeling, if not refreshed, at least awake.

Everyone agrees to meet up at the tiny restaurant at the edge of the grounds in about twenty minutes, just long enough for a quick rinse and wardrobe change. And somehow you manage to be the first one there, allowing you the opportunity to have a quick chat with the bartender – which results in a free, giant fruity concoction – before settling into a table in the corner. You let out a relaxed sigh and breathe back in the humid jungle air, realizing only in this very moment that a part of you actually missed this place. That a part of you might just think of the Amazon as home. You glance around, take note of your surroundings – as you always do, always have done, even before your law enforcement training – and begin to watch the rather handsy young couple at the bar as they giggle and swoon.

It isn’t long before Benny jogs up behind you and drops into the seat on your right. He sets down a fruity drink that looks suspiciously like yours, making you wonder if the bartender treats all tourists to a free, sugar-fueled beverage and perhaps your flirting earned you nothing at all. But as the others meander in and join you, all with mere sweating bottles of beer in their hands, you decide instead that you and Ben must just be the most special of the bunch.

Of course, that notion begins to chafe once Benny turns to you with a wicked look in his eye and pulls his phone from his pocket, nonchalantly swiping though a parade of terrible photos with an all-too delighted smile. The first few show you passed out on Frankie on the plane, mouth gaping wide as you spill drool into his shirt. “Oh, God!” you gasp, only just now recalling the brief moment of near lucidity from earlier in the day. “You took pictures?!”

You give him a quick slap and try to grab the cell from his hand only to have him rear back and laugh out, “Wait, wait, these are my favorites,” before scrolling through the next dozen or so, each picture showing a steady progression of your drowsy head falling from Will’s shoulder down to his lap as the two of you sat in the back on the drive in from the airport.

“You talk in your sleep,” Will states plainly from across the table, his eyes twinkling with mirth.

You cock your head suspiciously at him, gaze narrowing. “Liar,” you accuse despite knowing full well that it’s true.

The corner of his mouth quirks into a crooked grin. “Something about… sliding down rainbows?”

“Ooooh,” you drawl out, nodding your head. “Yeah, that makes sense. Frankie kept talking to me about Care Bears on the flight in.”

The man to your left takes a steady gulp from his beer, a swallow so huge it makes you think he’d been navigating the desert all day, desperate for a drink. “You were barely conscious for more than five minutes on that flight. You don’t have a clue what I talked to you about.”

“Better not have been anything dirty,” Santiago interjects pointedly.

You turn and pin Frankie down with an intent yet amused stare. “I definitely remember something about playing in the clouds.”

“Naked?” Ben asks as he jostles your other side with his elbow.

“Ahora, eso seria realmente el cielo,” Frankie mutters softly, ducking further beneath the bill of his hat and trying desperately not to laugh as you level him with an astounded glare.

By the time the food comes, your table has managed to outdo the small group of college students in the corner in terms of noise, filling the only partially walled-in establishment with a relaxed sort of banter and the occasional booming laughter. Benny continues his jokes and playful ribbing, eagerly pulling you in to blend with his tightknit group. Will and Frankie both remain mostly quiet, despite their comfortable-looking grins and occasional bursts of laughter.

Tom’s demeanor is similar, perhaps a bit less relaxed, a bit more guarded. Even after claiming to be cool with your presence on this little escapade, he’s anything but warm and welcoming to you. It doesn’t escape your notice that he continues to pull Santi aside to whisper what you can only assume are either covert sweet nothings or – far more likely – mission-related thoughts and plans that he still doesn’t quite trust you with. You shrug it off… it’s fine, really. You’ve had to slip into other cliques and clusters before, wedge yourself into a special operations task force or try to integrate in with local police to gain access to intel. This wasn’t your first rodeo. And frankly, compared to the Federales in Juarez, all of these guys had welcomed you into the fold with wide-open arms.

It isn’t long – or it doesn’t feel like long, anyway – before Santi rises and tells everyone that he’s heading to bed. A shit-eating grin passes over his face as he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small, familiar looking pill bottle. He shakes the remaining Xanax around and states simply, “For once, I’m actually gonna sleep great.”

Tom follows hot on his heels after issuing out – in a tone equal parts dad and captain – “We’re up at 0500 and I don’t want any of you to be dragging ass.” Everyone nods their assent, but the moment he and Santi are out the door, Ben promptly buys another round and the four of you who remain settle into a new rhythm that lasts until the tiny restaurant and bar finally shoos you out so they can close for the night.

The lot of you wander the grounds of the inn for a bit after that, indulging in the cool breeze after hours of sweltering heat, and continuing to laugh and talk. But as you make it back to the bungalows, the brothers break away, Ben disappearing into his room without so much as a grunt of goodbye, and Will raising a pointed finger high and telling you and Frankie both to, “Get the hell away from these mosquitos and go get some sleep. Otherwise, Redfly’ll be raining down shit on everyone in the morning.”

But you’re now more awake than you’ve been all day, sated from a too-large dinner and positively sloshing with alcohol, well-rested after your many-hours-long nap during your travels, and you just can’t seem to make yourself shut up, not even once you arrive at your door.

And Frankie seems to welcome it, listening intently as you babble on, filling the gaps with assertions of his own. Now that Ben’s no longer around to monopolize the conversation, you and Frankie develop an easy back and forth, the dialog taking on a soft, steady, even cadence. You talk about everything, the two of you. About Mexico, because you spent nearly four years in different parts of the country, and he still has family in a few of those areas. And you talk about all the places you’ve been, you with your sprawling career and general lust for travel – Road trips are more my thing though… and camping, hiking… Have you ever been through Bryce Cannon? God’s country. – and Frankie with his time in the military and more recent contract work – Yeah, nature’s great and all, but have you walked through the bazars in Marrakesh? Unbelievable. Though I wouldn’t say no to a day of fishing off the Gulf.

You talk about Santiago, each sharing stories of the man who had only just become a trusted colleague and friend for you over these last few years, but had been one of Frankie’s most beloved people for well over a decade. And that leads you into asking about the other guys too, each of whom you find yourself getting to know better and better from even just the few stories he shares as you two recline back into the railing of the bungalow’s small porch. He even manages to get you comfortable enough to share some stories about your own comrades over the years, the good, the bad, and the ugly… and the long-time partner who bled out in your arms following a bust outside of Albuquerque. Though you don’t spend much time on that, eager to move on almost the moment that your partner’s name passes through your lips.

The look on his face, though – as you share those sparse details from that most awful day – tells you immediately that Frankie understands exactly what it’s like to lose a partner, a brother in arms. And while that isn’t a surprise in the least – he had just gotten through telling you that he spent fifteen years in the special forces after all – that knowledge does cause you to feel a whole new pull. It makes you scoot a bit closer, makes you drop your hand easily atop his, your sweaty palm gliding along his warm skin before he reciprocates by slowly turning in your grasp and twining his fingers with yours.

“So,” he breathes out after a moment. “You’ve been out here for… three years?”

You nod, a soft smile blooming as you think about this bizarre and stunning corner of the world. “About that.”

His gaze travels out into the lush jungle located just beyond the row of bungalows, small porchlights illuminating just enough of the canopy to remind you both of where you are. “What’s the city like?” he asks after a beat.

“It’s nice,” you rush out. “Small, relaxed…” Your lips purse together as you think on what to say, how to describe this place that has been your home for three years now. “Lot more tourists than you might think. It’s funny, even the people who live here – in the city at least – a lot of them are transplants from Bogota.” You give a nonchalant shrug – “The streets flood a lot. That’s not always fun.” – and relish the deep chuckle emanating from the man by your side. “There’s a legend about how it got its name,” you say suddenly. “I’ve never really gotten any details about it, but supposedly a Colombian soldier fell in love with an Amerindian woman…”

“Leticia,” he supplies, the name slipping from his tongue in a perfectly accented drawl, falling out into the dark night in a soft, low rumble.

You nod. “And he named the city after her.”

Frankie huffs out a small laugh, a light and airy rumble. His gaze continues to wander, dark eyes shifting along the barely perceivable horizon. “Must’ve been a hell of a lady,” he mutters absently, giving your fingers a squeeze.

You watch him closely, his features soft and relaxed in the low light, the slightest hint of a smile still riding his lips. “Yeah. Must’ve been.”

Taglist:

@tweedlydumbtweedlydoo @icanbeyourjedi @greeneyedblondie44 @mrscrain-x7 @kyjoraven@elephants-are-a-thing @nakhudanyx

#frankie catfish morales #frankie morales #frankie morales x reader #triple frontier #francisco catfish morales #frankie morales x you #santiago pope garcia #benny miller #will ironhead miller

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wonnoy · 3 years ago

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yamaguchi and smart cars

i feel like if anyone were to own a smart car, it would be yamaguchi and it'd be white, so here's a short fic about it

[][]

it was one of those breezy summer days where it was the perfect temperature and everything just felt right. you were pulled up at a stop light, the hum of your smart car vibrating nicely in your ears. yes, your smart car.

it was bright yellow, had a top speed of 120mph and gear shifted like a bitch. but you absolutely adored it.

it was a gift from your mother when you finally got your license and you've been driving it for the past five years. student in college with no debt on your shoulder but still too poor to fix the poor transmission on your car. you were quite literally driving it into the grave.

you pushed your foot on the brake when coming to the red light at the intersection. you were first in the line, windows down, a pair of shades on and with your radio blasting music from the aux connected to your phone.

you were well aware that your car brought a lot of attention to itself, it wasn't a very popular car where you lived - excluding the bright yellow it already was. so you were used to the eyes it brought whenever you rolled up. sometimes, people even took pictures with you posing for them.

that was the extent of it.

your fingers drummed lazily against the steering wheel, the light you were currently at notoriously being the longest to sit at. you could barely hear yourself think over the music blasting from your abused speakers let alone the mans voice trying to get your attention. you reached for the volume, turned it down, and looked over to your left.

holy.

there was another smart car next to you, blindingly white with electric stamped right above the wheel and what looked to be a tiny volleyball over the 'i'.

iconic.

the guy yelling out your name was leaning over his friend in the passenger seat with his hand next to his mouth. he smiled brightly when he saw you finally looking at him. his hair was green, contrasting every other decoration in his car that you could spot (everything in there was white). with his freckles, he looked like a tanned strawberry. he looked like a tourist, a small little volleyball sparkling on his chest on a silver chain and a pink floral printed shirt. his shades were golden, perched right behind a spring of hair on his head.

you couldn't see his friend from the way that he was pressing himself into the passenger seat, but you could tell he was much taller than the car itself.

"your smart car looks so cool!" he called out to you and he stuck his thumb out, winking at you. you blushed a little. a cute guy, in a cute smart car, complimenting you? something like that has only happened in your dreams and you squashed those dreams maybe a year ago. you swallowed and gave a complimenting smile back towards him.

"why thank you," you said, "mr. carrot top," you teased, sliding your sunglasses down over your eyes. you could see his stunned expression though the tinted view of your glasses before his grin returned.

"your banana go kart can't compete with the white damba here," he laughed at you, pretending to caress the dashboard of his smartcar. you scoffed at him, pressing your foot down on the pedal. your car practically whined when you did that, mr. carrot top doesn't know who he's messing with.

to anyone else who was listening to you trying to race the 'white damba' (as he put it), someone would have laughed hysterically at you both. your car sounded like a toy car that you moved back for it shoot forward.

"you wanna bet?" you stuck your tongue out at him before glancing up at the light to check if it was still red. it felt like you've been here forever.

the guy looked at your and gripped his steering wheel looking away before making eye contact with you again, "you can't hear it, but i'm pressing on the petal too," he said with a cheeky smile. oh right, because it's electric. you barked out a small laugh before nodding your head at him. you felt giddy, as if you were middle school again by doing something so silly.

"what do i get if i win?" you looked back over at him, smile smile idly playing on your lips. you didn't miss the way he licked his.

"maybe i'll give you a kiss?" his thumb tapped on the wheel and his friend put a hand up to their head. you know for a fact that he was probably muttering something but you couldn't exactly hear it. you could imagine what this interaction was feeling like for his friend right now.

"that feels like more a reward for you if you win, how about your number instead?" you winked again at him. you looked up quickly at the red light you sat at, seeing other cars start to slow down in front of you. you would be moving again soon.

"first one to the wendy's parking lot wins then?" he pushed his glasses down over his eyes and looked forward again, both hands gripping the wheel again. you snorted lightly before getting ready to race him too. you were pretty sure you knew which wendy's he was talking about.

the cars that were passing in front of you had fully stopped now and you knew it was any millisecond now when it would finally be your turn. you took one last glance at carrot top before looking back and the light turning green.

your foot slammed so quick on the pedal and your poor little tires worked so hard the moment you did that - you were more than certain that you left little tire marks on ground. the whine of your engine was anything but quiet and you lurched back into your seat with whatever horsepower your car had. the needle on your dashboard went into the red zone, something that you've never accomplished.

next to you, you could see the white damba zoom a little quicker than your car and you grit your teeth. a kiss from him doesn't sound bad (and you were sure that it wouldn't feel bad either) but you, for one, would hate to lose. your car pushed you forward with every gear shift, elbows chicken-boning each time it did.

it hadn't been longer than six seconds until you finally pulled out level with the white damba, not even sparing a glance at it's cute driver. instead focusing on the quickly approaching wendy's sign. your speedometer was pushing into the 50's now with 45 being the speed limit for the road you were currently on.

you were only hoping that there were no cops around or speed cameras out to catch your license plate number.

you had barely just pulled ahead of the white damba before your indicator was on and you drifted into the wendy's parking lot. you were more than certain that you would have to take your poor car to the mechanic after this whole ordeal. you narrowly missed the light pole in the parking lot trying to park your quickly with the white damba following your exact moves. the adrenaline was pumping through more than just your veins, making your heart throb.

you tried to keep your breaths even, more alarm by yourself because of what you just did. racing a complete stranger because they were cute and in another smart car. is this all that it takes for you to be irrational?

a cute face? you looked in your rearview mirror watching the white damba pull up, you barely caught a glance of the man's face before it moved out of view.

you sighed heavily, yea, it was.

he pulled up next to him, honking his horn and it sounded exactly like a tiny honk coming from a child. you looked over at him, the cockiest smile that you could muster on your face.

"didn't think that you could beat me honestly," he said whilst unbuckling himself from his seat. his friend however didn't even move but you could hear him muttering again. the guy stepped out of his car and so you took the hint to do that same.

after stepping out, you placed a hand down on your hip, "so does this mean i get your number?" you grinned.

"can i at least tell you my name before you do? so it isn't just cool smart car guy?" he grinned at you. he's a bit of a smooth talker isn't he? you shook your head at him and smiled.

"the number will do," you reached through your window to grab your phone, "for now at least."

in the side mirror of your car you could see the guy fist bump the air furiously as in a way of victory. he acted so boyishly despite the devious flirting he was doing with you at the stop light. you pulled up the contacts on your phone and put in for the contact name 'race loser' before handing it to him.

"tha-" he stopped short seeing the name and frowned, "race loser? really?" he scoffed and typed his number in.

you sent a message to the phone hearing an instant cheap ringtone in response. was that his ringtone?

you jumped back into your car and waved back at him through the window. the carrot top went to the car window leaning into it.

"can i at least get your name?" he smiled at you. your heart lightly fluttered at the look of it before shaking your head - you were not about to give in so easily.

"sorry, but that wasn't apart of the bet,"

[][

cute, lol

#yamaguchi x reader #yamaguchi tadashi #yamaguchi haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu!!#haikyuu fluff #haikyuu yamaguchi #i give up a little but here you go

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cupcakemolotov · 4 years ago

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Far From the Shallow Now

Synopsis: Caroline needs to get her head on straight after the ball and is still awake when Klaus drops by.

Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence × Pre-Relationship × Technically Tyler and Caroline Are Still Together × No cheating × Still Mostly Tyler Friendly × A Moment After the Ball × a what if × Domestic Fluff × Sort Of ×

A tiny pieces would be part of the random snippet series. Just a bit of a what if Caroline had been up when Klaus dropped off the drawing. You can read it here on A03 if you prefer.

The kitchen smelled like her childhood. Warm brown sugar and melting chocolate, the memory of afternoons spent baking with her dad were precious moments that still ached. Pre-vampire Caroline has really hated cooking, and she’d found her opinion hadn’t changed much over the past few months. But baking? With its necessary precision and attention to detail, even the most finicky of recipes soothed her. It had been her dad that had first put a wooden spoon in her hand, who had sighed at her scrunched nose and red face and smoothed her bangs.

“Come on, Care Bear. Let’s try a new recipe today. I’ll let you pick.”

But those memories had been filled with afternoon sunshine and the blare of a radio, and they had been a long time ago. Long before the silence between her parents had grown cold and Bill’s business trips had taken longer and longer. Her childhood was bittersweet and it clogged her throat to think of all the things she’d lost.

But that was for another night.

Tonight, all she had was the silence of her home and the shadows of the neighborhood around her. With her mom working the graveyard shift, she had the house to herself. It had been a relief to come home to shadows and silence after the noise and color of the ball. A chance to process and detox, push away the memory of Klaus’ hands on her skin, the boyish, curling smile on his face and the anger as she’d walked away from him. Breath shuddering in her throat, she stirred the cookie dough a little more thoroughly.

A little pre-baking cleaning had helped calm her juggling nerves and here she was, getting worked up again. The fridge was stuffed with sympathy casseroles, and she’d thrown out dozens of wilting flower arrangements. The cards were neatly stacked and organized in piles alphabetically and according to whom she still needed to reply to.

Her mom probably wouldn’t even notice.

Tomorrow’s project would involve freezing what was left of the food that her mom would eat, she’d already packed the leftovers into Tupperware so she could return the pans to her neighbors. But her dad had taught her to never return a dish empty, so at least her midnight baking would have a purpose. Absently licking at a smear of cookie dough, Caroline watched the clock on the oven click over past 3 AM, and mentally counted her blood bags. She’d need an extra tomorrow, to offset her lack of sleep, but her mind couldn’t stop spinning.

Is it so hard to believe I fancy you?

She’d showered as soon as she’d gotten home, needing to remove Klaus’ lingering scent from her skin. She scrubbed herself pink with her favorite soap, and stood in the shower far longer than needed. The dress was already folded and packed in the box it had arrived in, her bra and underwear at the bottom of her dirty clothes hamper. Now she was sitting in her kitchen in old cheer sweats, and surrounded by two dozen cookies while she worked on the next batch.

And nothing had managed to stop the wheels spinning in her head.

Running a hand down her face, Caroline tried again to decide how she felt about the fiasco that had been her night. The dancing, the hunger and lust in his gaze, those falsely boyish smiles and the rage that had burned when she’d flung his diamonds back at his face.

Klaus had meant every word he’d said and none of it. That was the game he played. Perfection and coercion, falsely sweet words that clung like poisoned honey. It’d been easier to push aside her curiosity, that niggling fascination for how his brain worked before he’d turned his gaze towards her.

Klaus was a monster. But he was a smart one, always steps and steps ahead of his enemies. She didn’t want him, she needed to not want him, and she was pretty sure he didn’t want her either, and it stiffened her shoulders to think he saw her as the distraction Damon insisted she play or his very own potential Trojan horse.

She would never betray her friends.

But Caroline didn’t want to die.

Eyes closing at the thought, she took a careful breath. The games Damon played were dangerous. Esther, Bonnie, all his siblings were spinning on a course that could only lead to collateral damage, and she was sick of it.

Tyler too sometimes only saw her as useful. Her dad had died helping him and still the last time they’d talked he’d wanted her to play more games. As if she wasn’t drowning in grief and what if’s, as if her world hadn’t been twisted as violently as his, as if she wasn’t trapped in a spiderweb she had no idea how to escape. Her fingers tightened on the wooden spoon, and she exhaled slowly.

She and Tyler hadn’t chosen what had been done to them but they could choose how they responded and she was starting to feel less and less comfortable about the bitterness he carried. The hard edge of rage. Whatever had happened when he left and found Hayley had sharpened parts of Tyler she hadn’t known were there and she wondered what he saw when he looked at her. If what he saw made him as uncomfortable as it made her.

Lips flattening at the thought, she reached for the bag of chocolate chips and froze at the sounds of her front door opening. Eyes snapping up, body going taut at the potential threat, her stomach knotted at the sight of Klaus stepping into her home.

For a long moment, they just studied each other.

In the hours since she’d left the ball, he’d ditched his jacket and bow tie, his white waistcoat nowhere to be found. His hair was no longer so perfectly arranged, he’d rolled his shirt sleeves to bare his forearms, and if that wasn’t enough to spike her blood pressure, he still wore his suspenders. Hidden behind the counter-top, her nails dug reflexively into her palm. He’d been stupidly good looking earlier at the ball with his sly smiles and dimpled promises, but this? Rumpled, lips bitten red, his gaze dragging along her body with a slow perusal that set her nerves of fire was something else entirely.

Klaus smiled slow, cheeks creasing, all of the anger from before tucked beneath charm and guile. “I’m surprised you’re still awake, love.”

“Your family is exhausting,” she agreed tartly, straightening her spine. “But of the two of us, I’m the only or who is expected to be here at all. Kind of rude, just bargaining in, don’t you think?”

He gave an elegant little shrug and strolled closer. Her jaw flexed, and he reached into his pocket, pulling out a velvet box and setting it on an empty space on the counter. “I do have an invitation. And perhaps it is also just as rude, don’t you think, to return gifts?”

Shoving the wooden spoon back into the cookie dough before she was tempted to smack him with it, Caroline settled a hand on her hip and faked her bravado. “It’s way ruder to offer gifts with so many strings in the first place.”

An amused glance from beneath his lashes before he peered at her cooling racks of cookies. “Most women enjoy apology jewelry.”

“I must have missed the apology.”

One dimple peaked high on his smile and he snagged a cookie. “I didn’t realize you baked.”

She narrowed her eyes as he took a bite, his clear dodge. This entire conversation felt surreal, a little bit domestic, and a lot concerning. Wasn’t she just thinking about how dangerous he was? This, this charm, only highlighted that danger. He slipped so easily from mood to mood, as mercurial as the wind and she needed to remember that.

Promises or no.

“It’s not like we really exchange small talk. And that’s the only cookie you get. I have a dozen dishes to fill and I need this done before mom gets home.” She tipped her chin towards the dining room table where the clean dishes and tinfoil were waiting for her. She was willing to bet he'd already noted the dishes, but so what. “So why don't you get to your point and leave?”

Klaus made a thoughtful noise as he finished the cooking, dusting his hands of crumbs. “Need help?”

“From you? Absolutely not.” The words slipped out before she could catch him and find something politer to say. This was her grief, her method of coping. He didn't get an opinion and he didn't get to pretend they were friends. Not when he wold kill all of them if he thought it necessary. This? This mess and this grief and this small thing to help her mom was hers.

The smile died on his face but she didn’t flinch. She didn't know what he read on his face, but his head tipped in a silent acknowledgement. Instead of baiting her more, his hand returned to his pocket, and this time he produced a rolled up piece of parchment.

Caroline looked at it warily. “What is that?”

“Part of the apology,” he murmured as he set it delicately on top of the box holding the diamonds. “The bracelet is yours love, no strings. Do with it what you will. As for the rest.” He paused, blue eyes narrowed as he studied her, a hint of gold burning the edges of his iris. “The games my mother plays are not kind to her pawns. Be sure you don’t find yourself in over your head, Caroline.”

She lifted her chin to hide her tremble. “Threats?”

“Call it a warning.” Klaus said. “Likely the only one you’ll get.” Just as quickly, that sense of danger melted under another smile and he snagged a second cookie before turning and sauntering away at her protest.She slid her tongue between her teeth at the sight of just how well his pants were tailored and the way the suspenders highlighted the length of his back. The image was going to be burned behind her eyes for days.

As if he could sense her gaze dragging down his spine, he cast one more boyish smile at her as he opened her door. “The cookies were delicious, love. I do so look forward to learning what other secrets you're keeping.”

She watched him go, barely breathing, a mix of alarm and arousal mixing with adrenaline. So many layers. The hidden threat in his words, the reminder that he could walk into her home whenever he wished. The return of the bracelet, that little bit of claim he’d laid on her life.

An apology.

Swallowing, she wiped her shaking hands on her sweats and reached for the parchment. It unrolled to show the familiar lines of her face and the perfect image of a horse.

Thank you for your honesty.

Swallowing, she set the drawing down and didn’t know what to think.

#my fic #klaroline #klaroline fanfic #I am on a roll #woot #only a billion more files to go #oh well #one at a time and all that

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jamilelucato · 4 years ago

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Driver’s License

pairing: platonic!Fred and George x reader

words: 1.980

a/n: today, in Brazil, was my driving test, and I failed. So I wondered what it’d be like to fail in the company of my dear twins, and this fic came up. Anyway, the whole thing is kind of platonic, because I didn't know how to choose just one Weasley to comfort me (self-centred lol). *gif not mine

warning: I don't know your country of origin, dear reader, so I don't know how the process of obtaining a driver's license is there. In fact, not even in Brazil is it as simple and fast as I described in this fic, but poetic license, my loves.

Musical Hogwarts Series || Harry Potter Masterlist

When you suggested to Fred and George to take their drivers license with you, you never thought they would end up agreeing.

“Sounds good, ” said Fred, smiling down at you.

George agreed. “We never know when it can be useful.”

And so, the three of you registered yourselves to take the exam. You were all very nervous — your muggle dad (that’s why you wanted the license in the first place) was teaching you, and Arthur was teaching the boys. So, when the day finally came, you felt prepared, even though that didn’t shake the nervousness away.

“You’ll do great, [y/n]” Fred whispered to you when you both sat down waiting for your turn. There were a lot of muggles around for their tests, and that was only making you more anxious.

“I don’t think it is as hard as we thought, ” added George, watching the other muggles going through their evaluations.

Even though the twins looked nervous, they weren’t even as close to your level of worry. In your mind, you were going through all the steps your dad and some professional instructors had mentioned to you, but things seemed to get messier the more you thought it through.

It felt like a responsibility to you, as a muggle-born, to pass the exam. The boys had their brooms, but driving a car has been your dream since eight. It was your thing.

“Weasley, Fred,” called one of the examiners. The list of names was not in alphabetical order, so for a moment you wished to be called before the twins, but you weren’t that lucky. You just wanted to get over with it.

“Good luck!” you wished you best friend. “I know you do great!” and with your thumbs up, you watched as he got up and left with the examiner — the look on his face not so great.

Although you and George had promised not to watch, you couldn’t help but glimpse at the older twin while he took the car out. He was incredible, way better than you could’ve imagined. His exam didn’t even take as long as the others — the boy was natural.

They called other people after Fred before we heard George’s name.

“You can do this!” you smiled at him, noticing that, although quiet about it, George was struggling with his anxiety too.

But just as his brother was great, George was somehow better, surprising everyone that was still around including you. Now, there was no room for you to fail. The wizards had done great, and you, with your family history, had the job to be flawless.

Five other names got called before an examiner came for you. He seemed to be a nice man, giving you a comforting smile when you got up from where you were sitting with the twins.

Just stay calm, you told yourself, breathing slowly. The twins raised their thumbs for you as they watched you walking away towards the car. It was the same model as the one your parents had, so you knew you could do it.

“We’ll start parking, Miss [y/l/n]. Is that okay?” said the examiner, but you knew that your answer didn’t matter. He was polite, but that was an order in disguise. He pointed to the place marked in the ground, where the car was supposed to fit perfectly, and with one last deep breath, you did what you were there to do.

And you failed. You panicked really and forgot a bunch of things you had to have done before turning the car off. You wanted to vanish from the face of Earth, most importantly, you did not want to face the twins. You didn’t even have a chance to drive around, it was like the first minute of the evaluation, and you just failed.

The examiner kept saying what you should have done, delaying your get-out. He gave you a paper, where “failed” could be read, and although you could try again, another week, at that moment, you felt like a failure.

Forced to get out of the vehicle, the twins waited for you not that far away. They had those sad puppy faces you just hated to stare. It was your idea, and you were the one to flunk. Life has a funny way to be unfair; don’t you think?

“You know, you weren’t that bad, ” said George, avoiding your eyes at all cost. He was afraid to make you cry.

“You really just forgot to signal, ” said Fred, crossing his arms. “But you can try again later; there’s no shame in that.”

“I guess, ” you sighed, not sure of what else to say.

Fred and George exchanged looks, unknowing how to proceed. They knew you had a habit of crying when things didn’t go the way you expected — they also knew you had a craving for perfection, so all you wanted to do right now probably wasn’t accept your defeat.

“Our dad’s coming to pick us up, ” said Fred, slowly, acting very careful because he deeply was afraid to say something wrong. “You can come to the Burrow with us — we have ice cream.”

“And cake, ” added George, a little too enthused. He just suddenly remembered his mum promised cake — to celebrate if they passed and to cry over if they didn’t.

You stared down at your feet. You planned on going to the Burrow anyway — at first, it was so you could celebrate with the Weasleys. Now, all you wanted to do was sob under the covers of a cosy bed.

“Okay, ” you said, your voice already sounding like a sob, and, unfortunately, the boys noticed.

George came closer to you, embracing your shoulders with his left arm and pushing you forward, away from that place. Fred noticed his twin’s intentions and quickly grasped your other side with his right arm.

Arthur noticed the sad in the kids’ eyes when he picked them up — well, he shouldn’t be calling them kids anymore, they were 18 now. Respecting whoever of them had failed (he suspected Fred), he didn’t say a thing the whole trip back home.

The three sat together at the back of the car, with you in the middle, holding tears. Being inside a car was the last place you wanted to be right now, but Arthur couldn’t bring brooms to the centre of London.

When you arrived at the Burrow, George firmed his grip in your arm.

“I’ll come in first and warn them not to ask questions, ” he whispered. Fred, at your other side, shook his head in agreement while Mr Weasley was already out of the car.

“It’s fine, George. I can answer them, ” you lied, cleaning with the back of your hand the tears that started to corner your eyes.

“We know you can, ” said Fred, helping you with the tears with a soft touch. “Doesn’t mean you should though.”

And with that, George left. It took him less than two minutes to get out of the house and nod his head, suggesting you to come in.

“Come, ” said Fred, opening his door. “We can rush to my old bedroom if you’d like.”

You gulped. You were trying hard to play it cool, but the twins knew you way too well.

“I’d like that, yeah, ” you felt another tear fall.

Fred pressed his arm around you again and escorted you inside the house. George swapped Fred when you passed through him in the front door, while Fred was left downstairs to grab the comfort food.

George quickly pushed the beds together so the singles could become a big one instead.

“Thank you, ” you sobbed again, incapable of holding your tears now that it was just you and George.

Honestly, you wouldn’t have chosen to cry in front of the twins. You three were long-time friends, that was correct, and only because destiny put you three in the same school year in Hogwarts. They were the careless, famous troublemakers — you were just the “too worried about my grades to step out of line”. But somehow, you managed to keep the friendship alive.

They were more than your best friends, but you couldn’t point out what you three were. Of course, there were rough moments, when you were so apart you thought the friendship wouldn’t survive, but they always surprised you, coming back closer than ever.

You knew why the rough patches happened, why the three parted ways more times than you should — after all, you had to step away from them too from time to time. When you spent too much time with them, you start feeling things. There should be nothing wrong with it, you guessed, except you felt it for the both of them.

Lately, you’ve been suspecting both of them were feeling the same towards you too.

You don’t want to choose, and you don’t want to part them. So, well, being just friends is more effortless. That way, you don’t have to pick one from the other.

As soon as the big bed was ready and you had laid on it, Fred walked in — his arms filled with snacks. He had chips, the promised cake and ice cream. You couldn’t help but smile at him.

There was a long moment of silence when all you could hear was the music coming from the radio and the sound of your mouths. You weren’t happy — but since the exam, that was the closest to okay you could feel at the moment.

“You know, you two should be partying or something, ” you said, between bites, when the tears stopped falling.

They looked at you.

“Then you should be partying too, ” said Fred, raising a brow.

“But I failed, ” you pointed out, noticing that still hurt to say it.

“Does it matter? Do you need a reason to party?” asked Fred, leaning closer to you while you giggled, not of happiness, but of the nonsense you were hearing.

“I think we should dance, ” suggested George, dropping his empty plate over the bed carefully.

“Why would we dance?”

George shrugged. “To stress-relieve.”

You stared at the fingers, and this time, you couldn’t help but genuinely smile.

“Don’t you guys wanna... I don’t know, drive around?” you hinted because they shouldn’t be so nice to you just because you were sad. You were sure that, if you had gotten your license, you would want to be anywhere but in a locked room.

“Drive around?” Fred seemed surprised by your suggestion.

“We promised not to drive until you got your license, ” explained George.

“That’s gonna take a while, ” you sighed, avoiding their eyes.

“So?” said George.

“I’m not in a hurry, ” said Fred, placing his hand over your leg. The boys used to do that all the time — that didn’t mean you were used to it. “Besides we can Apparate.”

“And that, you have a license for, ” added George, tilting his head.

“It’s not a license, you idiot, ” you giggled, facing George.

The three of you let smiles adorn your faces; Fred and George glad to see you at least satisfied again.

“So... Dancing” reminded Fred, getting up from the bed and heading to the radio so he could turn the music up.

“No...” you protested, but your smile gave you away as George drag you to where Fred waited.

You wish you could say that only they had weird dance moves, but you were no great dancer yourself, and even though you tried to stay still, George and Fred made everything they could to shake your body, and eventually, they succeeded.

It wasn’t the happiest day of your life, but sure it was the start of a happy life.

#fred weasley #george weasley #Fred and George #Fred and George Weasley #george and fred #fred weasley x reader #fred x reader #fred and george x reader #fred and george imagine #fred x reader x george #george weasley x reader #george x reader #george x reader x fred

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keelywolfe · 4 years ago

Text

FIC: The Rose and the Thorn: Chapter 4 (Mafia AU)

Summary: The continuation of Rus’s terrible, awful, no good, really bad day

Tags: Spicyhoney, Mafia AU, Flower Shop AU, Violence, First Meetings

Warnings: Some violence. A wee bit of unwanted touching and some innuendo.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3

~~*~~

Read it on AO3

Read it here!

~~*~~

The long ride through the city streets gave Rus a chance to gather up his scattered wits and once he got them back into the right order, he still only knew one thing for sure. He was seriously pissed off.

It was pretty obvious that this was all Edge’s fault, didn’t have to be a rocket surgeon to figure that out. Before Edge, Rus had stood at a lifetime score of zero when it came to kidnapping and after Edge started coming in, Rus was two for two with the extra bonus of their shop getting wrecked, and repaired, along the way.

Who the hell was this guy?

Flat out asking probably wasn’t gonna get him any answers and Rus settled for staring moodily out the car windows, absently noting the street signs even if they were all but meaningless to him. Rus didn’t know the city very well, that’s why he had google maps on his phone…he groaned inwardly as he realized his phone was missing. Fuck, it’d been hard enough to scrounge up the extra cash for that one.

His bag was gone, too, and a discreet check found his wallet was also absent. Not that he thought these guys were the kind to be cleaning out his meager bank account, but it counted for aggravation if nothing else. He’d need to get a new ID, new cards, the limited cash he’d had on him was gone. It was like every time he thought he hit bottom, the universe found another way to yank the rug out from under him.

Rus slumped down, letting his skull drop against the cool window glass as he stared at the blurring scenery.

Wait…they were passing a little corner store that Rus recognized. These streets were ones he knew. They were heading into the Dust Bowl, towards home, and Rus would have felt a lot better about it if Edge hadn’t hinted pretty clearly that Blue and home weren’t the same place right now.

He went on to prove it by driving past the residential areas and Rus gave the route that would have set him on his own porch a longing look. What he wouldn’t give to be curled up on his own bed right now, heading into Sleepsville and if any dreams came his way, Rus was gonna stuff them back up the pipe they came from.

Edge drove on and the silence in the car was close to unbearable. Rus wondered what Edge would do if he turned on the radio. Probably not kill him, he’d only just saved his life, but the guy was a criminal per his own lack of denial. Maiming might still be on the table and Rus really needed both of his hands for work.

The place they finally pulled up to was worse than he could have imagined. Rus stared up in horror at the glowing neon lights, so bright they were visible in the daylight, surrounding the huge LCD screen advertising their ‘services’. Places like this were exactly why Blue wanted their store in the Human shopping district.

“are you serious? we’re going to a strip club?” Rus blurted.

He’d never gone into any of the clubs down here in the thirties block; they were nicknamed the dirty thirties for a reason. Even if he’d been curious, which he really, really wasn’t, Blue would have murdered him if he’d put so much as a toe bone across the threshold of one of these places.

He’d been trying not to look at Edge, better to focus out the window than on the façade of a handsome face overtop whatever criminal awfulness lay beneath it. Now Rus turned to see Edge was rolling down the window, speaking in a hushed voice to another Dog Monster in a nice suit. Yeah, just like the guys from his first venture into kidnapping and Rus wasn’t any kind of Sherlock Holmes, but even he could add 1 +1 = bullshit.

Edge only glanced at him with a flick of crimson eye lights, “This is my place of business, yes.”

The Dog stepped back, and the car eased down the narrow alleyway between the buildings. Rus barely choked back a cry of surprise as Edge abruptly veered the wheel into a hairpin turn right towards the building. The brick wall loomed and then vanished into a sort of tunnel, cutting off the afternoon sunshine. An underground parking area, Rus realized, and there was no old clunker of a van with a rose on the side painstakingly painted in his brother’s hand in sight. All the cars here resembled the one he was already in, sleek and shiny, every single one of them worth more than their shop with all its blooms and their house combined.

Edge pulled into an empty spot and shut off the engine. It only made the silence that much worse, bleak and complete. He started to turn towards Rus, hesitating when Rus flinched back helplessly, strangling on a yelp before it could be the first thing to fill the quiet.

“Easy,” Edge said, and there was a new inflection for that deep voice, one that Rus hadn’t heard before. Manners he’d gotten at the shop and this morning, anger. Today it was coaxing, almost a croon, trying to soothe him like Rus was a lost pet and something about that comparison stirred his already agitated temper. Edge reached over and Rus might’ve damn well bitten him, but he didn’t touch. His expression only darkened as his gloved fingertips hovered over the side of Rus’s face where it ached the most. He was probably bruised up, whoever nabbed him at the shop this morning had popped him a good one.

“Easy,” Edge said again, in that same cozening voice, “you’re safe here. Let’s go inside.”

"no." Rus crossed his arms over his chest and slumped back into the leather seat, scowling down in the direction of the glove box. The front of his apron was dotted with marrow, dried to a tacky maroon against the heavy dark green fabric. Rus scratched at one of the spots, watched as it flaked away into dust, but the stain remained. Probably even Blue’s terrifyingly efficient laundry skills wouldn’t be able to get it out.

There was a beat of silence, then, "What?"

"no!” Rus said again, infusing that single word with all the irritation and fear of the day, letting it pour out as he added. “i'm not getting out of this car until you explain to me what's going on."

He glanced at Edge out of the corner of his eye, half-expecting another round of that anger from this morning. Instead, he looked nonplussed, his brow bone drawn down into a frown. Suddenly, one corner of his mouth quirked up in a crooked smile. "So. You want to sit here in my car with me, alone, is that what you're saying?"

Startled, Rus’s head jerked up and Edge’s amused gaze was suddenly closer, the much-larger skeleton leaning over the gearshift right into his space and bracing his arm against the passenger side door. His bulk seemed to fill in any room that Rus wasn’t already taking up and Rus’s back was already pressed tight against the plush cushion of the seat. There was nowhere else to go as he sputtered out, "w-what?"

This close, the heady aroma Edge’s cologne was overwhelming, enormous, and worse, there was a hint of spice paired with it, a whiff of roused magic that paired with the sudden heat of his body so close to Rus’s. The only light was whatever overhead fluorescents could make it through the tinted windows and Edge’s scarlet eye lights tracing along Rus’s bruised face again. That voice Rus found so enticing before sent a strange tingle down his spine as Edge murmured, "My enemies already think you're mine. Perhaps you should be."

What. The. Fuck.

"i don't belong to anyone!" It sounded so weak, less a denial and more a sad kind of plea, which was stupid, because Rus wasn’t one of the flowers in their shop, he wasn’t something that could be owned, thank you very much!

"No?" Edge picked up his hand, prying it gently away from where it frantically gripped the side of his seat. Where his sleeve rode up, Rus could see the shadow of bruises left earlier by the ropes and he could only stared dumbly as Edge nuzzled at those mottled blotches, a light kiss on the inside of his wrist made Rus shudder, not in revulsion, no, he couldn’t name that feeling. Edge’s grip was so gentle, more cradling than holding and Rus could have pulled away if he wanted to, broken that hold so easily. So why wasn’t he?

"no…” Rus tried to protest, strengthless and lost, “you don't even know my name."

"I don't, you're correct in that," Edge agreed. He pressed another light kiss to Rus’s wrist, nudging his sleeve further up to investigate where the bone was unmarked and pure. "But I know you. You work all day in your little shop until noon when your brother comes in to relieve you for your lunch, which you go to eat at the corner park."

That woke him out of the daze that rich voice wove around him, innocuous as a spider’s web and twice as insidious. At least with a spider, you knew what they wanted from you. “you…you've been spying on me!"

"No,” Edge denied. His breath was hot against Rus’s bare wrist, his teeth scraping lightly against the slender, delicate bones as he spoke, “We have another place of business down the road from your shop and I can see the park from my office. I see you sitting alone on the bench, eating your sandwich and feeding crumbs to the birds and squirrels. I don’t know your name, but I saw your smile when I came into your shop. I know more of you than you might think."

He moved then, with a blurring speed, his face inches from Rus’s as he said, softly, "I am a very bad person, flower shop boy. If you saw my soul, you'd know that. And you…"

“please,” Rus whispered. He didn’t know what he was asking for.

His voice grew softer yet, almost a subsonic rumble. Hardly more than a breath as Rus stared up at Edge with sockets so wide, they ached. "You were a step into the sunshine out of the darkness. A fantasy that I never wanted made reality and yet, now you’re here and it is becoming very difficult to not embrace the dream. Now. Do you want to go inside, or would you rather stay here with me to discuss this further?”

The last was said with a sardonic lilt and it took a moment for Rus to realize he’d stopped talking, the former silence was overshadowed by the throb of his soul, so loud in his head Rus wondered wildly if Edge could hear it, too.

But the spell was well and truly broken and if this were only a ploy to get him out of the car, it worked. Rus opened the passenger door so quickly he nearly slammed it into a concrete support beam, almost falling onto the pavement in his effort to scramble away.

Edge exited with better grace, his smooth gait carrying him to where Rus still wobbled on his feet. “Inside, it is,” Edge drawled, his mouth tilted into a smirk, “Do you need help?”

“i can walk on my own!” Rus wasn’t so sure he could, but he wasn’t about to let this asshole carry him again. He let Edge get a few steps between them before he followed, staying out of arm’s reach. Pointless effort, the first place Edge led him was a service elevator, where Rus was forced to stand right next to him surrounded by stark wooden paneling and glaring overhead lights.

But when the door opened again, it was into far more lush surroundings. Ornate carpets ran down a hallway subtly lit with ornate sconces. On the left was a neutrally painted wall lined with artwork that was miles above the league of the cheap prints in their house from the thrift shop. On the right there was a row of angular glass, almost like skylights, looking down.

The glass was tinted and if television could be believed, Rus figured it was probably one-way. He lingered back as Edge walked on, peering down. They looked down into the club below them, the stage lights dimmed through the tint.

From this angle, Rus thought he could see the entire ground floor. The bar was furthest away, with its collection of tiny-looking bottles ready to be used by ant-sized bartenders. He could see the patrons sitting at their tables, the occasional glint of a glass as it was raised, and the stage itself with a scattering of poles.

There were only two dancers, probably it was too early to put on any kind of real show, and they were making the most of their minuscule audience. A searing blush heated Rus’s cheekbones as he watched a scantily clad Bun slide languidly down a slim pole to her high heels, strutting over to kneel in front of one of the Humans in the audience, cupping her bared breasts as if in offering.

“If you wanted to see the show, we could have gone in through the front door.”

Rus jerked, looking up wildly to find Edge waiting at the end of the hallway, his face unreadable.

“how can you run a place like this?” Rus burst out. He jabbed an accusing finger at the display below them. “how can you abuse your own people for money?”

“All of our staff is fairly compensated for their work,” Edge countered, “which a more than they could say if they worked for the Humans. Now come along.”

That sounded more like an order than anything else had and Rus grudgingly obeyed. It was a shameful relief; he didn’t really want to see some guy shoving bills into a mostly-nude woman’s g-string, anyway. He hunched down, his skull low between his shoulders and followed.

The second door led to another hallway, this one completely enclosed. More expensive carpets and artwork, more intricate wall sconces that made Rus feel like he was in weird, modern version of Dracula. Except this was only like, office space above a rinky-dink strip club so why did it feel like they were walking forever?

“why did you even bring me here?” Rus grumbled, trudging along as he watched his untied shoelaces bump along the carpet. “you told me you were taking me to my brother. i want to go home.”

“I did say that and I am,” Edge agreed. Stupid how even now that voice sent a trill up his spine, why was he such an idiot, anyway? “But I’m afraid you can’t go home, not yet. Nor can you go to your shop.”

Home wasn’t entirely unexpected, all things considered, and the shop shouldn’t have been, if he’d bothered to think about it. Rus halted, dismayed, “but our store—we were supposed to get the new coolers this morning!”

“It’s been taken care of.”

“more help? great. i think we’ve had more than enough help from you!”

"You really don't have a choice. This is my fault, so I’m going to keep you safe." Said matter-of-factly, with no room left for debate or argument.

That didn’t mean Rus wasn’t going to try. "i don't want you to keep me safe! i don’t want anything to do with you or any of this...” He gestured wildly at the walls, the carpets, club that couldn’t even be seen. “this horrible place!"

Edge halted so abruptly that Rus nearly ran into his back, half-tripping over his own laces. He looked up into Edge’s stoic face defiantly, silently daring him to contradict him.

“No one talks to me like that.” But Edge wasn’t angry. It was more like he was marveling over it, almost pleased, and Rus didn’t know what that meant, he didn’t know what any of this meant. All he knew was his head ached and frustrated tears were starting to gather at the corners of his sockets, held back only be sheer determination.

He fought to keep from squirming under that penetrating gaze and it, well, it softened, somehow, it was the only way to explain it. “Come on,” Edge said, again, and instead of leading, he silently shepherded Rus to walk next to him, a hand hovering without touching at the small of Rus’s back as a guide.

They finally stopped outside of one of the doors that was as nondescript as any of them rest of them. Edge knocked briefly, in a weird rat-tat-tat pattern, then opened the door.

After everything, Rus still wasn’t sure what to expect and this luxurious office definitely wasn’t on his mental list. A large, ornate wooden desk dominated the room though there wasn’t a scrap of paper in sight, surrounded by leather chairs and sofas. There was a side bar with various sized bottles and a tray of clean glasses, and the walls were lined with bookshelves, filled with leather-bound volumes that had Rus mentally salivating; he could only imagine what information was in them, much better than the meager offerings of the local library.

Better yet, Blue was sitting in an oversized leather chair, still in his work uniform and almost disappearing into the thick cushions. He struggled to his feet with a cry, running over with both arms outstretched to Rus. Who dropped to his knees, clinging to his big brother as he hadn’t since the day they came to the surface and with almost the same mix of emotions, fear and joy.

“Brother, I was so worried!” Tears brimmed in Blue’s sockets and overflowed down his rounded cheekbones. His starry eye lights dimmed as he reached up to lightly touch the bruises on the side of Rus’s face, too gently to cause even a hint of pain.

“i’m okay, blue, seriously,” Rus told him. But he didn’t let go, leaning into those comforting arms.

“ain’t that sweet, a family reunion.”

That made Rus jerk, turning to see a burly skeleton almost as broad was he was tall coming from around the desk. He wasn’t much taller than Blue and in his sharky grin was a glinting gold tooth. One that might shine even in the dim light in the backseat of a car.

“Brother, this is Red,” Blue gestured towards the squat skeleton, who was lighting a cigar, “Edge’s brother. He told me what happened.”

“did he?” Rus said, as neutrally as he could manage when he was staring face-first at the skeleton who’d offered him a chance to ‘make it a double’ that morning, whatever the hell that meant.

“yep,” Red said agreeably. His crimson eye lights glittered with dark amusement as he grinned around his cigar. “glad you’re okay, flower shop, musta been a hell of an ordeal, eh, bro?”

Edge was standing by the door, arms crossed over his broad chest. His face twisted as if he was tasting something sour and he said nothing.

Blue only nodded, mopping away his tears with a clean hankie, “When I got to the shop and it wasn’t open, I was so afraid, brother! I had no idea that there was any,” he lowered his voice as if he might be overheard by someone nefarious, never suspecting that the bad guys were already in the room, “gang activity in our area and I’ve no idea why they would target us, but Red assured me they can help us handle it.”

“and fer a very reasonable fee,” Red added with mocking cheer.

“A fee!” Rus spluttered, “but all this is—” Their fault, Rus couldn’t say, not when Blue began scolding.

“Now, brother, I understand how you feel, but honestly, it’s not fair to expect them to help us for free. They’re businessmen and they can’t simply offer charity,” Blue lowered his voice, whispering, “and if we have their help, then I won’t have to worry about you.” He turned to Edge then and said with trembling gratitude, “Thank you, for bringing him back to me.”

“You’re welcome,” Edge said gravely, and Rus seethed inwardly even as there came another knock at the door, that same rat-ta-tat as before. Edge cracked it open to reveal another Dog, this time in what looked like a butler’s uniform, like he’d stepped right out of the movie ‘Clue’ after taking tips from Tim Curry. “Please, show our guests to their room. They’ll be staying with us for a few days.”

The Dog nodded, waiting as Blue offered more profuse thank you’s for them ‘saving’ him and if Blue thought anything of Red’s wide grin and Edge’s calm silence, it didn’t show. He followed the Dog and Rus started to trail behind him.

“Wait.” A hand on his arm made Rus pause and he looked up at Edge, biting back what he wanted to say even as he looked uncomprehendingly at the thin black rectangle that suddenly appeared between Edge’s fingers. “Here.”

It was his missing phone. Rus snatched it away, powering it on and he couldn’t help but notice the wifi was already connected. Like someone had bypassed his password and took a peek, sonuvabitch.

Blue was looking at him expectantly and Rus muttered, “thank you,’ before hastily escaping out the door.

The room they were led to was almost as big as their entire house. There was a wide bed topped with down-filled pillows and a heavy duvet, surrounded by curtains that were pointless in a room with no windows. On the other side of the room was a sitting area with a wide sofa and on the coffee table there were a couple of trays with domed covers that could only be dinner. A shame Rus didn’t think he’d feel like eating for about a decade or so. A disinterested poke at the remote on the side table opened a panel to show a large television screen that Rus didn’t bother to turn on.

What a weird place, the inside seemed bigger than the out, like an evil Tardis or something.

Rus flopped down on the bed without even stripping off his apron, toeing off his sneakers to let them plop down to the floor. That Blue didn’t scold him for making mess was a pretty good tell of his mood. Instead, Blue boosted himself up onto the mattress, crawling across the wide expanse to sit next to Rus and his hand was gentle as he smoothed it over Rus’s skull. Rus let him, didn’t draw away as he considered what he wanted to say.

“blue,” Rus hesitated, and said carefully, “i don’t know if getting involved with these guys is such a good idea.”

His brother surprised him, admitting, “I’m not sure, either. But they said they can help us,” Blue offered him a tremulous smile. “Business has been a little on the slow side and we lost that money to that horrible thief we hired. Red told me they can help support us until we get the insurance money. Things will be better, then, I’m sure of it.”

Rus closed his sockets tightly, swallowing down any other objections, because he knew that tone. Things had been tough lately, he knew that, but his brother’s false cheer told a clear story that Blue hadn’t been updating him like he should’ve. If they didn’t go along with this, they’d lose everything.

They didn’t have a choice.

“sure, bro,” Rus tried to force some enthusiasm into it, wasn’t sure if he succeeded. He gave it about a fifty-fifty shot.

“You must be exhausted,” Blue said, still petting his skull, “You don’t need to talk about what happened right now, let me heal that for you and then you can get some rest.” Fiercely, he added, “It will be all right, brother, you’ll see!”

That soothing, familiar touch drifted down his bruised cheekbone, fingertips going warm as Blue pushed healing into the injured bone. Getting healed always made Rus sleepy and he drifted off before his brother could finish, basking in his Blue’s gentle affection and care.

When he woke, the room was dark and Blue was asleep beside him, the bed so large they didn’t touch even with their arms outstretched. He fumbled for his phone, squinting at the too-bright screen that told him it was after midnight. As late as it was and as exhausted, he still couldn’t fall back asleep, his weary thoughts tumbling over and over themselves, an endless thumping dryer inside his mind.

They’d be staying for a few days, Edge said. Days of the shop being closed, days of the flowers not being properly tended, stock lost along with missing out on deliveries, walk-in purchases, any sales at all. Blue said Red offered to help but, what if that was all for show? They could lose the shop and if they did, the house would be next. Everything they’d worked so hard for.

This was all Edge’s fault, yeah, sure, and Rus still didn’t know exactly why, but it was the truth. A truth that didn’t even matter because lying here fuming about it wasn’t helping. What he needed to do was make sure Edge forced his brother to keep his promises to help them and Rus wasn’t sure how. It wasn’t like he had anything to barter, even the shop was technically in Blue’s name.

Except. There was one thing Rus knew that Edge wanted. Oh, he’d tried to deny it this morning and then went the complete opposite way this afternoon, but Rus was pretty sure he understood what was up with that. A failed attempt to protect him from…whoever, at this point Rus should probably start a list…and beneath that was the truth.

Edge wanted him, that much Rus knew and maybe if he…if Rus gave it to him. Maybe if he offered to give Edge whatever he wanted, they could be sure their shop was safe.

Lying in the wide, unfamiliar bed, Rus swallowed hard. In his daydreams, he’d been eager for something like this, tumbling into bed with his tall, mysterious stranger and even now that Rus knew the truth, a faint warmth throbbed once between his legs at the thought.

His soul was less certain, shrinking back in his rib cage. Rus ignored it, slipping out from between the sheets. All he had to do was offer and endure, who knew, he might even like it. Didn’t matter if he did. If it kept their shop open, Rus would do whatever it took.

It was worth a shot.

tbc

Read Next Chapter

#spicyhoney #papcest #keelywolfe #underfell #underswap #mafia au #underfell papyrus #underswap papyrus

34 notes · View notes

hotarutranslations · 4 years ago

Text

#MSMW...!

Evening

Its Ishida Ayumi

It was about until midnight last night

Tsunku-san,

Live stream Entertainment Salon

I got to go on it~!

Those that watched it,

thank you very much!

Thank you for waiting lol

By the way saying that,

It seems you can watch the archive from now

Therefore if you ended up missing it, its ok

If you are interesting I'd definitely been happy if you watched

Ishida-san,

cried a bit

Aha

I really got to talk a lot,

with Tsunku-san,

I've never been asked questions like that before......

It was really a valuable time!

It was fun!

It was funny! lol

More details to come,

Updated every Wednesday,

I'll write about it in Tokyo Sports Note

For those who know about Entertainment Salon,

I'm you are probably here but,

For those people, I want you to read the note!

Not just yesterdays side,

the stage me as well,

the a bit more idol me as well,

I want you to see and know about it...

......I wonder where I could send that out~

It'd be nice if you found your way to the blog!

Yahho--!

Entertainment Salon is here

On the Tokyo Sports note,

I hint at the information before it is lifted←

The surprise in March I had warned about,

Its something from today!

"M-line Special 2021 ~Make a Wish!~"

Tanaka Reina-san

Suzuki Airi-san

PINK CRES's,

Natsuyaki Miyabi-san,

Kobayashi Hikaru-san,

Nihei Yuka-san,

Miyamoto Karin-chan,

Those appearing in the concert,

Today was a performance in Sendai but,

With that,

I got to appear,

as a secret guest

Its surprising!!! right!!!

Thats right,

I got to be a secret guest...

Before my seniors,

"The special guest!"

to be introduced?

nah nah nah......

is what it was like! lol

I was nervous~~~

But, it was really fun

I got to spend this luxurious time

"Ijiwaru Shinaide Dakishimete yo"

Taking the place of Miyamoto Karin-chan when she was injured,

I got to participate as a guest in the MV

For the first time here today,

Beside Karin-chan on stage,

we performed it

Amazing~~~~~

Fate has a way of coming back,

like how its connected? That feeling? lol

Also,

Tanaka Reina-san and I...... <3

Really if Harunan was here,

The 3 of us have a song,

But Karin-chan sang it <3

"Watashi no Dekkai Hana"

I love it, this precious song,

To listen to Tanaka-san's singing voice,

I didn't think the dream,

to sing the song again in this way would happen so,

My ears, really enjoyed it

It was super duper cool

Tanaka-san's singing......

I was desperate from 2012~13,

Even when we were working together,

although I got to listen to it a lot,

I didn't know anything,

Now,

it really struck me

With rhythm, sound pressure, vocal expression,

Also her unique singing voice,

I think I love it

Today in the dressing room I was just with Tanaka-san... <3

And we also got to talk there,

man,

hey,

Do know what I wanted to say? lol

I really, like it

"One Two Three"

Standing on stage with Tanaka-san together,

I'm really happy

was the last song we performed

awaawaawa...

do you know that?

I get to sing it with now with Fukumura Mizuki-san but

Um,

isn't there a duet in the A melo,

Originally, it was Tanaka-san's and Sayashi-san's part

This was Sayashi and Ishida→ Fukumura and Ishida

With Tanaka-san,

it was the first time

<3 (What emotions lol)

I was nervous from the rehearsals

In this way? This way! There! like that,

But, going with Tanaka-san's rhythm,

in particular the hook, it had the feeling of crips words!

Everyone sang One Two Three,

She was pulling me along

(my impression)

I thought, what should I dooo

Man really,

I was really fearful at first

Todays concert, Tanaka-san, Suzuki-san, PINK CRES-san, Karin-chan, and with all of the fans gathered,

Certainly, surely there are fans that have moved away from Hello Pro,

as an active member in Hello! Project,

Just performing as myself alone,

I thought of it as my chance to appeal to you

Now, also as an active member of Hello! Project,

I did my best in this way,

There have been so many changes since then!!!

Counting how long its been since Tanaka-san graduated,

7 or 8 years.....

What did you think of it... fufu

I did my best to convey it,

Today standing on stage,

Everyone~

I thought it would be hopeless,

but I got a lot of warm applause

Ishida, did her best I think

Thank you for cheering us on!

Aah! This is a long blog! lol

I'm just talking about myself!

With the seniors I love

I was really able to be with everyone today,

it was fun

Tanaka Reina-san

Natsuyaki Miyabi-san

Suzuki Airi-san

Also Karin-chan

Being near such cool people,

It was really luxurious! Hello Pro is the best!

Kobayashi Hikaru-san and Nihei Yuka-san

If you talk with her the more interesting she is lol

But I super respect the super senior of Hello Pro

it was my first time singing and dancing with these 2,

talked a lot and got along with them!

Also,

Hikaru-san's rap is the best

Nihei-san is a good at singing, funny older sister <3 ←

Aah! Those 3's performance

Since I was shown something wonderful,

From all of the fans that can't cheer,

with their never ending applause,

I also got kind of teary-eyed......

I'll do my best at tomorrows rehearsals

Kacho Fuugetsu

Osaka performance ticket sales page is here

Next week, we're starting on March 13th

Thank you for your support

Tomorrow's announcement

The remote radio will be airing live

7th (Sun) 10:00~1:00PM

Nippon Cultural Broadcast

"Society 5.0 Shangri-la"

Program HP

Twitter

Please definitely listen!

Scheduled to appear in the 10th era,

I got to properly talk so,

Last,

I'll write about it again

"Ara Ara Kashiko"

Thank you to those who watched it~

Iroha Yokocho~

See you ayumin <3

https://ameblo.jp/morningmusume-10ki/entry-12660793946.html

#Ishida Ayumi #Morning Musume '21 #Morning Musume #Hello! Project #Translation #Blog

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charlie-freakin-essex · 4 years ago

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ILLUSION OF CHOICE || self para

Charlie really wasn’t sure how he got here.

Physically, sure, he’d walked. Down a few flights of chilled stone stairs and through the labs to a dingy office, third on the left, with one of the only Echo stations that still boasted video functionality. Charlie knew he wasn’t supposed to talk about it because Trent had apparently pulled some strings to get them access, and even then their check-ins had to be fewer and relatively far between in comparison to how much they’d interacted at first. It made sense; if Trent was functionally more of an instructional, controller figure, then after the four month introductory period to colony life at number 4, he’d be more hands-off once Charlie transferred to 22. They still messaged -- simple, repetitive notes or the occasional minor task -- but these larger check-ins they’d only had twice before. He booted up the terminal to be told the call was pending.

Charlie let his mind wander. He still wasn’t sure how he’d gotten here, to such a drastic departure from how he’d been playing the game thus far. Colony life had obviously changed things a great deal, shifting focus from the action-adventure of exploring the Wastes to the political intrigue and relationship building of living in close quarters, long-term, with a much larger and deeper cast of characters. His feelings on it were still terribly mixed. There was a lot about it that frustrated him; an inability to leave and explore whenever he wanted, regardless of any promises that he’d come back. The politics of everything still felt very over his head, and the more he got to know the Infected population at the colony the more he was starting to assume the game intended to blur as much morality as possible. It was complex and interesting but occasionally frustrating, and didn’t quite feel like what he signed up for. That being said: Charlie knew he technically didn’t sign up for anything. Not of his own free will. His choices, no matter how much they felt like his choices, belonged to his player.

Now Charlie was wondering if those choices extended to Ricky.

Ricky felt like Charlie’s own choice, however sudden and unexpected. Cambie and Andee had felt like his own choices, too, but it’d also felt largely out of his control that either were ultimately made unavailable. Charlie might’ve chosen Ricky earlier if he’d even known the option existed, but… it seemed as though the road that’d gotten them to where they were was twisted with complications and the fulfillment of requirements Charlie didn’t fully realize existed.

He tilted his head back, peering up at the ceiling for a moment. It didn’t seem as though Ricky would simply become available because the other two options weren’t, even if it felt oddly convenient to occur the same night Charlie learned Cambie was off the table. Maybe it was some sort of final condition, one of a string that Charlie had unwittingly fulfilled. Maybe it was because Charlie wasn’t actively trying, wasn’t laying it on too thick, that he somehow succeeded without even realizing he was playing.

That seemed like a complicated fucking algorithm, but… Ricky was complicated. That was the whole reason Charlie had always liked him; he had quirks, he had dimension, he had bits and pieces of past and personality that Charlie was still puzzling out. Maybe he’d been too focused on that to notice any other signs that there was some sort of romantic option there. Charlie had given him a gift or two early on in their friendship and both had been met with a sort of confusion. Ricky rarely talked about romance, and when he did, it was more to dissuade Charlie than anything else. Maybe that’d been some early sign Charlie had missed, but because he’d still been eager to keep Ricky as a friend, he’d fallen into the right answer anyway.

Charlie turned his thoughts to more recent events. It couldn’t have had anything to do with their conversation regarding the Deluded -- could it? Ricky had avoided him for days after that, not even messaging when they tended to do so incessantly in each others’ absence. Charlie knew he’d said something right in the moment to get Ricky to stay, so the subsequent radio silence had been… confusing. Charlie had known well enough to give him space, hard as it’d been, so maybe that’d been the right choice, too? Because the evening of the victory party, Ricky had just shown up like nothing had happened.

Charlie pursed his lips. It wasn’t just a simple reset, was it? A beat had still been skipped; things weren’t perfect between them at first, but the time apart seemed easy to forget. Ricky hadn’t brought it up, so neither had Charlie. He knew there was no way Ricky forgot the conversation, but something about the space Charlie had given him provided enough room for it to at least be set aside. Charlie presumed it was best not to test that, and wouldn’t be bringing the topic up again anytime soon.

All he knew now was that choosing Ricky -- whoever’s choice it happened to be -- had been easy. Charlie didn’t regret it and doubted he ever would, even if it felt as though he’d been given next to no time to process or prepare. He didn’t see his decision changing even if he’d had the room to consider.

There was still something about the night that nagged at him, though it had nothing to do with Ricky. There were simply some things that'd felt... off. Little blips. Nothing at the time, everything had felt perfect in the moment; it was more with the 20/20 clarity of hindsight that Charlie started to get fuzzy on some aspects. Like a shape out of the corner of his eye that disappeared if he tried to face it head-on. That was the only thing that bothered him; a more tangible hint of what Charlie already knew, that he wasn’t always -- maybe never was -- in control of his own choices. At the same time, he would’ve made the same choice if it’d been presented solely to him, so did he really have any right to be upset? He was happy, so why this need to second-guess the means that got him there?

“Essex.”

Charlie blinked, catching the pen he’d been twirling over the top of his thumb -- a new idle animation, apparently. He didn’t know he could do that. “Sorry, sir.”

Icarus sighed. The picture quality was as mediocre as it had been the last couple calls, but Charlie didn’t need more clarity to recognize Trent’s frustration. “You’ve barely been paying attention the past twenty minutes. I just need to know if you fulfilled the most recent task I gave you.”

“I did.” Charlie nodded, carefully setting the pen aside. His hands immediately felt too empty; he laced his fingers, decided quickly he didn’t like that, either, and eventually just rested his hands palms-down on the cool surface of the desk. Charlie didn’t remember what the task was, only that he’d done it, so he was relieved when Trent seemed to take him at his word.

“You seem more distracted than last time. Is everything alright?”

Charlie nodded again, eyes on Trent’s grainy figure. “Everything’s fine.”

“No notable developments?” Trent asked this often, though this time his tone was inscrutable.

“No notable developments, sir.”

#self para.#d. d'mornay.#e. trent.#had to get this out of my/his system #or it would've been a narrative dump in some other thread no one asked for lmao

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geewithluv · 4 years ago

Text

lust is love adjacent | knj

PAIRING: Kim Namjoon X Reader

WORD COUNT: 4.2k

GENRE: smut, fluff, fwb (kinda)

RATING: 18+

WARNING: mostly sex, some plot, dom/sub undertones, dom!namjoon, daddy kink, unconfessed feelings, overstimulation, oral (f receiving), fingering (f receiving), dirty talk, unprotected sex, fluffy ending

SUMMARY: During a group vacation, Y/N and NJ are pretending/denying they aren’t in love and they innocently think their friend group is clueless about their feelings. [made for @bangtan-headquarters Bangtan Boardwalk Summer!]

The bonfire was supposed to be a calm event. Less than a dozen friends on the beach spending a much-needed vacation together. Nothing full of tension.

Nevertheless, you sat across the fire from Namjoon. The reddish-orange flames illuminate both pairs of eyes as you stare at each other. Knowing what the other wanted. It was an open secret of sorts. Everyone knew you and Namjoon were together.

But not together. Not really, at least.

You had never put words to what you were. Never told anyone either. But they knew. They knew because at least once a week Namjoon would try to sneak you into the dorm when he thought everyone was asleep. But Jungkook was awake and focused on a video game that wasn’t loud enough to muffle out the sound of the front door opening and closing. And Yoongi, taking a break from creating music, hadn’t soundproofed his room well enough to miss the stifled giggles and whispers of ‘I missed you’ as you two made your way into Namjoon’s room. Hoseok was always up early in the mornings, scrolling through his phone when Namjoon helped you sneak out every day. He had almost caught you once and decided from then on he’d wait in his room a little longer in the mornings so his friend had a few extra ‘see you soon’ kisses before leading you out the door.

They knew. They all knew very well. This is why no one was really surprised that you two were so focused on each other during what was supposed to be a group event. Sure, they found it a little annoying. But they hoped, secretly, that you two would muster up the courage to tell them what was going on. But they didn’t know the two of you needed to figure it out first.

Namjoon was too kind. You were sure of that. So giving, so considerate, never pushing. Until you asked him. Until the nights you had him fully alone and didn’t need to worry about being too loud and alerting one of the other members. He could make you loud. Too loud. So loud it was embarrassing the first few times until he was able to convince you that he loved how loud you were because he knew that was all him. Kim Namjoon. The man with a million perfectly placed words who had never told you how he felt for you. Not really, at least. He had written you many poems. Just songs without the music, he said. Sometimes you received them in writing, a piece of nice cardstock, words written delicately in black ink, stamped and sent to your mailbox even though you had seen him in between the sending and delivery of the letter. Sometimes you got poems in text messages sent 5 minutes before your lunch break because he wanted you to have something to smile about so you didn’t stress out about work during your 30 minutes of rest. Sometimes they were voice memos sent at 2 AM. His voice sleepy but he’d tell you he couldn’t rest until he told you. He’d ask you why you were up so late when you’d reply thanking him for the words and you’d tell him you couldn’t rest until you heard him.

But he never told you, in simple words, how he felt about you. Instead, his fingers would lace with yours when you tried to stop gripping the bedsheets so tight you were sure they’d rip and he’d look deep into your eyes as you cried out in bliss and he’d tell you how beautiful you looked for him. Just for him. On occasion, he’d make you repeat it, make you tell him that you were really just for him. You’d comply, no hesitation. Because you truly believed you were just for him. Only him. But he had never claimed you as his. Never gave you a reason to tell guys that were hitting on you that you were happily taken. Instead, he’d let you fall into his arms after a particularly hard day at work and cry into his chest and he’d tell you. “I’ve got you. I’ve always got you. I’m always here.” And he’d put on your favorite movie, grab your favorite snacks, cuddle in your favorite position, and hold you until you fell asleep. And he’d hold you until the sun rose in the morning and you’d have to part ways.

Even now, separated only by a pile of burning logs, you were sure you were staring right into his soul, begging it to tell you how he felt. But his soul stayed silent. It didn’t tell you how you were the first thing on his mind in the mornings. It didn’t tell you how many nights he stayed awake in hotel rooms in a different time zone waiting for you to get off work just so he could hear your voice before he went to bed. It didn’t tell you how many scraps of paper inked with words spilling his heart out to you went into the garbage as he insisted they weren’t good enough for you. His soul didn’t tell you how after every live performance he’d ask if you had watched, he’d ask if you liked it, if you thought he did well. It didn’t tell you how long he would spend on cloud nine when you told him you loved it and he did so well.

Jin broke you out of your thoughts, “I’m getting tired.” He stood up, stretching with a groan. It was growing late, and perhaps he was tired of watching you and Namjoon try to figure out telepathy.

“Alright, old man.” A friend of the group laughed as Yoongi and Jimin took it upon themselves to put the fire out and you all started to clean up the empty beer bottles and towels. The rented beach house was spacious. It was a beach mansion, you thought when you had arrived. It had 2 guest houses so everyone got their own space, even if it was just a cornered off living room. It was amazing you guys found the place.

The movement from the hot summer air into the cool air-conditioned house made you shiver. A motion that didn’t go unnoticed by Namjoon. Looking over at you making sure nothing had gone wrong but not missing the way your nipples had pebbled under the thin cotton of your tank top. How could he miss that? He couldn’t. He knew your body too well. Knew exactly how your breasts would feel in his hands, how your nipples would feel between his teeth as he tugged just slightly. He knew just how you’d moan when he’d do it.

“Y/N.” He muttered, stopping you from going into your room. Taehyung pretends he doesn’t notice you two stopped in the hallway as he slips into his room, closing the door and hoping you two take it somewhere that he can’t hear you.

“What is it?” You look up at him, a silly question. You knew what he wanted, you knew exactly what he had stopped you for. Not that you minded, of course. But you knew he wasn’t about to ask if he could borrow a pair of headphones but rather if he could borrow your company for the night.

“Come to mine.” His voice lowered, it wasn’t a question. He didn’t need to ask anyway, he knew you’d do it. He lowered his mouth to your ear. “No one else is there, you can be as loud as you want.” His lips nipped at your neck. Namjoon was in the pool house rather than an actual bedroom. It wasn’t large enough for two beds and the older pull out sofa was plenty for him especially when it meant no one had to share a space. You knew he truly meant you could be loud when you were in there. It was nearly soundproof and everyone else would be inside their own rooms. Earlier in the trip, the door had closed with the radio blaring inside and it became silent.

“What if I don’t want to?” You tease, he lets out a soft groan. Annoyed that you would deny both of you the inevitable pleasure for even a moment longer. He doesn’t respond. Verbally, that is. He just wraps his lips around that certain spot on your neck and sucks just how you like it. His teeth softly grazing the skin while you try to suppress a moan.

“C’mon.” Namjoon tells you, grabbing your hand and leading you away with him. As the door closes to the pool house and Namjoon pulls the curtains shut. You allow yourself to gaze at the man. Selfishly, so. You’d spent so much of the trip pretending you weren’t so utterly entranced by him. Pretending you didn’t know how he looked naked, sweat still beaded on his skin from a performance, his breath hardly calmed since he had just gotten off stage but he insisted he needed you. You had to act as if you weren’t completely in lov--

“See something you like?” His voice breaks your trance. He pulls his shirt over his head in one swift motion. Exposing his broad chest to you.

“I sure do.” You smile as he crosses the room to where you sit on the sofabed.

“Good,” he pushes you to lay down, climbing on top of you. Your body trapped between his biceps, “It’d be such a shame if you didn’t like the body that’s going to wreck yours tonight.” He bends his head down to kiss your lips. Softly, delicately, as if his words didn’t give a different plan for the night. His tongue grazes yours and you can still taste a hint of the beer. “Let’s get you out of these.” He starts tugging at your clothing. A tanktop way too thin for his liking and shorts way too short for his liking. Clothes he’d rather you not wear around a group of horny guys but you weren’t his to argue with about that. He kinda hoped you wore them just to tease him. You were. Of course. No one else’s attention mattered. You could walk into a room and get 50 of the most eligible bachelors hard in an instant but it wouldn’t matter unless it was him.

“Don’t rip. I’ve still gotta leave in the morning.” You say, he had a habit of ripping your clothes. Sometimes on purpose, sometimes an accident. You keep telling yourself not to wear such thin panties if you don’t want him to rip them. But you wear them, nevertheless.

“Or don’t leave.” He suggests once you’re naked under him. You look at him questioningly. Recognizing that’s not an option. “I could tell them you got sick.” He reasons.

“And went to your room?” You question, helping him remove his pants.

“We’ll figure it out later.” A usually so well-prepared man who often found himself so unprepared and okay with it when it came to you. “Now,” he stands up, biting his lip as he looks at you. One hand palming his cock through his boxers, “anything else you want to say? Or can I eat you out now?” There was an obvious answer but he didn’t even wait for it. Instead, he sinks to his knees at the foot of the bed and pulls you by your hips right up to his waiting mouth. The first lick at your waiting pussy was his favorite taste. And every lick after that too.

“Fuck.” You mutter. You’re not sure you’ll ever get used to his tongue on you. The way his hands dig at your skin, not letting you move away from him even a little. He forces you to fall victim to his mouth. One hard suck at your clit has you quickly slapping a hand over your mouth to muffle the noises. He doesn’t like that. He wants to hear how good he’s making you feel just as much as he wants to taste it. He reaches up with one hand, not slowing, and slaps at your arm. Light enough so he doesn’t hurt you (there’s a time for that later), but hard enough that you know exactly what he wants. His hand doesn’t fall back to your hip though. It moves lower and you feel his fingers circle at your entrance. His mouth moves away before he lets his fingers dip into your core. He wants to watch your face as he does it. You lock eyes with him, his mouth is shiny from your wetness. Once he has your attention, he pushes two long fingers inside of you and basks in the way your back curves at the intrusion. An inhale and soon a longing exhale as the pleasure moved through you.

“You look so beautiful.” He says quietly, to himself more than to you. He becomes mesmerized in the way his fingers pump in and out of you. He pulls his fingers out of you completely, watching long thin strings of your juices connect his fingertips to your pussy. You whine, not wanting to be empty any longer. Namjoon’s eyes meet yours again. A cocky grin on his face as you start pleading for him to keep going. “So needy.” He says, using a scolding tone as if you had done something wrong. As if he didn’t love just how needy you are for him. Namjoon gets onto the bed and motions for you to shift up so your legs are no longer hanging over the end. Now face to face, Namjoon slides his fingers back inside of you. As much as he enjoyed how your lips parted and moans and sighs of pleasure fell out, he couldn’t help but kiss you. He felt as if he could kiss you forever and forever wouldn’t be long enough to fully satisfy him. He quickens the pace of his fingers, curling at just the right angle making you moan into his mouth. He runs his other hand up the side of your body, stopping at your breast and gripping it tightly. The sudden harshness would’ve made you jolt if you had anywhere to move. Namjoon kneads the flesh in his hand, massaging the pain away. When he stops kissing you, you want to protest but before you can his lips are trailing light kisses from the side of your mouth, across your cheek, and down to your neck.

“Namjoon…” His name falls from your lips as his lips attach to your neck. His fingers are still pumping away inside your pussy and his other hand is now pulling at your nipple. “Namjoon!” You say a bit louder as all the sensations start to build up and you reach your heights.

“Cum for me.” Namjoon responds, he moves his head back up to watch you. His demand breaks the spell holding you back and you let go. Clenching around his fingers, back arching. He doesn’t stop finger fucking you, making sure you ride out your orgasm fully. When he’s sure that you’ve finished, he kisses you softly. “Good girl.” He says as if you’re finished for the night. But you know better. You didn’t need to open your eyes to know he was moving down the bed and in between your legs. You hold your breath, waiting to feel his mouth on you. You know you’re dripping, he loved how wet you got after you came. And you’re sure he’s trying to memorize how you look right now.

You knew it was coming and yet you were still so unprepared. “Fuck!” You yell, louder than you wanted when his mouth comes in contact with your pussy. Top lip right above your clit and bottom lip under your hole. He moves his lips like he’s french kissing. Tongue prodding at your hole just a little. A wet noise reaches your ears when he pulls away.

“Taste so good, baby.” He tells you. “Think you can cum again? Cum on my tongue?” He asks, it’s not really a question. You nod, though. Maybe your brain is still clouded from the first orgasm to realize what you were agreeing to, a night of overstimulation. You’re almost two orgasms in and he hasn’t even fucked you yet. You feel his mouth back on you and try to, weakly, shift your hips away. Your body reacting instinctively. Namjoon’s arms make sure you don’t go anywhere but further into his mouth though.

“Please, please, please.” Your hands move into his hair. You’re not sure if you’re begging him to stop or begging him for more. A little of both. As much as your body wants to move away from the stimulation, your brain wants more. Your brain wants everything Namjoon can give you. His tongue swirls around your throbbing clit and he basks in the sounds you make. The second orgasm follows the first one closely, you wonder with the bit of energy you have left to do so, if you’ll have recovery time between the inevitable third orgasm. “I’m c--” You can’t finish your sentence, but he knows. He can feel you clenching, ready to release into his waiting mouth.

“That’s it. Cum on daddy’s tongue.” Namjoon briefly moves his mouth from you just to wrap his plump lips around your clit and gives it a harsh suck. You moan, more of a scream, much louder than intended as you cum. He slows his actions, letting you calm before he removes all stimuli. If it wasn’t for him trying to waive the pain of overstimulation, he’d stay between your legs much longer tasting your release. “Did so good, babydoll.” He praises as he moves away. Your chest rises and falls as your vision clears.

“Joonie…” You say as he moves up the bed back to you.

“I’m right here.” He tells you, kissing a tear off of your rosy cheeks. His arms wrap around you. “Think you can go again?” He asks, it’s a genuine question this time. Most other guys you’ve been with would make you feel like there was a right answer and a wrong answer. Not Namjoon. There were a few occasions where you said you couldn’t and he was perfectly fine though he hadn’t had his own release. Held you through the night. Texted you the next day. No harsh feelings.

“Yeah.” You answer.

“Babydoll.” He cups your cheeks so you look at him. “I don’t think I’ve seen you cum so hard from just my mouth. Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I want you. I want more.” You try your best to reassure him.

“We can--”

“Please, daddy.” You move your hips up as best you can to grind against his still clothed cock. Letting him know just how serious you are. Namjoon laughs, it’s a low chuckle.

“Alright,” he bites his inner cheek, “if you want it that way, I’ll give it to you that way.” He slides his underwear off. “Just can’t get enough, huh?” He asks as he positions himself between your legs. Either of his hands on your thighs. “Look at you, your legs haven’t even stopped shaking and that pretty pussy is still dripping and yet you want more. Such a little slut.” He moves your legs up so your thighs are near your chest and your calves rest on his broad shoulders.

“Just for you.” You tell him, whispering as if it’s a secret. Maybe it is.

“My pretty little slut.” He hums as the head of his cock gently pushes at your entrance. You squirm as best you can under his hold trying to help speed him along. “Hold on, I’ll give you what you want, babydoll. You’re so impatient.” He scolds you with a smirk.

“Wanna feel you in me, daddy.” You whine while he drags the dark pink tip along your folds, loving how it looks and feels as your juices coat him.

“I know, I know. Daddy’s gonna fill you real good.” You hardly have time to really see his jaw clench before you feel him push into you. Just the head pops in but it’s enough to make you let out a long moan. Namjoon moves slowly, fucking just the tip into you. “Still so damn tight.” He groans.

“More, please. Need more, daddy.” The shallow penetration isn’t enough to fulfill the need for yet another orgasm. He listens, thankfully. Pushing another inch in. Some nights, he rushes to fuck you, pushing in all at once and pounding away like a jackrabbit. Other nights, like tonight, he loves how you try to move toward him to get him deeper and he wants to feel every inch of you. He fucks an inch in, pulls out until just the head sits at your entrance, then he fucks another inch in and repeats the process until he’s finally, after what feels like years, fully inside of you. You would bet money that you could see the imprint of his dick through your stomach. You’re always amazed at just how far he can go into you, and always amazed at how good it feels.

“Your little cunt’s taking me so well, doll.” He says, leaning down so your foreheads are pressed together. One hand on one of your thighs, the other lightly placed on your neck. “I don’t think I can go on tour, gotta stay with you, keep you stretched out.” He murmurs as he starts speeding up.

“Daddy!” You cry out, your hand clasps his bicep as the slight pain of his ruthless fucking turns to pleasure.

“Clenching already? Just a little cum machine tonight, aren’t you?” He repositions so he’s keeling in front of you, pushing your legs as far back as they’ll go and he’s hitting new depth. You can’t even moan, you want to, you feel like you’re screaming but your vocal cords won’t let you. Namjoon bites his lip, watching as your eyes roll back and your legs start quivering. “Gonna cum on daddy’s cock, gonna make daddy’s cock all nice and wet, aren’t you?”

“Oh my-- Fuck! Daddy!” You yell as you hit a third orgasm. Namjoon doesn’t slow. In fact, if anything, he speeds up. Praises leave his mouth as keeps abusing your pussy.

“One more, babydoll. Just one more.” He grunts. “Fuck. You’re so beautiful. My beautiful baby girl.” It’s the smack to your clit that does it. You’re not quite sure if you actually came or just got really close but just as Namjoon starts filling you up, your vision goes black. It’s not the first time you’ve passed out during sex. Though the first was terrifying to Namjoon, he’s bragged about both occasions he’s managed to fuck you so good you blackout. It’s roughly 5 seconds later when you come to enough to feel his cum dripping down your thighs and Namjoon pulling you into his chest. Not a bad way to gain consciousness.

“Joon…” You mutter, letting him know you’re awake.

“Shh, I got you.” His hands run up and down your back as he lays you both down. He on his back and you curled into his side. “Just lay here a bit, then we’ll get all cleaned up.” His voice is soothing and you wonder how you can convince him to record an audiobook for you.

You two don’t end up getting cleaned, both falling asleep in sheets you’re sure to be disgusted by in the morning. Namjoon’s phone wakes him up and you soon after. “Morning, doll.” He says with a sleepy smile and gives your nose a small peck. It’s too loving for people who are still considered ‘fuck-buddies’. You don’t mind. Of course, you don’t. How could you? And he doesn’t mind either. And that’s all that matters, right?

“Too early.” You mumble, snuggling back into his side.

“You don’t even know what time it is.” A laugh rumbles through his chest.

“Early.”

“We’ve gotta get up.” Namjoon rolls himself and you over so he’s on top of you.

“Do we?” You cock an eyebrow at him.

“Weren’t you the one who was trying to figure out how to go back to the main house undetected?”

“We’ll figure it out.” You shrug as best you can from under him.

“Or,” he hums, “we could just tell them how in love I am with you and they can fill in the rest.” He suggests. He sounds confident but you can practically hear his heart racing at the confession.

“You love me?”

“I’m in love with you.” Namjoon clarifies.

“Good.” You smile.

His eyebrows furrow. “Good?”

“‘Cause I’m in love with you too.” You lean up to kiss him.

“Does that mean you’re my girlfriend now?”

“I think so.” You giggle.

He breaks into a smile. “I think this is cause for celebration.” Namjoon decides.

“Celebration?”

“Of course!” He says as if it’s obvious. “How should we celebrate, my love?”

“I think a shower.” You wince thinking about the dried remnants of the night before.

“A celebratory shower it is!” He scoops you up into his arms leading you to not your first shower together. But the first one as an official couple.

FIN.

#bb2020 #bts reactions #bts smut #bts imagines #bts fanfic

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cyberneticfire · 5 years ago

Text

Rude Awakening

(Credit to Void!Al goes to @daydream-squad!)

(Takes place after Epilogue)

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel

Characters: Alastor, Charlie Magne, Angel Dust, Niffty, Husk

TW: Panic Attack, Self-Harm, Vomit

~~~

Alastor didn’t wake all at once. His thoughts were sluggish, limbs were slow to respond, and his senses were all askew. He was uncomfortably warm. There wasn’t the empty coolness that came with the lack of air in the void; there was something smooth and soft beneath him and a fabric that made him itch to move away. The deer sank deeper into the plush instead with a barely audible sigh.

The gentle crackle of static weaving out of his chest screeched to a stop as red eyes pried open to peer into the darkness. They shut immediately after not being met with the familiar endless abyss. That wasn’t right.

There was ticking, tapping, a radio somewhere that made his ears twitch in discomfort after being in silence with nothing but his own thoughts and voice for so long. Alastor decided the headache was worth not being in the dark like that any longer, so he let his eyes open slowly and adjust to the dim lighting of the room. His room.

“What-” a cough wracked his body at the horrid scratching in throat, and he grasped at it in distress. Why was his throat so sore? A flash of white on his arm accompanied the movement and drew his attention next. The confusion, dread mix swirling in his stomach only got worse at the uncertainty of his situation. Bandages? This wasn’t… a hallucination. It felt too real.

His claws shifted to scratch at the wraps around his arms as he looked around. What the hell had happened? Light wasn’t filtering in through the window, so it must’ve been late. Alastor was beginning to hate this recurring cycle of pain, unconsciousness, then confusion. It left him with less dignity every time, and yet, what did he have left of that? No, if any of this was real, then that meant Charlie had been there, and he was really back at the Hotel.

A soft click had black and red ears perking and Alastor’s head swiveling towards the door. The princess of Hell slid her way into the room, a hint of salt and something steamy making the deer demon lean forward in enticement. A tray was clutched in Charlie’s hands and she jolted upon seeing the Radio Demon dial-eyed and drooling at the smell of a simple broth.

“Oh-! Er, you’re up!” Her fingers tightened imperceptibly around the tray before she noticed him picking at the bandages. Her entire demeanor changed in an instant, and she was at his side immediately, nerves replaced with worry and irritation as she fussed over him. “Don’t tear the bandages, Al, you’re going to hurt yourself again- or more!”

Static buzzed as Alastor shrunk back at the sudden proximity, ears drooping, smile stiffening while his gaze flicked between Charlie’s concerned expression and the soup. The demon belle was obviously exhausted as well, dark circles prominent beneath her eyes, but with every breath making his stomach ache it was rather hard to focus on that. Food was right there out of reach.

Charlie’s eyes softened at the lack of response and the way the deer curled into himself instead of speaking or making himself bigger like usual. Then they widened in remembrance causing her to let out a squeak, “Oh gosh, I’m so sorry, you must be starving!” In a flash the apologetic expression was back, and she was pressing the warm bowl into his hands, ignoring the flinch, after ensuring he wouldn’t drop it. “Don’t drink it too fast or you might get-” The soup was gone in three gulps when he tossed back the bowl, “-sick…”

The warm liquid soothed the soreness, making speaking sound like less of a challenge, and the broth filling the deer’s stomach let him blink the radio dials out of his eyes. Then they were narrowing in confusion and Alastor cleared his throat to speak before a bout of nausea had him gagging. Charlie yanked the bowl away with a yelp, shoving a bucket into his lap right in time for him to heave his guts out.

What a lovely impression he was making. Not even five minutes conscious back in the hotel and the deer already regretted waking up.

By the time he was aware again, Alastor was panting for air, clutching the edge of the container in a white-knuckled grip while Charlie muttered soothing nothings, rubbing circles into his back. Her fingers brushed hesitantly over his prominent spine, only pulling away at his shudder. Now this was humiliating.

There was a prickle of magic, a ghost of his former power, back in his body that he would address later, but summoning even a napkin seemed too big of a task. Thankfully, Charlie seemed to notice the deer’s plight and handed him a handkerchief which he used to wipe his mouth clean. Now vulnerable, weak, and a mess doubts began to surface. Charlie surely knew all of this, so why was she still bothering to help him?

When he was sure he wouldn’t be sick again, he asked the question that’d been plaguing him mercilessly since he woke up.

“What… happened?” Alastor’s radio tin warbled and shook. Pressing a hand to his sternum, he marveled at the throbbing pulsing in time with the erratic heartbeat behind his ribs. Being connected to all channels again for the first time in a long time he should easily be able to have a soft jazz rolling through the room, through his head, calming the furious beating of his heart. The radio fizzled and popped, but only jumbled bits of music began to filter softly through the air while Charlie wrung her hands. The sound wasn’t nearly as therapeutic as he’d hoped.

“W-Well,” she took a steadying breath, shifting to face him entirely. Her hands hovered over his own, but she refrained from touching without consent again. Despite the kind gesture, Alastor found he wanted the touch this time, so he closed the distance, wrapping his fingers loosely around hers. His ears pressed lower when she tensed up. Oh dear, fear was… not something he liked to see in her anymore. Certainly not because of him. She was quick to flash a smile and offer a gentle squeeze in return, regardless.

“I… found a way to save you, Al.” Her grip tightened minutely while a crackle filtered through his teeth. Yes, she had, but at what cost? He raised a shaky hand to brush a few of the tears welling up in her tired eyes.

“You look exhausted, dear…”

Charlie let out a watery laugh, and something settled like a stone in the deer’s gut. It was a feeling he’d become quite acquainted with in his time in the… void.

Guilt.

“You don’t exactly look too energetic yourself,” she joked. Huffing out a weak laugh, Alastor let his eyes trail lower. They widened marginally upon following her wrists up to her forearms.

White bandages. They were wrapped around her arms too. There was an audible click as realization dawned. Charlie’s gaze followed his own, and she winced as he gripped her arm in a firm hold.

“Al- “

“Did I do this?” There was no attempt at humor as his brows furrowed, smile diminishing. He turned her arm over carefully, claws lingering near the red dotting the white cloth. Charlie went rigid. These are fresh. They must have been from when she grabbed him.

“Alastor, it was an accident, you didn’t mean- “

“Did I do this?” He hardly heard her utter the yes.

Claws trembling, grip constricting, he fixed his gaze on the crimson seeping through. The scent of iron was more discernable now, making his head throb, his senses sharpen, and drool practically pool in his mouth. It was getting hard to think. He hurt her. Shame sank into the pit in his stomach – it was aching again – as he mulled over the fact. She helped him. And he cut open her arm. Dense static rolled from his chest as the tantalizing smell overwhelmed him. It’s been so long since he’s had a fresh meal. Even as he leaned forward, horns twisting, teeth sharpening, he thought things would’ve been better for all of them if she would have just let him wither away in the void.

“Alastor stop!”

Alastor’s eyes snapped open from their half-lidded, radio-dialed state as he jolted, attention jerking back to Charlie’s face. The poor dear looked terrified. It’d been a while since she’d looked at him in such a way and he didn’t fully understand why…

Warm liquid dribbled down his wrist. The deer looked down. His claws were embedded in her arm, drawing more of the sanguine liquid from beneath the bandages and gripping so tight it looked painful.

“L-Let go please,” she whispered, voice high like tears were threatening to spill over. Alastor ripped his hands away like she’d burned them. The smell of iron suddenly made his stomach turn over.

“Ch-Charlie I-” What could he even say to that display? Chest rising and falling mechanically, he wrapped his arms around his torso, digging nails into his sides instead. “- I’m so sorry, I don’t know what came over me…”

Taking a deep breath, Charlie stood – strangely, panic lodged itself in Alastor’s chest – and she offered Alastor a tiny, tired smile at the genuine remorse plastered on his face.

“It’s okay- I’ll heal quickly. You’ve… been through a lot and you must still feel so confused… Besides, you rarely apologize, so I know you mean it,” she let out an awkward laugh. “I’m sure you’re still hungry, so I’ll just go get you some more-“

“Don’t leave!”

Charlie froze mid-turn at the unrestrained fear in the words. Alastor stiffened as well, slapping a hand over his mouth. He hadn’t meant to say that out loud. When she’d started towards the door terror had seized his chest and squeezed the air out of his lungs, forcing out a pathetic sound too close to a whimper for comfort. What was wrong with him? She was going to be right back! Charlie wouldn’t leave him alone. She wouldn’t leave him to talk to himself until his throat hurt, to think until his head throbbed, to tear out all the blood from beneath his skin until red stained his hands, his arms, the black surrounding him, because everything was wrong, he was starving and going numb, going insane-

“Hey, breathe! Alastor, breathe, you’re gonna be okay- You’re okay, everything’s fine, I’m right here!” Charlie��s concerned face rushed back into view, food and injuries forgotten.

Breathe? Was he not breathing? That would certainly explain the burning lungs and raw throat. It was a contrast to the cold sweat plastering fabric to his skin and hair to his forehead. Ignoring the twinge in his side, Alastor jerked his claws up to tear the fabric, because that’s what had to be making it hard to take in a full breath, it was confining, it was suffocating-

Hands wrapped around his wrists, pulling them away, and he let out a high laugh, what little air he had wheezing out, because she was trying to stop him from helping himself! He wasn’t some useless deer demon; he just needed to get some semblance of control back and stop his chest from locking up, so why couldn’t she see that?

But Alastor was helpless, wasn’t he? At the least, he was too weak to twist out of Charlie’s grip, so he slammed his eyes shut, pressing back against something solid while teeth sank into his lip again. The blood leaked down his chin as shivers wracked his frame, Charlie’s voice fading in favor of the white noise filling his skull and bubbling up his throat.

Alastor hated this. Feeling exposed. Feeling vulnerable. Feeling cut open, irrational, petrified like the prey animal he represented. Charlie’s worried words of comfort and nervous chatter weren’t even audible anymore. Occasionally she would squeeze his wrists, but that was about the only grounding thing about this situation because opening his eyes would be a mistake. The deer wouldn’t be able to hold it together if black was all he would see, and static was all he could hear.

Hands were brushing against Alastor’s side, making him flinch, drawing a distressed keen from his throat. So much uncertainty. God, he was a coward and useless at the moment. There was a second’s hesitation before they were back, palms pressing against his chest and pulling him away from his safe spot pressed against the headboard.

His wrists were released at his weak struggles, but were reclaimed again with another pair of hands, the coarse material of gloves grating against his skin and doubling his confusion. This wasn’t Charlie. This touch was gentle, yet insistent, as it guided him back against something soft and warm and… breathing?

Yes, there was an exaggerated rise and fall against his back that was almost soothing in its repetition. The arms wrapped loosely around his chest shifted to make room for a third pair curling around his waist. Confusion gave way to relief as the static threatening to split his skull diminished at the safe, grounding feeling of being held. If he were in his right mind, he might’ve recoiled at the prospect of being embraced – trapped - for any amount of time, but for now he supposed, this was fine…

The static diminished further until Alastor could hear himself hyperventilating, shallow gasps not dragging in nearly enough air to keep him conscious. There were deeper breaths coming from the one restraining him. A voice became clear soon after, and he could put a face to it almost immediately.

“-got it, just try to breathe like me, Al-“

Angel. That certainly explained the extra arms but not what he was doing. Alastor was having difficulty fulfilling his request anyhow. Didn’t Angel think that he would if he could? He was trying.

“C-Ca-Can’t…” was all he managed to force out in a whine. Black and red ears flattened further against the deer’s head at the state of his voice. Angel hugged tighter in either surprise or reassurance.

“Sure ya can, Al, just open your eyes… Try and copy me,” he hummed, starting to count his breaths aloud. Alastor could’ve cried in frustration, but did as he was told, gradually peeling his eyes open. Finding vague blurs of color and what looked like a concerned Charlie perched on the edge of the bed he concluded he had in fact been crying. The tears were still rolling down his cheeks, making the fresh cuts on his lips burn. Lovely.

After some coaxing from Angel Dust, breathing came at a pace resembling normal, even if his lungs were aching from the previous abuse. Still trembling violently and sucking in air greedily, Alastor was shocked to find he didn’t want Angel to let go just yet.

“Hey, Smiles, you back with us?” the spider asked, tentatively. Alastor offered the barest minimum of a nod, smile lacking its usual energy and eyes hollow. “I can let go of you now, if you-“

“No,” Alastor swallowed the lump rising in his throat, claws hooking themselves in Angel’s sleeves. Angel blinked in surprise at the sharp reaction but readjusted his grip in compliance, releasing the deer’s hands once he was sure they wouldn’t gash anyone, himself included.

“I-I mean… I’d rather you d-didn’t…” The deer, usually immaculate in his speech, stammered. Heat rushed to Alastor’s face. Now that he had the presence of mind to consider his words and the scene he’d caused, he struggled to ignore the shame burning within him. Any demon in their right mind would drop him in an instant, thinking much less of him of course - him the late, great Radio Demon! – and now Alastor waited with bated breath for the hatred, the disapproval, the disgust he was sure painted his friends’ faces-

“’Kay.”

And with a single word, not even a full one at that, Alastor’s expectations were dashed. He was reluctant to let hope flood his chest – Lucifer, he didn’t recall caring this much about what others thought – but the six arms wrapped snugly around him, the spider wiggling to lean back more comfortably against the pillows, and the soft look on Charlie’s face made it all the more difficult to stop the warmth blooming in his ribcage.

“Most people would pay to get cuddles like this you know,” Angel let out a soft laugh, concern still lacing his voice, and just like that the warmth was gone. Alastor swallowed thickly, eyes dropping to look at his and Angel’s legs sprawled before them. The feeling of wrongness was back. He didn’t belong here, in this place, with these people that he’d hurt. Of course, he’d be a bother, they’d all had so much time to get used of his absence!

“I apologize,” he’s been doing that frequently as of late, “it’s wrong of me to ask this of you! I still haven’t the foggiest idea of what came over me-” he was moving to get up as he spoke, only for Angel to gently pull him back down until the deer was slumped sideways against his chest and blushing furiously. His hands curled – against his will – into the spider’s jacket, and Alastor stole a glance at his face, half expecting to see some form of annoyance or exasperation. Angel’s brows were furrowed, yes, but it didn’t seem to be in annoyance, considering his eyes were soft and a sympathetic smile was tugging up the corners of his mouth.

“Al, it’s fine, I was just making a joke. I ain’t gonna kick you off for wanting comfort after a whole fu- fricken panic attack.” Angel amended his words at the Princess’s glare, but something about Alastor’s reaction seemed to confuse him. “You ever have more of those before?” Alastor blinked slowly, eyes narrowing in puzzlement.

“Panic… attack?” The words rolled unfamiliar off his tongue. No, the term wasn’t one he was… familiar with. And now it was Angel’s turn to look uncertain, but realization was quick to dawn at the deer’s clueless expression.

“Shit, Al, do you even know what that is?” A tiny shake of the head. Angel let out a breath through his teeth, ignoring Charlie’s stare. “Um, alright… well what you just went through looked to be a panic attack. I’ve seen a lot considering my job. Usually you’ll feel scared, out of breath, and if it’s really bad you might think you’re dying or something like that… They can be triggered by a bunch of different things. Charlie said you started freaking out when she tried to leave, and you weren’t responding to anything else so…” He waved his lower set of hands pointedly as he continued, “Sorry about breaking the whole ‘Five Foot Rule’, but it was the only thing you reacted sort of positively to.”

Alastor mumbled a dismissal, already having trouble focusing with his eyelids getting heavier by the minute. A panic attack, hm? So, there was a technical term for these lapses. Poor Angel seemed to know more about them than he let on, but… if he were to go by that description, then Alastor could recall one or two instances – outside of the void – that he’d had one. Though, just because they had a name, he didn’t feel any less ashamed that a vulnerability had been displayed at all. Then again, Angel has already seen him not at his best, and Charlie most definitely has seen him at his worst…

Oh, what the hell.

“I do remember an occurrence in my… youth that sounds similar to what you described.” He took in a steadying breath, pushing the thoughts of weakness out of his mind, as their heads jerked to stare at him in surprise. “I was never fond of dogs, you see, and… one day a particularly aggressive mutt decided to follow me while I was on my way home. I tried to outrun it once I’d realized, but… by the time my father had come to see what was taking me so long, the damned thing had latched onto my leg and I’d been experiencing… symptoms like the ones you described.”

Alastor could still remember the feeling like blunted knives sinking into his leg; not sharp enough to make a clean cut, but strong enough to make up for it. The sound of the thing’s snarling, the deranged look in its eyes as it jerked it’s head back and forth, spilling more of his precious blood into the dirt.

“He was able to scare the beast off, but I never did look at them the same way after that… Even the thought of going near one of those creatures again made my breath falter. I always assumed it was just a lapse of fragility on my part, and my father agreed, so I ignored it. I didn’t allow myself to avoid where I knew they would be. Eventually these… attacks… stopped of their own accord, or I got so used to the feeling that they no longer could stop me in my tracks.”

Silence.

Alastor swore he could have heard a pin drop after his little monologue. Perhaps they weren’t expecting him to speak quite so much after his spell of silence? Or of the subject matter? The Radio Demon wasn’t known for sharing his innermost feelings, after all. Exhaustion sank deeper into his bones. Truth be told, the amount he revealed surprised him as well. Something written on Charlie’s face made him reconsider telling them the story in the first place, and Angel was giving him the same undecipherable look.

“Alastor that’s… horrible, I’m so sorry to hear that,” Charlie breathed, looking sympathetic as ever. Alastor’s brows lowered further at that. He wasn’t looking for pity- he was simply answering Angel’s previous question! The story itself certainly wasn’t something to feel sorry about. It was his fault for being such a coward, so why were they looking at him like that?

“Al, you realize that… this doesn’t make you weak, or whatever shit you’re thinking, right? Hell, it can happen to the scariest demon you could think of! It’s not something you can control.” Angel shot a look to Charlie over his head.

Now they were both being ridiculous. Surely with enough time, these panic attacks would be just as… manageable as they were back then. If miraculously forgetting how to breathe at the sight of a dog could be considered manageable…

Regardless, this train of thought was pointless! He hardly had a fear of the hellish creatures anymore; a mild discomfort maybe…

“Alastor?” Charlie chimed in from the edge of the bed, a touch of concern coloring her voice. The deer blinked a few times, mind jumping back to the present conversation.

“Yes, darling?”

“Sorry, you just looked… lost in thought for a minute there,” she chuckled, moving to stand and watching carefully for any reaction. Claws curled further into Angel’s blazer, but other than that he offered none. “Since you and Angel seem to have things… handled, I’ll just run to get that food,” Alastor’s ear twitched, “and have Niffty bring some more bandages!” Her eyes flicked to the bit of red seeping through the white on his arms, while Alastor’s went to her own bloody bandages with a pang of remorse.

The clicking of her shoes as she walked set Alastor’s teeth on edge – he would have to grow accustomed to these regular sounds again – but mid-reach for the door, Charlie was whirling around with a startled, “Oh! And before I forget- Husk, Niffty, and Vaggie might drop in to see you on their own time, if that’s alright with you?”

Alright with him? Well, he certainly wouldn’t send them away, but apprehension rose as he considered the number of things they might have to say. Ignoring the inner turmoil, he offered her another muffled affirmative, face still smooshed against Angel’s chest, causing said spider to snicker.

“Sorry Princess, he’s using the best damn pillow in all of Hell! It’s only natural he’d be out like a light.” That earned a brighter laugh, and Alastor couldn’t stop the corners of his mouth from quirking at the spider’s antics. He retaliated by making himself more comfortable and curling his legs up. Yes, that’ll show Angel…

When the door shut with a click, Alastor found himself relaxing further. His sides were throbbing, but he was more comfortable than he’d been in ages. He was safe. Not alone. Not drowning in silence.

Then the radio on the nightstand clicked on, sending a jolt through his body – he hadn’t even realized the thing had fallen silent – while bits of music filtered in and out of the air.

Angel readjusted his hold, pulling his hand away from the device and glancing down apologetically. “Sorry, I thought you might like the radio back on.”

Alastor did. Radio waves tugged insistently at his heart, easing a pressure previously ignored in the void, but he simply let the sound remain without much consideration on the matter. Thoughts were too jumbled to bother changing the channel or thinking too hard on the lack of strain he’d grown used to. The sound itself was… soothing in its own way. The deer had no idea how to convey the appreciation he felt for everything Angel was doing, so he just offered a tighter squeeze, arms wrapped firmly around the spider.

“Thank you,” he mumbled, suddenly feeling the overwhelming warmth again. Words would catch in his throat if he tried to speak again, so he stayed silent. Alastor’s face was entirely hidden in Angel’s chest at this point, pride be damned, as the bone-deep exhaustion fought to claim him, and the red refused to leave his cheeks.

“It’s no problem, Smiles,” Angel let out a soft huff, “Just try and get some sleep, huh? You can repay me by getting better and telling us dad jokes until good ‘ol Huskie slams his head into the bar…” The spider’s voice trailed off. “Al?” Glancing down, he found the deer breathing lightly, ears twitching, fingers curling gently into his jacket. The sight was adorable, and it took everything in the spider not to rip his phone out and take a picture. Another look, and he had to suppress a squeal of delight at the extra black and red appendage wagging slowly, peaking from beneath the red undershirt.

“Oh my god, he has a tail?”

Nearly an hour later and the hotel was thoroughly blanketed in Hell’s version of night, darkness leaking through the curtains and absorbing any sliver of light that attempted to slip by. Angel Dust was still wide awake, five arms tasked with snuggling the life out of the infamous Radio Demon, while the sixth hand tapped mindlessly away at his phone and sent messages to the various others still up at this hour. Said deer demon, thankfully, slept like the dead and didn’t wake when Angel moved the red head to his chest fluff. Hey, he might get kicked or have an antler jabbed in his eye come morning, but he was going to make sure Alastor was damn comfortable using him as a pillow.

The past few hours in themselves had been… difficult to say the least. One minute he’s thinking of all the different ways he can annoy Husk without getting cut off from his beloved supply of alcohol, and in the next Vaggie’s saying Charlie’s ‘ready’ to try and bring their resident Strawberry Pimp back? He’d thought it was too good to be true, but hell, the deer was sleeping soundly on him right now!

Challenged with wrapping more bandages around the deer’s stomach, – the previous panic focused the brunt of his clawing there – Angel was thankful for the extra limbs and dexterity because Alastor hadn’t so much as twitched, now wrapped like a Christmas present. Though he did have a really fuckin’ adorable snore that Angel would gladly remember for the rest of his afterlife.

After a brief conversation over text, Charlie found a good time to stop by to drop off the thermos of soup, shoulders slouching, black circles evident under her eyes, for all purposes making Alastor look like the pinnacle of health in comparison. To put it honestly, Angel thought she looked like double-death warmed over. The thought was not a pleasant one. Despite the obvious exhaustion, she’d offered a tired smile and a wave before walking out, presumably to find her girlfriend and snuggle up for the night.

Niffty had come rushing in a second later, nearly crashing into the side of the bed in her haste, and he’d had to free a hand to slap over her mouth before she could wake Alastor up with her rapid-fire questioning. After receiving a look of understanding and less surprisingly, tiny teeth sinking into his glove, he removed his hand and wrapped it back around the deer’s back. She’d been the one to bring the bandages in the first place, placing them neatly to the side, before settling in to just watch them for a while. It was a tad creepy, but Angel’s seen worse, and he couldn’t exactly blame her considering her old boss/mentor/father figure(?) was lying unconscious after being previously double-dead for the past five months. The poor bug couldn’t even say anything to him. Eventually she’d zipped out the room fast as she’d come, muttering something about a ‘mess’ somewhere and sounding a bit too sniffly for Angel’s liking.

Even Husk had poked his head in at one point. The cat’s ears perked, and his nose scrunched up in a cute way at the sight of Alastor huddling up against the spider. Sunset colored eyes narrowed in something like frustration, but at what he couldn’t be sure. Angel had put on his best ‘aw you do care’ face, blinking half-lidded eyes slowly while Husk flipped him off, slinking away to get even more drunk than he already was.

The rest of his time was spent tapping away at his phone until the static in the air slipped into background noise and he thought he might have a chance of sleeping at this point. The static may have been soothing to the Radio Demon, but other demons would have a bit more trouble sleeping with the ruckus. Good thing Angel was used of sleeping through most anything. With a yawn, he reached to place his phone on the nightstand, blinking in surprise as he noticed the radio.

“What the…” he mumbled, watching the thing sift through channels with a distinct lack of music. Earlier, clips of 1930 era songs had at least been playing irregularly, but now, there was only a white noise that punctured the air and made his fur stand on end.

The source of this problem was easily identifiable as Alastor himself, considering the deer had tightened his hold, brows furrowing, and smile shrinking. His claws were beginning to prick uncomfortably into Angel’s lower back, and it took a moment to register what was actually wrong with the deer.

Alastor was trembling. He was honest to god shaking like a leaf, tiny pips of static crawling up his throat and escaping past his tight-lipped smile like whimpers. Angel’s eyes softened. He was certainly no stranger to nightmares.

“You’re okay, Al… Pretty impressive that you’re smilin’ even now, but that static gets any louder and everyone in the hotel might drop by to complain…” The noise really was reaching a harsh volume that made Angel wince. “I know you’d hate that, wouldn’t you?” he huffed out a nervous laugh, hands hesitating over the deer’s head. Would this get him bitten, kicked, or otherwise stabbed? Probably. There was only one way to know, and Angel was standing by the assumption that the ‘five foot rule’ was still being bent for now.

Gently, Angel ran his hands over Alastor’s ears. By Lucifer, he’d always wanted to pet the fluffy things, and as his fingers trailed down to the base, carding through the red hair, he was pleased to find the slightest bit of tension easing out of his friend’s body. Rubbing around the bottom of the appendages made them flick and flatten slowly against Alastor’s head, the white noise that filled the room lowering with every twitch, until the music was audibly skipping in and out again.

Angel sighed in relief, head falling back to the headboard with a quiet thunk. Wiggling himself lower, letting his head plop back onto the maroon pillows, he was glad to note that Alastor’s shaking had subsided too. Previously labored breaths slowed to an even pace, bar the occasional hitch. A low static rumbled out his chest as Angel continued to rub around the black-tipped ears, and the spider would consider the sound reminiscent of a cat’s purring.

“Damn it Al, why you gotta be so secretly adorable? It’s too late for this shit,” he sighed. There was nothing but fondness in his voice as he watched the deer twitch and curl closer in his sleep. The usually terrifying Radio Demon was letting him see a more vulnerable, reserved side, and Angel would not take advantage of it. That isn’t to say he wasn’t going to enjoy the adorable mental images he was imprinting into his brain, but he also wouldn’t go telling people that he’d ‘slept with the Radio Demon’, despite how hilarious the looks on their faces would be. Alastor wouldn’t think it was funny.

With another deeper sigh, Angel decided he may as well follow in the deer’s footsteps – hoof-steps? Oh god, did Alastor have hooves too? Just what else was the deer holding out on? In any case, sleep sounded like a great idea. He let his eyes slide shut with an amused grin.

“If you promise not to kick me with your possibly secret hooves when you wake up, I promise not to tell anyone you like to cuddle…”

Alastor, unsurprisingly, didn’t respond, only offering a soft huff of air to the conversation. Angel submitted himself to the idea of being rudely awakened once Alastor came to, but he found as the drowsiness took over and the deer pressed closer, that he wouldn’t be too mad either way.

They’d all been through hell these past five months, and he’d be damned if he pushed their resident Radio Demon away when he needed them most. There were a lot of things to be explained after all… Alastor had missed a lot in his absence. With that thought in mind, Angel settled in for the night, silently vowing to help their friend adjust in any way that he could.

Neither demon stirred for the rest of the night.

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spookbusters · 5 years ago

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Moments with an ‘82 Album

Summary: Hargrove’s s/o lends a helping hand to his sister

Pairing: Billy Hargrove x Reader // Word Count: 1.8k // Warnings: None!

A/N: School started kicking my ass again, then life started kicking my ass. This fic has a lot of Adam Ant references, but I hope you like it nonetheless!

Knock, knock, knock.

You grin as the door swings open to reveal your boyfriend. When it first opens, he looks uninterested, but the moment he realizes it’s you, his face lights up. “Babe,” Billy smiles, and you press a kiss to his lips as you enter. He watches you move to drop your backpack on the couch and toss your hair up into a ponytail.

“I don’t remember us planning anything today,” he says, walking to wrap his arms around your waist, “Although I’m not complaining.”

“That’s because I’m here to help Max get ready,” you explain, “The Snow Ball’s tonight and I promised your mom I would come help her get ready.” Billy frowns a bit at that, and as you’re heading down the hall he’s hot on your heels. “You mean you’re not here to spend time with your adoring boyfriend?”

You turn around a bit before Max’s closed bedroom door. “I’ll make it up to you, baby, I promise,” you pout, “We have to stay around the school to pick up Max from the dance anyways. So after we drop her off, how about we catch a movie?” You receive your boyfriend’s million dollar smile, genuine and bright. “Alright, I can live with that.” A small giggle bubbles up from within you.

“I’m so glad you can find it in you to work with me,” you say, although it sounds more like an ‘I love you, you goof’ to him.

You knock on Max’s door, opening it at the soft “come in”. Both you and Billy peek in and you feel your excitement return full force. “Hey, Max.” Her head pops up from the book she’s reading as soon as she hears your voice. “Y/N,” she says excitedly and jumps out of bed to give you a hug. The way she squeezes you so tightly around your middle makes your heart warm.

“You ready to get all done up? I promised I’d give you the full fledged royal treatment,” you asked, eyes looking over her gentle features. She nods, and you grin, turning to look back at your boyfriend. Billy leaned against the door frame, arms folded over his chest with the hint of a smile on his lips, “I’ll see you ladies later, yeah?” You nod, and watch him close the door the to let you start your work.

"Step one," you tell Max, "Is putting on the radio. Getting ready for a dance without a pre-party is no fun." Her radio was right next to her bed, so you drop the bags of makeup you'd brought with you on the mattress and start fiddling with the knobs. Never having been a real technologically savvy girl, it does take a minute or two for you to really tune into a radio station you were familiar with.

You immediately recognize the song that you unknowingly tuned into and nod approvingly. "This song is all about being your own person, even if you're famous," you explain, turning up the intro to Adam Ant's "Goody Two Shoes, "And tonight, we're making sure you have chance to shine with all you've got. In a way that’s all you."

You relished the moments you got to spend with Max like this. You knew it was hard for her with her mom being out of the house at work all the time and really having Billy around more than anyone else. While he was the absolute love of your life, he was hotheaded and difficult to deal with sometimes. Especially if you’re between the ages of twelve and fifteen, still learning how to stick up for yourself.

You sit Max down on her bed in front of you, cross legged, and start examining what she’d already worked on. “I see you’ve painted your nails,” you observe, praise in your voice, “This color is so cute!” Max frowned at them a bit, “Billy said the color wouldn’t match my outfit, but I still think it’s nice.” You roll your eyes a bit at that. Typical of your boyfriend with his “holier-than-thou” personality.

“I’ll let you in on a secret,” you offer, and her eyes widen, “Billy has no idea what he’s talking about. He couldn’t come up with a decent color palette even if you asked him to pick two out of three colors.” Max snorts at your commentary, and you give her a reassuring smile. “It’s gonna look amazing. You’re gonna look amazing.”

The first thing you do for Max is her eye-shadow. You opted for an earthy brown that drew out the cool blue in her eyes, with a pop of champagne in the inner corner. “Makes these babies look like the water of a river, with the sunlight shining right above it,” you noted, blending the shades.

Max, upon opening her eyes again, has an anxious expression painted on her features. The way her brows are softly knit together is obvious to you and you ask what the matter was. “You know,” she begins, “There’s this guy I kinda like and he’s gonna be at the dance. I’m just nervous is all.” The statement reminds you of how you used to be. Always afraid of the eyes of the people around you; afraid of judgement.

You had with Max the same little talk you had with yourself.

“Do you think he likes you back?” “I don’t know. I think so.”

Holding up a rosy colored blush versus a more orange toned one, you respond, “How do you know?” Max points to the orange tone, shrugging, “How’d you know Billy liked you?” Now, you had to think about that. For you and Billy, the transition into a relationship was so smooth, so natural, you didn’t really have to think about how you knew he liked you, you just knew it.

But after further consideration you were able to come up with something. “Billy was always really protective of me,” you began, swirling your brush in the blush, “And he always made it a point to reassure me when I was nervous or stressed out. I knew he didn’t act that way around anyone else.” You swipe the blush across the girl’s cheeks, admiring the way it’s fiery glow echoed her hair color.

“Well, then, I think Lucas likes me. He gets really defensive when Mike says I shouldn’t be in the party,” she says, a small smile on her lips. “Well, my advice is to give it a shot then. You’ll never know if you don't talk about it!" She nods, an air of confidence and reassurance now swirling about her. That made you proud.

It made you feel nice that Max trusted you the way she did. If you and Billy’s plans together worked out, you’d be around for a long time. It mattered to you that she didn’t only like you, but made you feel like part of her life.

Not much time passed after that before you had finished the last coat of mascara on her lashes and pulled strands of her hair into delicate twists on each side. Ushering her to the mirror to look at her reflection, you were practically vibrating with excitement. “You look so pretty,” you gushed, hands fluffing up the natural curls she had.

Attention turns to your watch, and you gasp at the time, “We need to get you out of here or you’re gonna be late!” Loading the Hargrove’s into your truck is a swift event. “Seat-belts,” you mutter, cranking the engine. It’s fortunate that you’d learned some driving tips from your boyfriend because you manage to make a twenty minute trip in ten.

Max leaps out of the car as soon as you get there. “Thanks for everything, Y/N,” she calls with a smile as she runs towards the doors. Watching Max walk into the dance blooms a motherly sort of pride in your chest. It was something you couldn’t really explain.

“I really like spending time with her,” you confess to your boyfriend in the passenger seat. His hand comes to rest on yours, and he laces your fingers together. “She loves you, and I appreciate that you do all that stuff for her,” he runs a thumb along your skin, “Because I don’t think I can.” “I’m sure you could,” you comment, scooting over in your seat to lean against his shoulder.

The thought weighs on you. Nags at the back of your mind. Something you feel you want to say, but you’re not really sure if you should bite your tongue and save it for later. Alas, your emotions get the better of you this time and you can’t stop yourself from turning to Billy and nearly whispering your words.

“Do you want...kids?”

He looks away from the window at you with widened eyes. “Kids?” “Not right now, obviously,” you rush, “But, like, what about later?” The question hangs in the air, and there’s something deep in those blue eyes that makes you nervous.

You’d discussed getting married before, but never this. What if he didn’t want kids because he was afraid of being like his dad? You start to ramble, “It’s just that when I was spending time with Max, I really felt like a mom, and it was so nice, and I just thought about what it’d be like to have my own kids, and-.” What if he was afraid of royally screwing up? What if-?

Your mind is quieted when he kisses you.

It wasn’t like anything you’d ever experienced with him before. You’d kissed gently, and you’d kissed with all the passion you could muster, but this was a beautiful balance of the two that made you truly breathless. His free hand comes up to brush the back of his knuckles against your cheek, before cupping your jaw to hold your eyes to his.

“I love you so much,” he hums, an expression of pure contentment on his face, “Yeah, kids would be beautiful.” It feels like a confession coming from him. Big, bad Billy Hargrove admitting to his girlfriend that he wants to start a family with her. For as unsure of yourself as you were a few minutes ago, you sure were smiling like crazy now.

Nearly ten minutes pass where neither of you move. But you manage to gather yourself and mutter, “We’re never gonna catch a movie if we don’t get going.” “Yeah, you’re right.” You turn your engine over and plant one last lingering kiss to Billy’s lips, slightly muddled by the grins on your faces.

While backing out, your boyfriend flicks your radio on, and Adam Ant’s cover of “Hello, I Love You” bumps through your speakers. You gasp audibly, “Holy hell, that’s crazy!” “What?” You glance over at Billy and then back to the road. “When I was doing Max’s makeup, the first song I found on the radio was this same singer. Same album and everything.” He makes a face of interest and you nod pensively.

“I guess life is just what happens between Adam Ant songs.”

#billy hargrove imagine #billy hargove x reader #billy hargrove fic #stranger things #stranger things fic #stranger things x reader #stranger things imagine #stranger things billy x reader #stranger things billy hargrove x reader

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hispeculiartreasure · 5 years ago

Text

All We’ve Got is Time - Chapter Seven | B.B.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

AU: If They’d Survived/Post-War/Window Washer!Bucky Barnes

Rating: Teen

Word count: 4,783

Chapter 7/24

Warnings: Strong language, bit of family tension

AN: Thank you for being so patient with the arrival of this chapter! The extra week gave me the time I needed to muddle through some research-heavy chapters so I can hopefully keep the ball rolling with my scheduling. This chapter was a big one for me since it involved weaving canon and my original thoughts in regards to Bucky’s family. Once I realized Bucky’s museum display in CA:TWS listed him as the eldest of four, I couldn’t stop this specific family dynamic from coming out. Sidenote, the use of Rebecca was inspired by the comics, I promise I am not that vain, haha. Hope you enjoy this week 💕

Chapter Six

‘All We’ve Got is Time’ Masterlist

Ice cold water finally dislodges the last vestiges of sleep from Bucky’s eyes. Patting his face with a hand towel, he avoids looking himself in the eye as he checks the mirror for any patches of hair he may have missed while shaving.

He’s been awake for several hours but had finally dragged himself to the bathroom once the sun had risen. Being a weekend the house should be quiet for another hour or so before he had to put his “family face” on. But the moment the bathroom door creaked open the scent of Canadian bacon wafting from the kitchen proves him wrong.

For a moment he dons a tight-lipped smile until he sees his mother’s familiar form in front of the stove. His shoulders instantly drop, his mouth moving into a genuine curl. She’s humming along to the small radio on the counter, an old Standard that takes Bucky back to moments just like this when he was two decades younger. Mother and son were often the first to rise on Saturdays, leaving a rare pocket of time to be shared just between them.

Winnifred Barnes had hardly changed since those days - besides the gray streaking her otherwise dark hair and a few extra lines around her eyes. Although years of raising four headstrong children and worrying about both a husband and son in battle - albeit different wars - would do that to anyone. She was the most gracious person he knew, forever keeping their door open to anyone who needed some love and a home-cooked meal.

He takes his place to the counter on her left, grabbing a freshly washed peach from a pile of them and bringing it to the cutting board.

“Good morning, James,” she warbles as she slides a pan into the oven.

“Morning, Ma.”

“Did you sleep okay, dear?”

He lifts a shoulder up and down in a small shrug before he grabs a knife to begin slicing. “About as well as usual. Ya know, it takes a real master to sneak through the house without me knowing.”

“Where do you think you got your covert skills? Your father is about as subtle as a gun.”

Bucky snickers. “You’ve got me there.” He slides the cut peach onto a platter before moving on to the next.

“You came in late last night. I trust you got your new friend home at a respectable hour?” she asks coyly between flips of her spatula.

“Ma-” he starts, a blush creeping up his neck.

“No explanation needed, you’re a grown man, but-”

“Don’t worry, you raised a gentleman. Escorted her to her door after dinner. Didn’t feel like taking the subway so I walked home.”

“I never thought otherwise. Oop, you missed some shaving cream.” Winnifred brings the corner of her apron up to swipe at Bucky’s ear before resting a palm to his cheek. “I’m enjoying seeing this handsome face of yours without all that facial hair. And seeing you smiling more often has been a treat as well. I trust this friend is the reason for both?”

“Maybe.” Bucky clears his throat as he grabs another peach. “I like her a lot,” he admits quietly.

“Had a feeling when you asked where I bought my flowers for the table you had to be at least a little taken with her.”

“She loved them, by the way. Thanks for your help.”

“Anytime, darling. I’m assuming you’ll see her again soon?” Kind eyes twinkle with a hint of hope.

“This afternoon, actually.” He gestures to a small carton of fruit. “Want me to slice the raspberries after these?”

“If you don’t mind. Then maybe get the coffee started?” she checks the grilling meat one last time before moving it to a plate, new cuts slipping into the pan moments later.

“Yes ma’am.”

They work side-by-side in silence for a while, humming tunes and bumping elbows every so often. These moments of peace were hard to come by in the house, but they both savored Saturday mornings cooking in tandem.

“If your father gets up, grab the paper and take a seat. Don’t want him getting onto you again. I can manage the meal by myself.”

“If he wants to say something about me doing ‘women’s work’ then he can. I don’t care. Someone had to help you with three other kids while he was in his study smoking cigars.”

“James,” his mother reprimands tenderly. “Despite his flaws, your father is a good man who has always made sure his family’s needs were met. Especially when you weren’t around. Oh!” she spins toward the oven. “My brioche!” Carefully she coaxes the pan of bread out of the oven and onto a cooling rack.

Bucky plates the last of the raspberries before moving to the coffee maker. “Well at least I’m around to contribute now. Being able to help with the bills and all.”

“We don’t really need your money, you realize that, right?”

“Whaddya mean? You said it was helpful.”

With one hand on her hip and the other resting on the counter, she turns to her son. “And it is, don’t get me wrong. But we are very comfortable. If you have an opportunity to be out and on your own, then I think you should take it. It’d be good for you. I think distance would be good for the relationship between you and your father as well.” Bucky hides his scowl behind a cough. “Besides, your youngest sister will be out soon, while Rebecca is looking into an apartment. . . we’ll need to downsize anyway. Promise me you won’t stay here for us?” A touch to his shoulder forces him to meet her eyes.

“Okay, I promise.”

A new, yet very familiar, voice enters the conversation. “What’re you promising this time, Buck?”

Bucky flashes a grin at his sister over his shoulder, “That you’ll pay our parents back for that vase you broke the summer of ‘29.”

If looks could kill Rebecca Barnes would have been a master assassin. She gives him a pinch to the arm before opening the refrigerator to bring out a bottle of milk. “I seem to remember you being left in charge that day, being the eldest and all.”

“Then you remember the absolute chaos of me trying to boss around three younger sisters.”

“Still, you were responsible for the household. A mistake Ma constantly repeated.” Becca smirks, hazel eyes shimmering with mirth.

Bucky would never admit outright that he had a favorite sibling. Having only two years’ distance in age was bound to draw them together as they grew older. Had it sparked many fights through their adolescence? Absolutely. But it was amazing what high school miseries could draw a brother and sister together. They’d spent last night on the back porch, Bucky telling her all about you over some booze he’d smuggled into the house. Becca was one of the few who didn’t treat him like a wounded animal after he’d gotten home from the war. They were able to slip back into their normal routine like they’d never missed a beat. She worried about him, but made sure to voice her concerns rather than watch him with a critical eye.

“C’mon, you have a big girl job now, you can afford to replace it.”

“Kids, that was over 15 years ago. Let it be.”

Becca mutters, “Jesus, we’re getting old.”

“Rebecca Louise!” Winnifred chortles in horror. “Watch your mouth.”

“Sorry,” she apologizes quickly, sharing an amused glance with her brother as he hands her a mug of coffee.

Another set of heels approaching the kitchen signals the next Barnes woman’s appearance.

“Good morning, Evie,” Bucky greets his youngest sister cheerily.

“It’s Evelyn, Bucky.” She fusses with the buttons on her dress before squinting in her brother’s direction. There was no questioning that she’d grown into a beautiful and intelligent young lady during his absence. The signature Barnes dark hair combined with creamy pale skin and bright blue eyes made for an arresting presence that commanded the attention of each room she walked into. Every time he looks at her he can’t help but see the 14-year-old he hugged goodbye before he left for England.

“I can’t call you Evie anymore? Why not?”

“It’s the name of a little girl, I’m almost done with high school now.”

“You’re still my kid sister,” he slid a cup of coffee her way as she sat down at the kitchen table.

“I’m not a kid anymore, Bucky.”

“So you’d be fine if I said you had to start calling me James now?”

Evelyn arches a brow. “If that’s what you wanted, yes.”

An elbow in the ribs from Becca interrupts his next statement before a knock on the front door sounds. “Come in!” all four of them shout toward the door.

“It’s me!” echoes the voice of the only Barnes child not currently living in their childhood home. Rose waddles into the kitchen, a hand resting on her protruding stomach. “Good morning, everyone.”

Each of them mutters their own greeting, ending with Winnifred kissing Rose’s cheek and rubbing her belly. “And good morning to my precious first grandbaby too.”

“Ma, you’ve got a good few months before you get to meet them.”

“It wouldn’t hurt for them to get used to the sound of their grandma’s voice, would it?” Rose giggles as she sits in her usual seat at the table.

“How ya feeling?” Bucky asks.

“Alright, I think. I can already tell this summer heat is going to be unbearable. Not looking forward to only getting bigger from here on out.”

With a warm smile and commiserating nod, Bucky brings the pot of coffee and platter of fruit to the middle of the dinette as Becca sets the table with plates and utensils. “Looks like the Barnes girls are all dressed up and rarin’ to go. What’s going on today?”

“Shopping trip! We need to find Evelyn a new dress for her graduation in a few weeks,” Rose gushes - unsurprising coming from the shopper of the family.

“Especially since Robert will be there,” Becca teases over the edge of her coffee cup. The three older women in the room titter mischievously while Evelyn blushes.

Bucky’s brow furrows as he grabs the plate of bacon from his mother before returning to his seat next to Becca. “Robert’s this boy you’ve been talking about, right?”

Evelyn rolls her eyes in his direction. “My boyfriend, yes.”

“Possible future husband too!” Rose squeals, even after receiving a gentle kick under the table.

The hair on the back of Bucky’s neck stands up. “Wait, what?”

Immediately Evelyn sits ramrod-straight, the clench in her jaw screaming defiance. “We’ve been dating almost a year, it’s not like he’s a stranger.”

“Yes, he had a very long talk with your father after dinner last week,” Winnifred confirms as she slices the loaf of bread into even pieces.

Bucky can’t completely choke down his scoff. “You’re just kids, way too young to be thinking about getting married.”

“You didn’t kick up a fuss when Rose was getting married right out of high school,” Evelyn takes the fruit from Becca before scooping a few pieces onto her own plate.

“For one, I was in the middle of Italy when Rose got hitched. And that’s because John was about to be shipped off to join me. S’different.” Bucky piles more bacon onto his plate than necessary, needing to keep his hands busy for fear that he might start wagging a finger at his baby sister.

“It’s totally normal for people to be marrying younger now. The war made us all feel like time’s running short. Who knows what can happen tomorrow. Why take the risk of not being together?”

Just as Winnifred shed her apron to join them at the table, George Barnes enters the room, presence tall and arresting. Everyone pauses to say their ‘good mornings’, receiving a nod and low grunt in return. Winnifred places a steaming mug in his hand before kissing his temple. He smiles small before unfolding the newspaper his wife had left by his plate. Once his glasses are in place he may as well be in another world. They all know better than to engage him in conversation before his first cup of joe.

“Ma, are you tryin’ to tell me you’d be okay with Evelyn getting married soon?”

“James, it’s not up to me. If Evelyn feels ready, we all have to respect that,” ever the peacemaker of the family, Winnifred takes her place at the opposite end of the table from her husband.

“How is he going to support you? Does he have any idea what kind of work he wants to go into? Are you prepared to look for a job if his isn’t enough for rent? ”

“Easy, Buck,” Becca says under her breath.

“Well, that’s not your problem to worry about, is it Bucky?” If Evelyn was attempting to hide the disdain in her voice, she was doing a terrible job. The patriarch of the family thunks his mug against the table before reaching for the pot to refill it.

“Dad, you have to admit that Evie getting hitched is a bad idea,” Bucky appeals to his father.

“Evelyn,” she grits out, cheeks pink.

“The way I see it, it’s one less mouth for me to feed. And as long as the boy has a good head on his shoulders and good intentions, I don’t see the harm.”

The youngest Barnes hums in satisfaction, serving Bucky with a wholly smug smile.

“You can’t be serious.” Bucky ignores another poke to the ribs from Becca.

“Well, James, by the time I was your age I was married with three children. By all accounts you’re the one who’s behind schedule with no prospects in sight.”

Bucky’s fist tightens around his fork. A kick to his ankle draws his attention to Becca, who subtly shakes her head; clearly trying to say, “Please not right now. It’s been a good morning.”

He huffs out a breath, thankful that his father’s eyes are still trained on the paper. “You may be surprised to know I’m not completely hopeless.”

Rose leans in and says slyly, “Now what does that mean?”

“Yes, James, what does that mean.” Bucky’s father has set the paper down, reading glasses dangling from his fingers.

Why did I open my fuckin’ mouth. “I, uh-I have been on a handful of dates with a girl.”

“Ooooh, the secret comes out,” Evelyn teases, overjoyed at the chance to turn the tables on Bucky.

Rose claps, “That’s great news! Who is she? Do we know her? Is it that friend of Becca’s I always wanted you to date?”

Becca’s side-eye confirms he’s already painted himself into a corner. His mother stays blessedly quiet, keeping her promise not to discuss you with his father.

Don’t panic. Give ‘em broad details, they don’t need to know everything. “She just moved to the city. I met her at work about a month ago. We got to know each other, had our first date last week.”

“What’s she like?” Rose questions around a mouthful of brioche.

“She’s sweet. Always had time to smile at me when we bumped into each other. But she’s also got a mind of her own.”

His father drains his mug again before setting Bucky with a hard gaze. “She’s not a working girl, is she?”

Bucky can feel Becca tense next to him, gaze staying fixed to her plate. “What if she is?” Bucky starts, outrage for both Becca and you on the tip of his tongue when Winnifred clears her throat.

There’s a warning in her gaze that does not translate to her sweet tone. “You should invite her over for dinner one Sunday night. I’d love to meet her.” The girls chime in their agreement, all three of them eager to see who finally caught their brother’s eye for the first time in years. “Speaking of Sunday dinner, will John be home in time to make it, Rose?”

Bucky took the shift in focus as an opportunity to take a breather while Rose prattles on about her husband’s government job and how his schedule was always changing. Thankfully the rest of the meal passes uneventfully, the girls gathering up the dishes to be washed promptly.

While the kitchen bustles to life, Bucky slips from the table to tie on his shoes before his father can make an attempt at conversation. He grabs a rusty toolbox from the floor next to the coat rack before popping back in to tell his family goodbye.

“Where you going?” Evelyn asks, a little too nosey for his taste.

“Steve’s.” Bucky gestures to case in his hand, “Gonna take his toolbox back.”

“Thank goodness,” Winnifred groans. “Hold on, let me pack him some biscuits and that strawberry jam he likes.” Obediently, Bucky waits as his precious mother tied up a handful of baked goods and a small jar of jam in a napkin.

“Bye, Ma,” he kisses her cheek. “Don’t hold dinner for me, I’ve got plans.”

“Going out with Steve and Peggy again?” Becca chimes in.

Becca knew full-well what his plans were. “No, I uh, have another date.”

Rose’s eyes grow as wide as the plate she’s washing. “With the same girl?”

Halfway out the front door Bucky hollers, “Uh-huh. You gals have fun shopping!”

“But Bucky-!” He hears as he firmly draws the door closed. He huffs out a sigh with a hand tugging at his hair before he starts on the familiar walk to Steve’s.

He berates himself for letting his father get under his skin enough that he let out the sweet secret of you. The last thing he wanted was his family nosing around his dating life before he was even sure of what this new relationship was.

It was too late now. He’d opened the door and an entire damn circus was charging through.

Letting his thoughts drift to happier things, Bucky reflects on last night’s date. You had looked exquisite in a maroon dress, lipstick the perfect matching shade. He’d picked out a simple diner for supper where you both admitted you felt much more comfortable. He kept his promise to share about his time serving in the military. Granted, he stuck to the most simple version, sparing you of the gritty details of blood, carnage, and capture.

You had been more merciful than he deserved. You read his cues well, changing the subject when he started getting emotional. Empathetic, kind - truly listening rather than waiting for your turn to talk. All he had to endure was a little teasing about Captain America being his closest friend. Even then, you were gentle. He’d walked you to your doorstep, lingering too long - trying to get his nerve up for a kiss. Disappointed in himself he settled for a peck to your cheek and hastily walked away, later commiserating with his sister over his jitters.

Before he knew it, Bucky was knocking on Steve’s door.

“‘Bout time you showed up,” Steve complains without a hint of malice as he opens the door of his apartment.

Bucky stands opposite of the blond, thoroughly unamused. “You’re the one who left your damn toolbox in our kitchen last week before up-and-disappearing for work. Well, you gonna stand there and let me freeze?”

“It’s almost May.”

“It’s the principle of the thing.”

Steve swings the door wide, waving Bucky in. “Thanks for bringing it back.”

“Ma’s been complaining about it being in the way for days, needed to get it out of the house.” Bucky sets the toolbox down in the living room next to a dilapidated dresser that was in desperate need of repairs.

“Sorry about that. How’s everything at home?”

“Alright. The girls are gearing up for Evelyn’s graduation. Dad is. . .Dad. By the way, Ma sent some biscuits for you.”

Steve smiles, peeking into the napkin before setting it down in the kitchen. “Strawberry jam, my favorite of hers.”

“Yeah, I’d say she knows you pretty well, ya moron.” Bucky grumbles, wiping a hand down his face. Steve notices he’s a little sluggish today, his walk more of a shuffle, the dark circles beneath his eyes more pronounced.

Steve knows he should mind his business.

But then again.

“Still sleeping on the couch?” Bucky nods. “Those cushions were uncomfortable when we were kids, I can’t imagine they’re better pushing 30.” Steve kneels by the box, rummaging to find the tools he needs.

“30 is almost a year away, I don’t wanna hear it.” Bucky takes up residence in an armchair close to where Steve begins to work.

Bucky likes Steve’s apartment. Forever army neat, Steve’s surroundings were kept meticulously tidy. The furniture was simple, utilitarian. He had what he needed and nothing more. The most ostentatious part of his home was the west wall of the living room that was completely taken up by bookcases. Floor to ceiling, left to right was all books. S framed wedding portrait of his parents hung next to the clock on the opposite wall, along with a snapshot of the Howlies and a photo of Steve and Bucky from their high school days. The home was in a good spot of Brooklyn, reminiscent of where they’d grown up; except much larger than what Steve had been accustomed to. Why he’d gotten a two-bedroom was beyond Bucky - Steve wasn’t exactly known for lavish spending. The SSR must pay Captain America well. If Bucky looked hard enough he could see hints of Peggy’s presence. The pillows on the couch, the tablecloth on the dining table, a rug set in the living room.

“The spare bedroom is still open, ya know. If the couch is killing your back.”

“I can’t afford rent right now.” Bucky pinches to bridge of his nose.

“You know that’s not a problem.”

“It’s a problem for me.”

“Stubborn ass,” Steve mutters under his breath.

Bucky only feels smug. “Says the pot.” He watches Steve wrestle a drawer out of the dresser before asking, “Where’d this thing come from, anyway?”

Steve exhales heavily. “Peggy saw it on a curb and thought it would go perfectly in my guest bedroom without considering why it was on the curb in the first place.”

“Why didn’t you tell her that? Why not her apartment?”

“I’ve gotta pick my battles.”

Bucky arches a brow. “Even when that lands you with a fucked up piece of furniture you’ve gotta fix?”

“Especially then,” Steve groans as he tugs another drawer free. The next time words are spoken is when Steve’s got his head in the interior of the dresser trying to discern why the drawers continued to jam. “You shaved.”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “You’re the fourth person to say that to me.”

With a shake of his head Steve emerges to grab a piece of sandpaper from the box. “Just different. Been a while. Can you give me a hand? Hold it still while I try to sand off this edge.”

He steadies the piece while Steve aggressively sandpapers one of the tracks. Resentfully Bucky mutters, “It hasn’t been that long.”

Steve pauses to look up at his friend. “Yeah it has.” Bucky grunts. “Don’t harumph me. You know I’m right.”

Quiet falls again as Steve works on, occasionally asking for Bucky’s help or thoughts.

This time Bucky breaks the silence. “I’ve been looking at other jobs. Trying to figure out what I wanna do when my GI benefits come through.”

“Oh yeah? What’re you thinking?” Steve’s moved the dresser to its side to address a crooked leg that set the whole thing off-balance. Bucky’s on the floor as well, back against the armchair waiting for further instructions.

“Maybe working on cars? Someone mentioned it to me and I think I might like it.”

“Huh, never heard you talk about that before.”

“It’s a new idea. One that has potential. Won’t be in an office, get to keep my hands busy. Be learnin’ something new.”

“Sounds almost perfect for you.”

“Could be. We’ll see. I’m gonna keep looking into it but it feels good to have some kind of direction to aim toward.”

Steve glances at Bucky with a glint in his eye. “You’re awfully chipper.” A beat. “Have anything to do with the girl?” Bucky says nothing. “Thought so. You gonna make me ask or are you going to volunteer?”

“I feel like you just asked.”

“Well you weren’t volunteering.”

Bucky leans forward, vaguely motioning to the bottom of the dresser. “I think this thing needs some more support, what if you added an extra beam here?”

“The date was that bad, huh?”

The misplaced sympathy finally forces the truth out of Bucky. “No. It was that good.”

Steve stills. “Seriously?”

“Yeah. We’ve actually been out a couple more times.”

Steve’s eyebrows fly up his forehead. “‘A couple times’? That date was a week ago and you’ve seen her again - several times - since?”

“Jesus, it’s not like I eloped, calm down.” Bucky can’t help prickling the tiniest bit.

“No, no, I. . .” he shuts his mouth, head bobbing. “That’s great, Buck. When’re you seeing her again?”

“In a few hours. She’s. . . the one who suggested cars. Gonna show me what she knows at a friend’s garage.”

“Where’d she learn about cars?”

Bucky can’t contain his smile. “Worked for Chevy during the war. Seems to know her stuff.”

“A mechanic? Sure could’ve used her when you stalled our jeep in Saarbrücken.”

“That was Morita and you know it. He’s always trying to fix things that aren’t broken. Speaking of idiots, thanks for telling DumDum about my date.”

“I--I, uh, what’re you talking about?”

“Don’t act dim, he called ahead at the restaurant and got us a special table.” Steve stutters several times in a futile effort to deny the accusation. “I thought better of you, flappin’ your lips like Old Ms. Johnson at the grocers.”

“I just-”

“What if that made her think I was some uppity snob?”

“Did it?”

“. . . no.”

“So no damage was done.”

“That’s not the point.”

“What is?”

“Just-” Bucky groans in frustration. “No one else needs to know unless it’s more than a date. Okay? I don’t want people thinking I’m chasing skirts and not taking life seriously.”

“I get it. I’m sorry. I’ll keep it to myself until you want people to know.”

“Thank you.” The small moment of tension dissolves and eases back into their familiar rhythm. Steve secures the leg correctly and the two of them set the dresser on its feet. Bucky hesitates then mentions quietly, “I did have a small. . . episode. . . that night. She didn’t treat me like I was nuts.”

“You okay?” Steve nonchalantly wipes dust and dirt from the surface but Bucky can feel the concern he’s trying to hide.

“It was a short one. But she got me out of there and let me be quiet for a sec before trying to distract me. Almost felt like she knew what I needed. Even my folks don’t know how to handle me when I get like that.”

“Seems to be someone worth hanging onto.” Steve slides the drawers back into the dresser one by one, running smooth on their tracks.

Responding with a hum Bucky crosses his arms. Again, he sees you stand up from the dinner table, eyes soft with kindness. He remembers how the click of your heels on the sidewalk gave him something steady to focus on while trying to dig himself out of bad memories.

“So when do I get to meet her?” Steve is all tease, looking to get a rise out of his friend. The last thing he expects is Bucky’s one word response:

“Soon.”

Bucky ignores Steve’s incredulous look. “Fuck, I thought you were going to say no. Didn’t think you were there yet.” He grabs one end of the dresser, nodding to the other end. “Help me move this?”

Huffing, Bucky complies, the pair lifting the piece together. “Why are you so fuckin’ worked up about this?”

Steve raises an eyebrow as he walks backwards down the hallway. “Because the last time I met someone you dated I was 5’6 and 110 pounds soaking wet.”

“We were both very different people then.”

“No shit, ace.”

They set the dresser down in the spare room opposite of the bed, making the space a little less sparse, slightly more homey.

Bucky sighs, looking down at his hands. “She’s a good one, Steve.”

“That’s not surprising. She’d have to be if you wanna keep her around.” Hands on his hips in satisfaction, Steve eyes the dresser. “Peggy’ll insist on meeting her too.”

“Yeah, pal, that’s what I’m worried about.”

Chapter Eight

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#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes series #bucky barnes reader insert #bucky x you #marvel fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfiction #beka writes #chapter seven #All We've Got is Time

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chyrstis · 5 years ago

Text

I won’t ask for much (but just this once, I’d like you) 7/10

Sorry Sharky. It gets better, I promise.

Pairing: Sharky Boshaw x John Seed Rating: E (but only for Ch. 10, the rest are a solid T) Word Count: 2.5K

Link to AO3!

Ch. 1 / Ch. 2 / Ch. 3 / Ch. 4 / Ch. 5 / Ch. 6 / Ch. 7 / Ch. 8 / Ch. 9 / Ch. 10

—

Sharky steals a boat. It just happens to be John’s boat, and when it’s damaged along with his boathouse, John proceeds to lay out a means of having Sharky pay him back. [No Cult AU]

———–

The first time Sharky worked up the nerve to kiss someone, he figured his luck was golden. Kristi, middle school, cool even with the braces, he’d impressed her with a few spare action figures and some of the extra snacks from his lunch. Talked her ear off more than once, and even had her respond with more than a nod, and an ‘uh huh’ or ‘okay’ to it too.

He had the moment planned out from the start, working up his nerve to pull it off only to get half a sandwich tossed at him mid-go. That, and some applesauce, and having to sit through the rest of the day with stained and sticky clothes had been the cherry on top of the shit sundae he’d made.

He’d thought the situation had been read right. Thought she’d been into him even if he was just a dumbass kid in bad need of a word (or five) breaking down why assuming that was bad – makes you less of an ass that way – and tried not to feel too broken up about it at the time. He could always pick himself back up and try again later.

Now, was no exception. He thought he had the situation down. Had everything sorted right from the start even if he didn’t have all of the pieces set in place yet, only for it all to snarl into a giant knot.

Because of course he’d want to see just what it’d take to get another smile from John, no matter how much he kept his mouth running to do so. To have John seek him out to talk, not just because he was there, but because he wanted to. To share more about himself, what he liked, what he loved. What mattered.

He wanted those things; liked earning them, knowing he’d been the one to make him smile like that. Laugh like that. Wanted to tap into the warm feeling he’d finally linked to it, flowing through him again and again.

So maybe it shouldn’t have been a shock when the other urge hit, saying to kiss the hell out of him. To do it as many times as John would let him, just to hear him react to it. To hold him close, and feel it too.

To earn that. To know he had.

That was an idea he could be okay with. He might’ve even let himself think he’d earned it that day, long enough to see what it tasted like.

And yeah, he did like it. He liked it a whole hell of a lot. Liked it, and John, and was full-on content to keep on kissing him even with the twig under him jabbing him in the ass.

But it wasn’t his call to make. Not alone, and when John pulled back he’d known on some level he’d fucked up.

Enough to know a sad 2 AM text wasn’t going to cut it, but he sent it. Still tried calling at least once as well, even if stammering out an apology wasn’t much better, but he got nothing. No response, no real acknowledgment, just radio silence.

Maybe he’d earned that too.

That, and the news that Joseph slapped him with when he'd finally kicked himself in the ass hard enough to head over and fess up directly. John wasn’t even there for one, and wouldn’t be for the next two weeks.

Two weeks.

Most of his work was usually done at his ranch or around the county, but they’d needed him to fly out for once; all for a few meetings that couldn’t be handled otherwise.

Joe wasn’t rude about it. He even welcomed him warmly once Sharky got through the whole shuffling and awkward rambling on the doorstep bit, half-launching into a speech that he was able to cut off before it got too personal too fast. But Joseph still had to tell him the news at least two more times for it to finally sink in, and the reassuring tone he used didn’t help one bit.

Because he knew what it was like to be avoided, to know that his piss-poor attempts at apologies really had to have fallen flat for John to cut out without any notice like that. And maybe he’d had a delay in replacing his phone – another thing of his he’d managed to wreck – but there were other ways he could’ve reached out to him.

With nothing to go off of, guessing was all he had left. So, with his thoughts pinging back and forth with a vengeance, he did the only thing he could do at the moment.

Work.

Pitching the schedule completely, he came by when he wanted, aware that the days were passing, but tried not to consciously tick them down while doing so. He worked his ass off, and turned the whole thing into the riverside discotheque he'd wanted since this whole mess had started. Had his top one-hundred greatest hits of all time on hand, wore his best headphones, and blared enough music into his eardrums to ensure nothing else could get through.

That’s how he started off this particular day, at least. Singing along loudly, throwing more paint up in lines that would’ve had John complaining next to him and pointing out what to do as he ‘helped’, and the pang he felt from it wasn’t funny at all.

Because it meant he missed that shit too, and that? That was bad.

“This fucking sucks,” he muttered, and brought the roller down only to squeeze his eyes shut before the splatter hit. “Fucking sucks.”

Lowering his headphones, Sharky grabbed for the rag hanging out of his back pocket, and tried to wipe the paint off of his face. It was during this that he caught movement in the distance. Coming down the path, the sunlight shone off of the spotless paint of the car, not a single scratch or dent on it in sight, and his heart jumped straight into his throat.

Scrubbing at the paint on him harder, he stashed the rag and wasn’t sure what the hell he was going for as he shuffled in place, but settled for staring thoughtfully at the wall in front of him. Wiped his hands on his shirt as he heard the door to the car open and close, and had no idea what the first word out of his mouth was going to be.

As it turns out, he didn’t say a thing. Just looked over at John as he walked up, dressed like a damn model himself, suit on with nowhere to go, and felt his face go a full three shades darker in color.

“Hmm.” John studied the building carefully, and tapped a finger on his chin. “You’ve been busy.”

“Uh, yeah.” That came out a little breathier than he would’ve liked, so Sharky cleared his throat and tried again. “Yeah, dude. You’ve been gone for what, two weeks now? What did you think I was gonna do during that? Take a holiday?”

“Maybe,” John replied. “I’d have considered it. No responsibilities, no oversight. Not a care in the world.”

He hadn’t looked his way yet, focusing on the boathouse instead. Sharky folded his arms just to keep his hands still, and rocked back and forth on his feet, all while the music kept on playing by his ear. He also tried not to read too much into the whole ‘lack of oversight’ part, but failed.

John did turn after a few more minutes, his examination finally over, and walked up to him. His face neutral, everything perfectly in place, and Sharky couldn’t help but stare at him.

“That settles it then,” John said.

“Settles what?”

“You’re done,” he replied coolly. “With the work you’ve put in, and the progress you’ve made, I believe your debt to me has been repaid.”

Everything screeched to a halt. His thoughts, the tapping he’d settled into, and his breath as he held it. “I don’t…you wanna say that again, amigo?”

John didn’t even bat an eye, “You’re free to go. Your help is no longer needed.”

That wasn’t right. The roof still needed work done, the paint was barely starting to dry, and he knew for a fact that this wasn’t finished. He’d stared at all of this with him long enough to know he had maybe a week and a half left, max.

But fine. Maybe he wanted him in another area. To switch to another project, and he latched right onto it.

“Well, you got anything else that you need help with? Think I told Joe I was going to-”

“No. I can manage it from here.”

That idea hadn’t even lasted a minute before John shot it dead.

And there it was, the feeling he'd braced for. The hurt that dug right into his chest, sinking in deep, and he let out a shaky breath as he worked around it.

“Guess I’ll just…” Sharky gestured behind him, attention locked on John as his throat grew tight. “Just start grabbing and loading this up then. Just grab all of this and be on my way.”

Nodding to himself as John stared back, unblinking, his shoulders sagged. Everything else sinking right with him, as a weight settled heavy in his gut.

He knew he wasn’t always going to be around here, but being cut loose like this hadn’t been a possibility he’d considered. Having John all but throw him out mid-job, due to screwing up along the line? Sure. Hell, he would’ve added time due to piss-poor performance, and all that talk of standards months back.

But having him pull this now? After working together so well, for so long?

It stunned him bad enough to keep him from arguing it. He dragged his feet as he gathered up his things, loading them all into the trunk of his car one by one as his disappointment started to hang over him like a cloud.

Sharky shut the trunk and gave John a tentative glance. He didn’t know if he should’ve been looking his way at all, but did it in the hopes he’d get something out of him.

But John wasn’t fazed. Didn’t react, or say anything as he watched him go about his business, somehow even colder than when they’d first started working together. Not angry, annoyed, happy, or anything.

Just nothing. Nothing at all.

Rounding the car, Sharky tugged down on the brim of his hat and hoped it’d stay there. “Guess I’ll see you around?”

“Perhaps. Provided you don’t torch another portion of my property.”

He stopped. Felt the comment dig in a little more than it should’ve, and turned to look at John. Saw the hint of a smirk that lingered there only for it to drop completely.

It hadn’t been a kind thing for John to say, but that John realized it only after looking right at him hurt even more.

Sharky couldn’t hold his tongue any longer at that.

“You know, people talk around here. Have been for years, and will keep on doing that come tomorrow, next week, next year, whenever. I know you’ve heard more than half of what goes on about you here. What they say, and just how they feel about you. Hell, I’ve talked shit plenty about you. Had no real reason to think you weren’t the county’s largest asshole based on the like, ten things we’ve said to each other before the last couple of months. But in some ways you’re an okay guy. Maybe even a great one once you get past the bullshit, and I, uh, like you.”

I like you.

He said it, actually got the words out of his mouth, and didn’t know how he could feel lighter and heavier all at once.

“Yeah, I like you. Didn’t think I’d ever say that and mean it. Probably tell the person claiming it they had a screw loose or something, but I do. And I liked being here. Working with you, being around you, and I don’t…”

Sharky bit the last part of the sentence off, because he knew what he did. He knew exactly what he’d done, and hated that this was the result.

“I, uh, don’t think it really matters what I say at this point, huh?” he muttered, looking John’s way. “Not anymore, at least.”

John’s jaw had tensed sometime in the last minute or so, but he held his tongue. Said nothing, and Sharky had let himself ramble on in spite of it. Had done anything to cover up whatever else he’d try.

Since this really was it, wasn’t it? The last time he was going to be here, talking to him, and he was wasting his time talking about anything other than the way he’d made him feel that day.

He’d never had the best of luck with shit like this anyway.

Giving John a grin, one that he wanted to muster up and mean, he held out his hand to him. “Guess this is where we part ways, amigo, and uh, don’t worry. Don’t think I’ll be taking a joyride in your boat twice.”

Not dropping his stare for a second, John shifted towards him and took his hand. Squeezed it as he shook it, and Sharky felt his grin finally wane as he forced himself to let go.

With one last slap to John’s shoulder, he headed towards his car.

“Charlemagne,” John called after him, but he didn’t slow down. “Charle-Sharky, wait.”

“Just save it, okay?” he snapped, pouring all of his frustration into it. “Don’t bother with the names, the pleading, or whatever this is you’re trying! Persuading me? Now? The fuck’s up with that? Not like you wanted me here to begin with, but it is what it is. I wrecked your shit, I came here to fix it, thinking that was going to be all of it, but this?”

He gestured between them, and let too much show on his face while saying it.

“This on top of everything else? Fucking blows, man. It fucking blows.”

Seeing John’s calm crack wasn’t satisfying. Having to force it to begin with, even less so.

“So just…let it go, huh? Save us both more trouble in the long run.”

Sharky turned, his feet carrying him to his car, and after slamming the door shut behind him, left.

On autopilot, he gunned the engine, not thinking about where the road was winding to. Just away. Far, far, away as he passed each of the signs dotting the valley. Following the road, he revved more than the car liked, content to keep listening to the roar of the motor until it shuddered. Something kicked around outside, pulling his attention straight to it, and he pulled in to a nearby gas station as he caught the familiar smell of burnt rubber.

He idled by the pump. Listened to the engine as he loosened his grip on the steering wheel, and turned the keys to shut it all off. Only then did the silence really hit; leaving him alone with only his heavy, uneven breathing to listen to.

That’s when the blue caught his eye.

Right on the dash sat the sunglasses. Blue, almost as blue as his eyes.

Punching the steering wheel, Sharky swallowed the rest of his feelings down and got out.

#far cry 5 #sharky boshaw #john seed #john seed/sharky boshaw #fanfiction #FC5 fanfiction #fic: I won't ask for much #fic series: we could make a home out of this

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