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wh6res · 3 years

Text

chase — renhyuck

“needy kitty. i can’t wait for purge night.”

tw bullying, violence, swearing, yandere themes, possessive themes, blood, weapons (a gun, a grenade), implied noncon, implied kidnapping, mentions of stalking

disc i dont condone this behavior

wc 5k

‏‏‎ ‎

29 hours before the annual purge

“hold her down—i said hold her down, idiot!”

putting everything into account, they saw you more like a glorified chew toy than an actual person.

they ruined your life simultaneously and it's ironic, that despite being sworn rivals, it seems you were their neutral ground—after one has had their own fun, you’re passed on to the other person so they can deliver that final, shattering blow that weakens your resolve.

it was meant to be that way because it had always been that way. you’re the unlucky loser that ignited the worse sides of both lee haechan and huang renjun.

they’re like oil and water; they don’t mix but with you, they found a compromise. stealing your lunch money, trashing your homework, quickies in between lectures. all of these should’ve been enough to give them a good power trip. but they’ve developed a hunger so severe that these past instances are but mere crumbs that hardly satisfy their cravings.

it was beyond exhausting, being caught in between two headstrong people that were unwilling to back down at any cost. their aggression and anger towards each other directly being channeled onto you as they shove and swing you around like some ragdoll.

you weren’t a bunch of kids, you knew that. you don’t cry and sob and say that it’s unfair, you hold your chin high and walk up to the guidance counselor’s office to report them for bullying. but you never should’ve underestimated the power of money and their respective families’ broad network of connections.

without a doubt, the empty promises for justice is what broke your heart the most. it breaks with every bruise, every tight grip, and every nasty name the people willingly turned a blind eye to.

it’s sad but it was a reality you taught yourself to get used to—the meek mouse learning how to evade the cats hot on her trail.

but you weren’t as lucky today.

“i am holding her down.”

a pair of lips comes in contact with your neck. its feathery and light at first until its biting down to mark you with his teeth. not too strong to draw blood, but enough to dent the surface of the skin.

haechan has an oral fixation. biting his lips. his nails. whenever you see him, he always has a lollipop on his mouth and if he doesn’t, he’s painting hickeys across your skin. you hated his oral fixation, especially when makeup and clothes proved useless to hide the marks he gives you.

“why run?” renjun asks you, slipping his fingers underneath your skirt as he kneels. “you know you have nowhere to hide in the campus.”

haechan snorts. “or anywhere else.”

it’s always the same thing. you go to school. you sit in your first period for thirty minutes until one of them shows up. then the other boy probably felt a gut instinct that he’s missing out on the fun. last time, it was an empty classroom in the abandoned left wing.

they like taking you there all the time, it was always dark, the blinds pulled and shut tight. not to mention it was incredibly dusty. but both male knew you’re afraid of the dark, exactly why it’s their favorite spot. but empty classrooms and supply closets are close seconds, too.

“you’re so pathetic. useless—only know how to whine like a fucking pornstar,” he quickly comments, feeling you arch against him when renjun’s tongue comes in contact with the pearl between your legs. “my cumdump.”

you feel a sharp exhale against your lower lips. you shudder. renjun clicks his tongue in annoyance. “can you shut up? you’re making my dick soft with all that talking.”

but haechan had ignored him completely, blissfully ignorant of the petite boy’s frustrations as he angles your head up to crash his lips onto yours. when he slightly pulls away, still playfully nibbling your bottom lip, what he said next made your blood run cold.

“needy kitty. i can’t wait for purge night.”‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎

6 hours before the annual purge

the price to pay for protection started rising again this year and you, much like your neighbors, are in a sense of turmoil. jamming the doors with cabinets and nailing your windows with wood is hardly enough to satisfy the gnawing feeling in your stomach. much less when you didn’t even have a weapon to wield other than a wooden bat and a cheap taser you bought on sale.

“its not like anyone will be coming for you, right?” the little girl says, touching the randomest stuff in your apartment. her name was naeun and she never really liked pink and sparkles like most girls her age, maybe that’s why she took a liking to you.

her mom works a 9 to 5 and her grandma stays with her on occasion. but the old lady loved to sleep, naeun said, so she gets the chance to slip out and come knocking on your door. you tried shooing her out of your apartment countless times but she’s stubborn.

she reminds you of yourself.

“well, i hope no one does.” you joked, putting on a turtleneck.

naeun’s mom doesn't like you as much as it is, but if you yourself let naeun see the bruises on your skin? you’d hate yourself forever. “now, come on little missy, go back to your grandma. i need to head over to the bank to settle my protection fees.”

“but you just said no one is going to come for you anyway,” she whines stomping towards the door. “mom already settled ours yesterday becase grammy forced her to. mommy said it was just a waste of money because who’d bother to rob us anyway?”

a memory flashes in your head. two boys who’ve sandwiched you between them in the dark of a fucking supply closet at uni. wandering hands, labored whispers, curt giggles, one pair of lips trailing up your neck while the other up your inner thigh.

“needy kitty. i can’t wait for purge night.”

you needed that protection. that was no slip up because haechan never makes mistakes. if he wanted to make you feel like some animal on the run after catching a whiff of trouble then he sure is doing a good job.

“hey! i think you just went someplace else there,” naeun says, nudging your side irritably to get your attention again.

you try forcing out a chuckle but it doesn't work, still deeply peeved by a memory from last week replaying vividly in your mind. if they ever mean what they meant (which you know they do) then this is now more than just trying to get through the night—you have to survive, prepare, and pray neither of them finds you.

“i think your grandma’s right in doing what she did, naeun. with humans, you’ll never know.”

and just like that naeun went silent, bid you goodbye, and disappeared behind the apartment door.

the bank was a quick walk from your apartment. you hardly broke much sweat and you even managed to stop by the grocery store to make some last-minute runs. the store’s nearly empty, deserted of any human being as the seconds slowly but surely ticked away. it was only when you walked past aisle seven did you pause, the hairs on your back standing as a slow chill crawled up your spine.

you look over your shoulder.

no one’s there.

you swallow, quickly looking down your watch to check the time as you made your way to counter. 3 hours before the annual purge. you needed to get your ass moving. you just need to grab one more thing and you’ll best be on your way.

you practically ran towards the dairy section and just as you spin around, strawberry ice cream pint in your hands, you jump as he appears before you in thin air and you drop whatever you’re holding.

“such a skittish little kitten,” renjun clicks his tongue, bending down to retrieve the ice cream on the floor. “here you go.”

you couldn’t even stare at him in the eye. your hands shook but it wasn’t because of the cold desert. now you get it. it’s his eyes you felt on you earlier, ever intrusive and piercing as he watched you from afar. was he stalking you?

“i didn’t quite catch a thank you, kitty.”

how foolish of you to think he’ll let you duck away without at least speaking to him, hm?

“thank… thank you?”

renjun grins, satisfied with your stuttering as he raises a hand to ruffle your hair—he ignores how you flinched away from him—before walking away with one hand in his coat pocket, whistling an eerie tune that can haunt your nightmares way after purge night.

“see you later, kitten.”

if it wasn’t the whistling that set you on edge or that clear promise of your doom—it’s the pack of zip ties and duct tape in his hands.‏‏‎ ‎

you were watching a rerun of your favorite morning reality tv when it cuts to the dreaded blue screen showing the flag of korea.

this is not a test.

this is your emergency broadcast system announcing the commencement of the annual purge sanctioned by the south korean government.

weapons of class 4 and lower have been authorized for use during the purge. all other weapons are restricted.

commencing at the siren, any and all crime, including murder, will be legal for 12 continuous hours.

police, fire, and emergency medical services will be unavailable until tomorrow morning until 7 am when the purge concludes.

may god be with you all.

you’ll never get used to the blaring siren that echoes through the empty streets. you can feel the floor vibrating and it travels throughout your whole body as the dread starts sinking deep into your skin.

you’ve already double checked all your windows and the front door. activated the security system provided by the bank. and you’ve also already charged your taser and have hammered down nails into your wooden bat. fine. if they wanted to scare and bully you into a panicked frenzy, it did its job but fuck no will you go down without a fight.

you shut all the lights, the apartment basking in the moonlight glow brought by the translucent curtains as you make your way to your bedroom, nearest the emergency exit just in case they barge through your front door by force.

at first, nothing happened. it was peaceful. tranquil. you can hear a pin drop with how quiet it was. both inside and outside. you were almost tempted to cover your mouth in case you were breathing too loud.

it’s silent. until it wasn’t.

your phone rings. it’s there, vibrating on your desk and you make long strides until you’re face to face with a set of numbers on your screen. an unregistered contact. there’s a debate inside your head whether to answer it or not, fingers hovering between the red and green button… until it eventually lands on the green.

you put it up to your ear, hands sweating as you wait with bated breath for the person on the other end to speak.

“kitten?”

it’s renjun. you don’t answer.

“i can hear you breathing, you know. i can’t wait to see you. we’ll have so much fun together. it’s sad that i have to share with that imbecile but better half of you than nothing of you, right?” he laughs and you feel a rush of anger surge through you. yet, you don’t bother to give him the satisfaction of a reply.

“i can see you’re angry, little kitty. while it’s cute and hot… don’t be. turn that frown upside down for me, wouldn’t you?”

but the blinds are drawn he couldn’t have seen you—

“you’re never going to get me, you fucking bastard. i’m not scared of you,” you sure do hope he can’t hear the tremble in your voice. “whatever you plan on doing to me, you’ll fail.”

you walk back slowly, eyes darting everywhere to look for a camera they could’ve installed in your room. they have connections and the money to do it so you won’t put it past them.

“oh, my stupid kitty. how can we fail when we already got a head start?”

the floorboard behind you creaks and before you could turn around, someone slams your head against the desk. you hear a crack, whether it’s the screen of your laptop or your nose, you couldn’t tell. the person is agile and silent as he maneuvers you to the ground and seals your lips with duct tape.

“after all,” haechan giggles. “you can’t lock out what’s already inside, kitten.”

your phone lands somewhere near your head. renjun has already dropped the call and the line goes silent.

squirming, you glared at the person on top of you. is this how you’re gonna go? you can’t deny, even you yourself find this pathetic. the security alarms you bought, the nail-studded bat, your taser, everything was all for naught? just because you didn’t check under your bed to make sure no one was there?

how long was haechan waiting? when naeun was still here? when you went out to buy groceries?

you thought it would be fear you’ll be feeling as you get caught but the emotion isn’t present at all. instead, it’s white hot anger that overrides your system and forces you to act without thinking—and it just fucking saved your life.

haechan always saw you as a vulnerable, sad little human being who couldn’t do shit on her own. it’s easy to underestimate you and that’s his first mistake.

the second is rather foolish—not tying your legs up first. it’s all too easy to slam your forehead against his before jerking your leg up to knee him in the balls.

you can see the anger in his eyes clear as day as you made a run for it to the kitchen, having come up with another escape plan—because surely if you went down the emergency exit, haechan would’ve caught up easily with those long legs after he’s recovered from your assault.

your nose was probably bleeding and your head is in the early stages of a full blown migraine, at least you were able to function enough to wobble your way towards the trash chute situated near the stove. you had cursed that chute the first day you moved in here (who would put a trash chute next to a fucking stove) but the day has come for you to thank the gods that you have that in your house.

going for a swim in all your neighbors’ trash is disgusting and unplanned (plus, falling down maybe six floors to your doom) but you’ll choose that over lee haechan and huang renjun any day.

“don’t you dare fucking think about it!”

you flashed him the middle finger to tick him off. a petty retaliation for all the bullshit he and renjun put you through but it felt good nonetheless.

“catch me if you fuckers can.”

and you were falling down the trash chute.‏‏‎ ‎

okay, yeah—maybe you should’ve thought it through before hurling yourself six floors down only for some half-filled dumpster to catch you but at least you’re still alive, right? alive and free, mind you. but you don’t have time to celebrate.

it smelled awful and you swear your knees and elbows are bruised but you scramble to climb out and run away as fast as you can.

it was only haechan inside your apartment. no sign of renjun but he did see you somehow and you have no doubt it was a camera inside that room. you didn’t have much time to ponder for how long they were installed in your room. it’s the least of your worries at the moment.

you’re outside.

during purge night.

even if you did manage to escape it felt more like a win than a lose, forced out of your own apartment in nothing but shorts and a shirt—heck, you don’t even have shoes on!—it felt like they won. again.

if you’re not going to die in the hands of some other wacko, you’ll die of hypothermia. how nice.

you didn’t know where you were running to, the only thing you knew was you need to get the hell out of this neighborhood as fast as you can. you didn’t want to run in alleyways and risk getting stabbed for fun. maybe the sewer system… oh, right. you don’t have your phone on you and it’ll probably be pitch black down there.

you really, truly, genuinely didn’t want to run so out in the open but it was the best you can impulsively come up with.

when you feel like you’ve put a reasonable distance between you and the apartment, you stop, hands resting flat on your knees as you crouch to catch a breath. just as quick the adrenaline appeared as fast as it had disappeared. you feel the weight and tension crushing your legs, not to mention you’re really starting to feel that headache settle after headbutting haechan.

you almost collapse against the brick wall.

the last person you ever thought you’ll see jumps out from the corner of the alleyway and you almost broke their nose.

until you saw who it was.

“NAEUN?”

their apartment got raided, some buffy sickos who they had the misfortune of breaking into their house to purge. luckily they got away, but after getting attacked on the streets, naeun got separated after she ran for her life just like you did. you can’t help but feel sorry for the little girl, who experienced the full effect of this godforsaken holiday.

this is bad. you can’t leave her but it’s tough enough to have to fend for yourself. you’re not so sure whether you can protect another human being but you’ll have to try.

“did your mom or grandma tell you anything? anything at all?” you ask, crouching to her eye level. “you said your mom knew the way… where? what do you mean?”

“mom said they’re providing refuge on the other side of town but it’s a 30-minute drive. walking would take longer.”

shit. you didn’t want to risk it. you don’t have a car and you’d rather die right here right now than walk another step out in the streets—

“who’s ‘they’?”

“i don’t… i don’t know. she didn’t say.”

you licked your chapped lips. you can’t trust what she’s saying, not when you didn’t even know these people. it’s too risky, not to mention you’re already running from not one, but two people.

naeun sits next to you against the bricked wall of the alley, looking down at her lap. “i’m scared,” she admits. you hear a tremble in her voice. “are mom and grammy de—”

“no,” you cut her off, pulling her tiny body against yours. when you feel her fists clutching your jacket, you swear to protect this girl with your life. “no, they’re not. i’m sure they’re heading there now to the refuge center just like we are.”

her head pokes out, looking up towards you. “we’re going? i thought you didn’t want to.”

you shake your head, wiping her tears. “well, it’s the one way for you to meet your mom and grammy, right?”‏‏‎ ‎

walking down the streets during purge night—man, this has got to be the most ballsy thing you’ve ever done after that one time you spat at renjun in the eye. you managed to find a litter of bodies way into thirty minutes of walking and you nearly sent naeun flying onto the asphalt with how hard you pushed her back. she couldn’t see this mess, you’d be damned to allow a nine-year-old walk right into psychological trauma.

you pocket a gun—you didn’t have enough courage to fight with a knife. you wiped the blood off using your shirt before shoving them down onto the garter of your shorts. you didn’t bother to take their shoes, none of them would’ve fit you anyway and it’ll just slow you down.

“hey, are you alright? is that blood—”

“it’s not mine, naeun. come on, let’s get moving.”

for two hours you walked towards this mysterious refuge center on the other side of town and both you and naeun managed to evade death three times.

the first attack: a group of high schoolers with their uniforms on. there were three of them, about your height, and while you weren’t responsible for the blood on your shirt, you’re not so sure about their lot. they looked crazy, excited even, but sloppy in the way they flung their knives and bats around. their first purge, you assumed, so it was fairly easy to take them down. a bullet to the head worked like a charm. naeun didn’t say anything when you urged her out of her hiding place to flee the scene. three bullets left.

the second attack: it was a surprise, one that got you stabbed in the shin of your right leg. it was a drunkard with a knife, you could smell him as you walked past by his slumped form in the sidewalk. he wasn’t moving, so you thought he was dead and it was poor judgement on your part. it’s pathetic getting injured this way, you thought, but at least it was you who faced the consequences and not naeun. two bullets left.

the third attack: two men but deadlier than the girls and the drunk. you didn’t get to reason out with either of them, not when they drove their cadillac at 140 miles per hour and nearly ran you over. a chill crept up your spine when you saw the bloody, naked women strapped down onto the hood. victims. you didn’t engage in any form of combat, it’s impossible, so you took naeun in your arms and ran straight to the back alleys. number of bullets remain the same.

three lucky strikes.

three times you’ve cheated death.

but time is up and your luck has run out.

“beating up a girl? what a coward, if you ask me,” you say, spitting out a tooth after someone kneed you in the face. you were in no position to say such things when they’ve got you busted up and bloody, left eye swollen after one hard punch.

naeun is nowhere to be seen.

good.

who knows what these assholes could’ve done to her. you told her to run so she better fucking run and make sure she lives through this nightmare.

another kick flies to your ribs and you lie sprawled on the dirty pavement of an alleyway—what an uncool way to die but at least you’ll die with a clear conscience.

you passed by city hall a few minutes ago. surely, the refuge center is not too far from there. naeun will make it safe. she’ll make it.

“what’s that look on her face? is she dead?”

another one scoffs. “well… if they’re after her then she’s as good as dead.”

you blacked out. ‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎

you hate the scent of disinfectant. it crawls up your nose and you hate how the stench is so strong you can taste it on your tongue. this isn’t heaven, not when you know you’re better off burning in hellfire.

unless you weren’t dead—your eyes shoot open, sitting up in haste as you clutch the thin blanket.

rows upon rows of the same cot you were lying on greets you. people injured, some standing, some sitting. there were people treating them, too, but they were in normal clothes so this can’t be a hospital. in fact, it looked like you’re in some warehouse, stacks of metal crates sealing off all entrances.

“it’s the refuge,” you whisper.

“you’re awake!” before you could even turn around, a body launches itself onto you and nearly makes the cot collapse. judging by the small frame and the pitchy voice—

“naeun, be careful!” her mother hisses but the girl in between your arms couldn’t care less. if she’d been an adult, she’d be squeezing the life out of you. when she pulls you closer, your healing ribs made a strike of pain surge through you.

you groan, bowing in the pain. distantly, you can hear the mother and daughter fighting and it was a banter you’ve never experienced with your own mom. it nearly made you tear up from the overwhelming wave of emotions you were feeling but all else disappears when a person tenderly grips your shoulder.

“thank you for taking care of my granddaughter.” the old lady was smiling appreciatively as she stared at you.

that was it. it could’ve been the happy ending to a gruesome and bloody storyline—it should’ve been, family of three reunites again and that was all thanks to you, right?

but even heroes have their own bad endings.

you heard the ticking of the grenade only seconds before it detonates. the other refugees didn’t even have the time to take cover as some closest to the sealed doors were sent flying so far back they crashed into the row of crates behind you.

you were severely injured, limping, ribs broken, and you only had one good eye to rely on—yet the first thing you thought of was protecting naeun. maybe the midget had a way of worming herself into your heart. but before you even push yourself off the cot, a figure emerges from the smoke.

petite and harmless, pretty as the tips of his hair grazed porcelain cheekbones. renjun’s eyes are as cold and calculating as can be and it’s the only thing that terrifies you to no end. when he opens his mouth, anger is hidden well underneath that calm tone.

“i’ll give you one minute to come here willingly.”

there’s no room for bargain, he needn’t when he knows you have absolutely nothing to offer him but yourself. he doesn’t finish his sentence but he trusts you’re smart enough to figure out the silent threat—come, or he’ll turn this place into a fucking bloodbath.

cornered and weak, defenseless. weird how they have a fixation for calling you ‘kitty’ when they’re the cats in this chase.

“naeun,” you whisper, trying to crane your neck to look for her in the filth of rocks and debris. please don’t be hurt.

you freeze when you feel a barrel pointing at your head. it was only there for seconds, haechan probably doesn’t have the guts to hurt you in any way permanently (unless it’s inflicted with his own hands and not through some other medium).

“ah, look. now we have matching black eyes,” he giggles like a madman, craning your neck up and the leather in his globes brings discomfort to your skin.

you see the way the other refugees looked at you—scum, dirt on their feet that brought about trouble in their lives. they were already badly hurt as it is and now, this happened? you don’t blame them.

not one man tried to stand up for you as haechan hauls you up and throws you down on renjun’s feet. your ribs were screaming and you’re cold and so, so afraid. with shaky fingers, you gestured towards the crowd. “just... please, don’t hurt them. they don’t have anything to do with this.”

renjun coos. such a cruel smirk for a pretty face. “aw, such an angel my darling is. always thinking of others instead of her own safety. funny because i don’t think you’ve ever done such a thing for me and haechan, though. i wonder why...”

the latter digs his heel in your injured legs and you scream as black starts to surround the corners of your vision. you tried to crane your neck back, pleading eyes wanting to look at the assaulter but renjun’s calloused hand is gripping your chin too tight.

“should we make a bargain, kitten?”

you stare deep into renjun’s eyes. he knows you don’t have anything left, he can see it in your glassy eyes, too wide and vulnerable. he’s doing this all for show, trying to make you even more desperate and self-aware of your eventual demise.

and you thought haechan was the only cunning one.

“what… what bargain?"

renjun practically gleams in pride. “i’ll let everyone walk free—even your precious little naeun—that’s her name, right? the little girl you’ve been protecting the whole night?—we’ll let her and everyone in this building walk away unharmed. that’s my bargain. you know how those work, right? now, you need to give me something i want.”

forcing you to offer yourself up to them.

what a brutal way to crush your pride.

choice wasn’t an option. if you don’t oblige and choose to run away on your own, they’ll kill them and still hunt you down. you gotta say, it was a tempting bargain that appealed to the sense of heroics in your heart. naturally, you have to choose where there is less blood shed. and as renjun lets go of your chin and lets you look over your shoulder to meet little naeun’s eyes, how she sobbed against her mother’s arms and shook her head and screamed…

“hurry, kitten. i don’t like to be kept waiting.”

you know what needs to be done.

“me. i’ll give you… me.”‏‏‎‏‏‎ ‎

they stood playing a game of pool in the dead of night. it’s peaceful inside the estate while the city beyond rampaged and burned. they achieved their goal, had finally seen an end to a plan that had been set in motion for years. they’ve succeeded and the broken woman lying on the bed meters from the pool table is proof of their victory.

“don’t you just love it when an elaborate plan works like clockwork, injun?” he asks, voice like trickling honey as he hits number 9 with the cue ball.

the other, more petite male, rolls his eyes but doesn’t disagree. “oh, please, people like us always triumph, donghyuck. it’s nothing new. although i am surprised that little girl and her so-called “family” played along so well. almost had me fooled.”

“i agree. it's such a shame they had to go.”

‎

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@hoeartchoke @donghyukcore @stopknot @greenish-taro @zhongriot @lmaoskz @zephyr-abyss @anonymous-stuff @josuke8 @jaemotel @winwiniee @dundun-baby @nakamotocore @hcwurld @alaeddis @recs-for-later @jaehyunssslut

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#nct imagines #nct scenarios #nct dream imagines #nct dream scenarios #renhyuck scenarios #renhyuck imagines #haechan imagines #renjun imagines #yandere haechan #yandere renjun #purge au #purge au nct dream #tw bullying #tw violence #tw purge au

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jbbarnesnnoble · 3 years

Text

Look Me in the Heart

Summary: [Mel Edit: I goofed and didn’t put the right summary. I am a fool]

You and Natasha have been together for several years. You want forever, and she’s pulling away.

Features/Warnings: Angst;

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff/Reader

Notes: This is a request from last year that I finally got inspiration to finish. As always, I’m opening to revisiting fics!

Request: “Could I request a Natasha x fem!reader fic please? Like one where Nat x r have been together for years but for the last year or so, R has wanted to get married but Nat keeps saying she’ll never get married. Nat doesn’t pay much attention to her anymore. One day, R, Yelena and Nat meet and Yelena pays a lot of attention to R, making her feel real good and making her blush and giggle every time Yelena compliments her/flirts with her. Nat gets annoyed and calls r out once they’re home (1/2)(2/2) They fight and r tells Nat all she’s been feeling lately. Alone, unloved, just there to be a fucktoy for Nat and nothing else. Nat promises her they’ll get help and they’ll fix their relationship, that she’ll try harder and make an effort. Thank you so much :) xx”

Word Count: 1942

Your fist connected with the bag in front of you. It felt good to release the tension that had been building from everything. Fury was on your ass lately about your mission reports. Steve was on your ass about slacking in your training. And you had been stressed by Natasha’s lack of communication.

You and Natasha had been together for several years, since you’d joined the Avengers, just before the fall of SHIELD. You knew what you wanted, and it was forever with her. The topic of marriage was one the both of you danced around. Last time you had brought it up, she brushed it off. You knew you could live without getting married, but it was something you wanted with her and something you’d wanted for some time. You wanted to be on the same page, to know if it was something to put on the shelf. You’d be okay if it wasn’t something she wanted, you just needed to know and an answer was never given.

“What’d that bag ever do to you Rose?” Sam asked. You jumped a little before looking over to where he was leaning against the wall. You hadn’t seen him come in.

“Everything, Jack,” you joked. It had been a running joke between you and Sam since a mission gone wrong on the water that evoked the infamous scene from Titanic. You both fit on the door.

“What’s really wrong?” he asked. You sighed. Sam could read you better than anyone, barring Natasha. It was why you two were frequently partners on mission. You worked well together, seamlessly moving from one mission to the next.

“It’s relationship woes. We had a...disagreement before she left on her mission. I brought up the big M again,” you explained, moving to sit on the bench as you grabbed your bottle of water. Sam sat down beside you.

“Eventually you two do need to have that discussion. Is that all that’s bothering you?” he asked.

“I feel like she’s pulling away. You know how my last relationship went,” you told him. He let out a light laugh before speaking.

“Your ex was a piece of work. I know you. And I know Natasha. Natasha is the furthest thing from your ex. Have you told her how you feel?” he asked. You felt your cheeks burn with embarrassment. You hadn’t brought it up. You weren’t sure how. You didn’t want to appear clingy. It was one of your fears when it came to voicing your feelings.

“To paraphrase Jersey Shore, I don’t want to appear like a stage five clinger,” you grumbled. You glared as Sam doubled over with laughter.

“I thought you hated that show,” he said when he caught his breath. You looked anywhere but at him. You hoped Bucky wouldn’t murder you for what you were going to say.

“I’ve been binging it with Barnes and Rogers when we have free time,” you admitted. At that, Sam had completely fallen off the bench laughing. You shook your head at your best friend. If that was the price you had to pay to end the conversation on your relationship issues, you’d pay it. Even if it meant facing the wrath of Bucky for letting Sam know that bit of information.

You both left the gym, headed for the living room. You knew Natasha was due back that day and that she was bringing Yelena with her. Yelena had met up with Natasha and Bucky on the mission. You liked Yelena, when she’d come around. She had her own room at the compound, but wasn’t formally an Avenger. She liked the freedom to come and go as she pleased. Tony was more than happy to offer her a place to stay.

You were in the middle of watching a rerun of The Nanny with Sam and Steve when the trio arrived. The three of you had just placed the pizza order, knowing the others would be in and out. You stood up and walked to Natasha, who placed a gentle kiss on your lips.

“I’m going to go shower before dinner gets here. Save my seat for me?” she asked.

“Always,” you replied. Bucky and Yelena both took their leave as well, all three of them in need of a shower after their debrief with Fury and Hill. You saw the look Sam gave you and just shook your head. Natasha was most affectionate after a mission. But by the end of the evening she’d be shrugging you off. It was a cycle that you had grown used to. You weren’t sure when things had changed.

Dinner arrived along with a freshly showered Natasha who sat down beside you, one hand on your thigh, itching for the contact. But you knew by the time dinner was done, Natasha would no longer be beside you. That she would come to bed after she was sure you were asleep. Unless she wanted to relieve tension. You felt more like her personal fucktoy than her girlfriend some days. A body to warm her bed and get her off. There were no bedtime conversations. There was no cuddling. No moments that belonged to just the two of you that didn’t involve sex. You hated it.

You stood and stretched some time after you finished dinner. You felt Natasha’s eyes on you. You knew it wouldn’t be long before she followed you to the room the two of you shared. For once, you were going to turn her down. You set about your nightly routine, taking a quick shower and brushing your teeth before pulling on pajama pants and a tank top. You weren’t surprised to see Natasha lounging on the bed when you entered the room.

“I missed you baby,” she murmured as you sat on the bed. She knelt behind you, bringing one hand around to trail up your stomach to your breast. You rebuffed her attempt.

“Not tonight, Nat. I don’t think dinner sat well,” you lied. You heard her huff and bit your lip in an attempt to hold the tears at bay. You heard her get under the covers and wondered where things had started to go wrong before getting under the covers yourself, your back turned to her.

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

The next morning, Yelena was joining the two of you for breakfast in your room. Room was an understatement. Each Avenger had their own kitchenette and living space with a separate bedroom. It was really like a small apartment. Most times though, the team could be found in the common spaces unless they wanted time to themselves or they were off compound on missions or visiting friends and family.

You were making pancakes. Yelena had volunteered to help. Nat had left on her morning run and had only mentioned that Yelena was coming over before she left. You felt at ease with the blonde. You doubled over in laughter as she smudged flour on your face after saying you had a spot of flour on your nose. Neither of you had heard Natasha come in until you heard the thud of her water bottle on the counter, startling you.

“Sorry, am I interrupting something?” she asked, glaring at Yelena.

“We were just making breakfast, Nat. It’ll be done soon. Why don’t you go grab a shower?” you said to her. With one last glare, Nat stalked from the room angrily. You sighed.

“She loves you, you know,” Yelena said softly.

“Sure doesn’t feel like it sometimes,” you muttered. You set about setting the table, pouring coffee for Natasha, made just like she liked it. Breakfast was tense. Yelena threw a couple flirty comments before Natasha’s glare made her stop. She knew when to stop. The tension ramped up throughout breakfast, even as Yelena engaged Natasha in conversation. After breakfast, Yelena excused herself when she sensed the tension had only grown, making an excuse about having promised Wanda she would spar with her. You steeled yourself for the fight that was brewing.

“Seems like you and Yelena are getting on just fine,” Natasha said, her tone even and her eyes cold. You scoffed.

“Yes, Natasha. We are. I figured you’d want your sister and I to get along,” you replied as you began picking up the dishes to bring into the kitchen.

“I didn’t mean flirt with her! I know that look,” Natasha said.

“It was harmless,” you told her.

“Was it? Because it seems to me that you want to be anywhere except with me these days,” Natasha argued. You laughed. Truly laughed.

“Oh that’s just rich coming from you. Natasha we rarely share a bed anymore. When we do, it’s a quick fuck. It’s like that’s all I’m good for anymore. Being a warm body,” you cried. Natasha paused. Surely that couldn’t be true. She tried to think about the last time the two of you had gone on a date. The last time you two of you just spent time together. She was drawing a blank.

“I’ve been busy,” she said weakly. She knew it was a poor excuse. You’d been busy too. But you always made time to see her. And she would just brush you off. Natasha wasn’t so sure she could salvage the situation. She had never been on the receiving end of the disappointed look on your face. She didn’t like it.

“What are we Natasha? Anytime I bring up marriage you skirt the subject. Say not now. Later. When is later, Natasha?” you asked. You wanted answers. You knew this was going to be a make or break conversation for your relationship. You hoped it wouldn’t be a break. You weren’t sure you could handle losing her, not like this.

“You know how I feel about marriage,” Natasha replied.

“Do I? You always deflect,” you said, your voice lowering. You knew the pair of you were on a collision course with the point of no return. You were desperate to reign in your tempers before that point.

“You want to marry me? After everything I’ve done, everything you know about me?” she asked. Her voice betrayed a vulnerable side of Natasha you had never seen. A softness you had never heard in her voice before.

“Of course I want to marry you! I want to shout from the rooftops that Natasha Romanoff is mine! My wife, my love. But that doesn’t matter, Nat. As long as I have you, I’m happy. Married or not married, as long as you're mine,” you argued. The two of you stood for a moment, looking at one another. You wanted nothing more in that moment than to feel her arms wrapped around you. She stepped toward you, gently taking the dishes from your hands and placing them on the table beside you before bringing one hand up to cup your face.

“There is one thing I know for certain in this life. I don’t want to live it without you by my side. I haven’t been fair to you lately. I shut down instead of talking to you and it took until now for me to realize how close I’ve come to losing you,” she whispered, her voice breaking. You took her other hand in yours, squeezing it gently.

“Then we’ll talk to someone. Because Nat. I don’t want to lose you either,” you replied. You weren’t sure how long the two of you stood there, embracing one another in a way you hadn’t in so long. There were still discussions to be had. But they could wait. For now, you took comfort in one another, knowing that come tomorrow the real work would begin.

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff/reader #natasha romanoff fanfic #natasha romanoff #natasha romanov #natasha romanov/reader #natasha romanov x reader #marvel fanfic #marvel fanfiction

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johnkrrasinski · 4 years

Text

ℑ𝔫𝔱𝔬 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔚𝔬𝔬𝔡𝔰

Chapter 1: The Archer & The Prey

full masterlist // series masterlist

Pairings: dark!Steve Rogers x female!reader

Word count: 4,517

Warnings: sexual themes, kidnapping, stalking. (MUST BE 18+)

Summary: after the death of your mother, you decided that you were going to do something new to honor her. You chose a perfect camping spot somewhere down South. You thought it was going to be the life-changing vacation that you never had in your life, until Steve Rogers, a man existed in roughness and control all his life, found you.

a/n: this is the dark!steve rogers series that i have promised. this one is going to be much darker than the last one shot fic i posted, so please leave, if you are under 18+. please leave a like and comment. enjoy!

It had been a long time since you last went on a vacation. You had been taking care of your then sick mother, every day and barely got enough time for yourself between working your humdrum job as an accountant at Stark's Industries and rushing to the hospital every night to your mother to keep her company.

However, it's not your concern anymore now. You had just gone home from attending her funeral. It was bleak and wearisome. You had to deal with your family and friends who put on these fake, mournful faces and pretended that they were heartbroken when they never gave a shit when she was still alive and healthy. They barely took their time to visit her during her hospitalization.

Your mother was your best friend, the only person in your life who truly cared for you and took care of you during your childhood and teenager years, even after you were an adult, your mother still saw you as this little girl who needed some tending after she scrapped her knees.

You were a shy, delicate, and reticent person who kept to herself and didn't keep a lot of companion in your life. You had some classmates from high school and college that you still kept in touch with, you also had some colleagues that you would text with once in a while regarding professional matters.

However, you wouldn't consider them as friends, it wasn't about trust issues or anything severe, it was simply just who you are. You were an introvert who felt much more at ease when you are not surrounded by anyone. But your mother was the only exception, growing up as the only child of a single mother, it wasn't easy to simply let your guard down to anyone. You had learned that when you are alone, you felt less anxious and you'd like to keep it that way. Working at the Stark Industries rewarded you well but it was stressful enough as it is, you wouldn't want to add that pile of stress.

Now that your mother is gone, you've never felt more alone in your life. You walked into your apartment with hands buried in the pocket of your black coat, with your head down, you tried to hold yourself steady as you fumble for your key. You unlocked the door and you stepped into your home. You took a moment to take a deep breath and took a look at your surrounding. You felt helpless. So you took off your coat, went into a shower, and broke down into tears.

You dried yourself off later that night and put on your favorite oversized sweater, you call it your "pity sweater", you've had it in your closet since you were fifteen and every time you hit rock bottom, like the time when you first received the news that your mom was terribly ill and she only had a few more months to live, you decide that to drown yourself in your own self-pity party and of course you'd wear the right outfit to celebrate it.

You laid on your bed later that night, under the opacity of your room, trying to numb the pain by ingesting some sleeping pills, but it didn't help, your eyes are still wide open and you can still hear the resonance of your muffled sobs. Slowly but surely, the seconds turned into minutes, and before you knew it, you were fast asleep, drifting away into the land of dreams.

You are running in the middle of a dark forest, being chased by the wolves with their cuspidate teeth glistening in the murk threatening to devour you. They were running faster than the wind, you were having trouble of trying to outrun them, you felt your energy started to dwindle down, your feet got weaker and cold sweats started to break out of your skin. You were so fixated on running that you didn't realize one of the wolfpacks had caught onto your dress, it was torn away from you and you tripped and your back hit the ground. The last thing you saw was a blue-eyed wolf, gritting its fangs, staring deep into your eyes, with its face closer and closer to yours then everything went black.

The next day, you went back to your work, as usual, your boss, Tony Stark had been generous enough to offer you to take a day off, you refused it at first because if you were left alone one more second doing nothing productive, your mind would start to wander to your mother and you would end up having another breakdown on your kitchen floor. So you had to distract yourself, get your gloomy mind off the tragedy that had befallen on you. Your only escape was work.

It's not like you would hit the bar and order some drinks, it wasn't your thing. It would trigger your anxiety the minute you step foot on the door. To be at peace, all it needed was the companion of your romance novels and some hot chocolate. The concept of dressing up and going home shit faced is a foreign idea to you. It would absolutely be madness if you risked your own comfort zone just to end up in a stranger's car and not remembering a single event that happened last night. Your mother always warned you about being reckless and talking to strange men.

She would always say; "you have to be careful, y/n, there are men who are steadily seeking their next prey. They would lure you into their charm and capitalize on you in their bed. And the next thing you know, you are 4 weeks pregnant and you are going to have to carry that tiny life inside you and raise it on your own."

That's how you were born into this world, actually. You never knew who your father was, and nor did your mother. She was only 23 when she decided to live her life and savor her youth. She was a brilliant young woman who was supposed to have a long, bright future ahead of her. She had graduated from college with a psychology degree and one night, she decided to break out of her shell and accepted her roommate's invitation to go to a party. Little did she know, that party was going to turn her life upside down, forever.

She still walked away with a degree, but there wasn't an ounce of bright future left for her. She had this frail life in her belly depending on her to keep it alive. She had gone to her parents and asked for their help, but they abandoned her. They were filled with rage when your mother told them the jaw-dropping news. They were disappointed in her for being so stupid and negligent. They had high expectations for her. So when your mother begged for their forgiveness, they told her to leave their home and never show her face ever again instead.

Hence, you never knew your grandparents too well either, your mother had shown you some pictures of them, the ones that she still had despite never talking to them again, but she spoke wonderfully about how they raised her right despite their strictness and their unwavering push on her to do better. Your mother was anything but. She took care of you with gentleness and she decided that she didn't want you to live in fear of your own mother.

You loved her more than anything in life. Your mother was your whole world, the one who cured all the rainy days and gave you a secure home when the hurricane in your life was too mighty. Your world was crushed, burned, and taken away when she died. You had to be your own person now.

So you decided to take on Tony's offer of letting a week off. He told you that you need to take your time to mourn and that he didn't need you to be operating his finance when your head was clearly not in the right place. You went home early that day and make yourself some lunch.

You sat on your couch with a bowl filled with cereal in your hands, watching the rerun of Friends. It was the episode where they were going on a ski trip but Phoebe's car broke down. You loved this series and each episode always gave you a good laugh even when you don't feel like it.

It struck an idea in you, what if... You decided to go on a vacation instead of limping around in your apartment, wallowing in self-pity? Maybe it's time for you to get out of your comfort zone and do what might be best for you. It's going to be new and different and scary for sure, but you might never know if you never try. This might help you find yourself and your own inner peace. Your mom would want that for you. She used to always talk about wanting to go camping, especially when she was sick.

She said, "you know when all of this is over and I'm finally free out of this condition, I wanna go camping in the middle of the woods."

You looked up from the book you were reading, with a chuckle you amused her. "Camping, mom? Really? Never knew you were a nature person."

"Oh, I am sweetheart, I used to go hiking and climbing and skiing when I was young. I never really had that chance anymore now that I am older." She lied, she would never say it was because she had to have you that she couldn't go on all these adventures anymore. "The only problem now is that I have to endure this pain a little longer then we can explore the world as long as we want, dear." She chuckled, but her cough interrupted it.

You put down your book on your thighs and immediately reached out her hand.

"Mom, you are gonna get better, I promise. You have to."

You decided to google some camping spots that might intrigue you, you weren't looking for anything opulent or temerarious, just enough to clear your mind off the gloom and to invigorate the spirit in you to go back to work. Maybe, you'd try to meditate in the middle of the woods, yeah, you've always wondered about that, would it really be effective? This might be the time to discover the answer. You can picture it, the fresh air encompassing you, the sound of the birds chirping as if they were welcoming you, and there wouldn't be a single soul that could intrude your solitude.

After doing some research, you decided that you have found the perfect spot. A green-covered land somewhere down South, you did a little deeper digging into its whereabouts, and you took a screenshot of it and bookmarked the page.

That night, you started to feel like the match inside you was lit. After days of being engulfed in grief, you started to feel hope, just a sheer of it. But it was enough to make you feel like you weren't so lost and hopeless. You decided to have an early night after you finished watching Friends and get yourself some rest. You are going to wake up early to pack and prepare yourself to leave this godforsaken town for a few days. You were excited to see what tomorrow holds.

The next morning, you took a shower and got yourself ready. You had packed just enough to last a few days in the woods. You brought your camping tent with you, the one your mother had bought but never actually got to use it. You put your travel bag in the trunk of your car and you sat on the driver's seat to heat up the engine.

You put on some relaxing Jazz music to console your ears and to prevent your thoughts from drifting to your mother. You were going to focus on the roads and what was waiting ahead of you. The soft hum of the engine soothed you. You were savoring the crisp air of Autumn. Fall was your favorite season, the way everything seems chill and slow, it wasn't loud and harsh like summer, but it does feel like a faint new beginning in a way, like the transition of the 5 am sky, from dark hue midnight sky to a luminous royal blue.

You had the windows rolled down as the wind wafted your skin. You were dressed in your cotton knit cream sweater and a knee-length denim shorts. You had taken a quick stop at the nearest Starbucks outlet to get a cup of hot chocolate. You weren't exactly a coffee type of person. You didn't exactly get what makes people so addicted to it. You didn't like the still remaining taste despite pouring three packets of sugar on it. You loved the hot chocolate because sweetness always enlightened your mood. Your mother used to make you a glass of hot chocolate when you were groggy or when you were anxious. You guess it sticks with you no matter how old you are.

A few hours down the road, the temperature started to rise, you can feel the sticky sweat clinging on your skin cloaked under the thickness of your sweater. You stopped by the gas station to fill in your tank, you were back on the road after you bought some snacks. Not only your car that needed to be loaded, but your stomach also did.

You finally arrived at your destination. You had to drive down some uneven roads that bounced all your items inside and you were feeling a bit nauseated after hours of sitting on the driver's seat and the coarse path. But when you finally reached the spot that you found on the internet, it was worth it. You forgot all the hindrances that you had to endure to get yourself here. The pictures that you saved on your phone didn't do justice to the real scenery.

The land was surrounded by nothing but pine green circling around you. The trees were tall, venerable, and benignant. You could hear the sound of the waterfall coursing through the river and it was a picturesque sight. You took a deep breath to inhale the fresh air. For a second, you forgot what you were here in the first place, you relished the stunning mother nature before you.

But then a picture of your mother, smiling emerged into view. You remembered the look on her face when she talked about all the travel plans she had when she recovers. She never had that chance, and it tore you to pieces, again. The thing about losing someone you love the most is that no matter how many good things you have throwing themselves on your way, the pain doesn't just vanish into thin air. It leaves and comes back every once in a while. It gives you space to breathe and to collect yourself and then when it knows you've walked long enough in the light, it comes back to haunt you, reminding you that it never really left.

But you tried to focus on the present, you can't make your mother come back or travel back in time to keep her alive, so you were going to cherish this moment for her. You were going to feast on this fleeting tranquility that you have.

You stood there until you felt like you were jaded for being on your feet for too long. You went back to your car to take your tent and try to set it up. You had to look that up on the internet too, to get it standing perfectly. After what feels like your thousandth attempts, you were glad that it finally relented and let you use it as a makeshift home.

By the time you were done, it was already afternoon. You decided that you were going to take a look around the woods, you weren't going to just stay in one spot, you still had a few hours until it goes dark and of course you weren't going to be stupid enough to wander around the forest that you had never been to after dusk.

You decided you were going to just walk in nearby areas. You were terrified of getting too far, you might end up lost and couldn't find your way back. You only brought your cellphone that was practically useless because you couldn't find any signal there, but you still needed it to take pictures. You also decided to take a bottle of water with you. Quenching your thirst is essential in a journey through the woods.

You kept on walking while stopping once in a while to capture what you find stunning. You were so lost in looking for your next shot to snap, you didn't see the edged branch that was tapered pointedly until your skin grazed against it, causing a deep, painful cut on your left thigh. It was so piked that it left a horizontal shred on your knee-high shorts too.

You dropped your phone to the soil and yielded a high pitched squeal. It reminded you of the traumatic incident in kindergarten, where you were playing chase and run with a classmate, and you stumbled on a hard rock that left a permanent scar on your right knee.

You fell on the ground because you couldn't withhold the agony any longer. You try to stop the bleeding by ripping a piece of your torn jeans, even though it required some struggle. You did not want to let it get infected. You bandaged the crimson wound and you sat there for a few minutes to calm yourself down. You held yourself back on your hands pressed to the soil, you didn't care that it was going to get dirty, you just needed to find a comfortable position until you decide that you were strong enough to return to your tent.

Little did you know, your shriek had invited an unwanted presence. No, no, not the spooky kind. More like a starving wolf that you saw in your dreams a couple of nights ago, with spiked tusks ready to hunt its prey.

So much for thinking that this would be the best vacation of your life...

Steve Rogers had been living in this enormous cabin in the woods all his life. He was raised by his parents whom his grandparents trusted to take care of the cabin. When his grandfather died, he left it to his parents as his inheritance. His father used to teach him hunting and his mother used to teach him how to cook. They taught him a lot of things to survive living in the woods. It wasn't an easy life, they had to get things done all by themselves.

They had to work hard to get their basic needs. They had to habituate themselves in being isolated. It wasn't a difficult thing for Steve because he was always a lone wolf who was vigilant towards his privacy, but a part of he couldn't help but wish that he had someone to take care of. Someone he could keep to himself. Someone who he could call his and his only. Someone who he could... possess. He didn't feel lonely, no, he loved being alone. He loved his autonomy. But he was only a man after all and man has needs. When he was feeling needy and jerking himself off wasn't just doing it anymore for him, he would often go to the city, an hour drive was all it took to get to the nearest brothel house.

Whenever he walked into the door of that ranch, his steps were heard loud and clear and his presence was witnessed effortlessly. It wasn't difficult for a man like him to spend hours in the bordello, his stamina was ceaseless and, let's just say that he was an... ingenious man. He understood a woman's body and what it desires. He wasn't afraid to use his skill and his expertise to fulfill his appetite and his subject. Oh, and how he could take his time to satisfy each one of these ladies.

But whenever he was finished, he would return home with this feeling of void, yes his physical thirst was quenched and his cock wasn't painfully hard anymore that it hurt, at least he got to release the tension that would've left him high and dry if he hadn't fucked some pussy, but there was still something missing. He still hadn't found that one thing he could domineer within the privacy of the woods. The brothel provided private rooms for their customers for sure, but nothing was more pleasant to him than being in his own private quarters, and the thought that these women he had a good time with weren't exactly his, bored him.

He was fatigued by the fact that they have slept with other people too. It's not like he had some sort of attachment to any of them, but that just reminded him of something he still couldn't find. He needed to make a quick move. He was a determined man, once he set his mind on something, he will do whatever it takes to obtain it. And once he found that one girl that he knew would be his favorite possession, he would take her without a second thought and he would make her his.

He drove his beatdown truck back into the woods, the deserted road had become too familiar to him to turn on the beam headlights. He cleaned himself off under the boiling hot water, wipe away the droplets of water that were clinging to his slightly tanned skin, after years of hunting in the middle of the day where the sun was scorching hot and he never bothered of covering every inch of himself up, nobody was going to see him after all.

Later that night, he dropped himself on to the mattress without being bothered to put on any coverups. He always slept nude. It started drizzling outside when he decided that he was going to call it a night. He was going to go hunting tomorrow, so he needed to gather all his energy to make sure he wouldn't miss his target on the day. So he shut his eyes away and drifted into unconsciousness.

The next morning, he woke up precisely at 7.30 am and gathered all his hunting tools. He had his rifle and his bullets with him. Although he didn't really need much because he had been doing this his whole life, he almost never missed a shot. He was patient enough to observe his target, and he calculated his next move meticulously. He put the rifle near his nose then he waited until he knew his shot would be hit exactly between the target's eyes. Then bam! Within a matter of seconds, it ceased to breathe. Then he put the lifeless creature into his sack.

The day was still young and he decided to repose and chugged down half of the water container. When he felt energized enough, he decided to hike a little farther into the outer parts of the woods. He packed up his rifle and his water container along with his deceased prey.

That's when he heard it. An earsplitting squeal. His senses were alert enough to measure the direction of where it came from. His pace was accelerated towards it. He didn't halt until he saw a tiny, cotton-knit wrapped figure, reclining on the muddy ground, bandaging what seemed to be her wounded thigh with a piece of ripped jeans.

He stood there behind a giant tree, leaning on his arm against it, and observed the sight before him. A young, beautiful girl who didn't look any older than 25, she looked in distress. Her hands were dirty of mud. She seemed unaware of her environs.

She kept mewling in pain, he didn't know how she got the wound, although he could put it in his head that with the phone that was lying next to her, the screen still on display, and next to her head was a very twinged branch, he could put the math together and theorized that she was too starstruck by the sceneries in this woods, just like any other local tourist would, that she didn't notice the poked out, nature-made shank.

But he was entranced by the sight before him. She was really pretty, the kind of beauty that makes you want to keep your eyes on nothing else but her. Like the constellation had aligned, burst into flames, landed on the Earth, and gave birth to a woman. It was divine and striking, in the most heartwarming way.

He wasn't standing too far away but it was enough to not alarm her. The benefit was that he could keep ogling as long as he wanted. About twenty minutes had passed and she finally decided to get on her feet. She picked up her phone and pat her hands together to brush off the remnants of the dirt that were still clinging to her palms. Her sweater was slightly tarnished but she didn't seem to bother stroking it off. She walked to the other direction. She was limping but she held herself straight.

She finally halted at the place where there was a tent, illuminated from the inside, and there was a car. He learned immediately that, that's where she was staying. The usual tourist spot. He didn't see anyone else with her. She seemed to be camping alone.

That was odd, usually, couples, a group of high school kids, or families camp together. He was always irked by those intruders who occupied the land. They luxuriated from nature, but how did they pay her in return? By littering the surface and leaving junk all over the site. They didn't even bother gathering them in one place so that it would be easier for the Foresters to pick them up.

Poor girl, he thought. She must be really lonely to go out here alone. People don't choose these woods to have 'alone' time. They usually choose the libraries or the Bahamas, if they want to go a little extravagant. This girl mustn't know a lot about camping too, from the way she set up her tent, it looks slightly rumpled, it could still keep her safe though, well not too safe, now that he's here. But at least she wouldn't be soaked if it rains.

Her car was parked right behind the tent, it was a simple pearl white Chevy Spark. She seemed to travel light. He couldn't see much through the tinted windows, but he had seen giant truck cars and jeeps that were overweight with travel bags more than necessary. He memorized all the details of the setting and made a fixed resolution on his mind.

He is doing some hunting tonight...

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shesclearlya3 · 4 years

Text

i loved you first. p.3

pairing: Xavier Plympton x Reader

word count: 2,843

warnings: au! in present time, language, angst, light fluff

*title inspired by joan’s song*

part 1 part 2

The rest of your friends had followed you home. You were somewhat grateful, unsure if you could handle being alone right now. The look on Xavier’s face when he slammed the door on you refused to leave your mind.

Chet was very pissed off. Montana was equally as angry, but she had more time to ruminate on the situation, which would make sense as to why she was quiet.

“He’s such a fucking dick!” Chet spat, pacing the length of your living room. “And that’s coming from me.”

“I’m sure he’s chewing the bitch out now,” Montana said, drinking from the beer she stole from your fridge. “If not, I’m going to kill them both.”

Ray and Brooke were both quiet, sitting next to each other, holding hands. You felt a pang of envy watching them.

Chet glanced at you, but you looked down at the pillow on your lap, seeing a feather sticking out. You pulled it, rolling it between your fingers. “I might have to join you guys,” you said lamely.

“y/n, you’ve already suffered enough, she’ll get her comeuppance,” Montana said, smiling at you.

Chet chewed on his lip, standing next to your television, which was still off. The room was too quiet for you. You reached over, turning it on and seeing it was left on the news. You kept the volume low, trying to focus on the weather for the next week.

“Could we report her to the police?” Ray asked, looking between Chet and Montana. “For theft?”

You shook your head, “I highly doubt that. She stole my journal, they’d probably laugh at me the moment I told them.”

“What about making a key?” Chet offered, looking pleased with himself. “Assuming that’s what she did.”

“It could be considered breaking and entering, but it probably won’t hold up in court. She’s dating Xavier. That’s already a problem.” Montana said, and you nodded in agreement.

“This is all bullshit!” Chet said, before plopping on the floor.

“Calm down, man,” Ray said, his arm around Brooke now. “I’m sure Xavier already dumped her ass.”

“That’s not enough,” Chet said, reaching underneath him to pull out the notepad from earlier. The energy in the room shifted; you didn’t realize he kept it. “This has to be.”

“What else is in there?” you asked, alarmed as Brooke brushed off Ray and crawled on the floor towards Chet, who was reluctant to give it to her. Brooke read a few pages, her mouth falling open with quiet gasps as she shut it, her eyes wide in disbelief.

“What!?” you asked again, standing up and approaching them. Montana and Ray were simultaneously trying to grab it from Brooke, who remained speechless.

“You can’t read it, y/n,” replied Chet, his eyebrows furrowing as you tried to take it as well. “She’s a horrible person who belongs in jail.”

“If it’s about me, I deserve to know!” you hissed, finally able to grab it from Brooke, who yelped when Montana accidentally stepped on her bare leg. You quickly flipped it open, skipping the first page, which you already saw earlier. The notepad was small but completely full of writings.

I tried to get it out of Xavier today if he has any history with y/n. I don’t know if he is dense, but he really didn’t say much other than they’re “good friends.” I think it’s a bunch of bullshit. y/n is clearly in love with him. Every time she looks at him, she gets this god awful dreamy look in her eyes.

You flipped the page, once again finding another passage about you and Xavier.

I was forced to spend time with y/n today. God, I don’t know what else I could do to get him away from her. She’s so desperate, so fucking pathetic. I can’t really blame her though, if I had to see Xavier dating another woman, I’d have to kill the bitch and make it look like an accident.

Another page:

We’ve been dating over a year already! I finally got him convinced to move in with me. He deserves it, he’s been working so hard lately. :(

I’d tell y/n myself to see if she’d cry or beg him to stay. Seems like the kind of thing she would do. But he didn’t seem as excited as me. :(

You skipped through a few pages just bearing your name crossed out, and the others just watched in silence as you sunk onto the couch, feeling your heart beating wildly out of your chest when they got more aggressive.

Xavier was really sad today. He barely touched me. I tried to initiate sex, but he said he wasn’t in the mood. This isn’t him. He must be boning y/n. This is the second time this week!! We move in together in a month. When we do, y/n isn’t going to step foot in our fucking place. I’ll see to it myself.

I saw my ex-boyfriend Christopher at the store today-

“Who in the?...”

You let out a scream when the front door swung open, hitting the wall. Montana and Ray both yelled in fright, seeing an angry Xavier slam the door shut, kicking off his shoes. Chet stood up, glaring at his friend as you shut the notepad, feeling your adrenaline running on high.

“Well?” Chet asked, crossing his muscular arms.

Xavier looked at all of you but refused to meet your eyes. You stared at him, willing him to look at you, your hands trembling.

“I need a minute.” was all Xavier said before breezing past the group and into the bathroom. After a few minutes, you could hear the shower turning on.

“What a fucking imbecile-” Chet began.

“He does that when he’s upset,” you countered, ignoring the pleased look Montana and Brooke gave you. “Give him a break, Chet. He didn’t know.”

Chet nodded begrudgingly, sinking back down in his original spot.

Xavier was in the shower forever, and the others were growing tired as the time slowly ticked towards one in the morning. The news turned into reruns of a sitcom you couldn’t get into, and you ended up turning off the television.

“You guys should go,” you said, looking at them from your spot on the couch. Brooke was passed out against Ray, who was barely keeping his eyes open. Chet was lying on his back, staring at nothing. Montana was on her phone, but you could tell she was exhausted. You were too.

“We don’t want to leave you,” Montana said, frowning at you.

You smiled a bit, hearing the shower turning off. “I think it will be easier on Xavier if it’s just the two of us.”

After some convincing, your friends each hugged you goodbye, before shuffling out the door. Something told you Montana wouldn’t be going too far, as she winked at you before she left. You knew she’d be waiting in her car for you to give her word everything was fine. Or that it wasn’t.

You cleaned up the pillows, your heart beating faster, hearing Xavier move around in the bathroom. You stared at the notepad sitting on the coffee table, before grabbing your journal and taking it into your room. You lay on your bed, flipping through the pages to your last entry, which was earlier in the year.

“I wish I could get over him. I’m tired of feeling this way. It’s exhausting, being in love with someone who doesn’t love you back. It’s not fair. All of that time, I could have told him how I felt. I didn’t do it, and this is what I get. Chloe is beautiful, and he is head over heels for her. She got what I was too scared to go after. I some times think of what could be if I just spilled everything out to him. Even if Xavier didn’t or never reciprocates my feelings, him knowing is better than me keeping it all bottled up inside. But what if he also felt the same way? What if he was also scared of telling me? I could have started the conversation! I feel like it’s all my fucking fault. I love Xavier, but I don’t know how much longer I can take of this. If they get married, I don’t think I’d be able to watch it and survive.”

You hadn’t realized you were crying until you heard soft footsteps approaching you. You slammed the cover shut, looking up to see Xavier frowning at you. His eyes were red, and you had the urge to joke about getting soap in his eyes.

“Why are you crying?” Xavier asked, sitting beside you.

“Uh, nothing,” you shook your head, putting your journal back. You wiped at your eyes, faking a laugh. “I just read something stupid, is all.”

There was no way in hell Xavier believed you, but you didn’t bother to continue with the lie. You felt like you needed to apologize to him. The others weren’t supposed to witness anything. You understood why Chet was so angry, but Xavier was just as clueless as you had been. If it weren’t for Montana, who knows what the next few months would look like.

“I uh, I wanted to apologize for what happened,” you said, looking back at your lap. “I didn’t mean for that to happen in front of everyone...” you whispered.

“I don’t want you apologizing for anything, y/n,” Xavier scolded you, forcing you to look at him. Your eyes met his, and you almost melted. “I would have preferred it to be a little more private, but... That’s how life works.”

You nodded, gently pushing his hand off your chin. He dropped it, still maintaining eye contact with you. “I just want you to know that if I had known who she was, I would have never brought her around you. I never would have dated her.”

You frowned, wondering what he knew. “What happened after we left?”

Xavier looked uncomfortable now, clearing his throat and rubbing his hands on his sweatpants. You noticed he was shirtless, and you looked away, wondering if you should turn the air conditioning down.

“Well, I knew it was your diary, and I knew you wouldn’t make anything like this up, so...” he sighed deeply. “I knew if I wanted to get the truth out of her, I needed to play down to her level. I convinced her if she just told me the truth, I wouldn’t break up with her. It took a while, but she finally cracked.”

“Chloe told me she had been arrested for stalking and harassment a few years before we met. She didn’t say much about her boyfriend, but I don’t think I really want to know,” he winced. “I grilled her about what she was up to, and she said that she felt threatened by you. I always thought there was jealousy, you know?” Xavier frowned at you, “You’re my best friend. I told her about you before we even started dating. I tried to convince her that there was nothing between us, but...”

You nodded, feeling like your heart was just crushed. You held back your tears, wanting him to continue on and get it all out. This was your worst fear, right after thinking about him spending the rest of his life with someone else. He only saw you as a friend.

“I would have been a liar too,” he said slowly, his cheeks slowly turning red.

You perked your head up, wondering if he meant what you thought he was saying. “What are you saying?”

Xavier felt like he was going to throw up. He watched you, gauging your reaction. Your eyes were brighter, but he could see the hurt and hesitation in them. This was the moment that could change his life for the better or, the worse.

“y/n, I just want you to promise that what I’m about to say, it won’t ruin what we have?” he said carefully, his stomach now full of butterflies. You nodded.

“I started dating Chloe because I thought it was the right thing for me. I liked you for a long time. I started having feelings for you in high school. But I was too scared to ruin what we had. I tried to flirt with you a bit, to see if maybe you felt the same way. But I thought you weren’t interested because you would never really acknowledge it, so I gave up. I’m such a fucking idiot, but I thought my time ran out, and I thought that this would help me get over you. But it didn’t.”

Your mouth was hanging open as Xavier finished, gawking at you while his words processed in your head. The nerves you had felt this entire evening were easing away, and you felt your head become lighter at his admittance to how he felt about you.

Xavier Plympton, liking me? Like that?

This had to be a sick joke. This wasn’t a movie, this was real fucking life.

“This makes me sound like a fucking asshole, but I hoped that if you had feelings for me after I got with her, you’d... I don’t know, admit that you liked me too? I’m such a dick!” he spat, his blue eyes alight with frustration. “I started dating another girl, a fucking psychopath, just to get over you. I used her. I...”

You placed a hand on his arm, and Xavier immediately stopped, giving you a puzzled look. “Xavier, stop talking.” He nodded, watching you.

“I wanted you to come sweep me off my feet like those 80s rom-coms you force me to watch once a month,” you said, cracking a smile. Xavier grinned at you. “I’ve loved you for a long time...” you nodded. “I wanted to tell you the first night I met her, but it was selfish. So I didn’t. I wanted you to be happy.”

“It is selfish,” he laughed a little. “But I would stop the world if it met I could call you mine, y/n,”

Hearing his voice say your name sent chills down your spine. You almost forgot about the real problem Chloe was when he ran a hand along your cheek, his fingertips tracing the length of your cheekbone.

“Do you love her?” you asked softly.

Xavier shook his head, “No. I know this because what I feel for you is so much stronger.”

You always imagined yourself jumping up and down in excitement when the truth finally came out, possibly even passing out in your dramatics. But this was more heartfelt than you ever imagined. Plus, Xavier wasn’t fresh out of a relationship in your imagination.

“I loved you first,” you responded.

Xavier nodded, and you had the urge to kiss him. You wanted too. But this was all too fresh, and you didn’t want to push Xavier into anything he wasn’t comfortable with. Now that the truth came out, that was all the reassurance you needed at the moment.

“Do you think she’ll be a problem?” you asked, nudging him when he stared at his feet. “Like a threat?”

“She was crying when I left, but... I don’t really know, y/n,” he said, before looking you in the eyes. “She won’t lay a finger on you. I’ll see to that myself.”

You had fallen asleep on the couch with your head snuggled into Xavier’s back. You had slept through the night. The sun was shining brightly through the windows, and you pulled the blanket up to cover your face as Xavier snored quietly next to you.

There was something off when you woke up, wiggling your way off the couch. Xavier slowly moved into your spot, his head rolling to the side as his snores slowly subsided. You rubbed your head as you glanced around the apartment, seeing nothing out of the ordinary.

You decided to shower, planning on cleaning up the house before you returned to work the next day. Xavier would probably be asleep for a while longer, and he’d be well-rested enough to help you. Despite feeling unsure, there was a new warmth in your chest, which bubbled up until you were smiling.

Xavier Plympton liked you.

You admitted that you loved him. You understood that his life changed in a second. Xavier was leaving a relationship that you had so selfishly wanted to end. You didn’t feel too bad about it now, given the circumstances of who Chloe Smith was. This was a different kind of waiting; it was less painful because you knew it was only a matter of time until Xavier would finally be able to say he was in love with you. You could live with that.

After your shower, you changed into comfy clothes. You weren’t surprised to see Xavier sitting up on the couch, awake. But the look on his face stopped you. It was panicked.

You took a final step closer, seeing an angry and rumpled Chloe, standing in front of him with a gun.

taglist: some tags aren’t working, hope I didn’t miss anyone!

@the-walking-daryl @trichy-knitts @shydragonrider @thefandomzoneisdangerous @lemonwhiskers @jetblackpayne @langdonsvcrd @okoktrinity22 @uwonman @stefanmikaleson1864 @sevenwonderwitch @rubbrninja @iamnotjesha @leatherduncan @imshakingandcryingrn @bratzblitz @goblackcat69 @brookethompsonownsme @bookoffracturedescapes @zodiyack@bitchchatter@guiltyfiend @psychobitchtess @aangrana @thexmancometh @wtfcas @pleasforhelp @capshoney @agentnightshade44 @frenchlangdon @morganelizabeth-99 @fathoe69333 @infagnito @felicityofbakerstreet @codyfernmorelikedaddyfern @arthurismybby @fandoms-allovertheplace

#xavier plympton x reader #duncan shepherd x reader #michael langdon x reader #xavier plympton imagine #ahs 1984 #ahs imagine #montana duke #chet clancy #brooke thompson #ray powell #Cody Fern

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bluedemon1995 · 4 years

Text

I can’t watch you with someone else. It’s tearing me apart. Happy Valentines Day my dear friends!! (Yeah I’m late but whatever)

What’s going on on? I hope you all are good!

Pidge has been quiet for a few weeks, months if she is being completely honest. Analyzing her options carefully and trying to figure out what she should do. She wants to be happy for him. In fact, she is. He deserves to be happy after all. He deserves to be with someone who eases his load and appreciates him. And while she didn’t realize what she really felt for him before she does now. Fuck. There’s no putting that element back into the table now.

Typical. Sometimes the timing in life just sucked. Maybe some distance… maybe she just needs some space to get a little perspective. So with Keith and the Blades scheduled to be back home for at least a few months for negotiations and humanitarian talks Pidge had decided she needed to leave before Keith even got on the planet.

After careful consideration of her options, Pidge ultimately decided to sign up with the MFE pilots for their upcoming space mission. They felt like they needed some in depth experience in space and with the upgrades her and Matt finished on their crafts, it was time to test them out. Pidge secretly talked to a few people and requested to be reassigned as their point person to make adjustments… on their ships… in space.

Pidge knew she had to talk to her parents about her decision but in typical fashion she put it off to the last minute. But with Keith’s eminent arrival, time was up. She sat them both down to let them know why she needed some space. While her mom was not happy, she understood thank goodness. Unfortunately, this time it was her dad who was more…unhappy. Her mom gave her a hug and whispered, “I can handle dad. Just, please be careful and come back safe. Love you.”

With tears in her eyes, Pidge promised.

A few short weeks later, Pidge knows she isn’t going to be able to run away from these feelings but she also knows, she can get through them. She just has to be focused and busy. Which she embraced. So late nights, projects and lack of eating led her to her current problem.

She was currently hanging over James’ shoulder while he stalked through the halls of the ship. She should’ve known he’d enforce the ‘rules’ he placed on her. He was a little more like Shiro than she felt comfortable with. Making her eat, sleep and just be with the team was not what she imagined he’d be like on a mission. Get the job done. So she ignored his requests, then orders. But here they were. He finally gets to her room and throws her down on the bed.

“Stay. Sleep.”

“Um, gee, James I didn’t know I was your pet? What the fuck?” She sits up frowning, pushing her hair back out of her angry eyes.

Pointing at her, he returns, “You’re here until you sleep, at least ten hours! You’re lucky I don’t tie you up! That’s an order.”

“Gee James, kinda kinky, don’tcha think? I didn’t know you ran that way.” She bats his finger away.

“Argh!!! Please tell me you are worse now than before! How did you manage to save the flipping universe?!? You don’t listen, you don’t sleep and I swear I don’t know if you even eat! Take care of your damn self! I’m definitely not trying to be your parent but hell if you don’t need someone looking after you! Look, I don’t care if you have some secret issues that you won’t share with your team leader - “

Suddenly Pidge has lunged for James, hitting him square in the gut followed by a leg sweep. “SHUT UP!! I don’t need another mom or dad, I have two already!” Panting and red faced she stares down at him.

“You wanna fight? Let’s go then! Maybe you will wear yourself out and get some damn sleep!”

He lunges upward and Pidge feints left only to move right, jumping onto the bed and slamming back into him. He falls but quickly grabs Pidge so suddenly she is on top of him, twisting to make sure he falls on the bed.

They end up wresting, each one trying to get the upper hand. Once again James is surprised at her strength and quickness, especially when he knows she must be exhausted. But, James won’t let up. So when Pidge punches him again he grabs her wrists in his hands and holds her down using his weight as leverage. No matter what she doesn’t outweigh him and she’s using too much energy. Finally, after she’s exhausted her little reserves of energy she has she stops moving. Then he hears her sobs.

James eyes widen, instantly letting go of her wrists quietly murmuring, “No, no, no, no crying! For God’s sake are they right? You, um shit. Whoever HE is, he isn’t worth it.” More softly, he adds emphatically, “He isn’t worth your tears.”

With that he pulls her close and lets her cry on his chest. After some time, he looks down and sees she’s basically cried herself to sleep. In his arms. For another guy. Shit. He moves her from his arms to the bed, making sure to take her shoes off and cover her. He starts to leave but when she whimpers he stops. Feeling more tired than ever he debates with himself. Frozen he doesn’t know what to do.

He finally decides to leave when he again hears her whimpering. He groans, pushing off his shoes and laying down in bed beside her-over the covers. He hesitates but when he hears a groan he ultimately pulls her close and holds her, rubbing her back. Laying next to her small form, he can’t help but wonder, who is she hiding from? What idiot wouldn’t thank the stars that this little spitfire wanted him? Sighing, he figured it really wasn’t his business and he just let sleep claim him.

Meanwhile, Keith has finally cornered Matt and Shiro. “Where’s Pidge? And don’t give me that crap - top secret mission stuff either.” It’s been two weeks. And no sign of her. And no one is talking. It stopped being annoying a week ago. Now he’s torn between being mad and nervous. She’s not answering his calls and she KNEW he’d be here on Earth. Why would she leave?

Matt avoids eye contact and mutters, “Why do you care? Aren’t you busy with your team?”

Keith frowns, breathing out of his nose, trying like hell to hold onto his patience. “What. Is. Going. On?”

Matt pushes past Keith muttering, “I can’t tell you a goddamn thing. I promised.” Then yanked the door open and slammed it shut.

Keith looked to Shiro. His heart was racing, and he felt jittery with a bad feeling in his stomach. “Shiro. Please, tell me Shiro. Please. Is she mad at me? Did she leave BECAUSE of me? What the hell??? What’s going on?”

Shiro sighs, “Keith, I can’t give away Pidge’s reasoning. All I can say is she is helping the MFE pilots with their training. In space. It’s a legit mission. You know she worked really hard to”

Keith freezes, “The MFE pilots? Griffin’s team?”

“Um, yeah well he’s there. Why does that matter? Everyone is there and ”

Keith frowns, “Why didn’t Matt go then? This isn’t right. I gotta go, I’ll talk to you later Shiro.”

As he walks away, his thoughts are focused on a past briefing about drills being run, by the MFE pilots. He can get out there with Cosmo. Would that be weird? Frowning he bumps into Kolivan and his mom. Krolia grabs Keith’s arm and pulls him into an empty room.

Kolivan begins, “Keith, the Green Paladin is on a mission. With another team. She is not slated to return until well after our trip is finished. This appears like a strategic move.”

Krolia nods, “Yes, Colleen offered congratulations on your engagement. She said they had been told that you were marrying a fellow Blade. When I discounted this she seemed concerned. I was able to piece a timeline that indicates Pidge took this mission last minute. Why would they think you were mated?”

Keith frowned, “What?Who the heck would say that? Maybe someone on controls sent a wrong message? Shit. They are still really bad at English. But that still doesn’t explain why would she leave?”

Krolia and Kolivan exchanged a long look. Keith growled, “If you know something spit it out. I don’t have time for this. I need to corner Pidge and figure out what’s going on. This isn’t like her.”

Kolivan slowly stared at Keith, “What would you do if you got word that your little green paladin was marrying some other male?”

Keith’s eyes flashed, “What? Who?”

Krolia took his fist carefully in her hand. “Exactly, you’d fight. But I do not think your mate’s first instinct is to fight. Especially in love. She’s young and inexperienced. And if she thinks this is what you want.”

Kolivan returns, “I’m actually surprised myself, I did not picture her running.”

Krolia frowns, “It is a strategic retreat. NOT running.”

Keith froze. After a few doobashes he looks up, “Do you think she ran? Because…”

Krolia shook her head. “Keith, we do not know. This is something you need to ask her. In person. Soon. Where is Cosmo?”

Back on the ship, things have returned to normal. Pidge is working hard and staying focused but has deigned to eat and sleep. When the pilots invited her to the bar for drinks and dinner to celebrate a successful one month in space, she declines.

Back in her room, she was sitting on the bed, wondering what her next steps could be. Should she stay in space? Take another mission? Get back into active duty?? Get some perspective? Travel?

She saw from her phone that Lance was calling but she declined the call and crawled in bed. She still wasn’t ready to talk to anyone about this. Not even a friend. Maybe a movie night was in order. As she was scrolling through her laptop, she decided she needed a comedy. Maybe a series? Then she heard a knock.

Frowning she ignored it. But the knocking didn’t stop, who ever it was they were persistent. Finally getting up, she whips door opened to find James, holding a two bottles of scotch?!?

“Hey.”

“Can I come in?”

“Um sure.”

A few hours later, both are laying in her bed, watching the Office reruns and swapping swigs from the same bottle, which is almost empty at this point. Pidge is giggling and keeps saying lines from future episodes, which James has no clue of. Which annoyed him because it wasn’t fair but it just made her laugh more. Then she kept saying, “That’s what she said!”

After James said something, which was clearly irritating him. But for her, it just made it more fun for Pidge. After another season, Griffin was really getting comfy, taking off his shoes and jacket. Pidge teased him, “You know you could take off your uniform shirt and just stay in your t-shirt? Be a rebel.”

James grinned, “That’s what she said!”

Pidge laughed, “Doofus, I literally DID just say that, that’s not how it works!”

As they calmed down and starting watching another season of Jim dance around Pam. James quietly asked, “So, you don’t have to tell me, but who is the guy? … Lance?”

Pidge looks up, “What?!? No! God, there’s too much gossiping on this ship.”

James nods, “Yeah, I agree… but it’s true, right?”

Pidge quietly replies, “Look it doesn’t matter in the end. Lance, Shiro, whoever, the bottom line is he’s with someone and I want him to be happy. So I’ll step back and when I can get my shit together, I’ll be able to be around him again. I just can’t watch him with someone else.”

James stares at her silent for a minute, then turns off the light and removes his uniform shirt, pushing her gently, he says, “Move over.”

Pidge complies and once James gets situated, she snuggles into his side. He continues, “So, definitely not Lance. If, it’s not him, it’s well, it must be Keith. I saw how you two interacted, always eating together on the Atlas, his eyes watching you when you weren’t looking and just being comfortable in each other’s space. So I don’t like him but I’m sorry. For you, because he must be stupid to…” his voice trails when he looks down at her. Her eyes are shiny and he mutters, “Please don’t cry. It, well, it just fucking breaks my heart.”

Pidge tries to laugh, “Look, you and Keith are more alike than not. He’s not perfect but he’s a great guy and well, he should be happy. So. Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine. Now watch this because Pam and Jim will finally get their shot. It, it’s super sweet.” Her voice trails off at the end.

James nods, “Yeah okay. But honestly, this is it, I swear, but, if he doesn’t see how amazing you are. Well, that’s on him. Because, any guy would jump at being yours. Now, I still don’t get how this is romantic. He liked her forever, and she liked him but they won’t take their shot?”

Pidge smiles, “It’s only romantic because the audience wants them together and know how great they’d be. If they don’t get together it would have just been sad but since they do…it’s amazing.”

Pidge awakens to a crack?!?, yelling and the covers suddenly being ripped off of her. Blinking in the surprise, she rubs her eyes to see Keith and Cosmo, in the room?!?

“Keith!! What the hell???” Standing on the bed, she feels Cosmo jump over and rub against her legs. Instinctively holding on to him, she sees Keith punch James and James return the favor. The room is too small and they are bumping and knocking around her already crowded room.

Keith roars, “Why are you in here?!?”

James grins, “C’mon I’m sure you have an idea. Whatever you’re thinking, that’s it.”

Keith’s vision suddenly turns hazy and he launches himself forward. Only to see Pidge jump between them. Instinctively he changes course so he doesn’t hurt her his fist slams into the wall. Breathing heavy, he stares at Pidge, who is hanging on his arm, lowly asking her, “Tell me what’s going on?”

Pidge sighs and turns to James. “James, I think I need some time to talk to Keith. Thanks for, um,” Pidge isn’t quite sure how to finish that sentence so she just waves a hand, “everything.”

James frowns, “Are you sure?”

“Mmmhmmmm.”

As James very slowly gets his stuff to leave, Keith growls noticing he has to pick up his shirt and coat from the floor. Then he takes note that there’s an empty bottle(s) of scotch and her laptop is on the bed. Were they Netflixing and chilling. Did she? Did he? Not Griffin. Please. He closes his eyes to try and focus. This situation somehow just got worse. Worse than he already thought. When he hears the door finally closing he opens his eyes focusing totally on Pidge. He looks at her and realizes, thankfully, she’s in a t-shirt and pajama pants.Okay that’s a good sign. Right? He doesn’t think one would get dressed after having sex so that’s a plus. And Griffin had pants on too come to think of it. He stalks towards her and stops right in front of her. She’s got her arms crossed and is looking at the floor. “Pidge.”

She doesn’t look up. He frowns. He needs. Fuck too much at this point. “One-I’m not engaged or getting married or whatever you thought.”

Pidge’s eyes snap up. “What?!?”

“My mom said your mom thought I was engaged. I am not. Two-if you had questions why the hell would you not call me and ask?!? Instead what-you left? When you knew I was coming back. Three-you, um, didn’t answer my call…calls. What did I do? Why are you mad at me? I fucking left you messages. A lot.” At this point his hands are gripping her upper arms and he has pulled her close. Staring at her, trying to figure out what is eve going on.

Blank. Pidge’s mind is in flux, all she can think is…I can’t think. Shit. “Um, sorry. I um, am helping the, uh-“

“No, that doesn’t explain the silence. You didn’t pick up. Worse, you didn’t call me back. Hell, you left me unreadable, why?”

“Fuck, I’m sorry!!!”

“You’re forgiven, if you tell me WHY?” He pulls her close, and now she’s on her tip toes.

Pidge sighs, “Fuck. Keith, I just can’t watch you with someone else. It would tear me apart, seeing you are with someone else. But I, I want you to be happy and, I, I”

“What?” Keith closes the space, taking the last step closer, both of there chests are now brushing each other and Pidge can feel Keith’s body heat. She blinks. She’s gotta think. How can she think when he’s so close and staring at her?

But then Keith’s hand reacher for her chin, and his thumb brushes her lower lip.

Her mind short circuits and she blurts out, “I have feelings for you. And I “

Keith’s eyes flash, and suddenly his arms are around her. His mouth is on hers before she can formulate any thought and after his mouth was on hers, thought was freaking impossible. Keith was holding her, kissing her and she was responding, moaning and her knees literally buckled.

After some time, Keith has maneuvered her to the bed and is holding her close. His hand is lightly tracing patterns on her lower back, as they snuggle into each other. Keith whispers, “So, moment of truth- my whole reason for coming back to Earth, was to put myself in a strategic position so I could date you. I finally figured it out, that what I felt for you was not simple friendship. It was so much more, so much. I needed to talk to you, needed to ask your opinion and bounce ideas off you. And that was new for me, so I tried to ignore what it could mean. But, I couldn’t not talk to you. Then you went radio silent. And it freaked me out. Really. I can’t, just, don’t EVER do that again.” He gripped her face in his hand, voice dropped, “please.”

“What?”

“Katie, I… can you feel what I am writing on your back?”

“I…L..O..V..E..U. Keith?!? Really?”

“Yeah, I do. Um how do you feel?”

“I love you too.”

“Babe.”

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slashthedice · 4 years

Text

Ko-Fi Commission: Michael x OC for @postsmalones

I cannot thank you enough for your patience and generosity. Since you gave me free rein with this piece, I settled on the idea of exhibitionism and punishment. I had so much fun with Calliope, and I hope I did her justice! Calliope belongs to @postsmalones.

Word Count: 3,188

Evening flooded its light across Calliope’s curled form. She had tucked herself into the little nook of the bay window. Her legs were folded beneath her, and the thick fabric of the thin, oft unused cushion dug into her skin, leaving angry, reddened lines in her calves. She looked up from the book in her lap to peer out the window at the quiet neighborhood street below. She had to be wary of the time, for there was a predator out there that would swim through the darkness to gobble her up if he saw what she had done.

Fear prickled her insides and Calliope squinted as she focused more intently on the sidewalks and hedgerows below her. She would know, she assured herself, she would feel his eyes on her as he thought of all the ways he could tear her apart and eat her alive. He wasn’t there. The sun was not set, and for the time being he had more interesting prey elsewhere.

She studied the sleepy suburban street in quiet wonderment. The lowering sun had set the neighborhood ablaze, igniting it with golds and oranges. Each falling leaf was like a new flame, catching the red glow like embers on the wind. In her mind, she knew that the air would be crisp and cool as the dry grass of the lawn, but she imagined that if she stepped out the door the fall evening would immolate her, crisping her soft skin and turning her body to ash. From the safety of the window bench though, she could admire the waning evening without risk.

At least until Michael returned.

A chill went down her spine at the thought of him finding her there. He had never said it-- in fact, he had never said anything to her at all-- but she knew that he did not want her to occupy her favorite reading spot. The curtains above the bay window were to remain shut. They had to seal the house off from the rest of the world, had to limit suspicion and keep Michael hidden.

The street began to blur as her vision darkened. Her lips stretched around a yawn even as she tried to blink away the veil of tiredness that had lowered itself over her field of view. She hadn’t realized how exhausted she was. She couldn’t let herself sleep, it wouldn’t be long before she would have to extricate herself from the nook and prepare for Michael’s return.

Even as she told herself this, her eyelids felt heavier by the second. Before long, she had almost completely succumbed to Sleep’s siren calls. Darkness overtook her and she slipped helplessly into slumber.

***

A figure swept down the darkened suburban street. The sun had long since disappeared behind the horizon, and in its shyness the moon wrapped itself in clouds like a veiled widow. Only the streetlamps cast their orange light upon the picturesque stillness. The shadows of the poplar trees lining the street spilled like blood across the pavement, splattering the otherwise unremarkable path with sinister inky blackness. The shape seemed to flow through the shadows, almost as if he was made of the darkness itself.

Michael was covered in blood, but he paid it no mind as his boots crunched dry, dead leaves against the concrete sidewalk. He was no longer concerned with stealth, as his prey had been lain waste and the hunt was over. The voices, who only a few hours earlier had bayed like hounds in their stirred bloodlust, now only simmered in the back of his mind.

He knew the path to her house well enough by now. He knew that when he arrived at the quiet home, the lights would be out and she would be fast asleep in her bed. He knew what she would look like tucked beneath the quilted bedspread with her lips parted slightly. His sex throbbed as he thought about throwing back the blankets and dragging her to the edge of the bed. She would cry as she was shocked awake, but she wouldn’t fight him beyond that.

A rushing sound made itself prominent in his ears, and he noted distantly that it was his blood rushing. His heart pounded in a way similar to the handful of moments right before he struck down his prey. But that was done. In its wake he had left nothing but an empty husk and a pool of blood. He had a new object of obsession now, but his desires had changed.

The sounds of the night urged him forward, from the rustling of leaves to the snuffling of nocturnal creatures. Somewhere to his right an owl hooted mournfully. Deeper within the neighborhood, a dog barked and howled. His boots were heavy against the sidewalk, strides regular and measured. He kept his eyes straight ahead until he had rounded the gentle curve in the path that would reveal the house to him. As he raised his eyes to take in the aging tudor style home, his clipped pace faltered before he came to a complete standstill.

Orangey, artificial light spilled from the exposed bay window on the second floor to drip and pool on the lawn below. The other of the structure’s occupants must have seen fit to throw open the curtains and reveal the interior of the house to the outside world. The longer he looked, the more apparent the shape of a small figure curled into the cushioned window seat became.

Annoyance prickled in the back of his mind. He had made it clear to her that the curtains were always to obscure the window that surveyed the neighborhood street. She disobeyed him. If she was so intent on showing the surrounding inhabitants what goes on inside the unassuming suburban home, then he would oblige.

Michael squared his shoulders and stalked towards his target. The cogs in his mind worked to analyze his best approach. The front door had a squeaky hinge that squealed every time it was opened, so he risked alerting her to his presence if he took the quickest route. The back door was a far stealthier approach, though there was potential time wasted if she had not left it unlocked.

He slipped around the side of the house, shoulder brushing against the tall hedgerow. The next door neighbors had left their window open, and he could hear the canned laughter of a sitcom rerun that blared from their television set. Beneath that, he listened to the sound of snoring that came from the balding, middle aged man that lived there.

The grass in the backyard was taller, seemingly climbing up his calves and trying to hold him in place. The way his boots trampled down the browning strands would have been an easy trail to pick up had anyone been following him, but that was of no concern in the moment. Eventually, the authorities would be looking for him, but not tonight. He had chosen his prey carefully, and it would likely be days before the body would be discovered. No one would be looking for tracks in a sleepy suburb in the wee hours.

He scaled the three concrete steps leading from the patio to the back door and turned the handle slowly. It obeyed without issue, allowing him to push the door open. The night spilled into the kitchen ahead of him. He adjusted his grip on the knife he had taken with him, causing ruby droplets to splatter the pristine white tile. He glanced towards the empty farmhouse sink before turning on his heel and depositing the blade there. He would not need it for this next endeavor.

Michael knew the house’s secrets well. As he stepped into the hallway leading to the foyer, he stepped over the boards that would creak and moan beneath his weight. The shadows welcomed him, embracing him and guiding him onwards as he ventured deeper. A wide, well-worn rug muffled his steps at the bottom of the stairs, and he tilted his chin upwards to look to the second floor. Normally he would have seen only the jet black abyss of pitch darkness, but lamplight encroached on the umbra and pushed it back.

He stuck to the edge of the stairs, hugging the interior wall as he listened for even the slightest sound from above. There was nothing. She was unaware of his approach.

He paused at the second floor landing. Down the hall, the door to the study was ajar. That same fiery glow he had seen from the street beckoned him onwards, calling him towards his goal. He soon found himself standing before it, flattening his hand against the painted wood and pushing it open. He stood on the threshold while his eyes adjusted to the bright room.

Michael spotted her immediately.

Her brunette hair fluttered around her shoulders, disturbed by the breeze produced by the whirring ceiling fan. Her features were illuminated in the light produced by the floor lamp she had dragged over to the window from the corner. She had all her limbs curled into her body, while her head rested against the glass of the window. Her bowed lips were parted minutely as she drew slow, deep breaths. A book lay with its pages opened against her chest, as if she had fallen asleep while reading it.

Michael stalked forward, muscles tensed and poised to spring should she awaken before he could reach her. When finally he loomed over her, he looked out to the street below. It was just as still and lifeless as it had been when he had prowled it. It would bear witness to all that was soon to happen.

***

Calliope had been having a wonderful dream. She couldn’t place what exactly she had been dreaming about, but she had felt warm, happy, and safe. She felt like the sun was embracing her and filling her with its warmth.

It was ripped from her in seconds.

She was awoken suddenly, and without warning. She felt as though her world had been tipped on its axis and a bucket of cold water was dumped on her head. Confusion and panic colored her understanding as the comfort of sleep was cast off and trampled.

As awareness returned to her, her mind connected the pain in her upper arms with hands wrapped in a vice around her biceps. She realized that she was no longer curled up like a contented cat, but that she had been dragged upright and onto her tiptoes. She blinked rapidly, both to shake off sleep’s final vestiges and to clear her blurry eyes of the tears that had already begun to gather. Fear gripped her heart, causing the blood in her veins to turn icy even as it pounded in her ears. She heard the harsh sound of all too familiar breathing, and she realized that her worst fear was manifesting right before her.

Michael had returned and found her exactly where she was not supposed to be.

She had been so careful, she had done everything to make sure that she did everything he wanted her to. Now, one slip up meant that it was all over. What would he do with her now? Was this it?

Relief hushed some of her panic as she realized that since both of his hands were on her, he couldn’t have a knife. That didn’t mean that he wasn’t going to kill her, but at the very least it was a small comfort to know she wouldn’t go with a blade through her heart.

Her mouth opened and closed fruitlessly as she scrambled to think of something to say, but the words were failing her. She stared up at him with her watery, doe eyes, but the impassive and blood splattered mask gave her nothing to work with. She couldn’t even see the steely blue of his eyes behind the bone white facade.

They stood in oppressive silence, each unmoving and frozen as if carved of stone.

His grip on her arms slowly, incrementally loosened and for a moment her foolish heart was flooded with a misguided hope. That hope was dashed when she was suddenly spun around and he snatched a handful of her dark hair. She was not even granted a moment to regain her barings before Michael shoved her forward, causing her shins to slam into the bench of the window seat until she was forced to kneel upon it. Her cheek met the windowpane with an awful slapping sound that reverberated through her skull.

She felt unbearably disoriented, but the combined drowsiness and jolt of pain did little to slow her racing thoughts. Her breath fogged the clear glass as it wavered with the heaving sobs that gathered in her chest. She felt like her throat was closing up, the air was too thick for her to breathe. Her mind was working overtime producing possibilities for how Michael planned to kill her, each more gruesome and horrible than the previous.

Calliope wondered if maybe he planned to toss her through the window to the cold ground below. It would suit his strange sense of dramatic irony.

All of her thoughts halted in place as she felt one of his hands grasp at her thigh. His fingers were sticky with blood, and she was sure that he left trails of crimson in his ascendant path beneath her dress. When he reached the elastic of her panties, her brain jolted itself back to life.

This was better. This she could handle. That did not prevent the whimper that escaped her as he ripped the scrap of fabric away from her body.

She closed her eyes, squeezing them shut as she waited on pins and needles. He would not undress her, he did not have the patience to take the time for that. Her assumption was proved correct as he bunched the patterned fabric of her dress about her hips, exposing her backside to the steady breeze provided by the fan.

Calliope shrieked as he entered her without preamble. She ground her teeth to prevent any further sounds, worried that they would only serve to stoke whatever anger he harbored and incur added punishment. That’s what this was, a punishment. He was punishing her for disobedience and putting the results of her actions on display.

She could hear little but a ringing in her ears and the fettered sound of his panting breaths within the mask.

Calliope choked on a strangled gasp as Michael began to move. He wasted no time in establishing a brutal pace. Each slap of his hips into hers sent a tremor through her that shook the glass before her. She would be bruised, sore and tender for days, unable to sit without that discomfort as a reminder.

She couldn’t see the neighborhood down below, it was all a blur of shapes and colors between the fogged glass and her teary eyes. She hoped and prayed that there were no bystanders out for a late night stroll to see her. She couldn’t bear the thought of one of her neighbors passing by and seeing her like this-- face smooshed against the glass with her dress hiked up as she was railed from behind.

She hissed when the hand that was in her hair pulled harder, feeling all the closer to ripping the follicles from her scalp. He peeled her cheek from the window to force her to look straight on. He wanted her to see. Every moment that this carried on was another moment that a passerby could witness the barbarous, carnal act taking place in the otherwise unassuming home. If someone did see, then he would have to kill her and move on. He would not be caught.

His unoccupied hand trailed up her back before his fingers wrapped around her throat. He squeezed until she could only jerk and flail while her lungs burned for air that wasn’t there. He never once relented in the cruel thrusting of his hips. He seemed tireless, endless. She felt as though he had been ravaging her for hours instead of the scant handful of minutes it had truly been.

Calliope was flooded by a new feeling. She reasoned that it must have been the lack of oxygen to her brain, but shame and desire were intermingling in a way that made her skin tingle. And as Michael thrust into her again and again, he was met with less and less resistance.

She was enjoying this, she realized. The thought of someone seeing them had begun to seem thrilling. Ignominy be damned, his brutality pushed her closer and closer to her own peak, a coil within her core twisting tighter and tighter until she was certain she would combust if it didn’t burst.

Michael seemed determined to render her unconscious before that could happen. He squeezed her neck tighter, and darkness began to dance on the edge of her vision. A part of her wanted nothing more than to scratch and claw at his hand until he was forced to let her go, but the more rational part of her brain begged her to think of the repercussions of such an act.

Instead, she slipped her hand between her thighs and rubbed at her clit with a dogged determination. She was right there, right on the edge. She was so close to the unbelievable bliss that her body begged her for.

She gasped uselessly as he hit something inside of her and fireworks immediately exploded behind her eyes while her spotty vision continued to darken. She felt her walls clench around Michael’s cock, and distantly she heard him groan. A flood of warmth inside her felt like victory.

She thought that he might take a moment to catch his breath after finishing. She thought wrong.

Michael pulled out with a gush of fluid before he dragged her backwards so her toes skimmed across the hardwood floor, away from the window and from potential discovery. He released his hold from both her hair and neck simultaneously, but her legs were too weak to hold her up. She crumpled to the floor in a heap, only then realizing that she was covered in blood, cum, and sweat.

Michael stepped over her, paying no attention to her gasping and sputtering as she drew the first full breath she had been allowed in what felt like eons. He drew the curtains closed in one decisive motion before pulling the cord on the lamp with such ferocity that it wobbled on its base and nearly toppled. He then swept past her once more, and disappeared into the darkness without so much as a backward glance.

Calliope rolled until she was on her back, eyes staring up at the rotating blades of the fan. She took stock of herself. She had come out of her punishment with bruises, but nothing was broken and she was still drawing breath. She would consider it a success. But one thing was for sure:

She would not be disobeying Michael again any time soon.

#kofi commission #Michael Myers #Smut #postsmalones

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hellzyeahthewebwieldingavenger · 5 years

Text

Spider-Man 1994 and Me

I have no idea how I first discovered Spider-Man the Animated Series. I know it wasn’t the first Spider-Man THING I ever encountered. That was some other Spidey show but I’ve checked them all and have no idea which one it was. But as a kid I didn’t know there was more than one show. I didn’t even know Spider-Man was more than a cartoon!

So I conflated the then current 1994 cartoon with whatever show I’d seen and by extension with Spider-Man as a whole.

To me back then Spider-Man WAS that show. The idea of comics, movies, video games and everything else never occurred to me and when I did discover them in my mind they weren’t the ‘real’ Spider-Man.

The ‘real’ Spider-Man was this show.

Thing is I never knew when it was on. I just knew it was on Fox Kids the cable channel. And my family didn’t have cable. So I spent a long time hoping and praying every weekend that maybe my folks would take me to one of our family friends or relatives who did, and that they would have Fox Kids in their package and that Spider-Man would be on when I was there.

Everyone in my family and at school I was hungry to see that show, and so they got me a VHS collecting 3 episodes for my birthday. They also taped one and a half episodes from a Saturday morning show that aired the cartoon before I had to go to Greek school.

As a result of what I can only describe as playing those tapes on loop I can practically quote ‘Night of the Lizard’, ‘The Sting of the Scorpion’, ‘The Menace of Mysterio’, ‘Make a Wish’ and ‘Attack of the Octobot’.

Whilst the latter two episodes are not well regarded, and I sympathise as to why (they’re basically a subpar adaptation of ‘The Kid Who Collects Spider-Man’), when I was the target demographic they really spoke to me.

And not in a ‘kids don’t know taste’ kinda way. The plot concerned Spider-Man visiting the bedroom of a kid who was a huge Spider-Man fan, hanging out with them, confiding his secrets to them, going on an adventure with them and ultimately that kid restoring both Spider-Man’s memory of himself and resolve to BE a hero.

Can you spell ‘wish fulfilment’?

During one fateful trip to a family friend’s house (who always had the best stuff) I caught the two episodes which are probably the lasting legacy of the whole show, ‘The Alien Costume’ Parts 1-2.

For all young and impressionable viewers I think these episodes left an indelible mark on them, along with the follow up episode.

Try if you will to imagine yourself NOT knowing Spider-Man wears any other kind of costume besides his red and blue one. Then imagine the idea of Spider-Man...as the bad guy. Not just the bad guy...but scary. Then imagine he’s made bad, and made scary because his clothes are literally making him that way and forcing themselves on him, even when he doesn’t want them to. Then imagine seeing an even badder, even scarier Spider-Man, but you don’t get a good look at him. you just know he’s ‘out there’.

Now imagine you are like 6 years old seeing all that.

For me and new Spider-Man fans like me, our experience with the black costume and Venom was about as close to what the original readers of the 1980s went through as possible.

What helped make these episodes so impressionable was the fact that my mind was filling in the blanks for what the ‘evil Spider-Man’ might look like.

Then a while later, by complete chance at an entirely different friend’s house, she showed me a video that had the fabled third part of the story and so, like every 90s kid, I became entranced by Venom!

And you know what, he was everything my childhood imagination had dreamed up and more. This wasn’t just a scary looking guy, with a scary attitude; this was a guy who was literally stalking our hero. As a kid you might’ve felt a certain comfort from Spider-Man. He was older than you, he was the hero and he was powerful. You either wanted to be him, or wanted to befriend him. But in this episode, suddenly he was as scared and as vulnerable as you were.

Following those three episodes I spent a lot of time alternating between fear and fascination for Venom and the black costume, and I longed to see those episodes again somehow, even when I eventually did get to see the show more regularly.

That happened when my family had to move in with my grandparents for 2 years, although I also caught the debut of Black Cat before that. Since Felicia was in whatever Spidey cartoon I first saw waaaaaaaaaay back I sort of knew the character and liked her.

Anyway, back to my grandparents, during that time they got cable and eventually Fox Kids. So finally one of my childhood dreams was fulfilled and one day I taped a marathon of Spider-Man episodes beginning with the last half of the second part of the epic Spidey/X-Men crossover and ending during the first half of the first half of the also epic Spidey/Daredevil crossover!

Again, I rewatched this almost religiously and since I didn’t quite understand the magic of the remote, I wound up sitting through the ads too and thus I’m still compelled to invest in the Chelsea Building Society and the 1997 Christmas catalogue.

Not long after I rented a VHS from Blockbuster (remember those?) containing the Alien Costume/Venom episodes and soon committed those to memory too.

Finally in now being able to watch the show regularly almost everyday I wound up seeing every other episode too, and seeing them like 5 times or something.

The first of these episodes I really remember was the incredibly dumb ‘Partners’ wherein I was happy to see Felicia and Scorpion again, and got introduced to the Vulture for the first time. Also I got introduced to Silvermane but he was less than dignified in the episode. If you’ve seen it you will know what I mean.

Among the most impressionable were the Carnage centric episodes and Secret Wars stuff. But I still fondly remember one morning seeing Spider Wars part 1.

Mind = blown.

Aunt May is dead. Green Goblin and Hobgoblin are together. New York is wrecked. Everyone hates Spider-Man, even Robbie! And this is all because of...Spider-Man!?

Another Spider-Man!

Another Spider-Man combined...with Carnage!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

It helped that, though I didn’t realize he was a different character, I’d recently gotten a toy featuring the Spider-Ben costume and so when Spider-Carnage in an incredibly similar costume showed up, suddenly what I’d regarded as a dumb alternate costume action figure became startlingly relevant.

And the hits kept coming.

There’re even MORE Spider-Mans?

Spider-Man with Doc Ock’s arms!

Man-Spider!

And who is this blonde Scarlet Spider dude?

Ben Reilly and this whole storyline wound up being more important to me than I realized as around this time the Clone Saga was being reprinted, thus I was picking up my first Spider-Man comics off the back of recognizing both the Scarlet Spider and Spider-Ben costumes.

The next night I saw the final episode.

Of course I didn’t know it was the end. I thought for sure there was more coming and if I obediently watched enough of the reruns someday I’d see the fabled (and totally imaginary) next episode where Spidey finally reunites with Mary Jane.

However else I felt about the episode at the time, the story bears the distinction of introducing me to Stan Lee himself as he made his greatest ever cameo in the episode.

At the time it was confusing and surreal. The idea of anyone actually CREATING Spider-Man, or fiction in general, was a foreign concept to me. It grew more surreal as via osmosis I gradually began seeing this ‘Stanley guy’ in other places...except he was REAL, not a cartoon!

After being frustrated by the lack of follow up, and being bored by having seen the show so many times over, I began to...not exactly grow out of the show but began to sour on it a bit.

And upon entering the comics, realizing the show was actually based on THEM and regarding every deviation from them as ‘wrong’, I began to actually hate the show.

For the next 10 years or so I longed for another Spider-Man show, a better and more accurate one.

I went back and forth between disliking and lightly enjoying the show until about 2012.

I might not have many kind things to say about the Marc Webb Spidey movies. But after several years of distancing myself from Spider-Man and pretty much comics in general, the hype for the movie got me back in the mood and slowly but surely I disappeared back into the rabbit hole and this time got in deeper than ever before. Part of that was rewatching the show in it’s entirety from start to finish.

Initially I noticed the flaws, but then that last episode hit me. And over time, I fell in love with the show and see the worth it had beyond it’s flaws.

Quite apart from introducing Spider-Man and his world to me, it ‘educated’ me on the character in ways that actively helped me navigate the comics when I eventually did start to read them.

And looking back, there’d never been a more spiritually faithful take on Spider-Man ever before that show. It wasn’t a cartoon show using a comic book character, it was a comic book cartoon show!

So on this day, I thank you Spider-Man 1994. I wouldn’t have loved this character without you!

#Spider-Man #spider-man the animated series #Spider-Man 1994 #spider-man tas

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hopelessromanticspoonie · 5 years

Text

To Keep You Safe

Title: A guy like you should wear a warning

Chapter: 6/?

Author: hopeless_romantic_spoonie

Summary: Life as the assistant to Tony Stark was busy, but boring. All of that changed when I touched something I shouldn’t have and woke up with strange new abilities. If I thought that trying to figure out my new place in life as an Avenger was tough, I had no idea what was in store for me once I ran into the frustrating God of Mischief, Loki.

Rating: E (later on)

Notes: Friendly reminder that this is un-Beta’d, so please excuse any typos or grammatical errors I no doubt missed during revisions!

Also on Ao3 here :)

Warnings for this chapter: Language, making out

~~~

Thanks to my speedy healing powers I was able to leave the infirmary the day after Loki’s late-night visit. I was still prescribed extreme amounts of rest and a moderate amount of painkillers, so I used the time when the others were busy working or training to unpack the boxes from my apartment and truly decorate my suite. Now that I wasn’t working myself into the ground each day, I had hours and hours to kill. If I was going to be staying here a while, so it might as well feel like home.

I had more in control of my powers so I allowed myself the luxury of putting out my small potted succulents and aloe plant onto the windowsill, having retrieved them from Pepper’s office after she had nabbed them for safe-keeping ages ago. I wanted to replace the duvet with mine from home, but moving up from a meager full-sized bed to a king meant that wasn’t going to work. It was easy to order another through F.R.I.D.A.Y., and a simple plush forest green duvet cover arrived promptly. Steve helpfully reassembled one of my bookshelves for me and put it up next to the couch in the sitting area. I finished that off by filling it to the brim with my extensive book collection.

The last bits of personal memorabilia were my drawing supplies. I hadn’t touched them in years, truthfully not since I began distracting myself after New York with work, but I had little else to do in my free time. I wasn’t allowed to train yet, and my job as Tony’s assistant had already been filled by someone else. Plus, I can only watch reruns of The Office so many times. So, my sketchbooks were scattered across my coffee table, with the one currently in use on my bedside table when I wasn’t lugging it around as I puttered about. A pouch of charcoal was always alongside it, along with a black-stained once-white towel to wipe off my hands.

So, in the interim of getting injured and being allowed to train, I drew. I now had a designated spot on the couch parked in front of the TV that was left open for me to curl up beneath a black blanket, to avoid stains, and draw as I socialized. My sketches started as complete and total trash from my lack of practice, but after a few attempts, my friends went from looking like misshapen cartoon characters to actual people on the page. If you squinted and tilted your head a little. And allowed for artistic license. But it was a work in progress like everything else in my life.

One surprising figure who kept appearing in my sketchbook turned out to be Loki. Whenever I was out of my room, he seemed to be as well. Keeping to the shadows and himself, but still present. His penetrating gaze drilled holes into the sides and back of my head as I went about my day. When I’d look up to catch his eye he stared back unabashedly with that same look of puzzlement that he had worn during our last conversation. Because even though he had been my new shadow, he never approached me, and I couldn’t even begin to think of what to say to him. 'Hey, so, you totally saved my life and now we don’t seem to hate each other and I don’t know what that’s about or what to do about it. So, what’s up? Stalk much?' That didn’t feel right. So I just left it be. If he wanted more answers so that he could wipe the curious look off of his face, it was very clear that he knew where to find me. Even if I couldn’t see him, like when I went on walks with Thor or Sam to keep my strength up while I healed, the small hairs on the back of my neck stood on end as I felt his eyes upon me.

And each night, when I would wake screaming and sobbing in bed from visions of the Hydra men I had slaughtered, he was there. After the first night when I sent my trusty ole rock flying at, and then through, his expressionless face and learned that it was just a projection, it became routine. I’d wake up shrieking, drenched in cold sweat, and there would be an illusion of the Trickster God sitting on my couch watching over me. Never talking, never approaching me, just keeping guard over me with a steady gaze. Even though he wasn’t physically there, I knew that he was just on the other side of the wall, having woken from my cries and sending his doppelganger to me. Some tiny part of me took comfort in knowing that I wasn’t alone, and it was that part that I clung to as I fell back to sleep each time. That part only grew with each occurrence of his reliable appearances for my night terrors.

Should I have been more creeped out by it? Probably. This could go into stalker pasty vampire territory real fast. But I was so desperate for any sort of comfort that I began to search for him immediately after I was wrenched from my haunting dreams, a sigh of relief huffing out of my mouth when I saw him sitting at his post. It wasn’t good for me in the slightest to become so reliant on his steady presence, but it helped too much for me to put an end to it. What was it hurting? Besides our sleep schedules, of course. But mine was damned either way.

So, with little else to do, I drew him. If he could be a creep, so could I. I kept him in the corner of my eye whenever I would sit and sketch. And through my workings, I continued the exploration of the distant but oh-so-present god that I had begun in the infirmary. My fingers became familiar with the sharp lines of his cheekbones. The harsh angle of his jawbone. The slant and curve of his lips from the ever-present smirk. My eyes knew the breadth of his shoulders and the lean yet defined muscle filling out his standard button-down shirt. His long, spindly fingers were familiar to me not only from touch but now sight as well. And it was easy to fill my pages with his exceptionally well-proportioned figure while carrying on with everyone else. They got uncomfortable as the subjects of my sketches, but Loki was unwilling to talk to me to voice his opinion. As the only one to do so, he became my easiest muse.

~~~

After two weeks of rest, recuperation, and doodling, I was finally allowed to return to my training sessions with Nat and Wanda. And even in those, Loki lingered at the fringes. At first the others took notice, just as I had long ago, and waited for him to take action or say something or do anything to give a reason for his continued presence. It was one thing to always be about in the living room or grounds but harder to explain when he was always fifteen steps behind me. But when nothing happened and no explanations were given they tuned him out as I had learned to. If he wanted to be the ghost of my life, that was his prerogative. I needed to get my ass back in shape.

This was made all the more apparent as Nat slammed my body onto the training mat for the fifteenth time during our latest training session. My back was becoming far too familiar with the dark mats that cushioned my repeated falls.

“Knock the wind out of ya?” she asked, smirking down at me and offering her hand to help me up.

With a gasp and nod, I took her hand and allowed her to yank me gracelessly to my feet. I braced my hands on my knees, taking deep breaths and blinking the stars from my eyes.

“Tony talked to us and we all agree. We’re not leaving you as unprepared as you were before. So, catch your breath, because we’re not done yet,” she declared, holding out my reusable water bottle for me.

I drank heavily from it and even poured some on the top of my head, relishing the ice-cold water on my sweaty body.

“Then bring it on,” I tossed my water bottle to the edge of the mat. “I haven’t had my ass kicked in enough different ways yet.”

And Nat seemed to take that as a challenge. In the next hour she pinned me, tossed me to the floor, and put me in various holds until I tapped out probably 20 more times. At least.

“Good job, Jen. You lasted longer than I expected,” she praised me, tossing a towel on my prone form on the floor.

After she slammed me onto my back for the final time getting up didn’t seem like it needed to happen right away. The floor and I were good buddies by now and I just wanted to spend some more quality time with it. I groaned wordlessly, swiping the towel from my bare midriff and throwing it over my face. My entire body hurt, but my shoulder was the worst of all. An itchy, burning sensation pulsed with my heartbeat beneath the gnarled mess of scar tissue just to the right of the strap of my sports bra. I scratched at it absentmindedly before standing up, throwing the towel around my neck.

“I mean it. You’ve been out of commission for almost three weeks. It’s hard to get back into it, especially with the God of Ghostliness checking you out the entire time,” she teased.

“Oh no, that was definitely not what he’s doing. He feels guilty and he’s just keeping tabs.” There wasn’t a universe where Loki, Prince of Asgard, would be eyeing me for that reason. “Plus, he probably gets a sick thrill from watching me eat dirt over and over again.”

“I know I do,” Nat joked, linking her arm through mine as we walked out of the gym toward the building housing our rooms. “But really. You’re wearing a sports bra and tight leggings, all hot and bothered from getting your ass kicked, and grunting and huffing and puffing. It’s definitely some guys’ thing.”

I rolled my eyes, not dignifying her speculations with a response besides that. I was an unknown to Loki, that was all. He was such an intelligent person that he probably didn’t like not understanding something, and he just hadn’t figured me out yet. Once he was satisfied with whatever mystery of my character that he was trying to solve he would go back to slinking around the Compound on his own.

That didn’t explain his almost-nightly visits to my room after my nightmares, but I had long ago concluded that I wasn’t going to understand his motivation for that, either. Probably something along the lines of wanting me to shut the hell up so that he could get some sleep. That sounded more like his style.

Nat pulled me out of my thoughts with her suddenly enthusiastic tone. “Hey, before I forget, Sam and I were thinking of heading to the city tonight. Maybe hitting up a club and getting some,” she paused, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively, “frustration out. You should come. After all, you did say you like dancing.”

“I was kidding! Tony asked me how I was feeling while I was in a hospital bed with a hole in my shoulder and brains falling out of my skull and I’m a sarcastic smartass when I'm tired! That doesn’t count!” I exclaimed, laughing as she pulled me toward the stairs. My jelly legs quickly redirected us to the elevator.

“Doesn’t matter. You haven’t left this place in over a month. You need to get out. You’re coming. After dinner you’re coming to my room, I’m throwing you into the slinkiest dress I can find, and we’re hitting the town.”

By that point we had reached the main living room, and she pushed me toward my door for a much-needed shower.

“It’s happening!”

~~~

True to her word, after we’d all eaten dinner I was dragged into Nat’s room. There wasn’t even time to protest as the assassin plopped me down onto her bed, aiming a stern finger at me before going about her diabolical plans to dress me up like a doll.

She went through her clothes like a madwoman, picking out dresses and holding them up to me, then frowning and tossing them aside onto a rapidly-growing pile of provocative frocks. I didn’t blame her for the struggle considering the differences we had. She was a bit bustier and curvier in all the right places than my taller, boxier frame. With my bigger hips, smaller ass, and longer legs, half of the dresses were tossed aside simply because we weren’t looking to get me arrested for indecent exposure.

Finally, after several minutes of searching and a mountain of rejected dresses, she shoved one into my hands. “This is it, I know it,” she exclaimed, shoving me toward the bathroom to change.

I stumbled inside and closed the door behind me, holding in a groan. Whatever she picked I knew it had to be far more risque than anything I’d ever choose for myself. But she got one thing right from the start: the color was my favorite: a deep emerald green. I didn’t see any sequins or sparkles, so that was a bonus. Mimicking a disco ball had never been high on my list of wardrobe choices.

But as soon as I put it on, after first running to my room and back to grab a strapless bra, I knew it wasn’t happening.

The high halter neckline of the dress revealed my fair, only slightly muscular shoulders, and as such, the twisted mess of raised pink scar tissue I wasn’t too keen on revealing. Following the dress down, more of my pale skin was revealed by cutouts on either side of my waist just above my hip bones. I only ever showed my midriff when I was working out, and that was because Tony seemed averse to air conditioning in the gym. This was a lot of skin. Plus, it was a dress and I just really didn’t want to wear one.

“Nat, this isn’t going to work,” I whined through the door, staring at my body critically in the mirror.

“Lemme see, Pebbles!”

Sighing heavily, I opened up the bathroom door and padded out into the bedroom. I even did a little twirl to prove just how much the dress did not work for me.

“I think that Tony is right about the Poison Ivy thing, especially in that dress. Damn, girl!”

“It’s too much, Nat!” I covered the fair skin revealed at my waist to the best of my ability, crossing my arms over myself.

“No, you look stunning! He’s not going to know what hit him,” she gushed, grabbing my hand and pulling me over to a vanity in the sitting area of her room. She pushed me down in front of it and began fussing with my hair.

“But it isn’t too much?” I asked quietly.

“Trust me, you’ll knock him dead,” she promised, twisting my hair into a bun on the back of my head.

Him?

One hour later, I looked myself over in the mirror while Natasha quickly got dressed, surveying her handiwork.

After existing in the dress for a while, I begrudgingly admitted to myself that it wasn’t the absolute worst. I still felt a little uncomfortable with how tight it was, but I was given some relief and breathing room with the slight flare of the skirt out from my hips. My dark brown hair had somehow been thrown up into a simple bun with just one long gold hair clip, a feat of epic proportions considering just how much hair I had. A delicate gold arm cuff resembling a snake wrapped around my bicep on my right arm, hopefully distracting from the scarring above it that wouldn’t disappear behind the dress no matter how much I tugged at it. My ever-present thumbprint necklace was completely hidden by the high neckline and collar of the dress. And to complete the outfit, much to Nat’s dismay, I snagged a pair of chunky black ankle boots from my closet. If I was going to be dragged out for a night on the town, I was not going to do it in the scary-high black stilettos she had offered to me. Breaking my ankles would probably put a damper on the evening.

At least my makeup was within my comfort zone. With subtle winged eyeliner, heavy mascara, and berry red lips I still looked like I tried without resembling a clown. As Nat said, 'You, but better.' I think it was a compliment.

“Oh! One last thing,” Natasha cried, popping up from finishing her makeup at the vanity and dashing out of the room. She reappeared moments later with Tony by her side.

“Damn, Poison Ivy. You look fantastic. I didn’t even recognize you.” Tony sauntered over to me, wrapping me in a brief one-armed hug before pulling back and holding out a polished wooden box from behind his back. “I know you may be feeling antsy about tonight, so I sent out for this.”

I blushed at Tony’s compliment and took the box over to the vanity. “Y’all really want that nickname to stick, huh?” I asked, rolling my eyes as I opened the surprise gift.

“It’s an obsidian dagger. It’s made out of volcanic glass, so you should be able to control it with your powers if you get in a tight spot. And that’s a thigh holster. It should work over or under your clothes. The leather is reinforced on the inside, so you can't cut through it. But be careful. That thing is sharp as hell.”

I stared at the beautiful, semi-translucent black dagger and holster nestled in the red velvet inside the box. With a flick of my wrist, the dagger slipped from the sheath and flew into my waiting hand. The blade itself was about the length of my hand, and the handle just long enough for me to comfortably grasp it.

“It’s perfect, Tony, thank you,” I beamed, pulling everything from the box and carefully sliding the knife back into its sheath.

Natasha snapped out of admiring the weapon from afar once it was put away and pushed Tony toward the door. “Now shoo! She needs to strap that thing on and you need to go home to Pepper.”

“You kids have fun! The car is waiting out front! Do something I would do!”

I rolled my eyes with a smile at Tony’s shouted parting words before looking back down at his gift. It was beautiful. And he was right. The heavy dread that had settled in my stomach lightened slightly with the promised protection of the deadly weapon. The slim holster easily slipped up my leg and under my dress, which was just long enough to cover it. When I stood up and looked in the mirror, the extra swing of fabric around my legs concealed it. I had been concerned, since, once holstered, the set-up ran from slightly below my hip bone to the middle of my thigh on the outside of my leg.

“Let’s go, Trouble,” Natasha called, leaving the bathroom and shoving her feet into a similar pair of stilettos to what she had tried to force me into earlier. She was stunning in the classic strapless little black dress that clung to her every curve. I don’t know how she thought I was going to get any attention from whoever the mysterious ‘him’ was that she kept referring to when I would be standing next to her drop-dead gorgeous ass.

We both grabbed our bags on the way out of her room, mine a tasteful black leather square clutch on a long, thin gold chain and hers a bright red clutch with black straps to match her heels.

As we left her room, we saw the third member of our party. Sam was waiting for us dressed to kill in a brown leather jacket, white t-shirt, and dark jeans. He was the embodiment of looking cool without trying too hard.

But to my surprise, another man was waiting for us in the living room. I stopped dead in my tracks when I took in Loki leaning casually against the arm of the couch. The slim black pants, dark gray button-down shirt, and fitted black blazer looked like they were made for him and him alone to wear.

Oh. Him.

The arrogant smirk he normally wore fell from his face as his piercing green eyes blazed a path down my body, lingering on the golden snake bicep cuff and cutouts. The offhand comments Nat had made and her very particular styling choices suddenly made much more sense as I watched Loki eye me appreciatively. I was going to kill her and her meddling ass, assassin or not.

She pushed me toward Loki before walking over to Sam and casually slipping her arm around his waist so he could wrap his arm around her shoulders. I stumbled slightly and turned to glare at her, wishing that that dumb green box had given me face-melting laser powers right about now. When I turned back around, Loki was standing just inches away and was offering me his arm with a mischievous smile.

“You look absolutely divine,” he murmured, taking my left hand and tucking it into the crook of his arm.

“Thank you.” I blushed for the second time that night and lowered my gaze to the floor in front of us.

We followed Sam and Nat silently down the stairs, Loki’s arm tightening to trap my hand securely against his body as we descended together. While my dazzling friends in front of us chatted away excitedly about tonight’s plans, I couldn’t get over my shock to think of anything to say to the prince escorting me to the back row of the waiting black SUV. He took one of my hands in his, the other resting politely on the middle of my back as he helped me inside. After I was settled on the rich leather interior, he went to the other side and gracefully slipped in next to me.

Sam and Nat piled into the row in front of us, letting the driver know that we were ready to go. I fumbled with the seatbelt, my hands shaking and missing the buckle once, twice.

Along with the shock of Loki’s presence on our outing, I was suddenly very aware that this was the first time I was going to go out in public since getting my powers. I thought I had a good grip on them, but what if I didn’t? Would wherever we were going have anything around that I could accidentally use against someone if I got hurt? What if I lost it and used my new dagger on someone? Loki's steady hands covered mine and helped me on the third try, bringing me back to the car and making my breath hitch in my throat.

I pulled away and angled my face to look outside. My heart was threatening to jump out of my chest. Not because of how pleasant his cool fingers had felt on my warm skin, but because I was anxious about being around so many people again. Yep. That’s it. I kept my eyes trained outside the heavily tinted windows for some time, listening to Sam and Nat without actually hearing what they were saying. Anything to focus on besides Loki’s leg that pressed into my own each time we were jostled by the car.

After a few tense minutes, I cleared my throat and blurted out the one thought that wouldn’t stop nagging at me. “Why’d you come?”

Loki’s eyes met mine and held them prisoner in his own with their intensity. “To keep you safe.”

And that was that.

~~~

We pulled up to a stop outside of a busy club, a long line curled around the side of the building as people waited in the chilly September air to be allowed inside. After accepting Loki’s hand to help me out of the car, I stifled a groan at the thought of waiting in such a line with just the short dress I had on to shield me from the cold. Neither Nat nor myself had thought about the weather when she was playing makeover.

But I had not realized the power of who I was with as I trailed behind my friends. Loki, Sam, and Nat strolled confidently up to the bouncer, Nat flashing him a jaw-dropping smile and Sam slipping him an even more jaw-dropping collection of bills. With a satisfied smirk and leering eyes ogling Nat’s ample cleavage, the giant of a man waved us inside.

The thumping bass assaulted my ears after we stepped through the door behind the bouncer. The smell of sweat and mixing colognes and perfumes made me crinkle my nose. Multicolored lights flashed across the club, just light enough to illuminate the undulating dancers in the middle of the room without being so bright that they felt self-conscious. Along the edge against the brick walls were various couches scattered here and there, left in shadow to afford those resting from their revelry a bit of a break from the pandemonium.

Nat didn’t seem to notice any of it as she let go of Sam and grabbed my arm instead. She yanked me from Loki’s grip and led me to the nearest of two dark wooden bars. I looked back at Sam and Loki briefly before I was swallowed up by the crowd. The former was already moving in on a very attractive woman, and Loki remained standing tall and proud where I had left him, alabaster skin changing colors with the flashing colored lights around him. His piercing eyes tracked me until I was out of sight. I turned my attention back to my friend, following in her incredibly steady footsteps for her mile-high stilettos. We both leaned against the bar and she flagged down the bartender.

“Vodka cranberry please, make it a double!” I shouted, hoping that the bartender could make out what I was saying over the almost deafening music. I couldn’t even hear what Nat ordered and she was right beside me. She placed a large bill in his hand after our two drinks were in front of us and shouted something else that I couldn’t pick up.

I grabbed mine and took a drink, grateful to discover that he had heard my order correctly. I didn’t have time to savor the drink, as Nat caught my attention by holding up a shot of clear liquid in front of me suggestively.

“No! I can’t hold my alcohol!” I shouted, shaking my head dramatically at her and attempting to push the liquor back in her direction.

She leaned into me, pushing the shot back into my hand. “Yes! What have you got to lose?”

With a groan, I accepted the shot and hastily poured it down my throat, wincing at the burn of vodka that I felt all the way down to my stomach. I chased it with a sip of my drink. It was a smart move for my taste buds, but not necessarily my liver. Too late now.

Her drink now in hand, Nat grabbed my free hand with hers and pulled me out onto the dance floor. I could see Sam off to the side, getting very familiar with the woman he had approached earlier. Loki was nowhere to be found, but he had to be close. He wouldn’t come all this way just to leave. He was most likely off taking advantage of the inebriated patrons and the dark surroundings, God of Mischief that he was. This was probably his twisted version of a candy store.

I felt the shot working its way through my system, warming my body and loosening up the strangled tightness that had gripped my chest in the car earlier. I could feel the power coursing through my veins, but it wasn’t hard to tamp it down and focus on the buzz in my head instead. Maybe tonight wouldn’t be so bad after all. I allowed myself to give in to the infectious anonymity of the pulsing darkness, laughing and dancing with Nat.

Several songs and one more drink later, I was working my way passed tipsy and toward drunk, and I needed a break. I gestured toward the bar, but Nat shook her head and closed her eyes while she kept on dancing. It didn’t hurt my feelings any. She deserved to let loose just as much as I did and I didn’t need babysitting just to go get another drink and take a load off for a minute. I pushed my way through the crowd of sweaty bodies to the bar and plopped down on a barstool.

I pressed a bill from my clutch into the bartender’s hand when he came around to me, asking for another vodka cranberry. He went off to make my drink, and once he was back and the beverage was lightly grasped in my hand I closed my eyes for a moment to focus on catching my breath.

A cool hand settled onto the exposed skin at my waist and an arm stretched across my back. I opened my eyes to see someone plucking the drink from my hand before retreating quickly.

“What the fuck?” I swore loudly, whipping around to see Loki looking at me over his shoulder as he sauntered away, my drink held tauntingly in his slightly raised hand. He slipped into the crowd and I was just barely able to make out the top of his head among the throng of dancers.

I hopped off of the barstool a little less gracefully than I would have liked. I was at least grateful that I was able to pick my way through the crowd without stumbling into anybody despite the alcohol in my system.

While it had been easy to find him when I had been removed from the crowd thanks to his height, once I was surrounded by people I lost him. A growl of frustration passed through my lips. The God of Mischief was a real pain in my ass.

“Lose something?” The words were passed to me over the din of the club through smooth lips pressed against the shell of my ear.

I turned around to see Loki watching me with a smirk on his lips and mischief glinting in his eyes. I tried to be quick and snag my drink from him, but he lifted it higher so that all I succeeded in doing was looking like an idiot.

He stooped down to speak lowly into my ear again. “Your drink for a dance, little one.”

“Are you serious?’ I shouted, glaring at him as he pulled away. The quirk of his brow signified that his proposal was indeed very serious.

I contemplated just going back to the bar and getting another drink. It wasn’t like I didn’t have the money, with what Tony paid I could retire today and live a modest, but comfortable, life. But it was the principle of the thing that mattered. He was throwing down the gauntlet and I was just stubborn enough and drunk enough to pick it up.

I shrugged my shoulders in light acceptance of his terms and he closed the distance between us to place a large hand on the small of my back. I draped my arms around his shoulders and made sure to press back against his hand as I rolled my body to the beat that reverberated through my boots from the floor.

His pale skin was the perfect canvas for the colored lights to saturate as he stared down at me moving against him. I couldn’t help the smirk of my own as he pulled me closer to him until our chests brushed. I blamed the alcohol and exercise for the cause of my heart beating erratically in my chest and my uneven breaths. It wasn’t the darkening of his eyes as my hips rolled against his. And it was most definitely not the solid muscles that flexed against me with each twist of his body. Nor was it the wolfish smile that pulled on his lips as his hand skated across my back to grip onto the exposed feverish flesh on my side.

He used the leverage he gained from this new position to turn me around so that my back was to his front. I felt every angle of him against me as he pulled me flush against him, from his rigid chest curling into the back of my bare shoulders to his hips grinding deliciously against the padding of my ass. The hand not holding my drink rested on my flat stomach, keeping me against him as we moved together to the pounding bass. My arms reached up above me so that my hands could resume their place around the nape of his neck, consequently opening my body up to him for his perusal.

Surprisingly, he didn’t take advantage. His hand remained stretched across my soft stomach, holding me to him, but the other moved down around me until my drink was poised in front of my lips. Emboldened by the heady mixture of alcohol and his masculine scent surrounding me, I tilted my head forward enough to down what was left of my cocktail after he had seemingly taken his own drinks from it if the low level of liquid was anything to go by. The glass disappeared from his hand, which was now free to trail across my jaw and hook on my chin, turning my head so that his nose brushed against my cheek and his breaths panted out against my sweat-dampened skin.

“You have had your drink. You are free to go.” His words were at odds with his hand, which held me captive against him by digging pleasantly into my hip.

We had fulfilled the bargain that he had given me. I danced with him, and he had given me what remained of my drink. But it sounded like too much work to go find Nat, Sam was most definitely enjoying time with some random beautiful woman, and I had to admit that Loki was an amazing dance partner. Why would I leave him to go dance alone, or worse, have some random brute grind up on me and try to cop a feel? I knew, well kinda, what to expect with him, so I just laughed in response and dragged my nails against his sensitive skin at the nape of his neck.

Over the pounding music, I felt more than heard the rumble of his chest at my actions, and the sound sent chills through me. His large hands took to roaming over my body as we danced, never staying in one spot for too long. Dragging from the outside of my thighs to my hips to brush across my stomach to reach up and trail down my upraised arms and back again, leaving fire in their wake.

I shut down the logical part of my brain that told me that I shouldn’t be enjoying this so much. That this was Loki, the god who hated me and was nothing but his own needs. Future me could worry about that. Right now I was too engrossed in the exhilarating movement of his body against mine to do anything about it. Especially when he ducked his head so that his lips trailed across my bare shoulder. It was intoxicating.He was intoxicating.

“What do we have here?” he purred, voice velvet sin behind me. His hands had stalled their movements on the outside of my legs, and one hand toyed with the edges of my dagger over the fabric of my dress.

I turned around in his arms and moved my hands down to rest against his chest. “Insurance,” I smirked up at him.

He chuckled darkly and looked positively sinister as he loomed over me. “Plan on using it?” he asked, his groping fingers reaching behind me to gather a healthy amount of my backside in their clutches.

I smiled sweetly up at him as I released him to reach behind me and take his hands into mine. “Only if you don’t keep your hands to yourself,” I replied, slipping out of his grasp and walking away.

When I peeked over my shoulder for his reaction, he was where I had left him, watching me stroll away with a predatory gleam in his eye that sent a rush of heat through me. The logical side of me had disappeared some time ago, sent away by the sensual roll of his hips against mine, so I shot him a wink before slipping through the crowd toward the edges of the bar, one of the dark leather couches calling my name.

What the hell was that wink?

I found an empty couch in the shadows and perched on the armrest, taking care to keep my thighs firmly closed together and my skirt draped over the lethal weapon I was hiding. Wouldn’t do for anyone to see anything they shouldn’t. It was much easier to breathe now that he wasn’t holding me so tightly to him, and I bowed my head as I focused on cooling and calming down.

“You need to rehydrate.” The words came from above me as a pale hand holding a glass of water slipped into my field of view.

Like any intelligent woman who had had alcohol in public before, I knew better than to accept a drink that I hadn’t seen made. I lifted my eyes to Loki, expecting to see the same lascivious expression on his face as I had last seem him, but only finding a light concern furrowing his brow instead. But he wasn’t looking at me. He straightened up while I watched him and turned partially around to stare off into the crowd. When he turned back to face me, an urgency had taken over his features.

The seriousness of his expression cut through my buzz and I stood up as quickly as I could manage from my awkward position on the sofa. “What’s wrong?”

He seemed to grapple with something for a moment as he searched my face, indecision in his darting eyes and twitching fingers. When it appeared that he had made a decision, judging by the forced exhale through his nose and his hands reaching out to steady themselves on my waist, he stepped closer and stooped down so that our foreheads were almost touching. “Do you trust me, little one?”

My hands immediately went up to exhibit a light pressure on his chest, keeping him from getting any closer as I studied him. There wasn’t a smirk, mischievous grin, or pleased smile on his face to indicate that he was trying to trick me. The hunger that I had detected in his eyes earlier had been wiped clean and replaced with anxious sincerity. It was startling to see him change so abruptly.

Did I trust him? I mean, he hadn’t threatened to stab me in several weeks, so that was an improvement. And I sure as hell had been dancing with him just a few minutes ago like I did. I had picked to dance with him instead of going at it alone because I knew that he wasn’t going to be a creep about it. But trust implied something deeper. Built on a bond and respect and a mutual understanding. I wasn’t sure if I had that with him. He wouldn’t have asked if it wasn’t important, though. And it must be, to cause the visible tension in his body.

“Um, I guess so. Sure.” That was the best answer that I could give him. He was going to have to take it or leave it.

“Then trust me in this and do not hit me.”

“Don't hit-”

My words were swallowed by his lips swooping down onto my own. I froze under the suddenness of it. When I didn’t respond to his ministrations he dragged his lips from my mouth to my ear.

“I’m in contact with Sam and Natasha. They believe that Hydra has tracked us here and is searching for us. Public displays of affection make people uncomfortable. We can disappear as another amorous couple seeking our pleasure in the shadows,” he explained quickly.

Nat had told me about that tactic. It was a common one, easy to execute if you had the wiles or knew your partner in a mission. I certainly didn’t have the first, but I had a bit more of the second now than I did at the beginning of the evening. If Nat thought that it would work now, and Loki agreed, who was I to argue?

He was waiting, tensed, for me to decide the next course of action. He was allowing me the option of going along with the plan or backing out. The very notion that he wasn’t going to force me into an uncomfortable situation after I had shown hesitance was one that I wouldn't have expected from him. He was known for taking what he wanted and begging no forgiveness, not for politely doling out options in times of distress.

My fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, gathering the smooth material into my palms. I tilted my head back enough to look up at him and traced the elegant contours of his face with my gaze, taking in the unexpected kindness that warmed his bright eyes. I tilted my face up to him and closed my eyes before bridging the small gap between our lips in a searching kiss.

I wasn’t sure what I expected kissing him to be like, I hadn’t truly thought about it, but it wasn’t this. His lips were so soft and tasted of vodka and cranberries as they worked expertly against me. His hands splayed out against waist and pulled me until our bodies were pressed together from hips to chest. The contact, so easy to facilitate earlier on the dance floor, was now much more charged and it coaxed a gasp from my throat.

That small noise seemed to awaken something within him, and the gentle exploration of my mouth turned more passionate, his tongue snaking out to tease the seam of my lips and beg for entrance. I granted it willingly and melted into him. My body moved on its own accord as he stoked molten flames beneath my skin. My fingers released their grip of his expensive shirt to wind around his neck and tangle in his long black hair. I lightly scratched at his scalp, remembering his pleasure at it while dancing, drawing a low groan from him that shot straight to the heat that was pooling in my lower belly.

His long body surrounded me. He walked us back until I was trapped between his body and the wall, pinned by his leg slipping between my own. When I wrenched my mouth away to gasp for the air that his embrace had stolen from me he took it in stride and moved his scorching lips to caress the delicate skin of my neck.

Just as soon as his tongue snaked out to lave against the pulse that was hammering in my throat, he froze, his once-relaxed muscles tensing against me. His hands left my body to press against the wall on either side of me as he towered over me. As if he could make me disappear behind his lean frame.

“We have to move. Now,” he panted, taking my hand in his and pulling me quickly behind him as we fled the relative safety of the shadows.

He led us to a metal exit door and we spilled outside. The chill of the air soothed my flushed skin and helped clear the haze that had settled over my mind. Loki held my hand behind his back as he looked around the dark alleyway we found ourselves in. The faint bass from the club stopped, and two gunshots reached my ears through the thin door behind us. Screaming patrons poured out of the front of the club. Thankfully they ignored our dark figures pressed against the rough brick wall.

“It’s Hydra. They discovered Sam and Natasha. We need to leave.” He kept his death grip on my hand as he pulled me deeper into the alley and away from the entrance.

“Don’t take another step.” A voice pierced through the screams, shooting ice-cold fear through my veins.

Loki turned around and pulled me with him, keeping his body between me and whoever had spoken. I peered around his shoulders to see two men slowly approaching us, guns pointed at Loki’s head.

Hydra had found us.

#to keep you safe #marvel fanfic #marvel fanfiction #marvel #loki #loki odinson #loki laufeyson #loki friggason #loki fanfic #loki/ofc #language tw #making out tw

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Love and Death in a Trailer Park

Part 1 of Vivian Darkbloom’s White Trash Series

By Vivian Darkbloom

Pairing: Xena/Gabrielle

Rating: Mature

Synopsis: From the Academy of Bards: Life in a trailer park takes a on new meaning when a going-nowhere factory worker, Gabrielle, meets a dark and enigmatic firefighter Zina.

Gabrielle held the phone—the old beige one they stole from their mom—away from her ear in disbelief. The perky male voice on the line had asked for her, and when she said "Yup, I'm Gabrielle Hockenberry," the cheerful young man went on to explain that she was being asked to participate in the Jerry Springer Show, more specifically, the show tentatively entitled, "My Sister's Boyfriend Made Me Pregnant!" At which point she screamed, "No fuckin' way!" into the receiver and slammed it down.

She stomped through their apartment in search of Lila, who was on the recliner—the one that Uncle Pat gave him that had been sitting in his garage for two years—eating cold pizza and watching Geraldo. In fact, a half-eaten slice was balanced precariously on her swollen stomach.

Gabrielle snatched the remote out of her sister's limp, greasy grip and Geraldo's face, taut with concern, dwindled into darkness. "What'd ya do that for?" Lila bellowed, as if her sister had stabbed her.

"You know goddamn well, Lila! Some jerk from Jerry Springer just called me!"

Lila's wounded look metamorphosed into surprise and hope. "Yeah?"

"How could you, my own sister! I don't want our dirty laundry aired all over national TV!"

"But Gab," Lila whined, "it would be fun. They put you up in a hotel, you get to ride in a fuckin' limo—"

"Forget it, Lila! If you and Purdy want to embarrass yourselves, go right ahead! But I'm not gonna do it!"

"Come on, Gab—I promise you I'll go easy on you in the fight. After all, you're the wronged party, everyone'll be rooting for you."

The wronged party. Gabrielle clenched her teeth, remembering the night Lila and Purdy sat down with her and told her that they were "in love" and Lila was having his baby. After assaulting Purdy with an old copy of Cosmo, she promptly called up Effie, her best friend, and the two of them went down to the Saddle and got wasted. She had six Rolling Rocks, two pina coladas, and threw up in the bathroom.

Now Lila was five months pregnant. She'd grown accustomed to it all; in fact, when she got right down to it, she hardly missed Purdy at all. She actually saw the bastard even more so now than when they were dating—it seemed like he was over at the apartment constantly, fawning over Lila and the "demon spawn" (as Gabrielle secretly called it) inside her. Still, it all hurt. Being dumped, especially for your own sister, wasn't easy. Purdy had said mean things to her—she was cold, she was too wrapped up in her dreams of writing poetry and going back to school, they didn't have sex enough, blah blah blah....But she didn't blame Lila all that much—after all, Purdy was attractive, that's how he got the nickname, from the bullies in school who said he was "purdy as a flower." The name stuck, but as he grew even more handsome, it took on a favorable aspect.

Gabrielle put hands on hips and glared at her sister. "I could beat you with one hand tied behind my back, even if you weren't knocked up. I've been workin' out, ya know." With that, she stalked into her bedroom and slammed the door.

Once inside her sanctuary, Gabrielle flopped down on her bed and cried a little. To calm herself she clutched her stuffed sheep and stared at her old David Bowie poster. I need something in my life...I need love, I need to get outta here, I need to stop working in that freakin' factory...she chanted this over and over in her mind as the silvery gray of the diminishing day deepened into darkness. She'd had no idea how long she had been lying in bed when she heard the phone ring, and Lila's voice answering it. Then a shout: "GAB-RI-ELLE!!!"

She touched her face—her tears had dried, and she hoped that her eyes didn't look too puffy; she didn't want Lila to know she had been crying. She got up and went out into the living room. Lila stood, watching a rerun of Home Improvement, holding the phone. Her eyes didn't flicker from the screen as she thrust it at Gabrielle, who eyed it suspiciously. Lila did not break her gaze at the TV when she muttered, "It's Effie."

"Thank God it's not Jerry Springer." Gabrielle couldn't resist the jibe as she swiped the receiver from her sister.

"What's this about Jerry Springer?" Effie's voice crackled on the line.

"Nothin', Eff. What's up?"

"Hey, you gonna be there tonight?"

"Huh?" Gabrielle muttered. Then she remembered: Effie and her band, the Amazin' Amazons, were playing down at the Saddle Bar & Grill. "Oh, I guess Eff....although I'm not really in the mood."

"Don't worry. It'll be a short set. Pony hurt her arm at softball the other day, so she's not swingin' the drumsticks as good as usual. "

"Okay, I'll be there. What time you go on?"

"At ten. We'll be done by eleven." A pause. "You okay, honey?"

"Yeah...you know, just the usual bullshit," Gabrielle mumbled so that Lila would not hear. But Effie, of course, did hear her.

"Well, sounds like you need to get the hell out of there for a while. I wish you'd move in with us. We got plenty of room." Effie shared a big farmhouse with her son and her bandmates, Pony and Sally. They were frequently the talk of the town; everyone wondered what went on at "the Farmhouse." Rumors ran amok, of everything from crack houses and homosexual recruitment to orgies involving any number of species and genders. Gabrielle knew none of it was true.

"Come down early, we'll have a beer before the set," Effie said.

"Okay, Eff. I'll be there around nine. How's that?"

"Great! See ya then, honey. Bye." Gabrielle hung up the receiver and headed toward the bedroom. Idly she flipped through the blouses in her closet. Oh what the hell, she sighed, peeling off the old Guns and Roses t-shirt she was wearing, I'll wear what I always wear. She selected the green polo shirt (puke green, everyone said—nonetheless it was her favorite top) and went into the bathroom. She washed her face, dusted her armpits with a fresh layer of Dial deodorant, added a little dab of perfume, washed her face with Noxema, and donned her shirt. She was brushing her flame-colored hair when she noticed Lila leaning in the bathroom doorway. "Goin' out?" her sister asked, noncommittal.

"Yeah," Gabrielle replied with equal neutrality. "Effie's band is playin' down at the Saddle."

Lila scrunched her face with disapproval. "I still don't know about Effie, Gab."

Gabrielle rolled her eyes. "Lila, Effie is not a lezzie, okay? I mean, she had a kid!" Although Gabrielle knew that Effie was open to the possibility, as once declared under the influence of several bottles of Miller Lite and shots of Jagermeister.

"Well, she lives with Pony and Sally, and those two..."

"So goddamn what, Lila. So they're dykes. So what." Gabrielle slammed the brush down.

"Well, I mean, I really don't care...what they do is their own business, just as long as I don't have to see it." Lila tried in vain to sound as liberal as her sister.

"I guess I'll have to tell them not to come over and perform for you tonight, then," Gabrielle growled sarcastically, walking toward the door.

"You're just impossible sometimes," Lila shouted after her. "No wonder Purdy didn't want to be with you anymore!"

Gabrielle picked her car keys out of the candy dish on the kitchen table and slammed the door behind her.

*****

She had been nursing a Miller Lite the entire time Effie and the band were on stage; the set actually ran a little longer than Effie had told her—it was after eleven, and they were finally winding down, singing a version of "Layla." They were an odd group, Gabrielle thought, regarding her friends on stage: Pony at the drums, Sally on bass, Effie with her guitar, singing. Pony liked strictly country music, Sally liked classic rock stuff, and Effie, like Gabrielle, went for mushy love songs, although she was unsuccessful in her campaign to get the group to cover Celine Dion. At last, they launched into the final song of the evening, "Angel of the Morning," much to Sally's consternation; the willowy bassist rolled her eyes as Pony gently yet firmly launched into the melodramatic beats and Effie began to sing. Gabrielle smiled as Effie's voice washed over the inattentive crowd.

Out of the corner of her eye Gabrielle saw an interesting trio enter the bar: A large, burly man with long, sandy brown hair and a short, muscular fellow with curly blond hair were accompanied by a tall, beautiful woman with flowing black hair. They ordered beers at the bar, and while the large man engaged his smaller friend in conversation, the tall woman leaned back against the bar and watched the band. Her jeans, t-shirt, and work boots were as dark as her hair. She stood arms folded, drinking a Heineken. Gabrielle found herself staring at the striking woman, until the woman finally returned her frank, inquisitive stare. With a shudder—of what, she didn't quite know—she turned away and once again focused her attention on Effie. But, half a minute later, when she let her eyes roam once again to the stranger at the bar, she found those sparkling intense eyes still on her.

Half-hearted applause rose as the song ended; Gabrielle, in a nervous burst of energy, led the cheers and clapping. As Effie wished the crowd a good-night and exhorted them to sign a mailing list, Gabrielle climbed on the stage to help the group put their equipment away.

"Hey roadie," Sally greeted her with a grin.

"Hi Sal. How's it going?"

"Pretty good, although dumb-ass over there didn't listen to me!" She threw a glare at Pony, who was slowly dismantling her drum kit. "I heard that," the burly drummer retorted. "I'm fine, Sally, stop bugging me!"

"You're hurt, Pony, you need to rest that arm!" Sally shouted at her lover.

"Knock it off!" Pony yelled back.

"Christ, you two," Gabrielle moaned. Effie came over and gave her a hug. "Well?" she demanded. She always asked Gabrielle's opinion of a performance, because she knew her friend was always honest, yet gentle.

"'Angel' was good, Eff. 'Layla' was a little sluggish though."

"Thought so. Pony was getting tired."

"Shut up!" Pony roared.

"I wish you'd lay off 'Achy Breaky Heart' though..."

"Well, we gotta keep you-know-who happy," Sally growled as she watched Pony stalk off the stage.

"Oh Jesus, Sally, don't let her get tanked!" Effie said to the bassist.

"Don't worry, Eff." Sally leaned into her friends conspiratorially. "Eff—did ya see who's here?"

Effie nodded slowly.

"Who?" Gabrielle asked.

"Zina," Effie nodded over at the bar.

"The woman? With black hair?" Gabrielle said breathlessly. "You know her?"

"Yeah," Effie drawled mysteriously. "We go back a ways."

"I've never seen her in here before," Gabrielle remarked.

"She lives in Chakram Creek. She's a fireman over there."

"Fireperson," Gabrielle corrected.

"Whatever. I'd heard she went straight after getting out of prison."

"No!" Sally cried, horrified.

"Not that kinda straight, Sally," Effie smirked. "I mean, she's not a con anymore. No more dope, no stealin'..."

"What was she in for?" Gabrielle interrupted nervously.

"Oh, she was in and out a lot. Minor stuff at first, like grand theft auto, dealin' weed, then breaking and entering, burglary...she did two and a half years altogether." Effie regarded the dark, dangerous woman who was quietly talking with her large friend. "Some say she even set fire to that old house in Cirra, but they never proved that."

"It's kinda funny she's a fireman then, isn't it?" Sally said. She and Effie cracked up.

"Wow," Gabrielle whispered. She permitted herself to take in the woman unabashedly. Sally and Effie exchanged a look.

"What're you so interested in, Miss Gabrielle?" Sally asked, smirking.

"Nothin'!" Gabrielle cried defensively. "It's just...she sounds real interesting. I'd like to meet her sometime."

Effie raised an eyebrow. "No time like the present, then!" She grabbed Gabrielle's arm and proceeded to drag her friend over to the bar.

"Effie!" Gabrielle squealed in protest. She hoped her hair looked okay.

The three friends at the bar turned their attention to the two women who approached them. "Zina!" Effie said effusively.

" 'lo, Eff," murmured Zina. She hoisted the Heineken to her lips and let her eyes roam over Gabrielle, who felt a strangle tingling sensation travel up her spine. They must have the air conditioning on too strong again, she thought, even though she was sweating a little. Zina, however, looked cool as a cucumber.

"Long time no see. How the hell are you?" Effie said.

"Pretty good."

"Heard you're living over in the Creek now."

"Yup."

"Workin' for the fire department, huh?"

"Yup."

"Like it?"

"Uh huh."

Gabrielle let a dint of exasperation cloud her face. She's about as interesting as that bottle of Heineken, thought the budding poet.

"So what's up, Eff?"

"I wanted to introduce you to my best friend, Gabrielle."

"Hiya." Zina enfolded Gabrielle's smaller hand with her large, warm one. She nodded toward the large man on her left. "This here's Hank." Then a nod to the shorter fellow on her right. "An' this is Ed."

Hank's smile was warm; he too shook Gabrielle’s hand. Ed wore a John Deere cap, from which his mass of curly gold hair tried to escape. His eyes twinkled mischievously. Gabrielle liked him immediately. "Hi!" he said enthusiastically. "Wanna dance?" he asked.

She looked at the dance floor near the jukebox. No one was on the floor except Margie Peckerwood, who was, as usual, drunk and dancing with herself. "Uh, maybe later," Gabrielle said, with an apologetic smile.

"Well, maybe you’d like to go outside an’ look at my new truck..." Ed leered.

Gabrielle looked surprised. Hank shook his head sadly. "Some other time," she suggested. Now she wasn’t sure if she liked him as much.

"Smooth move, Ex-Lax," Hank drawled, playfully swatting Ed’s head and causing his hat to fall to the floor.

"Watch the hat, goddammit!" Ed cried.

"Come on, let’s go play pool. Table’s free." Hank turned to Zina. "You comin’, Z?"

"Not right now," replied Zina with another pull on the Heineken.

As the men sauntered away, Effie announced, "Well, I need to go help Sal load up the van. I’ll see ya later, honey," she gave Gabrielle a quick hug.

"Effie! Don’t leave me with her!" Gabrielle hissed in her friend’s ear.

"Too late!" Effie whispered back, gleefully. She smiled and waved goodbye at Zina, who nodded.

Gabrielle turned to the laconic firefighter. It was then noticed the intense blue of the woman’s eyes. "So, uh, how’d you get such an unusual name?" she asked.

"Mom was a hippie," Zina replied.

"Huh? I don’t get it."

Zina sighed; she hated making the effort to formulate a longer sentence. "Well, uh, you know how tree-huggers are. They’re a little funny, always gotta do things differently. Mom did say it was an old family name, but I don’t know...I mean, she named our dog Moonchild, for Christ’s sake."

Gabrielle giggled. Then stopped, hoping that Zina would not take offense. But a lop-sided grin lit up the tall woman’s handsome face. And Gabrielle felt herself return the smile. Maybe Zina wasn’t as bad as she thought—she did appear to have a sense of humor. "Is, uh, Hank your boyfriend?"

Zina chuckled. "Nope. He was, a long time ago, but not no more. He is my best bud, though. He helped me get on the fire department."

Eventually Zina went over to play pool with Hank. Gabrielle watched and talked with Ed a little, who kept telling her silly jokes.

"Hey, how come little girls don’t fart?"

"I dunno. Why?"

"’Cause they don’t get an asshole until they get married!"

She laughed so hard she spilled her beer. "That’s pretty funny—hey, it’s cool that you told that joke, since you’re a guy and all."

"I’m an equal opportunity bullshitter," Ed replied, swigging a Rolling Rock.

When Gabrielle left the Saddle it was a little after midnight. She climbed into her Ford Escort, inserted the key into the ignition, and heard the car give its old familiar sputter. But this time it would not turn over. She tried for fifteen minutes. Finally she got out of the car, and kicked a tire rather furiously. "Piece of shit!" she yelled at it.

"Not startin’?" said a smooth, sexy voice near her ear.

"Aaaaagh!!!" Gabrielle screamed. She jumped around and saw Zina grinning down at her.

"Sorry, didn’t mean to scare ya."

"S’okay," Gabrielle panted. "Uh no, my goddamn car isn’t starting." She kicked the Ford again.

"An Escort," Zina stated flatly. She tch’ed.

"I know, I know, everybody says it’s a piece of crap." She looked at Zina hopefully. "Know anything about cars?"

The firefighter nodded. "Open the hood," she said. Gabrielle reached in and did so. The tall woman ducked her head under the hood. "Battery looks bad," Zina said. "Might be dead."

"Shit!" Gabrielle cried.

Zina slammed the hood down. "Lock it up, call a tow service tomorrow," she suggested. "I’ll give you a ride home on my bike."

"Bike?" bleated the small woman fearfully.

"Yeah." She followed Zina over to a big sleek motorcycle. A Harley.

"Wow," Gabrielle said, awestruck. Zina handed her a helmet. "What about you? Don’t you have a helmet?" she asked, strapping the dark thing on her head.

Zina smiled at her and tapped the helmet. "You’re wearin’ it, kid. Hop on. Where d’ya live?"

"Potadeia Road. The yellow house just past the church."

"Gotcha."

"Uh, Zina?" "Yeah?"

"I’m a little scared—I’ve never ridden on a cycle before."

"It’ll be okay, Gabrielle," Zina replied soothingly. Her simple words, spoken in that rich, clear voice, put Gabrielle at ease. For some inexplicable reason she trusted this woman. "Just hang on to me tight, okay?"

"Okay." Gabrielle climbed on the bike behind the tall woman and gently wrapped her arms around the t-shirt-clad torso. Her grasp tightened as the Harley exploded into sound and motion. The taut, rippling muscles of Zina’s stomach were a pleasant distraction to Gabrielle as they flowed across the parking lot and onto the road.

Zina was a careful driver, Gabrielle noticed—she was confident, yet she did not drive the bike too fast—probably ‘cause she doesn’t want to scare me, thought the young woman. It pleased her that her new friend was so considerate. She sighed happily as they moved through the night. The wind was cool, and Zina’s dark hair whipped behind her, the strands tickling and touching Gabrielle’s face.

*****

The next morning at work, Gabrielle sought out Effie during their 10:15 coffee break.

"So you had car trouble?" Effie said. They didn’t have time to talk before punching in earlier; Gabrielle only had a moment to mention that her car was dead.

"My car broke down outside the Saddle last night. I had to get a ride to work with Purdy," she scowled. Purdy had stayed over last night, and this morning, upon hearing of her dilemma, offered to drive her to work, the big suck-up. Reluctantly she had accepted, since she knew it would be out of Eff’s way to come and give her a ride.

Effie smirked. "Hmmm...you gonna get Purdy to fix it, too?"

Gabrielle sighed in defeat. "Yeah, he’s gonna get Bob to tow it over to the garage this afternoon, and he said he’ll get Bob to give me a discount." Purdy worked at Bob’s garage. I might as well take advantage of the bastard’s guilt, Gabrielle had thought.

"How’d you get home last night?" Effie took a drag off her Marlboro Light.

"Zina gave me a ride." Gabrielle struggled to sound casual, and fought the happy grin that tugged at her mouth at the mere mention of Zina’s name.

"Oooooh," Effie giggled. "You two got kinda chummy there..."

"Eff, stop. It’s not what you think."

"Yeah, right. Pony and Sally think you have it in you."

"No!" cried Gabrielle. A blush traveled across her face.

"Yes. Speakin’ of which, we’re having a birthday party for Pony this weekend, remember? Saturday night."

"Oh yeah...damn, what am I gonna get her?" Gabrielle was relieved at the change of subject.

"Hey, if you just bring her a six-pack she’ll be happier than a pig in swill."

*****

When she woke up on Saturday morning, Lila was gone—she was probably off somewhere with Purdy. Gabrielle poured herself a bowl of Cocoa Puffs and sat down to a leisurely breakfast in front of the TV. As she waited for the Cocoa Puffs to get mushy, she noticed a videotape sitting atop the coffee table. It was label-less. Ever curious, she popped the tape into the VCR; the old machine heaved and clicked and whirred, and a picture came into view. It was the Jerry Springer Show. Gabrielle always thought that Jerry—with his messy blond hair and tiny eyes hiding behind those glasses—looked like a Muppet. The title of the show floated by: "Why Did You Knock Up That Slut?" Impatiently Gabrielle started in on the Cocoa Puffs—they still weren’t mushy enough, but she was hungry.

Thus spake Jerry: "On today’s show, we have people who disapprove of their family’s behavior..." The camera swung onto a young man, who looked vaguely familiar: he was thin and scrungy, with hollowed-out eyes, stringy hair, and patchy facial hair. "This is Gary, who is unhappy with his brother’s choice of a girlfriend."

Gabrielle spat out a mouthful of cereal. It was Gary. Purdy’s brother.

"Yeah, Jerry, my brother’s girlfriend is a total skank." She was outraged. That fucker, she thought. How dare he call my sister skank!

"Why do you say that, Gary?"

Gary rolled his druggy eyes. "’Cause she is!"

"Well, er, how about we meet your brother, Peter"—Purdy’s real name—"and his girlfriend, Lila."

Purdy swaggered out onto the set, resplendent in his best flannel shirt. Lila trailed behind him, looking grossly pregnant. Gabrielle felt like putting her foot through the TV, although she was comforted by the fact that Lila looked so huge in the tent-like maternity dress which said "BABY ON BOARD!"

"So, Peter, what do you say about your brother’s claims?"

"Man, he’s so *bleep* up on crack, he doesn’t know what he’s talking about!" Purdy drawled.

"Bull *bleep* !" said Gary. "You got no taste in wimmin whatsoever. Your last girlfriend was a stone cold bitch, and this one’s a slut!"

Purdy hurled himself toward his brother and the set erupted in chaos. Shakily, Gabrielle turned off the TV. She stared into her cereal bowl. He called me a bitch...and they didn’t even defend me. Not Purdy. Not Lila. No one. And they left the tape out in plain sight. Like they wanted me to see it. Why? Why doesn’t anyone ever take my side? She tried to fight it, but tears came to her eyes and she slumped into the recliner, surrendering to the sadness.

*****

Pony eagerly peeled away the wrapping paper. "Bubble bath?" she said, puzzled. "Uh, thanks, Gabrielle." She sat it alongside her other gifts: a whoopie cushion and fake blood (from Hank and Ed), a bottle of Jack Daniel’s (from Effie) and a new softball glove (her most treasured gift, from Sally).

Gabrielle shrugged. Everyone at the party could not help but notice her downcast mood; she felt lousy about it, but couldn’t help herself. Ed tried to cheer her up with some bad jokes, but even that didn’t work for long. So she sat morosely on the couch beside Effie, who every now and then would give her friend a concerned glance.

"I think it’s nice," Effie said. She gave Gabrielle’s leg a squeeze.

"Let’s have cake!" Sally announced. She and Effie moved into the kitchen. Hank, who appeared to have a crush on Effie, followed. Ed took the opportunity to go to the bathroom, and Pony got up to put on a new tape.

"No more Randy Travis, Pony!" Sally shouted from the kitchen.

"Hey, it’s my goddamn birthday!" Pony yelled back. The doorbell rang. "Gab, would you get that?" Pony called.

Mechanically Gabrielle got up and skulked to the door. She opened it. Zina, dressed in a Metallica t-shirt and Levi’s, mirrored sunglasses masking her brilliant eyes, grinned at her. "Am I too late?"

Gabrielle stood speechless. A sense of relief, of warmth, washed over her, and she didn’t know why. Why was she so damned happy to see this woman? "Oh...no," she said quietly. "You’re...right on time." She did not move, but continued to stand in the doorway and stare at the woman before her.

Zina pulled off the sunglasses. Her deep blue eyes showed concern. "Hey, you okay?" she asked gently.

"Uh, yeah. I am now." Gabrielle broke into a grin.

"Can I...come in?"

"Huh? Oh...duh!" Gabrielle stepped aside. "You’re just in time for cake."

"Cool. Where’s the birthday girl?"

"Hogging the stereo," Gabrielle replied.

As Zina moved gracefully into the house, Gabrielle trailed behind her, like a puppy.

*****

It was not lost on Effie that Gabrielle’s mood improved after Zina’s arrival—although she was concerned with how much her little friend was drinking. Her fears were realized when she saw Gabrielle lurch into the bathroom, and heard the tell-tale retching sounds.

Effie surveyed the little party. Ed was passed out. Sally and Pony had "retired" for the evening (thank God for thick walls, she thought)...she wanted to be alone with Hank, who was, remarkably, still sober. She knew that Zina would take off if Gabrielle left, and she hoped the vomiting was the beginning of the end of the party.

She hovered outside the bathroom door with Zina. She knocked lightly. "Gab, honey, you okay?" she called.

"Uh...yeah," Gabrielle moaned.

"Can we come in?"

"What...all of ya?"

"No, just me and Zina."

There was a lengthy pause.

"How about I just send in Zina, okay?" Effie suggested. Zina shot her a panicky look. Sometimes I’m just too smart for ‘em all, Effie thought proudly.

Another pause. "Okay."

Effie turned to Zina. "You’re on your own, Buster Brown." Before the befuddled firefighter could reply, Effie was back on the couch with Hank.

Slowly, Zina opened the bathroom door, expecting the worst. She was much relieved to see that Gabrielle had indeed hit her target, the toilet bowl. The small woman sat on the floor in front of it.

"How ya feelin’?" she asked Gabrielle.

"Better. I’m sorry...I guess I just...had a lousy day."

"Yeah?" Zina asked. "What happened?"

Gabrielle proceeded to tell her about the whole thing: Lila, Purdy, Jerry Springer.

"That sucks," Zina said.

"Thanks. I just felt like shit. Like no one likes me."

"That’s not true, Gabrielle. I...like you." Zina mumbled, nervously rubbing the back of her neck.

"Really?" Zina nodded. "Yeah, well..." Gabrielle giggled.

"What?"

"You don’t want to...you know."

"What?"

"I mean, you don’t like me that way...you wouldn’t want to kiss me or..." Her green eyes met Zina’s. Or would you?

"Uh, no I wouldn’t..."

Gabrielle felt as if she would throw up her heart.

"Cause your breath would smell like puke." Zina smiled. "But if you brushed your teeth..." she added, hoping it sounded enough like a joke so she wouldn’t alarm the girl.

"Get me my purse!" The redhead barked imperiously.

Zina opened the door and yelled to Effie: "Effie! Bring Gabrielle’s purse!" The firefighter saw Effie look up from her position on the couch: stretched out, with her feet in Hank’s lap. The big man was gently massaging her dainty feet. "Oh Christ," Effie moaned. Reluctantly she rose, and did as she was told. Zina smiled gratefully as Effie handed her the huge shoulder bag. "Jesus, what you got in here?" she said, closing the door and giving the purse to Gabrielle.

Gabrielle ignored her and began to ransack the bag with admirable focus. Several objects flew out onto the floor: Tic Tacs, tampons, pens, a tattered-looking notebook, a library card, sunglasses, and birth control pills. Gabrielle stopped for a second and stared at the pills. Then she tossed them into the trash. Then she stuck her arm inside the bag again. "Ah!" Gabrielle cried in triumph, holding aloft a toothbrush. She grinned devilishly at Zina, whose blue eyes went wide in shock.

"Whatsamatter, Zina? You all talk and no action?" She stood up and rinsed the brush, then squeezed some Crest out of the tube.

"Uh..."

Gabrielle glared. "You don’t want to kiss me?" She stuck the brush in her mouth, scrubbing her teeth in a furious lather.

"Uh..."

"Let me tell you somethin’, Dorito-breath, you’re getting the better end of this deal!" she said through a mouth of foam. She rinsed, and flashed her teeth at Zina. Then, for good measure, she took a swig of Effie’s Listerine and gargled.

"Gabrielle, are you sure..."

Gabrielle spat out the blue fluid. "Look, Zina, do you like me or not?" she cried petulantly.

The tall woman, leaning against the tub, smiled her mysterious smile—which turned Gabrielle’s insides out. She reached out and snared Gabrielle by the waist. The short woman was pressed against the muscular firefighter; her hands went flat against the strong shoulders and then glided instinctively around Zina’s neck. "Judge for yourself," Zina said, and lowered on her lips softly onto Gabrielle’s.

They were locked in a kiss when a voice shouted outside the bathroom door: "Comin’ through!" The door burst open and Ed hurled by, crouched over the toilet, and proceeded to throw up. The two women were oblivious to this burst of unpleasant activity. Effie and Hank, who had followed Ed, stood outside the door and stared at the sight of Gabrielle and Zina all over each other.

"Holy hell, Z," Hank muttered in shock.

"Woo-HOO!" Effie chortled.

The noise had roused the birthday girl from a sound, sex-induced slumber. Effie and Hank stood aside, affording Pony a view of the busy bathroom. "This was a pretty fuckin’ awesome party," she observed thoughtfully.

*****

Two weeks passed.

"You’ve been goin’ out an awful lot," Lila commented to her sister one evening, as she watched Gabrielle apply strawberry-kiwi-banana lip gloss in the bathroom.

"Well, I don’t want to be in your way, Lila."

"Bullshit." Lila paused. "It’s not like you were in my way before, Gabrielle." Another pause.

I swear she’s jealous, Gabrielle thought, and let a smug smile cross her face.

"Are you seein’ someone?"

"What if I was?" she retorted in a sing-song voice.

"Who is it?" Lila asked eagerly. She loved gossip, and she was hopeful that Gabrielle would finally get involved with someone, so she could stop feeling guilty.

"You don’t know...this person."

"Well, what does he do?"

"Firefighter," Gabrielle supplied.

"Ooooh," Lila cooed in approval. She conjured up a vision of a tall, dark handsome fireman. Aside from gender, she was not far off the mark at all. "That’s great, Gab. I can’t wait to meet him. Why don’t you invite him over for dinner or somethin’?"

"Uh, maybe sometime soon." She glanced at her Tasmanian Devil watch. "I gotta go. Say, are you and Purdy going to the fair on Friday night?"

"Yeah. You...wanna come?"

"Actually, I was gonna invite Effie and the gang over to watch videos. Their VCR is busted," Gabrielle lied. Her real plan was to invite Zina over for dinner.

"That’s cool. We’ll probably stay over at Purdy’s place that night...so you guys can party all night long."

Perfect, thought Gabrielle with a grin.

*****

There was something about firefighting gear, Zina thought pleasantly: the metal hat and visor, the glossy black and yellow coat, the boots...young children looked at her with awe, adults with admiration and respect, and Gabrielle leaped on her like a tick on a dog as soon as she came home. She sat happily on the couch in her mobile home (she hated to call it a trailer), allowing her lithe companion to crawl all over her like a jungle gym, smother her with kisses, caress her body, nibble her ear and moan throatily: "Ooooh firefighter, save my child...."

The world was perfect, until she heard the screen door slam. "Honey!!!" A shrill voice called. "I got your echinacea tea!"

"Oh shit," Zina moaned.

Gabrielle stopped her assault and turned around. A pleasant middle-aged woman, with a paisley scarf around her head, wearing a flowered skirt and lots of dangling jewelry, stood grinning at them. "Hey honey, who’s your sauce?" she addressed Zina.

Zina sighed. "Gabrielle...this is my mother. Mom, this is Gabrielle."

"Hi, Gabrielle!" Zina’s mother said brightly. "It’s nice to meet you...sorry to interrupt." She winked.

"Hi, Mrs. Zina," Gabrielle blurted, blushing furiously.

The woman laughed heartily. "Honey, you just call me Cyrene. I was never ‘Mrs.’ Anybody." She sashayed past them into the kitchen, carrying a small bag. "So I got you the tea, and some tempeh, a different brand though, I hope you like it..." She opened the refrigerator. "OH MY GOD!" she shrieked.

Gabrielle jumped off Zina’s lap. "What? What’s wrong?"

"There’s something from BURGER KING in here!"

"Mom, chill out, they’re just fries..." Zina mumbled.

"So you say!" Cyrene retorted. "You could’ve had a burger for all I know...and it’s not like fries are any better for you."

Gabrielle looked at Zina in confusion. Just last night she witnessed Zina wolf down a burger from Roy’s. Zina shook her head at Gabrielle and pressed a finger to her lips. Gabrielle nodded in complicity.

"Looks like I got here just in time," Cyrene sighed. "Go get the rest of the groceries out of my car, honey." Grumbling, Zina got up, shed her coat, and lumbered out to the car.

"Now tell me the truth...she’s been eating meat, hasn’t she?" Cyrene asked Gabrielle.

Gabrielle paused. She hated to lie, and she didn’t want to get off on the wrong foot with Zina’s mom. "Yes," she admitted.

"Oh, hell," Cyrene said. "I might as well give up. I’m never going to make her a vegetarian." She shook her head, causing a chain reaction of clinking from her earrings down to her bracelets. "So tell me about yourself, Gabrielle. What do you do?"

"Well, I work at the cannery right now, but I’m hoping to take some night classes at Olympus Community College this fall..."

"Groovy! What kinda classes?"

"Uh, well, I wanna be a writer," she said shyly.

"Wow! That’s so cool! Did Zina tell you that I knew Bob Dylan?"

"No, really?" Gabrielle breathed with awe.

"Yeah, I dated him...right around the time I was dating Zina’s dad...I always wondered if Bobby was Zina’s real father..." she twirled a necklace and contemplated her monosyllabic child. "Nah!" She laughed. "Anyway, I think Dylan is a true poet. He is this century’s Shakespeare, man."

Gabrielle nodded vigorously, even though she had to admit to herself she never understood a goddamn thing that Dylan sang.

"Hey!" Cyrene pulled a joint out of her skirt pocket. "Care to partake?"

The budding poet opened her mouth to eagerly consent, only to hear Zina shout from the doorway, "Goddammit, Mom, put that away!!! D’ya want me to get arrested again?"

"I don’t see any cops, honey," Cyrene grumbled. Nonetheless she put away the joint for later. "Man, busted by my own kid!"

*****

"I’m glad you eat meat, ‘cause I made a meatloaf," Gabrielle said proudly.

It was Friday night. Wearing her best Levi’s, Zina had showed up at the apartment...with flowers, no less. Damn, she’s smooth! thought Gabrielle, sniffing the roses. Purdy never bought me flowers!

"Uh, nice place," Zina awkwardly, sitting on the plaid couch. Then she added: "I do like meatloaf. In fact, I haven’t had a home-made one in a real long time." Like try never, you moron, Zina thought, recalling the endless parade of beans and rice and tofu and tempeh in her childhood.

"Good," responded Gabrielle, who bustled in the kitchen. "You like potatoes?"

"Yup."

"Mashed potatoes?"

"Yup."

"Hey Zina, just what were you in jail for?"

"What?"

Gabrielle poked her head out of the kitchen. "Sorry, I’m just curious...Effie told me you were in prison for two and a half years."

Zina sighed. "Yeah...I had all sorts of priors, and, um, when they caught me breaking and entering, I had a gram of coke on me, and uh, the getaway car was stolen..." Well, so much for romance, the tall firefighter thought.

"Wow," Gabrielle said.

"It’s not somethin’ to be impressed with, Gabrielle."

"I’m not...impressed."

"Scared, then?" The firefighter’s blue eyes issued a dangerous challenge.

Gabrielle met it. "No...hell no, I’m not scared. Why should I be?"

Zina said nothing. Gabrielle crossed the room and sat beside her and linked her arm with Zina’s. "Hey, that’s all in the past. I know that. You’re a different person now...you got a good job, you’re doing right." Gabrielle paused. "You’re trying to make up for what you did, right?"

"I...I’m tryin’, but it’s hard." Zina sighed again, and stared down at the orange shag rug. "You don’t know the worst of what I did." A gentle hand touched her chin and guided her gaze back to Gabrielle’s face.

"Tell me, Zina," she requested softly.

"I guess Eff told you...about the house. In Cirra." Zina’s voice was tight.

"It’s true, then?"

Zina nodded. "No one got hurt, but the whole family...they were homeless. They lost everything. They had no insurance neither." She breathed deeply, for the courage to tell Gabrielle the rest of it. "It was my girlfriend’s house, Gabrielle. She lived there with her parents and sister. One day we had fought somethin’ awful, she said she never wanted to see me again, and I just went nuts. Later that night me and a buddy of mine, Artie...we went by the place...I just meant to like, throw eggs or something, but he lit a newspaper on the porch...an’ it just spread..." Another deep breath. "Callie knew, of course. She knew it was me. I even admitted it to her. But the cops could never prove anything, and since she’s always been mad as a hatter anyway, they just never really believed her." She closed her eyes. She thought Gabrielle would jump up, demand that she leave...call the cops, the state troopers....

Instead, she felt the warm sensation of arms wrapping around her, squeezing tightly. And, for the first time in years, since she was a kid, she let herself cry.

*****

After the fair, Lila and Purdy had gone to his place, but much to their dismay they found Gary crashing there—his cash had run out, and he had no place to go. Feelings were still a little raw from the Springer show—not to mention Purdy was understandably scared of his psycho brother—so Lila and Purdy opted to go to Lila’s.

Purdy woke up Saturday morning around 6:30—he had to be in at the garage by 7, so he had just enough time to wash up and grab breakfast from Dunkin’ Donuts. Lila, of course, was out like a light as he climbed out of bed and wandered down the still-dark hallway. To his dismay he noticed that the bathroom was occupied—what the hell was Gabrielle doing up at this hour? He knew that the woman never voluntarily rose before 10am on a weekend. Well, he thought, I’ve seen her on the can before—and he opened the door to find a tall, strange nude woman with damp hair, glaring at him with irritation. "You might try knockin’ next time," she growled. In a panic he slammed the door shut and stood there in the hallway, puzzled as all hell. "Hey!" he shouted through the door. "Who’re you?"

"Shoosh!" hissed Gabrielle, who was suddenly standing behind him. He yelped loudly in surprise. Gabrielle wore a long black t-shirt which hung down to her knees. It’s not like her to dress in black, he thought. "Gabrielle, what the fuck is going on? I hafta get ready for work!" he yelled.

"Quiet! You’ll wake up Lila," she whispered.

"Who is that in the bathroom?" he asked, lowering his voice.

"Her name’s Zina. She’s a...friend."

"We didn’t see anyone on the couch when we came in last night."

"She was sleeping in my room, Purdy."

He frowned, confused. "Where?"

"In my bed, you idiot."

"Where did you sleep?"

She glared at him.

The faint dawn of understanding crossed his dopey features. "Oh...man. Jesus!" He spun on his heel and ran back into Lila’s bedroom.

*****

"You’ve gone queer on me!" Lila wailed.

"Oh for Christ’s sake, Lila..." Gabrielle groaned.

"I knew I shouldn’t have taken Purdy away from you," she blubbered.

"What are you talking about?"

"You’re too sensitive Gab, you always were. Obviously, the shock of it—losing Purdy to me—was too much, and it made you gay."

"Lila, you can’t make people gay. The therapist on Jenny Jones last week said so."

"That’s just crap!" Lila cried. "What’re you gonna tell Ma and Pa?"

Gabrielle shrugged. "The truth, I guess. That I’m happy. That I’m in love. That I’m going back to school and I’m gonna make something out of my life."

*****

Gabrielle recalled how, when she was little, her parents always told her that the lowest of the low lived in trailer parks. And, she had to admit, trailers in general were pretty ugly...although Zina’s was nicely kept and simple. She smiled. I don’t care if we have to live in a tent, as long as we’re together, it doesn’t matter.

They had decided to move in together. Zina had said, with her salary, she could support them both while Gabrielle went to school full time. At first Gabrielle had resisted—she didn’t want to be a charity case—but later reconsidered. She knew she would get a better job with a college degree, or so she hoped. And she could do the same for Zina someday, like if she wanted to retire early...in the meantime she was happy to return to school, cook, clean, and wash Zina’s seemingly endless supply of black t-shirts.

Things got better and better. One day, not long after they had moved in together, Effie showed up after work, in a state of excitement that Gabrielle had never seen her in. "Guess what!" she shrieked.

"What??" Gabrielle squealed in return; the emotion intensified the shrillness factor.

"We got a record deal!!" screamed Effie.

"Oh my GOD you’re kiddin’!!!" They clasped arms and jumped wildly about the trailer so much that Gabrielle was half-afraid the thing would fall off its foundation.

"It’s true, Gab! It’s all ‘cause of Hank, too!" Effie said proudly. "He made a tape of us one night when we were performing at the Saddle, and he sent it to this record company in Memphis!! The dude who owns it—Colonel Tom Artemis, I think his name was—says he wants us to come down and make a record!"

They collapsed on the couch together. "Wow, Eff, that is so cool! I’m so happy! I’ll be your number one fan, always."

Effie turned serious. "Look, honey, I got a favor to ask..."

"Anything, girl. You know that."

"I want you an’ Zina to stay at the farmhouse while we’re gone."

Gabrielle’s jaw dropped.

"Look, you know that house has been in my family for a long time. Well, we’re not gonna be there, at least maybe for a long time...we really want this thing in Memphis to work...and I want someone there, to watch over the place, to take care of it. And I can’t think of anyone better than you two, ‘cause you really are family to me."

"Oh, Effie!"

Together they cried so much that they went through an entire box of Puffs.

*****

They stood outside the trailer. Or rather, Gabrielle stood and Zina paced. "I hope this idea of yours works," the firefighter muttered.

Gabrielle smiled confidently. She had a feeling it would.

A red Camaro swung in the trailer park from the highway. As it careened down the road, the driver’s wild blond hair became visible and the car seemed to gain speed as it approached them. Gabrielle panicked for a moment and thought the driver might kill them. But Zina seemed undisturbed, so she figured it must be okay.

The wild Camaro abruptly stopped a mere three feet in front of the stoic Zina. It had happened so fast Gabrielle didn’t even have time to be afraid. But Zina’s face betrayed nothing as the driver exited gracefully from the car.

She was tall, although not as tall as Zina, thin, wearing a yellow halter top and the shortest pair of cutoffs that Gabrielle had ever seen. "Hello, Zina," she sneered sarcastically.

"Callie," Zina returned the greeting in a hostile, bored tone.

Callie turned her attentions to Gabrielle. "What is this, Little House on the Prairie?"

"Callie..." Zina growled.

"What is it you wanted to see me about, Zina? Or did you want to try to set me on fire this time?"

"I want to give you something, Callie. I know I can never repay you..."

"I’ll say, you firemen don’t make that much...I thought it was pretty funny, Zina, when I heard you became one...I thought, boy, they must be pretty desperate."

"I wanna give you my home, Callie." Zina jerked her thumb toward the trailer. "As payment. For you to do with whatever you want. You can live here. Your parents can live here. Hell, you can set the thing on fire if you want." Zine held up a thick envelope. "I signed it all over to you."

Callie stared at her in disbelief. Then she stared at the trailer and, walking around it, made a slow circular inspection. Then she opened the door of the trailer, and peeked inside at its immaculate emptiness. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, she looked at Zina, her sneer firmly back in place.

"So you think," Callie began in a low, menacing voice, "that if you give me this piece of crap, that it’ll make up for everything you’ve done to me, that it’ll equal the loss of my HOME?" she screamed out the last word, which echoed over the park.

Gabrielle winced. Man, she’s even shriller than Eff & I put together.

Zina raised a sculpted dark eyebrow. She held out the envelope to Callie. The crazed brown eyes met the cool blue ones.

Callie blinked, then shrugged. "Okay. What the hell." She snatched the envelope from Zina. Hands on hips, she regarded her new trailer. "Ah...things I could do with this place..." she murmured in delusion.

God, she’s even crazier than Zina said, thought Gabrielle.

"Well, it’s been real, Callie, an’ it’s been fun...but it hasn’t been real fun." Zina started to walk toward her Harley, followed by Gabrielle.

Callie ignored her and idly twirled a strand of her wild hair. She was picturing the exterior of her trailer in day-glo orange.

"That worked out pretty well," Zina commented as she straddled the Harley and started it with a kick. "Thanks, Gabrielle. How’d you come up with that idea anyway?"

Gabrielle tucked her red-gold hair under her helmet and then flung her arms around her companion’s waist. "Oh honey, don’t you worry your pretty little head about it."

Laughing, they tore of out the trailer park together.

THE END

#xena #xena warrior princess #xena/gabrielle #xena/gabrielle fanfiction #author: vivian darkbloom #mature #fanfiction #femslash

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honeypiehotchner · 6 years

Text

fire away -- sam winchester one shot

So I listened to “Fire Away” by Niall Horan (hence the title and lyrics) while I wrote this. It’s part fiction and part real life -- the fiction obviously being the Sam Winchester part of it all. This is purely a vent one shot for me to get some emotions out.

There are mentions of abuse, panic attacks, probably some not-so-nice imagery, and the lot. If these things upset you, please take care of yourself.

you keep saying that you’re alright; i can see it through your fake smile, you’re not. there’s a reservoir in your eyes that you’ve been holding back a long time what’s wrong.

~~~

Her skin is angry. Red and raw from where she’s scratched it open. It’s not her fault, really. Eczema can be a bitch, and coupled with anxiety, well, her skin suffers as a result. More often than not, unfortunately.

Today is a particularly bad day. The winter air already has her stomach itching like fire from a new spot of eczema that has broken out, and seeing her abuser while on a supply run by herself just appeared to be the icing on the cake. But this was two days ago.

That fact is important because well, today marks two days since she has last slept.

It was her first time seeing him in a few weeks. She can remember when she hadn’t seen him in three years. And then he showed up again. The three-year gap turned into a few months until she saw him again. And the few months gap has turned into a few weeks. He’s getting closer. And she knows it. She’s secluded herself to her room in the bunker, which isn’t difficult to do. Dean and Sam are too busy working on a case to look up, and Jack is off with Cas doing...something. She missed the fine details over breakfast this morning because she was too focused on keeping her head above her cereal. She hasn’t told either Winchester about the encounter. She may be living with them, but she still only met them a year ago. She doesn’t tell them some things as she’s sure they don’t tell her some things. It’s sort of an unspoken rule. Granted, they do know about her abuser — Miles is his name. And granted, they have both said she needed to tell them when or if she ever sees him or comes across him — because they will handle it. But she doesn’t want them to worry. They’re focused. They’re finally both doing okay, and that should be all that matters. Truly. The television in her room is a small screen. She had it in her room at her old house. The book she was reading is still open, her hand pressed gently on the pages to keep her place. She’s been like this since breakfast. Watching a movie and reading, sometimes simultaneously. Anything to keep her awake and distracted. She can’t think about him. Miles. It hurts too much to remember. And the flashbacks always return in tidal waves when she sees him. But she’ll be fine. In a week. Maybe. She isn’t used to seeing him so frequently. She wishes she didn’t see him at all, but apparently he has other plans if he continues to show up wherever she goes. He stalked her before. She should know better. It’s practically part of his personality. She should’ve known better than to get involved with him in the first place. She should’ve known better. She groans, moving her hand to rub her forehead, but then she scares herself, the rustling pages of her book as it closes rapidly making her heart nearly jump out of her chest. She flinches harshly, sighing in irritation when she realizes it was only the stupid book that made the noise. Sam watches the moment from her doorway. She had left her door cracked open on accident, and he was coming to check on her when he heard her groan. Tentatively, he taps his knuckles against the doorframe. “Hey.” She jumps at the sound, only furthering his concern. “Hi,” she breathes, tucking her legs under herself as she gestures for him to come inside. “What’s up?” Sam shrugs, leaning against the edge of the desk in her room. “I was coming to check on you. You seemed kinda tired at breakfast.” Shit, he noticed. She quickly tries to cover it up. “Oh,” she shakes her head, but stops quickly. It only makes her dizzy. “I’m fine, just didn’t sleep well last night. That’s all.” Or the night before last. But it’s fine, really. Underneath her shirt — her soft, cotton shirt that isn’t supposed to irritate her skin, dammit — the eczema rages wildly. She presses her hand against the spot underneath her shirt, grimacing at the stinging heat she feels. “Is it bad again?” “What? No, I’m not bad again, I’m okay.” Sam raises an eyebrow. “Your eczema. Here, let me see.” He steps closer, but her mind doesn’t like that. She doesn’t see Sam then, she just sees Miles. “Here, let me see.” As if he had cared. As if the bloodied lip she was sporting wasn’t done by his hand. As if his new sincerity was going to take back what he had just done moments before. Sam immediately stops in his tracks, holding his hands up in surrender. “Hey, it’s okay. I’m not moving. I’ll stay over here. You’re okay.” “Sorry,” she sputters out, scooting back to the middle of the bed. She nearly fell off trying to escape Miles— Sam. Sam is standing in front of her. It’s just Sam. “I’m not really feeling well, so if you could just—” “Okay,” Sam understands all too well. “Do you need anything?” She chews on the inside of her lip, her eyes trying to focus on him, but failing. Her eyes are threatening to close again, but she doesn’t want to concern him anymore than she already has. “I’m okay. Thank you.” “Okay,” he still doesn’t sound convinced, but he walks out, pulling her door almost closed as he leaves. She lets out a breath of relief as his footsteps echo back down the hall. +++ The next time Sam looks through the crack in her door to check on her, she’s reading. But the television is still on in front of her. And he sees her sketchbook open beside her. Not to mention, her headphones plugged into her phone, which rests by her feet. Too many things at once. He shakes his head, wondering what’s wrong with her. +++ It’s late — or early, whatever — when she ventures into the kitchen. Five in the morning, maybe? She isn’t sure. Nothing really looks clear anymore. It’s a wonder she managed to make it this far to the kitchen without falling on her face. She tries not to make a sound, hoping to be back in bed by the time the boys wake up, but her plan is quickly foiled by a coffee cup that is closer than she thought. It clatters to the ground, shattering into a million pieces. She says, “Shit,” out of habit, but is frozen in place. She blinks. She sees him, standing there, face red with anger. She had dropped his favorite glass — or was it a bowl? She can’t remember much about that night. Miles wasn’t happy and made sure she felt it. Every bit of it. “Are you okay? Hey, are you in there?” A hand waving in front of her face. A gentle hand on her shoulder. “Wait, don’t move, there’s glass everywhere. Hang on.” Sam. She blinks back into reality, watching as he glances around the kitchen for something, but doesn’t find anything. He sighs. “I’m gonna pick you up, okay?” She thinks she nods. She isn’t sure. But he picks her up. He intends to place her on the bench at the table, but the second he lifts her into his arms, she’s like dead weight. He’s scared for a second, thinking she might’ve passed out or something, but her arms reach up on their own to wrap around his neck. He adjusts his grip with his arm under her legs, the other at her back. Her head falls onto his chest, but she’s keeping her eyes open, somehow. “When was the last time you slept?” She blinks slowly. “I don’t wanna sleep.” He sighs. He starts walking down the hall, heading back to her room. “You need to sleep.” “Can’t,” she murmurs. “Too many...memories.” “Memories?” He asks, but she doesn’t reply. He pushes her bedroom door open with his foot, leaving the light off as he brings her inside. He places her in the middle of the bed, instructing her to sleep. He returns to the kitchen, sweeping up the glass and disposing of the broken coffee cup. +++ Jack and Cas return to the bunker a little after eight in the morning. Dean makes breakfast for everyone. “Where’s Kay?” Jack, always curious, is the one to break the silence. “She should be sleeping,” Sam mutters. “Should be?” Dean questions with a raised eyebrow. “What do you mean?” “I don’t think she’s slept in three days, Dean,” Sam rubs his face tiredly. “I’m worried about her. Ever since she came back from getting food that day, she’s been off.” “Do I need to check on her?” “No, it’s fine, Cas, but thank you,” Sam shakes his head. “I’ll go check on her.” He stands from the table, earning worried glances from the other three. He quietly makes his way down the hallway, not wanting to wake her if she has fallen asleep, but he hopes for too much. Because there she is, sitting up in bed. She’s sketching in her notebook this time, but the book she’s reading is open next to her. He can hear the television, some rerun of some show, and he’s positive she has one headphone in her ear playing music. “Hey,” he lightly knocks on her door. “You okay?” “Yeah,” she replies, but it’s almost forced, like it takes everything out of her to say one word. “Did something happen?” She scratches at her arm almost absentmindedly. “Huh?” “Are you okay?” “Yeah.” “When did you last sleep?” She merely shrugs. “Kay.” “Fine.” “You’re not.” She grudgingly looks up at Sam, her eyes red with tears. She blinks slowly. Maybe those aren’t tears. Maybe she hasn’t slept. “I’m fine.” He gives her a disbelieving look. “Cas!” He calls out. She tilts her head, wondering why he’s calling for Cas. Cas is supposed to be out, she thought. Out with Jack. She can’t give it too much thought before her eyes are threatening to close again. She quickly focuses on something. The music in her left ear. A pop song. She forgot the name. But it’s good. It keeps her awake. Thankfully, Cas is the only one who comes down the hallway. “What is it?” Sam nods toward her in the bed, now staring off at her sketchbook, not moving. The two enter the room. Slowly, Sam begins taking away the distractions. He places the book on her nightstand. He switched the TV off. He grabs her sketchbook, placing it on her desk. She hasn’t moved. “When was the last time she slept?” “I don’t know,” Sam replies to Cas’s question with a frown. “Hey,” he carefully takes the headphone out of her ear. Her eyebrows furrow, and then her eyes go wide. “Wait, my stuff—” “You need to sleep,” Sam whispers, placing her phone on top of the book on her nightstand. “Come on, lay down.” She tries to protest, but her body is too tired. She lets him guide her down onto her pillows. The wave of exhaustion hits her almost immediately, and her immediate response is to fight it. She doesn’t want to dream. To dream of him. To relive anything. She can’t take it. It’s too much. “Sam, I’m fine, really.”

She begins trying to sit back up, and when she can’t even sit herself up because she’s so tired, Sam and Cas share a sad look. With a heavy sigh, Cas makes his way over to the bed. She’s exhausted, lying down because she can’t sit up, and still she finds energy to protest, “No, Cas, don’t—” “You need to rest,” Cas insists. “I can ease your pain.” Sam wants to ask him what he means. Cas can only sense pain when it is immense. Sam wants to ask if it is just the sheer exhaustion from not sleeping a wink for days or if it’s something else she isn’t saying.

“I’m not in pain,” she counters, but her eyes betray her words. “I just—” “You haven’t slept in days,” Sam interrupts. “And I don’t know why. But Cas can help you sleep, Kay, you need to.” Something about the tone of Sam’s voice — or maybe the look in his eyes, but she isn’t sure — has her body ready to give up the fight. She has kept herself awake and tucked away in her room because she didn’t want them to worry. And now he’s worried.

“Okay,” she blinks, trying to bring his face into focus, but honestly her vision hasn’t been clear in two days. “But you stay.” Sam furrows his eyebrows. “Huh?” “You stay,” she says again, hoping the words make sense because her arm is itching again and it’s driving her crazy—

“Okay...” He nods, slowly lifting her scratching hand from her arm — surprisingly without any protests. “I’ll stay.” “Okay,” she nods, or tries to, but it’s dizzy. Everything is dizzy. Fuzzy. She pinches the bridge of her nose, trying to will herself to fall asleep on her own, but that’s the problem with fighting sleep for too long: it becomes harder and harder for your body to give up the fight. Cas steps in before she has more time to change her mind. Her head falls to the side when he presses his fingers against her forehead, gently lulling her to sleep. “She should wake when she is ready,” Cas announces, turning to head back for the door. “Thanks Cas.” +++ Ten hours.

For ten hours, Sam sits in the chair by her bed, sometimes reading and sometimes watching her carefully. She sleeps peacefully, hardly tossing and turning. He doesn’t know if it’s because she’s having good dreams, or because her body was so exhausted that it is forcing her to stay still. But after ten hours — around six in the evening, she wakes, slowly. “Sam?” “Hey sleeping beauty,” he teases lightly, his words holding more concern than they do humor. Dean brings them both dinner. Kay eats in bed while Sam eats at the desk. She can see it. The worried glances he sends her every few minutes. It isn’t until later that she asks him about it. “Why did you...sit there while I slept?” “You asked me to stay,” he replies. “I did?” He nods, a little crushed she doesn’t remember, but not entirely disappointed. She was delirious. “You did.” “Thank you.” “You’re welcome,” he murmurs. “Will you stay again?”

“Yeah, let me go get some stuff to make a bed and I’ll—” “I meant here,” she gestures to the empty space in the bed next to her. “Please?” “Okay,” he nods. He leaves to change, but when he returns, he slides underneath the covers, pausing to be sure she’s still okay with this. She rolls onto her side, smiling softly as he settles in next to her. “Thank you.” “You already thanked me.” “Not for staying this time.” “You don’t need to thank me,” he replies, softly, gazing into her tired eyes. “You still look exhausted.” “I am.” “Go to sleep. I’ll stay,” he promises. She grabs his arm, causing a look of confusion to cross his face, but it dissolved when he sees what she is doing. She bends his elbow, creating a little pillow for her to rest her head on — despite there being two free pillows she could rest her head on. He chuckles as she curls into his chest, her head on his arm. And she sleeps. On her own. Peacefully. For the first time in days.

#sam winchester #supernatural #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester x you #technically sam winchester x myself #written purely to make myself feel better #supernatural fanfiction #sam winchester fanfiction #sam winchester one shot #fluff #mentions of abuse #mentions of panic attack

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madscientistjournal · 5 years

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An Interview with Madison Estes

Today, we’re chatting with Madison Estes, who will have a story in the final quarterly for MSJ!

DV: Tell us a bit about yourself! Madison Estes: I’m a horror addict who comes from a family of horror fans. My dad and I went to Las Vegas this year so we could do the Saw Escape Room, which was one of the coolest and most intense experiences of my life. Several of the rooms are duplicates of traps from the movies, and they got Tobin Bell to do narration in each room. My mother and I went to Texas Frightmare several years ago and we got to meet some of the Saw stars, plus Robert England, Sid Haag, and Sean Patrick Flannery. With two parents who are horror fans, I had a lot of horror influences growing up. I remember the crypt keeper from Tales from the Crypt used to scare me, but when I got a little older I’d watch reruns of it whenever I could, in addition to The Twilight Zone and The Outer Limits. Like most contemporary horror writers, I read a lot of Stephen King when I was growing up, starting with The Girl Who Loved Tom Gordon, which is still one of my favorites. I also read On Writing sometime in the fifth grade. It helped me connect with literature in a way that I hadn’t before, and I believe it shaped me into the writer that I am today.

I live in southeast Texas and I have three dogs, two black and white Chihuahuas, a boy and a girl (Leo and Mayhem), and a Shih Tzu named Mika. When I’m not writing, I’m usually snuggling with them and reading or watching movies. In addition to my obsession with horror, I’m a huge nerd for Harry Potter, Star Wars, Marvel, DC and some of the old school anime shows like Yu Yu Hakusho.

DV: You’ve got a story coming out in February in Strange Girls: Women in Horror Anthology that sounds like it will be of interest to our readers. What can you share about your story without giving too much away?

ME: My story “Revival” is about a medical student who believes the cadaver he was assigned to dissect is coming back to life. He’s grieving the loss of his sister and suffering from nightmares and sleep deprivation, so he’s not mentally stable. He doesn’t trust his own judgement, but since he couldn’t save his sister, he’ll stop at nothing to save this girl if she really can be saved.

DV: You’re also working on a horror writing guidebook with other authors. Tell us more about this project.

ME: I’m working with five other writers on The Complete Guide to Writing Horror Vol. 1, commissioned by Dragon Moon Press. I’m in charge of five chapters, which cover topics such as horror subgenres, horror basics, the history of horror, business etiquette, and market resources. At the moment, I’m still working on subgenres. I’m designing this chapter to help writers learn how to categorize their own writing, and to give them an idea of what is out there so they can find their niche or niches within the horror genre.

In the basics chapter, I’m covering character struggles, decisions, consequences, and other related topics. One subject of special interest to me is character agency. I feel that in horror stories, character agency is often lacking. It’s tempting to write a passive, reactive character in a genre where the villain is often the star, but characters should have some control over their lives, or at least the appearance of control, even if by the end of the story you’re going to pull the rug from under the reader and reveal the characters had little to no chance at all. Think about the movies In the Mouth of Madness, Knowing, or Cabin in the Woods. The main characters in these stories are active. They fight back, but more than that, they ask questions and investigate. Even if they fail, they make efforts to take control of their lives. It makes stronger characters and a more entertaining story than a character that only runs from the maniac with the knife.

In the business etiquette chapter, I cover topics such as communication and conflict management with editors, and how to write cover letters, query letters, author bios, and more. Market resources covers topics such as networking opportunities, horror writing conventions, critique groups, where to find submission calls, and a list of active horror publishers. I haven’t started writing the history chapter yet (please don’t tell my editor!), but I plan to cover the origin of horror and the movements that have shaped the genre, such as the invention of film, video games, and the internet, as well as how certain authors like Stephen King forever changed horror.

I’ve very excited about this project. I can’t wait to share my knowledge and help aspiring horror writers. It takes me back to being in fifth grade with On Writing and the way that book filled me with excitement for writing. I hope to not only help writers elevate their craft, but to inspire that feeling within them as well.

DV: What’s the coolest thing about being an author?

ME: When I go on Amazon and read a review from someone who enjoyed my story, or when a book blogger reviews an anthology I’m in and singles out my story as one of their favorites, it gives me a warm and fuzzy feeling. It makes all the hours of writing and revising worth it.

DV: What’s on the horizon for you?

I just had a short story called “Crossroads” featured in Horror USA: California (Soteira Press) about an actor who goes through a midlife crisis when his girlfriend gets pregnant. His mental stability and fears of fatherhood are worsened by his Porsche, a haunted car that carries a terrible secret. I recently published my first paranormal romance/erotica story in The Devil’s Doorbell (HellBound Books) called “Visions of Blood”. A psychic has visions whenever he touches people or certain objects, but it comes with a side-effect of searing pain. A beautiful vampire convinces him to use his ability to help her track down the vampire who murdered her friend. Sexual tension leads to some very creative sex scenes between them despite the character’s disability.

My short story “Servant of Death” is going to appear in the last issue of Mad Scientist Journal. It’s about a child dying from cancer who is stalked by a shadow creature that he perceives to be Death. After he escapes the grim reaper’s clutches, his cancer goes away, but when he grows up, he finds out that remission came with a price.

I have a short story coming out next year in a time-themed anthology by Transmundane Press. My story is called, “The Time Loop Loophole”. It’s a horror comedy about a guy trapped in a time loop who thinks the only way to escape may be to kill his best friend. The premise sounds really dark, but the story is mostly humorous. The main character is kind of a self-described loser. At the beginning of the story, his biggest regret about being in the time loop is not being able to finish his video games or see the ending of Game of Thrones (a blessing in disguise according to most fans, not that he could know that). He’s not even that bothered by the time loop until the girl he has a crush on starts showing interest in him. Secrets come out, and everything gets complicated as he starts to wonder just what he’s willing to do to be with the girl of his dreams.

Thanks, Madison!

An Interview with Madison Estes was originally published on Mad Scientist Journal

#Interview #Madison Estes

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sterekchub · 6 years

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Part 1.

A/N: I’m really sorry. This got SO far away from me and....yeah.

OCTOBER:

Legend has it that that the Being created the Gods and Goddesses to bring balance to the newly created Earth. Heaven was split into two groups – the Virtues and Sins. The God of Giving and the Goddess of Greed. The Goddess of Moderation and the God of Gluttony. Chastity and Lust. Forgiveness and Wrath. Truth and Heresy. Peace and Violence. One day, Greed decided she wanted total dominion over the Earth. Joined by the other Sins, they tried to overthrow the Virtues.

As punishment, the Being cast the Sins out of Heaven. Unable to destroy immortal beings, they were sentenced to their own domain in the Circles of Hell. The Sins would be cursed for all eternity, unable to partake in their own sins, only able to watch over other sinning souls.

Once every hundred years, on All Hallows Eve, the Sins can cross from the Circles of Hell into limbo into the mortal world. Only by possessing a kindred soul can the Sins stay in the mortal world for twelve lunar cycles, before returning to - .

The last word got smeared out by a large blob of ketchup.

“Shit!” Stiles hurriedly grabbed a napkin to clean off the offending strain. He only succeeded in turning the majority of the page a dull red. Shrugging, he stuffed another handful of fries in his mouth, marking the page down as he did so with a blue sticky note, indicating a true myth, rather than a “myth likely to be factual.”

“How’s it going?” Scott stopped and sniffed the air. “Your room reeks like a drive-thru. Have you been eating fast food all week?”

Stiles waved a fry at him. “Hey, this is all brain food. Deaton gave me all these books and I think half of them are all nonsense. Werewolves and banshees and wendigoes are one thing, Gods and circles of Hell are just made up stories.”

“Have time to take a break and catch a movie? It’s the Halloween double-feature: Scream and Nightmare on Elm Street.”

“Hell yes, Dude!”

***

NOVEMBER:

Two weeks after Halloween, Stiles finally caved and went to see Deaton. It took a while to explain his problem. He wasn’t being possessed like he had been before. There were no periods of time he couldn’t remember, no second voice in his head influencing his decisions. He wasn’t watching helplessly as someone else controlled his body. There was, however, something in his head constantly suggesting foods, regardless if he had just eaten or not. Stiles would eat his usual Chinese take-out order and suddenly find himself desperately craving pizza, his mind buzzing and unable to focus on anything else.

Deaton, as his usual expressive self, didn’t say a word until Stiles was finished his explanation. Then he pulled out the book Stiles had been pouring over weeks ago and opened to the ketchup-stained, blue tagged page.

“Are you kidding me? I thought it was a myth.”

“Most of the supernatural world is a myth.”

“So I’m possessed by an immortal being. Again.”

Deaton nodded. “Gluttony is not malicious in nature. The Sins only possess humans to ah – live vicariously through them. It cannot control you. Likely it will seek to share and intensify any of you experiences, not try to manipulate you into new ones.”

Stiles’ stomach grumbled. “Really?’

‘It can offer suggestions and perhaps forceful persuasions but aside from the cravings, it holds no actual power.”

“Great. So I’m a demon’s personal eating machine.”

“You could try fighting it. It will only last a year. It may be beneficial. Typically Demon possession does offer the host with extra strength and stamina to ensure their health.”

“Wonderful.”

***

DECEMBER

Stiles had never been happier to have a job that allowed him to work from home. It turned out the trick to keep the cravings down was to either eat a lot at once, or be constantly snacking. So long as Stiles kept munching on things every few minutes, he could actually focus on his work, rather than focusing on his next meal. It had taken him a few weeks of trying to fight against the constant grumbling of his stomach and fleeing images of food running across his head, but finally Stiles had gotten into the swing of living with a Gluttony Demon residing in his head.

It started with Oreos. Stiles had pulled open his desk drawer to finish off the last row of Oreos, needing something sweet after his afternoon of munching on chips. Apparently, finishing those off wasn’t enough and Stiles found himself compelled to run to the store for more. Stiles felt a thrill of excitement that definitely did not belong to him when he saw just how many varieties the stored offered. Stiles supposed that, not having tasted food in a hundred years, the choices of the 21st century were overwhelming.

One of everything went into his basket, Oreos thins, mini, double-stuffed, golden, birthday cake, mega stuffed, mint, red velvet, cinnamon bun, lemon, mystery flavored, peanut butter, chocolate, chocolate hazelnut, chocolate peanut-butter, brownie batter, apple pie, fudge covered, and completely unnecessarily, regular. Stiles gave the Demon credit – he wasn’t picky and wanted to be very thorough in his attempts to try everything possible.

The boxes were finished by the end of the week. It really wasn’t a hardship. Stiles always had a big sweet tooth. Plus, who didn’t love Oreos? He tried not to think about how it took a few seconds longer to force his button his pants on Sunday. Or about how his normal junk-food cravings were becoming alarming frequent and a staple of his daily diet. Stiles’ always had a fast metabolism. For the amount of pizza and cafeteria food Stiles ate during college, he only had put on the freshman fifteen. So he could handle a few hundred Oreos. No problem.

“It’s really not that bad,” he told his father one night on the phone. “It’s an excuse to eat anything I want.”

“You have always been a model of restraint,” John replied sarcastically.

“Someone had to keep the unhealthy stuff away from you.”

‘Just take care of yourself, kid. And don’t call me when you get stuck in a doorway.”

“Haha. It’s under control, Dad. Don’t worry.”

***

JANUARY

Things were becoming less “under control” when the Demon had gone through all the possible snacks Stiles could think of and progressed to wanting full meals. Multiple meals. Several times a day. It was becoming increasingly frustrating to try and work on his novel. He was either focused on what he was going to eat or was sleepily watching dumb videos online as he fell into a food coma. Optimistically, he told himself it was just a phase. Last month it had been snacks, this month it was meals, next month maybe it would be fruit or salads or something.

Currently, he was laying on his couch, polishing off the last of his Chinese takeout order, with reruns of some HGTV show playing in the background. He really did feel like a glutton when he ate like this. He should have stopped a container of sweet and sour pork and five egg rolls ago, but he had kept going. It was hard to tell if the cravings were the Demon in his head or the subconscious need to finish everything. Just to see if he could. Just to feel the weight of having his gut filled, swollen and protruding over his waistband, forcing him to take a few more bites of food, pushing the final egg roll into his mouth before leaning back against the couch with a soft moan of relief. He closed his eyes, listening to woman on television debating what house she wanted. He nodded off before finding out what house she picked, an arm resting over his belly.

Stiles dreamed of pizza. He was in the pizza parlor, sitting at a lone table in the center of the restaurant. Servers stood around him, each offering him different slices, acting like he was some grand judge on a food competition, insisting he had to try them all before he made his decision. Stiles was reaching for piece after piece, stuffing them into his mouth impossibly fast while his belly started to push out in front of him. Another couples of pizza slices, or maybe entire pizza’s later, his stomach knocked over the table in front of him as it kept growing in size…

He woke up with a start and reached for his phone. He already had the pizza place on speed dial.

“Thank you for calling Charlie’s Pizza. What can I get for you?”

“A medium meat lover’s pizza and an order of wings.”

“Is that it?”

“Ye – ” Another craving hit him. Stiles rubbed his still full belly and added resignedly. “ – and an order of breadsticks. And garlic bread.”

‘Your total will $21.27. See you in a half-hour.”

***

FEBRUARY

“Look, I get it. I’m getting fat and turning into a pig. You don’t need to bring me my – my daily feed or whatever!”

Derek stared at him. “What are you talking about?”

“You! I know you’ve been having the pack cook for me! Even Jackson dropped food off. From his personal chef!”

Derek set the bag of carefully packaged food he was holding on the counter. “We figured you were getting sick of takeout.”

“I can cook for myself.”

“You haven’t been cooking.”

“And how do you know that?” Stiles asked angrily. “Busy stalking me but couldn’t be bothered to actually say ‘Hi, Stiles, want to do something?’ Or do you just get a laugh watching me do nothing all day but eat alone?”

“I can tell by the trashcan overflowing with take-out containers, Stiles. Don’t blame me for this. I’ve been texting you. Scott has been texting you. You’ve ignored everyone.”

Stiles shoulders sagged in defeat. “I know. I’m sorry. I thought I could handle this.”

Derek pulled the younger man against him, burying his face in the Stiles’ neck. “I’ve missed you.”

“Missed you too, Big Guy.” He wrapped his arms tighter around Derek. “I do appreciate the food.”

“Good. You shouldn’t be eating only junk-food.”

“Yes, Dad,” Stiles said playfully. “I make sure I’m eating vegetables.”

“Fried vegetables don’t count.”

“They sort of count.”

Derek growled. Stiles stayed still for a few more minutes, content to just be in Derek’s reassuring embrace for a while longer.

“Hey, Der. What if – what it I don’t really mind this?”

There was no answer for a few seconds. Derek merely stiffened, then pulled pack enough to press a gentle kiss to Stiles’ lips. “It’s okay.”

“And I don’t mind getting to eat so much.”

“Okay.”

“And maybe I like being this heavy.”

“Okay.”

Stiles swatted him on the arm. “Forget how to use words again?”

“Ever think I don’t mind either?”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“Thank god.” Stiles squirmed out of Derek’s grip and started pulling Tupperware containers out of the bag. “Because I’m starving.”

“Wasting away.” Derek agreed.

Stiles response was lost behind the food he had already started shoveling in his mouth. “This is amazing. Have I ever said that you’re my favorite person?”

“Hmm. Nope. Never came up. Good thing we aren’t dating, or anything.”

“Ass. But I forgive you for making this amazing food.”

“They’re my mother’s recipes. I don’t know if I got them quite right, but I thought you might want something new.”

“Any free food is good food. My entire paycheck has been going to food and new jeans.”

“You know I can pay – ”

“ I am not being the sugar baby in this relationship.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“But you love me,” Stiles grinned. He tossed the empty container into the sink and grabbed a second one. “Sorry, I’d offer you some but –” Stiles gestured to his protruding middle. There was a clear few inches of pale skin sticking out from under his shirt. Time to size up. Again. “Unless you want to hear this complaining all night, I need all the food I can get.”

The food Derek had brought was sufficient enough to keep Stiles’ stomach from growling through the night. In the early hours of the morning, before Stiles was even awake, his stomach started rumbling. Derek left him a stack of pancakes and bacon. Next to the plate was a credit card with a scribbled note: Use it. Please.

***

MARCH (Sorry for Derek and Stiles both being a little bad about respecting each other’s privacy in this section. Not that either of them mind…)

Derek never had a very interesting browser history. He had left it open on his computer, which was just unfairly asking for someone to take a quick peek. Stiles felt mildly guilty about it, comforted only by telling himself Derek eavesdropped on most his conversations and always pointed out when he was lying. Granted, Derek couldn’t exactly lose his werewolf abilities, but still, boundaries. Stiles considered it even.

The browser history had, unsurprisingly, nothing interesting. A few recipes, a couple of monster lore searches, a least once a week a visit to his credit card statement… That seemed unusual. Derek didn’t even have that card on him; it was the one he had left for Stiles (which he had reluctantly agreed to use after a few arguments. Stiles wasn’t a starving artist per say, but nor was he independently wealthy).

Now it seemed like an even trade off. His boyfriend pays for his food and then – Stiles grinned. Really, it was a miracle Derek hadn’t gotten possessed by the Lust demon. There must be a level of hell reserved for getting off this many times to their boyfriend, without telling them….

Stiles was still sitting in front of the computer when Derek came back to the loft. “So, worried I’m spending too much money, or just very interested in how much I’ve been eating?”

Derek turned so red Stiles was concerned he had forgot how to breath for a few moments. “I can explain.”

“That you’ve been getting off to how much food I’ve ordered? That’s pretty kinky, Derek.” He lifted up the hem of his shirt, letting his belly wobble out. It took up a considerable amount of space in his lap now. “I’d say you like thinking about how fat I’m getting.”

“Jesus, Stiles, I can’t pay my bills without being turned on. Do you know how many times you’ve ordered food in the past month?

Stiles grinned wider. “Just think that isn’t all I’ve eaten. I’ve been putting groceries on my card, and Lydia dropped off some pies and Mrs. McCall made the best mac&cheese casseroles for me….”

“I know,” Derek groaned. “Look at this, Stiles.” He knelt in front of Stiles, lifting his belly up, struggling to undo the button of his jeans, before letting it thud back into his lap jiggling. “You haven’t – stopped – eating.”

“Can’t help it. A glutton has to eat. ‘M getting so fat, Derek.” “Can’t believe how much food you order in a day. How much does it take to fill this belly now, Stiles?

“Why don’t - ah” Stiles moaned, leaning further back in his chair as Derek started mouthing at Stiles’ sensitive underbelly. “Why don’t you order some food and I’ll show you.”

#I have no excuse for this.#fat!Stiles #day6 #chubtober #sorry this is barely edited...

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mightypocketcow · 6 years

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Peek-A-Boo!

This is the fic I wrote for @rileylastname for the fic exchange arranged by @the-prince-and-the-emo I’m finally confident in it enough to post it! I hope you enjoy it. De-Aged Virgil/Platonic LAMP!

“Virgil? Virge, where are you?” Patton calls, wandering through the house. “Virgil!”

“Hey, Patton, what’s wrong?” Roman pokes his head out of a doorway; Patton couldn’t bring himself to try and remember which room that was.

“I can’t find Virgil, and Thomas has been really upset lately. I need to know what’s going on.”

“I’m sure Mister Panic At The Everywhere is perfectly fine.”

“Roman! This is serious! Thomas hasn’t been himself in days, and he’s starting to act… oddly.”

“Oddly like what?” Logan, suddenly appearing behind Patton, chimes in.

“Almost like he’s a child.”

“You mean reverting to childhood interests and behaviours?”

“Yes. What does that mean for Thomas?” Patton asks.

“It’s an unhealthy coping mechanism called regression. Thomas must be dealing with more difficulties than we three can see. We must find Virgil, now.”

“Come on, folks, it’ll be alright. Thomas can get through this! We don’t need Virgil’s help.” Roman exclaims, louder than he needs to be as usual.

“Even if we don’t need his help, he may need ours.” Logan states.

“Fine.” Roman grumbles.

The three of them wander the house separately (“It’ll be better if we split up!”), searching everywhere they can think of for Virgil. It was almost fruitless until…

“Virgil!?” Patton screeches.

The other two sides dash to see the issue, and Roman gasps. Sitting in the corner, nibbling on the sleeve of his oversized sweater, was a very tiny toddler with dark eye makeup covering half his face.

“This makes no sense!” Roman blinks. “He was not like this when I last saw him last night.”

“This makes perfect sense, Roman. If Thomas, through his anxiety, is regressing to a childlike manner, Virgil must be as well. Except with Virgil, he is physically representing Thomas’ anxiety and how he is coping. Therefore, as long as Thomas is dealing with whatever he is dealing with, Virgil will remain like this until Thomas finds a new coping mechanism.”

“Princey, you’ve got to do something!” Patton pleads.

“Why me?”

“Because you represent Thomas’ creativity. You are the most likely of all of us to come up with a new coping strategy to help him focus his energy elsewhere.”

“Fine.” Roman grumbles again as he stalks off to find Thomas; why did he have to do everything?!

“What do we do in the meantime?” Patton asks, crouching in front of tiny Virgil, who was babbling away in gibberish.

“I suppose we take care of Virgil.”

Patton reaches forward and scoops up the toddler. Virgil giggles, grabbing for Patton’s glasses.

“On the positive side of things, since we are part of Thomas’ personality, we do not necessarily need food. Like the Crystal Gems of Steven Universe, we can eat if we choose to but it is not required.” Logan murmurs. “Therefore we do not need to worry about feeding Virgil, and by extension we do not need to worry about changing any diapers. We just need to keep him entertained or if may affect Thomas badly. His anxiety needs to be comfortable or he is not comfortable.”

Patton had stopped listening; he was sitting on the couch, playing Peek-A-Boo with Virgil.

Logan sighed. “It may not be as difficult as I imagined it would be.”

“Patton! Hey, Pat! I need you.” Roman bursts through the door.

“Hey, shh, Virgil is taking a nap.” Patton whispers, running his fingers through the hair of the toddler whose head is on his lap.

“Sorry. But Thomas is having difficulty with the coping mechanisms I have recommended, and he needs reminding of why he needs to take care of himself.”

“But shouldn’t I be the one helping with that? I don’t want to be alone with a child.” Logan protests.

“Not right now. He may need you later, but he needs a morale boost, and who better to do that than Morality himself?” Roman winks at Patton, who flushes.

“Alright, Logan. Make sure he doesn’t get into anything dangerous.” Patton says as he carefully lifts Virgil’s head and replaces his lap with a couch pillow.

“But I don’t know how to take care of a child!”

“You’ll figure it out.” Patton smiles as he leaves with Roman.

Logan gulps as he looks at the sleeping toddler next to him.

Suddenly, Virgil begins to stir. He opens his eyes and looks around and, not seeing Patton, begins to sniffle.

“Oh no. Oh no he’s going to cry. I don’t know how to deal with a crying child.”

Virgil’s sniffles get louder, and his face scrunches up as he begins to whimper.

“No, no! Virgil, it’s okay! Patton isn’t gone forever, he’ll be back!”

It doesn’t help; Virgil starts crying. Loudly.

Logan feels like crying too, honestly. He slowly picks up Virgil, bringing him onto his lap. “It’s okay, Virge.”

After a few moments and a few pats on the back, Virgil is reduced to sniffles and whimpers for now. He stares at Logan’s face intently, blinking back tears. Logan gets an idea.

He takes off his glasses, setting them aside, and covers his face with his hands. “Where’s Virgil?” He removes his hands quickly. “Peek-A-Boo!”

Virgil squeals, clapping his little hands together, and Logan smiles brightly. He’s figured out how to entertain the child!

He covers his face once again. “Where’s Virgil?”

The toddler on his lap babbles incoherently, but Logan can tell he is excited.

“Peek-A-Boo!”

Virgil laughs; Logan thinks it may be the cutest sound in the world.

He continues playing peek-a-boo for about half an hour. Then, much to his dismay, Virgil begins to get bored and starts tugging at his tie.

“No, no, that’s my tie. No touchy.”

Virgil starts to sniffle again, indicating an incoming sob fest.

“Okay, okay! Touchy is okay!”

As Virgil tugs at the tie, occasionally needing an intervention from Logan as he tries to stick it into his mouth, the logical man sighs. He couldn’t think of anything else to entertain the toddler with… oh, wait! Aren’t there television channels for children?

Logan reaches for the remote and turns on the television, turning to a channel currently playing Dora The Explorer. “I remember this show…” He mutters as Virgil claps his hands again and begins to pay attention to the show instead of Logan’s tie.

After Dora was over, some show Logan didn’t recognize came on. He tried to find another channel playing children’s shows but was unsuccessful until he found Cartoon Network.

Adventure Time, come on, grab your friends! We’ll go to very distant lands!

Virgil claps again, babbling along to the tune of the song.

“Incredible. You must retain some of your memories as a toddler. I only hope Steven Universe comes on at some point, you love that show.”

Several hours later, when Patton and Roman return, they find Virgil, no longer a toddler but now a young child of about 6 years of age, with his head in Logan’s lap, and Logan’s head leaning back into the back of the couch. They had fallen asleep after reruns of Teen Titans Go had started to play. While Patton dashes forward to sit next to Logan on the couch, snuggling into his side, Roman reaches for the remote, shaking his head affectionately.

As he is about to shut off the television, he hears a familiar tune and sees a familiar sight.

We… Are the Crystal Gems!

Logan and Virgil both sit up straight instantly, turning their gazes to the television.

“We’ll always save the day!” Patton sings, pumping his fist into the air.

“And if you think we can’t, we’ll always find a way!” Virgil waves his hands enthusiastically.

“That’s why the people of this world believe in…” Roman chuckles.

“Garnet, Amethyst, and Pearl!” Virgil and Patton sing together.

“And Steven!” Logan exclaims excitedly.

Roman begins to speak. “Logan, we’ve figured out the issues, and Thomas is working on some new coping methods. He may need your help to stay on task, but Virgil seems to be recovering.”

“Shhhh…” Logan says, pointing to the screen. “It’s The Question. This is my favourite episode.”

The Prince shakes his head. It can wait eleven minutes…

#my post #my writing #ts fic exchange #ts fic #thomas sanders fic #sanders lamp #sanders sides #logan sanders #virgil sanders #roman sanders #patton sanders #thomas sanders #sanders fic #platonic lamp

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luci-in-trenchcoats · 7 years

Text

More Than You Bargained For (Part 6)

Summary: An incident leaves the reader and Jensen to finally act on their feelings...

Masterlist

Pairing: Bodyguard!Jensen x reader

Word Count: 4,100ish

Warnings: language, stalking, smut

A/N: ;)

Jensen was five minutes into his Dallas Cowboys game that Sunday afternoon when you walked down the hall to his room. It was his one little break of the week where you were Jared’s total responsibility and not to go anywhere apart from the house.

“Uh, hi,” you said, knocking on the door to his room. He was laying on his bed in a pair of dark jeans and gray short sleeve tee, out of his dark suit he’d had on earlier in the day. He grabbed the remote and paused the TV, instantly getting to his feet and walking over. “Sorry, I know this is your break time and everything.”

“Doesn’t matter. What’s wrong?” he asked, glancing over to his dresser, his gun in it’s holster sitting on top.

“You’re gonna get pissed at me,” you said, Jensen squinting until you only saw dark pupils.

“Out with it,” he said.

“So...I sort of have to film some night scenes this week,” you said. He shrugged, shaking his head.

“Not my favorite but we’ll manage,” he said. “We’ll post extra security.”

“It’s in the woods again,” you said.

“Okay…” he said. “I’m waiting for the shoe to drop.”

“I...they had to flip a script around and a bunch of stuff you don’t care about and I sort of need to get kidnapped in the scene but it’s fake so it’s fine and wow those Cowboys huh? Gonna make the playoffs this year you think?” you said, scratching your head.

“Y/N,” said Jensen with a smile. “Hell fucking no.”

“It’ll be with a stunt guy and I’m just going in a car and-”

“And I can’t protect you if you’re doing something like that,” he said. “No.”

“It’s a little zip tie and it’s on me for two seconds. They cut it off as soon as the scene is done and-”

“The person that kidnaps you, are they wearing a mask?” he asked, crossing his arms.

“It’s just one of big bad’s nameless guys so probably,” you said. “What are you thinking?”

“You need to do this scene. I need to stay near you at all times. The only solution I can think of is I need to be the one to kidnap you,” he said. “If they’re wearing a mask, I can’t be positive that the person can be allowed near you.”

“Really? You want to do the scene?” you asked. “It’s not as easy as it looks.”

“I’ll be fine. I got to talk to Alex about how to set this up.”

Two days later, Jensen sort of pissed you off with how easily he understand framing and hitting your marks. By the third take, you might have even thought he was enjoying playing pretend and tossing you around.

“If the bodyguard thing doesn’t work out, you could be a stunt guy,” you said, Jensen chuckling.

“If the bodyguard thing doesn’t work out, it’s probably because someone killed me,” he said.

“That’s fucking morbid,” you said, Jensen shrugging.

“You sort of pay me to take a bullet for you. Just sayin’,” he said, going back to his mark, the two of you running through the scene again.

It was a simple enough stunt. You were supposed to get grabbed when you didn’t realize it, tied up, shoved in the back of the trunk and then have it slam shut. Originally the car was supposed to drive away but Jensen refused. You could cut around it in post though so no one said a word about it. Jensen was opening the trunk to help you out again after your fifth take when you felt the car shift. You cocked your head as he reached inside, the car suddenly pulling away.

You thought who could have gotten into the driver’s seat with Jensen being so careful, checking it constantly to make sure no one was sneaking up on you. But it wasn’t like the car was being driven...more like the parking brake wasn’t on and you were heading down the incline. Before you knew it, you were well down the embankment out of view of everyone, Jensen shouting at you.

“Oh, this is gonna hurt,” you said, getting up to your knees and jumping out, hitting the ground hard on your side, arms still pinned behind you. You rolled for a short while, thankfully the ground leveling out. A pair of hands tugged you up to sit, patting you on the head before moving away. “Thanks Jens.”

You heard the feet shuffle around and go quiet, your brain suddenly realizing that Jensen was shouting at the top of his lungs at you, running down the incline, nearly plowing into you.

Somebody else had been right fucking there.

“Shit, I’m so sorry, Y/N! I must have hit it out of park when I checked last time and...Y/N,” said Jensen when he got to you, your eyes wide, looking back behind you into the dark woods. “Y/N. Talk.”

“Someone helped me up and I thought it was you,” you said, barely above a whisper. Jensen had both hands out at once. One held a knife that slid through the zip tie, the other his gun that he aimed out. He shoved the knife away and shoved you behind his back all in one motion, pressing the palm of his hand against the flat of your back, flushed tight against him. “Jens-”

“We need to move,” he said, backing up with you. If your hands had been fisted in his jacket any tighter, it would have been ripped to shreds. He was quick, never letting his eyes or gun fall away from the direction you pointed out. Not until you were back near set with lights again did he lower his weapon and shout out to the nearest security guard. “Call the cops. Now.”

You were too shook up to argue with the show runner, director and studio exec that came down to set. The show was on hiatus until further notice. They’d show reruns if they had to they said. You also knew just how much money you brought in for them and if you were dead, they could say bye bye to the network’s top cash train.

Home was the one safe place you had left.

“Y/N,” said Alex, answering the front door in his pajamas, Jensen calling him on the way back. Alex gave you a big hug, Jared nodding from where he was stationed nearby.

“I’m fine, Alex. I just really would like to go to sleep,” you said, nodding your head.

“Come on,” he said, throwing his arm over your shoulders, walking with you towards the stairs.

“Thanks for hiring him,” you said, nodding back at Jensen. “I...fuck, the guy touched me, Ale.”

“Alright. Alright. Come on. It’s a bad night. We’ll fix you up. We always do,” he said, moving the two of you upstairs. Jensen cocked an eyebrow at Jared.

“You know what that’s about?” asked Jensen. Jared scrunched up his face, cocking his head.

“Comforting your messed up little sister?” asked Jared.

“No you giant dumbass,” he said.

“No need to be nasty, short shit head,” said Jared with a grin.

“I was a Marine you know,” said Jensen.

“I could still kick your ass, shortie,” he said, crossing his arms, letting his larger frame be on full display.

“That is why I like you Padalecki,” said Jensen.

“You like me because I’m the nice version of you,” said Jared.

“Pft, I’m nice,” said Jensen, crossing his arms back.

“And I’m the Queen of fucking England,” said Jared. “You’re a dick. Apparently with a nought-y soft center but I knew there couldn’t be just ice in those veins of yours.”

“I’m soft? Have you met me?” asked Jensen, Jared shrugging.

“Do you hang out in all your clients rooms at night?” asked Jared.

“I am not...we are not...I am watching her like I’m supposed to,” said Jensen.

“Surprised you two haven’t banged yet. I see the way you look at her. You really can’t stand the fact that you’re attracted to her, can you?” asked Jared.

“No, I’m not. She’s fucked up deep down,” said Jensen, Jared wincing and waving his hand too late.

“Well fuck you too, Ackles,” you said, stomping over to the couch to grab your blanket where you’d left it.

“Y/N, I didn’t…” said Jensen, sighing as you went back upstairs, slamming your door shut. “Jared, you couldn’t have given me any warning, like at all?”

“I was hoping you’d admit it finally. My bad,” said Jared.

“I did admit it. The fact I’m attracted doesn’t bother me. The fact that she has certain trust issues does not bother me. The fact that I can’t effectively do my job if I’m attracted to her bothers me,” said Jensen.

“Then quit and ask her on a date,” said Jared.

“I’m much more useful as the asshole bodyguard than something else,” said Jensen.

“So you don’t think she’s fucked up?” asked Jared.

“I think something fucked her up and she handles it pretty well, probably extraordinarily well on a normal day. But dealing with some dangerous stalker doesn’t help that,” said Jensen. Jared hummed before he smiled.

“You like her, don’t you, Jensen,” said Jared, Jensen growling, taking a step closer. “You think she’s cute.”

“Of course she’s cute. She’s fucking hot. You got eyes in that head of yours because it’s pretty damn obvious,” said Jensen.

“Remember that thing I said about the banging…” said Jared with a smirk. “Should probably get on that.”

“She is my client and I will remain professional as long as she remains as such,” said Jensen.

“And the non-robot answer?” asked Jared, raising an eyebrow.

“You’re killing me dude,” said Jensen, rolling his eyes. “She doesn’t need sex.”

“You want to give her what she needs though,” said Jared.

“Is this a fucking middle school sleepover? Yeah, I like her and I can’t and won’t do jack shit about it. I barely have her trust and in order to keep her safe so I don’t fuck up like I did tonight, I need to keep what little I do have with her. What’s with the third degree?” asked Jensen.

“Oh, we have an eavesdropper. I think she was going to tear you out a new one but now she just looks embarrassed, running back up to her room and...goodnight Y/N!” shouted Jared.

“As soon as this job is over, I will kill you Padalecki,” said Jensen, squinting into Jared’s face.

“Aw, I’d love to see you try you big pushover,” said Jared, ruffling Jensen’s hair as he went back to his station. “You didn’t fuck up. No way you could have covered that many angles yourself. The woods was too big to even attempt to protect.”

“Why are you saying this?” asked Jensen, taking one step up the stairs.

“Because you’ll let it eat you up that you didn’t have control over the uncontrollable,” said Jared. “G’Night, jerk. Wake me up if she decides to kick your ass after all. I wouldn’t miss that for the world.”

“Night, bitch,” said Jensen, walking over and playfully shoving Jared back towards the front of the house, earning a small smile in return.

Jensen was barely changed into pajamas before a quiet knock came at his door.

“Y/N, can I help you with something?” said Jensen, one hand on the door as he pulled it open.

“Listen, I’m-“

“Don’t apologize. I was rude,” he said, giving you a smile. “I deserve it.”

“I’m still sorry,” you said, pulling your hand from behind your back, shoving the thick binder out in front of you. “Here.”

“That can wait,” he said, taking it but placing it on his dresser nearby.

“It’s-“

“I know what it is. At the moment, I don’t particularly care what it says,” he said. “I don’t particularly care at all to be honest.”

“Maybe there’s something in there that I’m missing and-“

“Tomorrow,” he said. “Go be with your brother Y/N.”

“I don’t want to be with my brother,” you said. Jensen raised an eyebrow, opening his door a sliver more. You walked inside, Jensen quietly shutting the door behind you. “I love him to death but he doesn’t understand. He’s never going to. But you…”

“Understand,” he said. “Stay here. I’ll be right back.”

You watched him leave and head down the hall towards your room where you’d left a pissed off Alex. Jensen returned a minute later, the front door opening and closing.

“You didn’t have to kick him out,” you said, catching the taillights out the front window.

“I assured your brother you are well looked after here and that his girlfriend would probably enjoy it if he returned home,” said Jensen.

“How do you know he has a girlfriend?” you asked.

“I got full work ups on your family. Nine times out of ten you know your stalker in some sort of way,” he said. “You appear to have a very upstanding family by the way. Not too many dirty secrets.”

“Dad nearly beat a guy up when some dude was hitting on our mom. At a restaurant. With us there,” you said, smiling at the memory.

“I said upstanding, not uptight,” said Jensen. “I should really get on that dictionary for you, huh?”

“You’re such an ass,” you said, rolling your eyes, your lips curling up just so.

“I told him to go because he was upsetting you by being here. You can’t process what happened this evening if you have to pretend to act a certain way,” said Jensen.

“How do you know I was pretending,” you said.

“You pretend for a living. Surprisingly shitty at hiding it,” he said.

“You don’t talk to me like other people do you know,” you said.

“The population would take a significant hit if everyone talked to you the way I do,” he said. You sat down on top of his bed with a small giggle, running your hand over the cold covers.

“You don’t want anything from me. Except to listen to you but ya know, that ship has sailed,” you said, Jensen sitting beside you. “You aren’t afraid to speak your mind.”

“You’re half my size. Why the fuck would I be scared of your whimpy ass?” he said with a smile.

“I’ll kick you in the nuts again,” you warned.

“Okay, I have one thing to fear from you but I’m not here to say yes mam. I’ll say okay, thats great and all but stop being a dumbass and let me save your life,” he said.

“Such a way with words. I bet you’re a real charmer,” you said as he took a seat beside you.

For the first time ever, you felt the strength in him fall away, Jensen taking great interest in the curtains. His face was hard but there was a light flush under the freckled cheeks.

“You know every boyfriend I ever had told me I was fucked up,” you said. “Why couldn't I be like other girls. You really almost earned a black eye earlier.”

“I apologize for-“

“Jensen. I heard what you said after I left too,” you said. “I shouldn’t have listened in like that.”

“I imagine eavesdropping became a required skill for part of your life,” said Jensen. “It’s ingrained in you at this point.”

“Now who’s deflecting,” you said.

“I apologize for being unprofessional,” he said, turning to face you.

“I’d rather you didn’t. Liking someone is not a crime, Jens,” you said.

“It’s inappropriate,” he said, eyes looking into yours like maintaining professionalism was the last thing on his mind.

“For fucks sake, Jensen. Drop the shit and just-“

It felt like getting hit by a train with the way he pounced, cupping your cheek and planting one on you. Short stubble, warm breath, and those fuckin’ lips. God those lips were softer, more supple, more everything than you ever imagined.

“You are the worst client I’ve ever had,” he breathed out, resting his forehead on yours. “You are compromising the shit out of me and I can’t fucking stand it.”

“How’d I manage to do that,” you said, resting a hand against his chest.

“You walking around in your little shorts the second I saw you. Then you had to go and be a thoughtful fucking person under all the stubbornness and who the fuck are you to get me to break every God damn rule there is about not getting attached and-“

“Ryan must have pissed you off the other night then,” you said, flashing him a smile.

“Enraged more like it,” said Jensen, pressing his hand against your cheek harder.

“Why didn’t you say anything,” you said.

“Wasn’t the right time. Still not the right time,” he said. “Inappropriate. Risky. You could land anyone you want with a bat of an eye. A million reasons really.”

“Does that mean you want me to leave,” you asked, Jensen resting a hand on the back of your neck.

“Fuck no,” he said, pulling you in, kissing you rougher, no easy touch in it. His lips moved against yours with a bruising force, your mouth opening a sliver, Jensen taking the opportunity to slide on in and map out the warm cavern of your mouth.

You were climbing into his lap before you knew it, his hands resting on your hips, sliding up and down your sides. He hooked his thumbs under your shirt, pushing the material up slowly while he nipped at your jaw. You moved your arms overhead, helping him remove it as you broke apart.

“Damn you’re gorgeous,” he mumbled as he ripped off his shirt, tossing it aside before he was wrapping his arms around your back. “So fuckin’ hot.”

“Speak for yourself,” you said, your hands wandering over the expanse of muscle under your fingertips, shuddering when Jensen dipped a finger down your spine.

“Sensitive. I wonder how sensitive we can get you,” he said, brushing his lips over your ear. For the fact that you half naked, you were amazed with his focus on going back to your face, letting a hand find it’s way to your hair, the other on your cheek. You moved your hands to his chest, running your nails gently down over the skin, Jensen shivering under the touch.

“Was wondering the same thing, Jens,” you mumbled, going for his neck, finding yourself on your back staring up a second later.

“You were going to do this. Bad girl,” he said, placing a kiss to your neck, sucking against the soft skin, your tiny whimper only urging him on. You felt heat rush over your face and through your veins, shivering downwards until your hips were squirming, Jensen planting a hand over your lower stomach and pressing hard, holding you in place.

“Fuck,” you groaned when one of those long fingers started to play with the hem of your shorts, snapping the band of your underwear against your skin. “Don’t fuckin’ tease.”

“Make me,” he breathed out with a smile, winking as he left your neck, a dangerous smirk on his swollen lips. You could feel the corners of his mouth tugged up as he let his lips ghost over your collarbone, nipping and sucking softly as he went, carefully marking you up. He pressed a soft kiss to a bruise on your shoulder you’d gotten after jumping from the trunk, murmuring something to himself as he did.

The thought to ask him what it was disappeared the second his tongue swiped over your nipple, his mouth latching on, swirling around the peak until it was firm. He blew over the spot, a hit of sharp cool followed by his hot mouth earning him a hand tugging in his hair. You tried to move him down towards the throbbing between your legs but he only smiled, giving your other breast the same, slow buildup until you were panting.

“Take off your clothes,” he ordered, your hips raising up not fast enough, his hands ripping the fabric away and down your legs, long fingers grazing over your skin. “You like following orders now, don’t you, honey?”

“Fuck me,” you said, Jensen smirking as he sat up and rolled off the bed. You perched up on your elbows, getting the perfect view of him as he dropped his pants and boxers. “You have got the hottest ass I have ever seen.”

“Flattery gets you nothing, Y/N,” said Jensen, looking back over his shoulder, walking into his bathroom and back a second later, a pout on his face.

“I’m on something,” you said as you glanced down and took in his length and boy was he lengthy. “You wanted to go in bare anyways, big boy.”

“Could you be any sexier?” he said, walking back over, climbing over top of you.

“Probably,” you teased, reaching your hand between your bodies to give him a few strokes, finding him as hard as rock already. “Am I turning you on, big bad bodyguard?”

“An attitude like that is likely to get you in trouble, Y/N,” said Jensen, shifting his knees to sit between your legs, lining up with your entrance. “You want it?”

“Yes,” you said, Jensen smirking.

“Yes what?” he asked, hands on your hips holding your still.

“Yes sir,” you said. Jensen hummed and leaned down to kiss you, sliding his cock inside your wet heat an inch at a time, feeling every clench of your walls around him. About halfway on his cock he paused, pushing home until his hips clashed against yours, your moan drowned out by his grunt.

“Shit, Y/N. Tight little pussy,” he groaned, pulling out halfway, thrusting in deep. “God, such a good little pussy squeezing my cock.”

He settled into a fast and hard rythmn, snapping his hips with every thrust, growling when you dug your fingers into the meat of his back. You tried to hold it off but you came quickly. Jensen only went harder and reached his hand between the two of you, rubbing over your clit.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” you shouted, feeling yourself head towards a second orgasm as heat flooded you, Jensen biting down on your shoulder, burying his face in the crook of your neck as he came. Jensen didn’t let up and had you gripping him like a vice, clamping down on his cock as you came again, Jensen half-moaning, half-whimpering at the feeling.

He pulled out slowly, falling down to his side, breathing hot against your neck. You panted and turned your head to face him, Jensen already halfway to a kiss. He was much gentler now, soft and relaxed. You wondered how many people ever saw him with his guard down like this.

“What’d you say earlier?” you asked. Jensen laughed, tucking you up against his chest, your body feeling so incredibly small and safe beside him.

“Fuck? Or was it some sort of ‘unh’ sound?” he teased.

“When you kissed my shoulder. You were different for a second there,” you said, risking a glance up, worried green eyes staring back.

“I’m sorry,” he said, ghosting a finger over a bruise on your leg, your side, your back. “You got hurt because of me.”

“You bumped a car out of park. I’ve had a lot worse doing stunts, Jensen,” you said.

“You almost got taken tonight, Y/N. On my watch. I let you down,” he said, staring up at the ceiling.

“But the guy didn’t,” you said.

“Doesn’t matter. He could have and I wouldn’t have been able to stop it,” he said, fingers dancing lightly over your arms.

“I forgive you,” you said. “You’re only human after all. I don’t trust very many people Jensen. But you and I...you I trust my life with. So if you can’t control everything, that’s okay. I understand.”

“So much for pillow talk, huh,” he said, leaning his head against yours, taking a deep breath.

“Are we gonna go back to fighting all the time?” you asked.

“No. But you do what I say, aboslutely no fucking question about it. You’re staying home until Jared and I can come up with a game plan to get this guy for good,” said Jensen.

“I’ll stay,” you said, snuggling into him, closing your eyes.

“Good girl,” said Jensen, kissing your forehead. “Get some rest. You had a long day.”

A/N: Read Part 7 here!

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