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just-a-dumb-gay · 4 years

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I Love Human Stupidity - Lady Dimitrescu X Reader - 1914 Words

Danger follows the reader wherever they go and Alcina gets the joy of witnessing them have the most disaster filled week.

Tags: Reader gender is not specified, I made Daniela a little bitchy but its funny, 5+1 Things

1 .

For once atop the mountain the weather is beautiful. You and Alcina head into the woods out back for a while. But after lunch you got restless and decided some tree climbing was a good idea.

Alcina sits on the blanket she brought out and watches with pride as you scale one of the tallest trees with ease. You have your camera around your neck, taking pictures of every strange bug or leaf on your way up.

You hear Alcina laugh down below when you let out a victory yell as you reach the top of the tree.

You take a few more pictures, the surrounding woods is a stunning sight from so high up. There's also a few crows nearby that you manage to get some good pictures of.

A dark cloud has started appearing on the horizon, and it looks like it's heading straight for Castle Dimitrescu. You start making your way down, not exactly in the mood to get caught in any heavy rainfall.

You make your way down the tree mostly with ease. Although your jeans get caught on a branch and wind up with a hole in the left leg, thankfully you are left uninjured.

When you make it nearer the bottom you hang yourself upside down from a branch, peaking your head through the leaves to say hi to Alcina.

"My dear Y/N, whatever are you doing?" She laughs.

You don't reply, you just go to pull yourself back up. But Alcinas' laughter distracts you, making you accidentally grab a weak branch. It snaps off in your hand, causing you to fall the last couple meters out the tree.

You land with a solid thud and Alcina is immediately by your side asking if you're okay. But you can't reply, you landed straight on your back and it knocked the air out of you.

A few painful moments later once you've got your breath back, you look to the branch still in your hand.

"Fuck" is all you say before laughing,

"Please do not scare me like that." Alcina says, relieved to see you're okay.

2 .

Later in the day you and Alcina are sitting on your shared bed. She is reading and you're attempting to fix the hole in your jeans and a spot where the stitching attacking the sleeve to your shirt came undone as you fell. You were taught from a young age how to sew, but you've never been good at making it look as if there was never a hole at all.

You've already stabbed yourself a few times and Alcina always reminds you to be careful after you mumble swears under your breath. But unfortunately your needle is a little blunt and getting it through your jeans is a much larger task than your shirt.

You push a little too hard and accidentally stab the needle into the side of your thumb, your much louder swear this time catching Alcinas attention.

She puts her book down and retrieves a plaster from the bathroom while you're trying to inspect how deep the needle went.

"That's twice in one day you've hurt yourself." She says as she gently takes your hand and covers the hole.

"Not really my day is it?" You laugh.

"Please at least try to be careful."

"Believe it or not, I do try."

Alcina just stares, waiting for an explanation. But the truth is you don't have one, danger just follows you.

3 .

It's a quiet afternoon in the castle. You're looking around the library, looking for some inspiration to paint. You notice what appears to be a few old sketches of the castle sticking out from books on a top shelf. But there's one problem. They're almost five feet above you.

You look around for a ladder but the only one there looks ancient and ready to break if a rat tried to climb it. So, what do you do instead of asking for help like a normal person? Climb the shelves.

As you begin climbing, Daniela appears next to you nearly scaring you half to death.

"What's all this?" She asks with near to no emotion.

"Trying to reach those sketches up there." You manage to take your hand off the shelf just long enough to point.

"Now this I want to see." She says making herself comfortable on a nearby arm chair.

You decide to just ignore her and continue your climb.

You make reasonably quick progress, making it nearly two feet away from your goal, but the higher you go the less of a grip you can get as the books cover more of the shelves.

Pausing for a moment you try and figure out if there's an easier way to do things, but the movement as you look around causes you to lose your grip. You desperately try to grab at anything before you fall but all you succeed in doing is dragging a few books down with you.

As you're laying on the floor you can hear Daniela laughing, almost fully cackling, nearby. And barely a few seconds later you can hear Alcina's footsteps down the hall.

"What's going on here?" Alcina asks, kneeling beside you to make sure you're okay.

"I love human stupidity." Daniela says through laughter.

"Out. Now." Alcina yells, loud enough you're sure any mice in the walls just ran away.

Daniela follows her mothers order and leaves, still laughing the whole time.

"Are you okay, my love?" Alcina asks once she thinks Daniela is out of earshot, but a loud fake gag comes from the hallway.

"Leave!" Alcina yells in her final warning tone. "What on earth were you trying to do?" She asks, her attention back to you.

"Those damn sketches on the top shelf are being stubborn." You sigh.

Alcina rolls her eyes fondly before helping you up. As you're dusting yourself off, Alcina hands you the sketches.

"Next time please ask for help." She says softly.

You pause for a moment and then simply reply with "Maybe."

4 .

And much to Alcina's frustration, you did not ask for help the next time something was on a high shelf.

You're attempting to make yourself a late night snack, really craving pancakes for some reason you can't figure out. Daniela and the others are out hunting and as far as you're aware Alcina is in your room halfway across the other side of the castle.

You've got everything prepared. Except for the flour and sugar. Which are both on the top shelf.

This time you're smart enough to use a chair to stand on. And all seems to start well, you get the sugar down with ease. But as you stretch on your toes to get the flour you lose your balance.

You fall to the ground, accidentally kicking the chair over as you fall. And you land with your stomach upwards covered in flour.

You sigh in defeat, creating a flour cloud above you, and as you're wondering how you're going to explain this to Alcina the kitchen door opens.

"Y/N, I was just coming to check on you when I heard the crash. Are you okay?"

"No." You say weakly.

Alcina is immediately beside you again, checking for injuries. When You sigh again and say "I don't think there's enough flour left for pancakes." as sadly as you can manage.

Alcina looks down at you and all she can say is "What am I going to do with you?" while smiling.

5 .

You've known since you arrived at the castle that there's multiple hidden passages in the walls. From the small amount of knowledge you have of the castle's structure you've figured out the passages would be only just big enough for an ordinary sized human which is why Alcina never uses them but Daniela can be found using them to sneak around to avoid trouble.

Alcina never wanted you to explore them, she doesn't know what kind of bugs or rats are hidden in them and considering how often danger follows you she doesn't want you to get hurt.

But eventually after a lot of asking, she handed you a torch and led you to the hidden entrance that leads to all the other passages. She leaves to read a book and allows you to explore at your own pace, and as she's walking away she warns you to be careful.

For the most part you do well guessing which room each passage ends in, and so far the hidden doors have been fairly easy to open except for a few which you've had to squeeze your way out of.

You reach the end of the final passage which you think has led you to the library, where Alcina currently is.

You start to push the door open and quickly realize it's going to be one of the stubborn ones. You manage to squeeze half your body out, but then the worst happens. You get stuck.

You take a moment to try and push the door, but even with your full weight it barely budged so now it's not even slightly moving.

Alcina hears you attempting to kick the door and comes to check on you, and immediately starts laughing when she sees the position you're in.

"This is not your week is it?" She teases.

"It really isn't." You say as you toss your torch onto a nearby chair and continue trying to wiggle yourself free.

Alcina watches you for a moment to see if you can free yourself without help, but after a moment you sigh in defeat and ask her for help.

She manages to pull the door open without hurting you too much and you instantly flop down into the chair your torch is on.

Alcina sits beside you, gently taking your hand in her own as she asks if you're alright.

"I think I might've got a few splinters in my legs and stomach from that damn door, but otherwise I'm alright."

Alcina leads you back to your room to help you remove the splinters, but not without giving you a safety lecture on the way.

Daniela tracked some mud in with her late during the night probaly from hunting, but has been nowhere to be found all day to clean up the mess she's made. Alcina had to go into town so you decided to clean up the mess to kill some time.

You started by the front door and have made your way upstairs to the balcony that overlooks the main entrance. But you don't hear Alcina come in over the sound of your headphones.

But what you dohear during the quiet second between songs is a loud thud from down below.

You look over the balcony and see Alcina sitting stunned on the floor, with a freshly mopped and still wet spot by her feet.

"Careful, it's slippery." You tease, Alcina gives you a playful glare and you hold your hands up in defense. "I'm just glad that wasn't me." You laugh, finally happy to be the one danger doesn't hit.

"Did you really do all this without falling once?" Alcina asks as you make your way down the stairs to greet her.

"Yes, I di-" your proud sentence gets cut short as you slip and fall down the last four stairs.

You're stunned for a second but soon the only thing that can be heard is you and Alcina laughing at each others clumsiness.

The End

Prompts from 4 anons:

1 - Lady Dimitrescu with a reader who does a lot crafty things like sewing or something with sharp objects but are also accident prone and pricks themselves or something.

2 - the reader somehow imjures themselves and Alcina scolds them for not being careful but it's bc shes really worried so she takes care of them and comforts them in the end

3 - I'm just imagining Lady Dimitrescu with a very clumsy reader / s/o would be like. Just umagine maybe it's a chill afternoon and it's quiet in the castle. Alcina might be reading something in that main area, down the stairs, and suddenly there is a crash from one of the rooms. She rushes over in concern, opens the door and sees us just lying on the floor. She jst hears a small "I'm okay!" and she goes over to us to gently help us up. maybe going "What on earth were you trying to do, my love?"

"Trying to reach the top shelf for >Insert supply here<"

+1 - Imagine Alcina slipping and falling, like, the noise that's bound to make, and you'd know it was her cause you'd just hear a loud ass thud LMAO

#lady dimitrescu #lady dimitrescu x reader #resident evil village #resident evil 8 #theres probably a few typos my bad!

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sunjaesol · 3 years

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juke | spiderman au | tw: violence | title: motion // luke hemmings

🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️

"Hey, Julie," Luke greets, walking into Molina's Flowers & Gifts.

It's quiet in the store. An abundance of flowers packed together winking at him, corners stuffed with candles, books, vases and picture frames. It's a well-loved shop, within the Molina family for decades, their youngest daughter and his classmate now meandering behind the counter.

She smiles, "Hey, Luke. How are your aunt's tulips?"

"Uh," he chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck, "very... tulip-y."

"Solid."

"Yeah. Anyway—" he points at her "—about the assignment. I can't do it with you."

She frowns. "Why?"

Because at night, he has to patrol the city! Who else is going to protect and serve New York — or Queens, specifically! They need him! Sure, they don't appreciate him or, y'know, know who he is, but...

As much as he wants to work with Julie — and really, he does, she's amazing — he simply can't. That's the responsibility he's taken upon himself as Spiderman and he has to honour that.

"Family commitment," he lies with a grimace. "I can do some research in the library this week, but—"

"Forget it," she mutters. "I'll do it. But you present, okay? I hate public speaking."

He sighs in relief. "Thank you! Yes, you got it!"

"You owe me now, you know that?" she asks, peering. It reminds him how she, unlike him, is a full-blooded New Yorker. She has bark and bite, while he has that Los Angeles softness buffing the edges of his actions.

Unless he's Spiderman. Then there's no stopping him.

Leaning against the counter, he tries dazzling her with a charming smile. "Like what?"

She thinks for a moment, face twisting up in that cute, pensive face she has; always crossing her features during calculus or physics. Another reason why he hates bailing on her: she's mad cute — and one of the few people at school that doesn't regard his music mania as geeky.

"Every weekend, me and my dad go to the flower market and get our batch. It's at four am. My dad's sick, so you're joining me this Saturday."

He grimaces. "Four? Really?"

"I know you're not Jewish. You're free."

"I could be!"

Her head tilts, amused. "Are you, Patterson?"

Sighing, his head drops along with his resolve. She has him. "Fine. Yes, I'll help you. Don't blame me if I fall asleep with my eyes open!"

Julie giggles at his remark and it makes him look up, a giddy feeling spreading in his chest. Her face is close to his, the colours of the flowers glimmering in her eyes, and he's kind of taken by her. Wow.

"Great. Now get out of my store!" she commands, grabbing the broom beside her. "I need to sweep the floors."

Pushing himself off from the counter, he cheekily salutes at her and bids goodbye, bouncing outside mere seconds later. That went better than expected — he even made her laugh!

Reggie sends him a text. I updated your suit. Good to go for tonight with zero malfunctions!

His grin widens. This Tuesday afternoon could not have gone better!

Fuck. He should've known those words were gonna jinx him.

Luke slings from skyscraper to skyscraper after a gang of armed criminals, failing to capture them with his webs and almost being shot himself just ten minutes ago!

Yeah, sneezing loudly during their very creepy gang meeting in a quiet Queens alleyway was not his proudest moment. Fucking hay fever.

It's even worse that they're fighting in his neighborhood, the streets familiar and well-trodden by him, his friends, his family. His stomach twists up with dread, but he has to keep going. He almost has them!

There's six of them, so he's sure he can get a few from a distance. Quickly mapping out his strategy from the ledge of a building, bug eyes gleaming in the street lights, he launches into action.

(There are police sirens in the distance, likely being called after the thugs broke into that bank, but Luke can't wait. This is his time.)

Webbing two against the brick walls of a bodega, he throws a joke alongside it too and adds extra webbing to their mouths. No need to hear their response!

A third thug gets lassoed towards him, dizzying the man, and a simple swing of the fists knocks him out cold.

The other three keep sprinting, shooting over their shoulder all precariously. If Luke wasn't running on adrenaline and fright, he'd scoff at their mindless use of bullets. One hits a lamppost, a mailbox, a tree.

(On that tree, a “who is spiderman?” poster, something he'd get excited over if, again, there wasn't a crime to be solved. Damn it, thugs!)

He manages to shoot a gun out of one man's hand and then web him down on the pavement, but the last two outsmart him. Exhaustion weighs his bones down — it's one am, school starts at eight, he has to pretend to be all normal and cool — and the police still hasn't arrived.

Any nagging thought gets knocked out of his mind the second he sees them crashing the windows of the Molina's, barelling into their store. His gut plummets while anger rises, reaching a fever pitch shaped in an angry cry and a boost of energy. Screw, strategy! He needs to fix this!

Zooming into the store after them, more bullets hurl by, shattering glass and vases and flying past their faces. It works to his advantage, the criminals trying to shield themselves with their hands, a sudden weak spot. Luke webs one to the ground, extra hard.

But then two arms curl around his neck from behind.

"Whoa!" he chokes out, flailing to be released. "C'mon, man!"

"Time to sleep, Spiderman!" the criminal snarls with a thick east coast accent, tightening his iron hold.

Luke helplessly tries hitting him with his feet and elbows, but the man is rock solid and his spidey system malfunctions again from the high levels of stress. Shit!

Just as he feels lightheaded, a resounding clang! makes the arms slacken, the man slumping on the ground like a heavy sack of potatoes. Staggering away, he whirls around, only to come face to face with an enraged Julie Molina.

She squeaks out an undignified warrior cry, raising her baseball bat once more to knock him out.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" he yells, grabbing onto the end of the stick before she gives him a concussion. "I'm the good guy! I'm—" he lowers his voice "—I'm Spiderman!"

The bat clatters to the ground. Her eyes slowly drift to the webbed man and the man's ass she whooped. And then, when he thinks she'll start crying from shock, she looks back at him in confusion.

"Why did you lower your voice like that?"

He blinks. Not what he expected. "Wha-? No, I didn't."

"You did. You sounded like a boy and now you don't."

He groans, stomping his foot. "I didn't! Anyway, Ju- miss. Girl. Thanks for the help. The police is on their way."

Her shoulder sag, now seemingly registering what just transpired. Her eyes, previously so pretty in daylight, well up with tears as she takes stock of her ruined family establishment. Luke swallows back the guilt, the immense urge to comfort her.

If he had just been faster... none of this would've happened.

A sob wracks her body. "My- my store. My dad. The flowers. We- we-" Her gaze locks on his, furiously devestated. "Why did you lead them here?!"

He raises his hands in defense. "I didn't! They trespassed! I- I'm so sorry, miss."

Her head shakes, more tears slipping down her cheeks. "That's not... good enough. Please go."

"Miss—"

"Go!" she shouts, pointing at the broken window.

He nods, obliging, utters once more the police is coming, and flies out the window. His mask rubs uncomfortably against his skin, cold sweat and tears pricking like needles.

When the next day at school Julie is nowhere to be found, he's not surprised.

🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️

@blush-and-books @bluefirewrites @thedeathdeelers @unsaid-emily @willexx @ourstarscollided @pink-flame @constantly-singing

#juke #jatp fanfiction #julie and the phantoms #otp: i think we make each other better

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vasiktomis · 3 years

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Pomegranate, Chapter 17: Quiet Earth, Part I.

John Seed x Female Deputy

Rating: Explicit.

Read it on Ao3 here!

Notes: Thanks all who have been keeping up with this! I'm so consistently floored by the amount of content creators we have in this fandom corner and the sheer level of workmanship that exists here. This is the first chapter of Pom that I'll be posting to tumblr, and I'm hoping to draw up a little sketch with each update. If you have any suggestions, I'd love to hear them! Big thank you to @shallow-gravy and @consumedkings as always for dealing with my stupidity and being a pair of top-notch angels, and also just like, everybody who takes time out of their day to engage with this? Y'all really sticking with ultra slow burn and I swear after some wicked angst in the next couple of chapters I'll finally be able to throw some well-deserved smut at you. WARNINGS: Forced conversion, descriptions of dissociation and derealisation, explicit language, sexual content, depictions of violence, guns, blood and gore. Canon-typical debauchery.

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“Don’t touch him!”

Mary May lunged with enough force for John to feel the wake of air sweep through him, even with how quickly she was snatched up and yanked back to her place. The soles of her tennis shoes squeaked against the floor as she was dragged to the far side of the room, unable to be trusted with providing audience to Nick’s Atonement.

A shame, really. It was nicer as a shared experience.

The Baptist rolled his jaw, off-setting some of the tension arising from the shrieks that the blonde flung at the back of his head. He righted himself, taking the tattoo gun from one of his faithful with a gracious nod, and turned his attention down to the pilot currently pinned to the floor. Without a word, he sank to his knees, straddling the man, keeping silent as he could just to listen out for any change in his demeanour. Fear. Grief. Defeat. Acceptance. A sign to prove his readiness.

Nick didn't flinch, breathing hard through his nose and watching with hateful eyes. John hovered an indicating hand over the man’s bare chest, bruised from the fight he’d put up against his capture, mentally mapping out placement. Then, he came in with the needle, beginning with the stem of an ’E’, right in the centre of Nick's sternum.

The pilot snorted, masking discomfort with indifference, turning a wince into a scoff. “Figures you don’t use stencils. I ain’t got a hope in hell of this turning out good, do I.”

That casual old Nick attitude. He missed it.

If only he’d let him do this 5 years ago. He wouldn’t have had to miss it.

John feigned offense. “Oh I’m sorry, Nick. Did you want me to do the rest in cursive? Add a feather? Infinity symbol?”

“For fuck’s sake-”

“Talk about tonal dissonance. It’s not meant to be pretty.” He grumbled. “Might’ve gotten a little more practice if you’d-”

A yell from the rear entryway pulled John’s hand away from his canvas. More squeaking. More interruption. Jerome Jeffries getting hauled into the church, held under each arm by the pair of Chosen that John had sent looking for him.

The Baptist cast a look over his shoulder at them, content with the sight of Jerome adequately beaten and bloodied. “Ahh. Pastor. Try to run and hide? It’s no wonder your flock ran astray with a shepherd so quick to leave them to the wolves.”

Jerome ignored him. No reply. No eye contact. A crime John noted to make worthy of capital punishment in the New Eden. The Pastor was set down beside Mary May, who immediately began seeing to his injuries. Murmuring bubbled between them.

“Did you reach them?” The bartender asked. Must’ve been a negative, because the next thing she did was curse.

“The Deputy was calling when they caught me.”

And if she had half the spine to come and broker an agreement for her friends, she’d be inbound.

“Could you at least gag them? I’m trying to concentrate.” John ordered no one in particular, earning another scoff from Nick. “The faster we work, the less we’ll have to get through once she arrives. The quicker we can be out of this heinous town.”

“Stay away from her, shitbag.” The pilot ground out, this time unable to save face when John retaliated, pressing the gun just a little too hard, digging down through an extra few layers of skin.

“Nick Rye, you’re a married man.” John tutted playfully, resuming his work. “That sin of yours again. Take, take, take. Didn’t think the Deputy to be your type. Wouldn’t say you’re hers, either.”

Nick looked downright disgusted at the prospect. Less concerned for the state of his wife - which meant she'd been a likely getaway. “Always been so fuckin’ jealous.”

“Come again?”

“Think folks are stupid? Think I don’t know you?”

“You don't know me, period.” John bit back, skin on the back of his neck flushing between boiling and freezing.

“Anyone else givin’ you this much trouble’d be long dead by now. That shit on the radio? Reckon you’d be talkin’ like that if your family could hear you across the river?” Nick continued, averting his gaze when John shot him a particularly poisonous look. He didn’t, however, find it necessary to respond to such a veiled accusation.

At least until -

“Everybody knows you wanna stick it to her, John-”

As if he’d been awaiting the chance, John’s free hand shot to Nick’s jaw, aching in protest when he squeezed, not stopping until he could feel the man’s molars beneath his flesh. “That’s about enough from you.” He crooned.

John had his desires, yes. He’d accepted that much. Had he not been sworn to celibacy, he might have jumped at the opportunity to respond to Cora’s advances last night. That said, she was still an outsider, and while her Atonement made the prospect less dicey, he couldn’t consciously consider laying with the woman in real life.

No matter how torturous it had become to gear his thoughts toward anything else.

He could be content with just her company, without making any further advances on her. Last night had simply been a moment of weakness, and he’d prevailed by stepping away.

“If you’ll excuse me.” John switched off the little machine once he’d completed his piece and promptly stood to beckon for replacement parts. Mary May might have gotten away with an allergic reaction last time he’d attempted this, but considering he’d be slicing it out of her within the hour, he couldn’t see any reason for her to be complaining. The bartender had been a thorn in his side from the start. While Nick and his wife had once lent John their...whatever a sinner’s closest equivalent was to friendship, Mary May had always been trouble. Wore her heart on her sleeve and trusted no one she hadn’t grown up around. Bolshie. Almost fucking killed him, once.

John busied himself with needle transfers and a pleasant expression. He could feel the woman’s eyes on him.

Did she think what Nick proclaimed? That complete and utter lie?

How fucking crass. No, he did not want to ’stick it’ to Cora. At least, as far as anyone else was concerned. He was fond of her, and - while yes, he had encountered temptation - if one disregarded the cum-stained, stolen panties in his pocket, and the conjured fantasies, and the purely incidental erection he’d maintained after the Deputy stuck her tongue down his throat last night - there was simply no evidence to suggest to anyone else that he was even remotely tempted to break the rules.

Sex was the furthest thing from his mind. It was mere coincidence that today had just so happened to fall on a morning in which he’d needed to trim.

…

If, however, she were to decide that she wanted to continue what she’d attempted last night, then surely he couldn’t be to blame if he only failed to stop her. It wasn’t technically fornication if he didn’t initiate it. Nor was it considered intercourse if -

“Brother John.”

John jumped, heart stopping, whipping his head around to the Chosen standing at the door of the church.

“What?" He asked thickly.

“The Deputy’s arrived.”

Right on cue, the crackling of gunshots drifted in alongside the Chosen’s announcement.

“Tell everyone to hold their fire.” John ordered. “We have them outnumbered tenfold. The Deputy can’t be stupid enough to create a hostage situation. Direct her here, and peacefully.”

The Chosen’s throat bobbed, swallowing back outrage, and John squinted hard at him, trying to dispel the flicker of green light in the mist outside as it settled against the man’s temple.

“John, I don’t think-”

He never got a chance to act on that incoming insubordination.

Instead, he jerked, cut off by a sickening crack as a section of his skull blew out of his head. Red mist and liquified brain matter followed, splattering against the doorframe, and the Chosen slumped lifeless onto the front step.

John wasn’t so much shaken by the killing as he was irritated by everyone else’s apparent refusal to let today go according to plan. Maybe also the pile of brains and hair now sitting on his once-pristine red carpet. He’d made this easy for the woman: kill everyone he could round up, leave her with no one to claim duty to, and get this all over and done with. Have her home by mid-afternoon. Embark on a new chapter and achieve salvation. It was that simple.

Woe to him for trusting in her common sense.

“Fuck’s sake. Wrath begets more wrath.” He muttered, smoothing a hand over his chin. He didn’t have the patience for this any longer. “Fine. Sister -”

A woman stood from the pews as soon as John made eye contact, equally as unshaken by the scene mere feet away.

“Send out word: the Deputy wants to sacrifice her friends for the sake of a fight.” John punctuated the end of his sentence with a click as he returned his focus to jamming the needles into his tattoo gun. “Give her what she wants. Take her by force.”

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The smokescreen was beginning to clear, but despite the weight it was taking off her lungs, Cora would’ve preferred it remain just a little longer. At least until they’d cleared out the town. Had they been quicker, it might have lasted longer. Covered their approach to Fall’s End. Given them more cover to sneak about unseen.

The streets, while still hazy, were visible now. It wasn’t a difficult task watching Peggie silhouettes run from building to building in search of her team. Resistance members and civilians were either in the process of being rounded up, or littered the road and pavement, dead. The Ryes, Mary May, and Pastor Jerome were yet to be seen amongst either group.

Same went for Boomer.

Aside from the barking of orders from Chosen and faithful, there was little sound. Knowing how much of a fuss her dog had put up the last time he’d been caught by the Project struck Cora’s nerves. He was his own alarm, and he would not go peacefully.

Not hearing him was an indication of the worst.

Some part of her brain argued against the idea. Vouching that John wouldn’t have hurt the creature. That was her dog. He had to be an exception to the massacre, no matter how vicious he behaved.

She had to find him, and creeping through the rear entry of the Spread Eagle was the first point of call.

Luckily enough, the back door had yet to be boarded up. Peggies who rushed past covered windows hardly stopped to peek inside the place for fear of being tainted by the presence of alcohol. Sneaking in was simple enough, too, at least once Jess had picked the lock.

“I’m going to pretend that door was open.” The Deputy murmured her equivalent to praise, passing into the building.

Grace headed straight in after her, taking a left to search for any sign of Mary May while she took a right toward the stairs.

“You pretend the Cook’s head was already gone when we found him?” Jess whispered.

“Freak accident. You all saw it.”

“First floor’s clear.” Grace announced from the serving hatch in the kitchen, clearly unhappy about it.

“Right.” Cora acknowledged, “I’ll check up top.”

The second story was as dead-quiet as the first. Furniture had been knocked over in the hallway and bedrooms had been raided. None of it indicated anything good, but she still had to know.

Cora pushed open the door to her room, and while she held no expectation of what she’d find, her heart sank anyway.

It was empty.

Boomer was gone.

Only his makeshift collar and a tattered bandana remained atop the rug he’d been snoozing on that morning.

Her dog.

John had either taken him or killed him, just like the rest. He’d do the same to the rest of her team. She should’ve taken the Baptist’s offer before the latter had even become a possibility.

“No sign?” Grace affirmed once the Deputy slipped back down to the first floor. “My guess is either they’re in hiding, or John’s giving them special treatment. If they were dead he’d be parading them.”

Sharky and Hurk exchanged a frown when Cora offered only a nod, notably more meek than usual.

“Was he in there, darlin’?” Adelaide asked, a little too gently not to invite a sting to her eyes.

Cora felt her jaw clench. It was a different breed of nausea, trying to keep her composure under the scrutiny of the rest of the team. She managed to shake her head, and Adelaide’s hand found her shoulder.

“Could still be with the others, yet.” The woman offered.

“So how do we find them?” Jess asked.

Find John Seed, of course.

“Finding them’s one thing. Getting to them might be the harder part.” Cora began. “The smokescreen’s only getting thinner and there’s Peggies everywhere. It's grasslands from here to the hills. No way we can herd everyone across a field on-foot, safely. We’ve got to make sure they stay freed, first.”

“And?” Jess huffed. “We’re gonna kill some Peggies, right?”

The blonde considered that.

“We split up. Search the buildings for anyone who hasn’t been caught yet. Round them up and plant explosives as we go. With enough chaos, maybe we can have a shot at turning the tide in the short term.”

Sharky was practically trembling. “Explosives, like, everywhere?”

“Everywhere. The more damage, the better.” Cora replied. “Adelaide, Xander, pair up. Sharky and Hurk, same with you.”

“And us on range?” Jess grinned, trading a look with Grace who maintained absolute stoicism. “I’m so into that.”

“No.”

…

“Say what?”

“No more ranged attacks. I need you and Grace to head back to the van -”

Jess was advancing on her before she’d even finished her sentence.

“You’re pulling me outta the fight? The fuck gives?” The huntress loomed over the Deputy, incredulous. Cora made an effort to stay put, but Jess’s insistence managed to outweigh her stubbornness, forcing the blonde to compromise by leaning as far back as she could without falling.

“We can’t keep running on short-term wins.” Cora insisted. “We have to put our foot down. No more small assaults. No more hoping John gets demoralised enough that he hands himself over.”

Sharky frowned. “What’re you saying?”

She met his gaze, puffing out her chest, retaking her space. “I’m saying the Henbane Bridge is unmanned right now. If we get word to the County Jail, there’s no roadblock to stop them from helping us win this. John Seed’s throwing everything he can at us. I say we try for the same. I say we end it for good. We’re gonna take back Holland Valley. Today.”

“...You really like that dog, huh.”

“That too.”

Jess looked unconvinced. “So the two of us are running errands while the rest of you are holding the fort? Fucking bullshit.”

“I told you. No more range.” Cora bit back, jabbing a thumb toward Hurk and Sharky. “You’d rather send Boshaws and Drubmans to convince Tracey to send us her best people? No offence.”

“None taken, bitch.” Adelaide grumbled.

Grace exhaled, throwing away momentary hesitation. “We’ll be fast.”

Cora traded a nod with the sniper before looking to Jess once more.

Still unconvinced.

“They have cars with guns on them, remember?”

The corner of Jess’s mouth ticked. Temptation.

Mission accomplished.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The tacky fucking carpet was the first thing she noticed, creeping along Main Street. Bliss petals had been sprinkled all over the road leading up to the church.

The carpet ended at the door. An invitation if she ever saw one. Boastful. Arrogant.

A pang of dread ached through Cora's bones, holding her in place while she drew her revolver. It could be an ambush. It probably was an ambush, but there was nothing she could feasibly do to avoid it. If the others were in there, then she couldn't wait around any longer.

She had to do this. At least hold out until Jess and Grace returned, with or without help.

She'd been running for long enough. All other options had been exhausted. At least John offered the least awful defeat.

Drawing close to the entrance, the Deputy pointedly avoided examining a dead crow that had been impaled upon the wall. She inhaled, holding the breath in her lungs, steadying her heart rate.

It was only freedom.

She opened the door, immediately training the gun out before her, following its guide into the room.

About a dozen Peggies dotted the space, leaning against walls, lining the pews - all angled at the pulpit, observing Nick on the floor. He stifled a cry while John sliced through the final remaining layers of skin binding the tattoo to his chest, peeling the word 'GREED' out of his flesh. Blood pooled on the floor around them, and the moment John had stepped away, the pilot was descended on with antiseptic and bandages.

The Deputy waited for nausea at the sight to take its course. It never did. She was all but numbed to the sight.

"Deputy, run!"

Mary May's voice cut through the silence, and the bartender lurched from her own spot on the ground. Guns raised all around the room, swinging around to aim for Cora.

”Hold!” John barked immediately, unconcerned when the Deputy shifted her aim to him. Instead, he busied himself with washing his sullied hands. “Hold your fire.”

His followers obeyed.

Cora, meanwhile, cocked the revolver in her grip. One foot edged into the room, and she glanced around for the Project’s captives before returning her gaze to John. All on the other side of the room. Pinned. Fuck.

“Hope County Sheriff’s Department.” She announced, staring the Baptist down, ignoring the grin that crept onto his face - like he found it fucking funny. “Weapons on the ground. Step away from the hostages.”

“Hostages?” John snorted. He gestured Pastor Jerome, Mary May, and Nick. “These are guests! This is their Atonement. This is your Atonement.”

“Drop the fucking weapons.”

John’s patience thinned. Quickly. “I’m not doing this with you.” He replied simply. “Not today.”

With his own look around the room, John inclined his head. An unspoken order to which everyone carrying a gun turned them on her allies.

“We both know you don’t have enough bullets for everyone. Nor do you have the time. So why don’t you put down my gun and surrender.”

“Don’t-” Mary May was cut off with the tap of steel against her temple. Warning.

John was right. She was outnumbered. There was no chance of getting any of them out with force alone.

She inhaled. Exhaled. Watched the fondness slip back onto John’s face like it had never left, and set the gun on the floor.

“That’s my girl.” John murmured. Then, he motioned. “Get her ready.”

Cora’s stomach dropped as two sets of arms coiled around hers, each pulling and pushing, prickling at her skin with unfamiliar, sickening touch. Biology told her to resist. Escape the sensation. The downward pulling.

“No, stop it.” Escaped her while she squirmed. “Get off. Stop touching me-”

“Her friends can’t be far. Find them.” The Baptist ordered, turning away toward the pulpit.

Cora’s knees hit the floor. There was no holding the repetition of protests, but even as she consciously elevated the volume of her voice, it grew quieter in her ears. Calculated attempts to jerk away and make an escape became automatic twitches.

One of John’s followers - a female - crept into view, fingers tugging at the top button on her uniform collar. John readied a tattoo gun over the woman’s shoulder, and the Deputy’s mind screamed alarm bells. Get out. Escape. Fight back. Regain control.

“I won’t hurt you, sister.”

This time, she sank, curling forward, angling herself away from the woman. Another attempt, and she wrenched away again, snarling. Then, the Peggies around her must have gotten tired of all the fuss, because the tear of cotton clawed at her ears. Ringing through her brain.

Her back felt cold all of a sudden.

Green material slipped down her arms, and at the sight of her own uniform pooling in shreds in her own lap, Cora ceased her thrashing. The shredded shirt was yanked from her belt and tossed aside, and she watched with growing resignation while John turned back around.

His gaze found hers. Then flickered downward, first to the compression bra, then a margin to the right. “Here I thought you’d be unmarked.” He commented, inspecting what was visible of the old ink on her lower ribs while he approached.

Hands pressed against Cora’s shoulders, and she drifted back until her shoulder blades hit the floor.

John continued to loom until he stood directly over her. He sank to his knees, expression softening with his descent until he was on all fours on top of her. He looked almost adoring, and she hated how it comforted her, just slightly. She hated how the hands had disappeared from her limbs, and yet she still made no further attempt to escape. He had every ounce of power now.

She didn’t know she’d started trembling until his free hand swept over her collarbones, mapping out her chest, calming the gooseflesh beading on her from the chill, or the fright, or perhaps just that this whole thing felt so humiliatingly exposing.

A blush swelled over John’s throat, maybe indicating some straying line of thought. He snapped out of it and settled to sit on her hips. “This looks familiar, doesn’t it?” He teased, hovering the tattoo gun right over the centre of her sternum.

“Dont.” Was all she could manage. Weak. Pleading. “I don’t want you to.”

“You have no idea how good you’re going to feel after this.” John cooed.

One of his fingers drifted along her jaw. An attempt at comforting her, but to no avail. He looked equal parts gentle and feral with excitement.

The machine buzzed, lowering pitch when the needles finally pressed into her flesh.

This was it.

She’d lost. There was no going back, anymore. No more normal, no more ridding herself of this family. They’d taken everything, and now they were claiming ownership over her, too.

The others were being hunted. It was only a matter of time. John was working too quickly. They’d be gone before the Cougars even crossed the river.

Cora’s nerves muted. Sound closed to just the rumble of blood in her ears. She receded into herself. Found a backseat in her mind, away from the sensory overload and the humiliation and her own failure while her body quietly continued: ”Dont, don’t, stop.”

She’d lost, and John wouldn’t stop. Not while he was branding the evidence of his victory into her flesh.

Defeat tasted worse than anticipated.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Bullets whizzed overhead while Sharky and Hurk took cover beneath the window, watching helplessly as the aisle of potato chips and bar nuts was torn to shreds by the onslaught. Dorito dust filled the shop like mustard gas.

“Cuz, I think they found us!” Hurk barked, snapping an arm over his head in defence when a stray round ricocheted off the front counter.

“What gives you that impression?” Sharky hit back, hurriedly setting down his shotgun and shrugging his backpack to the floor.

“How many are there?”

“How about you check?”

A moment of quiet occurred while the cousins glared at each other, leaving their standoff to a battle of no blinking. Then the Peggies outside must’ve finished re-loading, because the back wall of the shop was suddenly being shot into swiss cheese.

They were okay. Everything was cool. Addie and Xander had taken their share of explosives and gone the quiet route. Grace and Jess were gone. Shorty had disappeared into the church, and while he couldn't count the best, Sharky was pretty confident that John had caught her.

Could they have kept on looking for survivors and breaking out captives? Sure - but why do that when they could kill, like 40 birds with one stone and beeline for the gas station? It was conveniently across the road from the church, empty of any and all life barring the dormant tanks underground. An explosion that big was sure to fuck up like a good portion of Main Street. Not even the Chosen would be able to resist checking it out.

Disconnecting the safety switches had been easy. He’d been arrested for doing it like 5 times already. Cops, Peggies; it didn’t matter - Sharky knew what he was doing, and without the giant swinging dick of the law hanging over him, the man was on a mission. Cultists shooting at him was fine. He was used to that.

Threat of death or no, he wasn’t giving up the chance to see this place blow sky high.

“We’ll be outta here any second, Hurky.” Sharky assured. “Just gotta sprinkle a little C-4 around the place and we’ll be gone before it even goes off.”

Hurk was sweating. A lot. He was accustomed to being shot at, but normally, he had more than just Sharky to get him out of a tight spot. “Alright, bro. Gimme some. Many hands and what have you.”

“Fuck yeah. First step, toss some at the tanker outside. We wanna get the place as fiery as possible up here to wake up the big boys underground, and-”

Sharky stopped in his tracks, eyeing the backpack he’d just been in the process of unzipping.

“-uhh.”

“Uhh?”

“Hurky, can I be real with you?”

“Is now the best time for a deep and meaningful?” Hurk hissed, crawling toward him nonetheless.

The arsonist stuck his hand down the pack, rifling through fluff and mesh. “I, uh, I think I brought the wrong bag. And by think I mean know without a shadow of a doubt.”

Hurk watched as his cousin tugged the green, furry headpiece of a dragon out into the open.

“You brought-...”

“I brought my fursuit.”

“Not the C-4?”

“Not the C-4.”

“Okay, bro. That's fine. I'm not mad. Human error. Not even a little bit?”

Sharky checked again, just for good measure. “Nope...so, uhm...you got a match?”

Hurk ran a hank through his hair. “Not to poo poo your ideas, but that probably ain’t the best move.”

So just like that, they were fucked.

Jess and Grace still hadn’t come back. The others were nowhere to be seen. Shorty was holed up in that church, and he and Hurk were about to be rounded up by born-again virgins.

Shit, if that were the case -

“Well, if this is gonna be the last opportunity.” Sharky grunted, tugging the suit out and unzipping the back. “May as well enjoy our last minutes of freedom, huh?”

Hurk took the cue, creeping across the destroyed shop floor and reaching for a popped bag of pretzels. He sat back against the wall, leaning against the rocket launcher he’d propped up against the corner.

“Man.” The brunette sighed, staring at the floor. “If only we had some other kind of ranged, explosive device.”

“No shit.” Sharky agreed. “Some high velocity shit would fix this.”

They exchanged a sympathetic look once the arsonist had zipped himself up and crept over and sit beside his cousin, both leaning on either side of the RPG.

Hurk held out the bag.

“Pretzel?”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“Was that so bad?” John asked, placing the tattoo gun aside and framing the Deputy’s marked chest. ’WRATH', in true black, beading with blood. The skin surrounding the text was mottled and inflamed. Excess ink covered the area in patches, gathering in the dip of her cleavage, disappearing beneath her sports bra.

All that sin, already leaking out through the exit he’d made for her.

Gorgeous.

Cora didn’t respond. That was fine. Shock was normal. She’d thank him once this was all over. For now, she just trembled, lock jawed, dissociated gaze searching what John had thought was him until he sat up. No, instead she was watching the ceiling.

John flashed a smile, blocking out a tiny streak of dread at the sight of the woman so vacant. Sweeping a lock of stained hair over her shoulder, he smoothed his fingers past her neck, attempting to gently angle her focus back to him. “Hey. You can come back now. We’re all done.”

You're finally on the other side. React to it. React to me. Look at me-

The boom came first, hollow and deep, and John felt the floor beneath him rumble. Chandeliers and decorations wobbled from the disturbance. Several of his followers shot from their seats, immediately abandoning the Resistance leaders they’d guarded in favour of pacing back and forth, trying to get a look at whatever was happening outside.

“Is this it?”

“Is it the Collapse?”

“It’s time?”

“John, is it the Collapse?”

The panic escalated quickly, forcing the Baptist to break his attention away from the empty woman below him and rein in the flock.

“Calm down.” He exclaimed, “It’s not the Collapse. It’s probably just-”

Another boom. Almost deafeningly loud.

This time, the whole church shook. Windows shattered in their creaking panes and smashed to the floor while pews squealed heavily in protest.

Contrary to his assertion, John dove down, covering the Deputy with his body. Holy shit, was it the Collapse?

The tremor must have been enough to snap Cora out of her trance, because a muffled “Get your tits out of my face.” buzzed against John’s chest.

Tragically, however, the Baptist never got the opportunity to reply to her. Had it not been for the fucking tennis shoe colliding with the side of his skull, he imagined he’d have something very clever to say. Alas, pain shot through his head and he jerked to the side, fighting against the blow to stay put. A snarl from Mary May, his apparent attacker, sounded in retaliation. She dove into him, knee driving into his ribs, throwing him off of the Deputy.

His thoughts left him for the briefest moment, overtaken by ensuing gunshots and shouts and the shrieks of the bartender as she was clawed away from him. Her hand shot forward right as she was yanked up, intended as a punch. It didn’t land, and John couldn’t help but shoot her a smirk for her failure.

“Deputy, gun!”

Nevermind. It wasn’t a punch after all. Mary May had been pointing over his shoulder at the revolver that had been surrendered on the floor. His revolver. The same one Cora was now scrambling toward.

No.

John lurched, heart leaping into his throat.

Not now. Not after he’d won. Not when they were so close.

His hand found the leg of Cora’s pants, wrenching, pulling her away from the weapon, and she kicked against him. Her finger tips slid against the barrel of the revolver, tugging it into her palm.

God wouldn’t fucking undo his victory.

John snarled, catching the Deputy’s wrist when she tried to aim - at him no less. Without her own recovery time achieved, he was able to wrestle the weapon from her easily enough, flattening her struggling body beneath his just long enough to hook an arm around her waist. He twisted around, holding the woman’s back against his belly. Her squirming ceased with the press of the muzzle against her head, and the moment her allies had taken notice of the change, everything went still.

Finally.

A little civility.

Several of John’s followers lay on the floor, either dead or close to it. Only a half-dozen remained, though the pair of Chosen had survived and placed themselves closest to their leader.

Pastor Jerome had procured a handgun from within his own bible - something that pulled a breathless laugh out of John as he surveyed the others. Nick hadn’t been able to arm himself, but he’d still tackled one of the faithful to the ground. His knuckles were bloodied. A familiar sight. Mary May had wrestled a gun of her own away from the woman who’d seized her. She aimed it shakily at John.

Armed but outnumbered, outgunned, and now, they were in check.

They never learned, did they?

“The way you people behave, you’d think salvation was a bad thing.” John tittered. “Right. Now, let’s try this again. Atonement, or damnation.” To punctuate his meaning, he tapped the muzzle against Cora’s head. She grunted in protest, and he ignored her. Of course it was a bluff. No one else knew that but him, though. It was too risky a move for the Resistance to let him do away with the one person that banded their factions.

She was their leader. They couldn’t lose her.

John looked around the room once more, locking eyes with Jerome first - then Mary May. “Are we going to behave?”

The answer was immediate and clear: a gunshot cracking through the Baptist’s ears and the flash of a blast spilling from Mary May’s weapon. Cora’s elbow driving into his stomach and the reaction time of his Chosen snapping to attention, covering him, already hauling John out of the church and onto the street.

Fuck no, he wasn't leaving without his prize.

"GRAB HER!" John howled, struggling against the attempts to get him to safety. "Leave the rest!"

It was a reluctant effort, but the Deputy was yanked along as well, shoved into Johns arms on his repeated orders, with me, with me.

“Mary May, what the fuck!” The Deputy roared over her shoulder.

“Sorry Deputy! I missed!”

Missed?

“You sure about that? Jesus fucking Christ!”

More shots sounded, but only the noise pursued them from the building. It wasn’t until John had shoved Cora into the back of the waiting truck that he realised how warm his hand had gotten. Wet, too.

“Get to the ranch!” One of the Chosen snarled up front, casting a look back at the Baptist while the vehicle took off, watching as he peeled away from the blonde to inspect himself.

Blood.

He was bleeding. But where from? Barring the sting of his scabs and that kick to the head, nothing hurt. There were no wounds hiding under his sleeves or -

A hiss sounded from the Deputy beside him, curling in on herself.

Shit.

She hadn’t elbowed him.

“Cora-” John scrambled for her. "Cora, let me see."

“Told you not to call me that.” The Deputy grit out, kicking at him until she’d well and truly jammed herself into the corner of the seat and the car door. Her left hand gripped her right forearm, just below the elbow and to no avail. Crimson coated the skin on her side, encasing her arm completely and seeping through her fingertips.

She was bleeding. Not heavily, but steadily.

”Deputy.” John bit back, advancing. “You’re hurt. Let me help-”

Just like that, the kicking resumed. “Don’t touch me-DON’T FUCKING TOUCH ME-”

“For once in your fucking life, just relax!”

Only incomprehensible snarling came in response.

John rolled his jaw, brimming with as much irritation as he was adrenaline. The Resistance had made their choice. Regretful, but final. He’d gotten what he came for, and he wasn’t intending on losing her just because she was too stubborn to accept help.

He glanced at the revolver still in his grip. Then back at Cora, rotating the grip toward her. A threat. “Are you going to let me help, or am I going to have to calm you down?”

“Don’t you dare.” Her words came hoarse. She gave scowling a red hot go, but without the rationale to deny him, the Deputy lacked conviction. She exhaled. “Fuck it. We've done this enough already. You get ten minutes. Then you’re under arrest.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Her cheek twitched. A weak chuckle. The slightest flash of acknowledgement as she let him press his weight over her forearm. Thankfully, the wound wasn’t pulsing; nor was there a puncture wound. A gouged strip had been carved into her flesh where the bullet had grazed, but nothing vital seemed to have been struck.

“That - you can keep saying.”

"You're a flirt when you're in shock, Deputy." Had John not been too busy regulating about a dozen other emotions, he might have flushed at her words. For a moment, he just sat there, basking in the borderline friendliness on her face. Then, it occurred to him that they were among watchful company, and he cleared his throat, returning to his task.

Minutes passed. No more words were exchanged. Not until they’d passed the Rye and Son’s sign.

The Chosen in the front passenger’s seat looked over his shoulder, dismissing another over the radio before regarding the Baptist. “The Resistance isn’t making ground. The faithful are still rounding up stragglers, and we’ve taken casualties, but numbers are looking strong. Medic will meet you at the ranch, John. We can deliver our newest sister to the Gate while you recover.”

John inclined his head. “Much obliged. We need this one to stay with us until she’s completed her vows. She can’t be trusted unsupervised, but I won’t put the responsibility of containing her back on our people again.” He looked to Cora, then. Her face had run pale and she’d gone clammy, but she remained upright. Just...woozy. Pacified, for now.

He’d got what he came for. Fuck the rest.

“I have something to say.” The blonde announced, swaying against John’s arm. “I know why Mary May shot me.”

“This another one of your jokes?” John deadpanned.

“This one’s funny, I swear.”

“...go on, then.”

“It’s because I never tip.”

For a moment, Cora looked very satisfied with herself. Then, she retched, slumping forward into the Baptist’s lap when he instinctually jolted out of the potential line of fire. He hurried to steady her, keeping tight hold over her wound, and grimaced while the noise escaped her a second time.

Thank God nothing came out; his shoes would’ve been the first to know about it.

The Deputy didn’t sit back up.

That was fine. So long as she wasn’t dead. So long as she wasn’t fighting back.

“It’s all the sin escaping you.” John explained, off-handed, when a complaining grunt sounded below. “Evil being expelled from your body. You’ll feel better soon.”

“Pretty sure it’s my blood pressure, actually. Soon as I’m good again, you’re history.”

When one disregarded the fact that she’d had a gun trained on him earlier - and the blood drying uncomfortably on his clothes - and the persistent pounding of a headache from Mary May’s heel, this was almost pleasant. The quiet roads. The Deputy, all but atoned with her head on his thigh. Not fighting back. Conceding defeat. Peaceful.

He got what he came for.

He’d won.

He was saved.

Passing his thumb over Cora’s ribs, John’s attention was pulled back to the old ink peeking out from beneath the band of her top. Text, blurred and flattened enough to be years old, and too obscured to decipher.

“Thought I’d be your first.” The brunette murmured.

“Jealous?”

Yes.

“Don’t be ridiculous. What’s it say?”

“‘The Mountains Are Calling’.”

A sickening wave of dread passed over the Baptist. The rock forming in his throat, icy and bitter and seizing him against any reply.

The mountains are calling.

Jacob. Joseph. The Trials. Atonement wasn’t the final step. Handing her over to his brothers was the final step.

He got what he came for, but the woman in his arms wasn’t the trophy intended for him.

He was saved. He’d redeemed himself. He’d completed his task and Joseph would permit him beyond the gates. That was all he was supposed to do. That was enough.

That had to be enough.

“‘And I Must Go’.” John completed quietly.

Cora tilted her head a little, not quite looking at him - almost like she was trying not to. “You know John Muir.”

“Not enough to warrant a photo on the bedside table.”

“Shut up.”

There was nothing convincing about the chuckle he offered. He was too busy observing her, studying the side of her face. Committing her to memory as if he hadn’t spent years acquainting himself with every spot and micro-expression.

“Maybe working for you will be bearable.” She murmured, and John’s heart only sank further. "If I don't manage to arrest you."

The mountains are calling.

She still had no idea that all the promises he’d made her had been fabricated. That she wouldn’t be staying. That he’d lied to her.

The mountains were calling. In a few days time, she’d know it. She’d despise him. She’d be taken off his hands and he’d assume his regular duties once again.

He’d saved both of them.

Cora’s thumb absently grazed back and forth on his knee. Ignorant. “Can I ask something?”

It took everything in him not to mirror the action against her skin.

“Of course.”

“Can I start next Monday?”

"What happened to you being such a workaholic?"

"To be honest with you, I'm really fucking tired."

She’d be incredible. Jacob would love her. Joseph would be proud. John had accomplished something near-impossible for his family, and even if the Deputy hated him - even if she forgot him entirely, he was content with the knowledge that he’d have brought her to salvation.

Even if they never saw each other again, he’d know that she’d passed through the gates. That she’d climb to the surface once the world had been scorched clean. She’d rebuild, and marry, and have children, and he’d do the same.

Hopeful anticipation and the agony of longing had never felt so similar before.

“Fine.” John smiled, giving in, sliding his fingers up her arm and coaxing a stray lock of hair out of her face. There were no promises he’d be able to do it again after this. “But on one condition.”

“What?”

“Spend those days with me.”

Cora stirred, angling to peer up at him out of the corner of her eye. She smiled crookedly.

“Deal.”

#far cry 5 #john seed #cora stammos #far cry 5 fanfic #far cry 5 oc #john seed x female deputy #all hail cora's big fucking muscles #no beta we die like men

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impala1967dwinchester · 4 years

Text

Dean Winchester: Embrace (Request)

*Not my gif*

Paring: Dean X Reader

Pov: Reader

Warnings: comfort from dean, hunt gone wrong, reader crying, LOTS OF HUGS, mentions of Sam (Briefly)

Summary: The reader come back from a hunt gone very wrong, and all she want is to be in Dean’s arms tonight. Once she makes it to the bunker, she falls into dean’s arms, not being able to keep it together anymore.

Word Count: 2k

Masterlist

Tag list: @akshi8278, @deanswaywardgirl

This was supposed to be an easy hunt. One and done type of thing, but that ended shortly after I got to the motel. Dean and Sam already out on a hunt, I decide that it wouldn’t hurt anyone if I went out on my own.

Shooting Dean, a quick message. “Dean, there’s a hunt about an hour away from the bunker. It involves kids, so I’m packed up and leaving in 5. Love Ya.” I sent the message stuffing my phone in my back pocket.

Buzzing I pulled it out seeing a message from Dean “Ugh, I wish you weren’t going by yourself, but I understand it involves kids. Be safe and text me when you get to the motel. Love Ya sweetheart.” Well, that had gone by much easier than previously thought.

So, throwing my bag in the passenger seat of on the many cars I drove off to the motel. According to the article children were going missing in the local town. The thought of so many parents being scared and missing their children was eating at me, so I thought I’d at least try to help.

Quickly I learned that kids were disappearing, most disappeared near an old shut down mental asylum. Something about kids and wanting to search places that clearly had “DO NOT ENTER” signs on them.

It was still early in the afternoon so I made my way over to the parents of the latest missing child. They wore worried expression on their faces as they say the quick flip of the F.B.I badge.

In short, they had said that their son had gone out with a few of his friends. Riding bikes and being a destructive teenage boy. For a few moments the image of Dean being that way crossed my mind, internal smiling at the thought.

I had figured that it was probably a ghost based on the rather odd story the parents retold me. Saying that their son had told them about how the light were flickering and, all the sudden it was really cold in the asylum. It’s the middle of summer, so cold spots are definitely more prominent.

When I made it back to the motel, I made quick work of trying to figure out where the old mental asylum was, grabbing way to cups of coffee, and junk food from the vending machines I worked until at least twelve in the morning.

I hadn’t ever realized how much the Sam and Dean’s help was. It was nice to have a tech nerd at your disposal, and a heater next to you in bed every night. Once I had fallen asleep at the dirty small kitchen table in the motel, I thought it best to move to the bed and text Dean.

“Hey baby, I made to the motel a while ago. You know me got caught up in trying to help. Fell asleep trying to research going to sleep now. Good night baby, Love Ya.” I sent before plugging it in to its charger and falling into a deep sleep.

When I awake the next morning, I looked over to my phone seeing a new message from Dean. “Sleep well sweetheart. We will be home today, keep me in the loop. Can’t wait to see you.” He messaged with a winky face at the end.

Rolling my eyes, I got out of the crappy, not memory foam bed. Hearing the slightly creaks and cracks of my bones. Thinking that it would probably useless if i grabbed a shower before going on a hunt, so I opted to grab one of deans stolen flannels, my pants, and my boots.

Once I was officially ready for the day, I went right back into researching. Finally, hours later I had found an old document that just so happened to have to the address of the mental asylum.

It was a picture of a few nurses, a doctor standing proud in the back, and a gaggle of children in front of the nurses. Around the doctors' neck hung a stethoscope. It read at the bottom of the picture

‘Doctor Ethan Zingler, Nurse Betty, Nurse Lewis, Nurse Andrea, with the many mentally insane children. Doctor Zingler holding his prized possession his stethoscope.’ “Fuck yes” I screamed. Damn that was dumb luck.

Quickly grabbing the car keys, I slammed the motel door, making my way over to the car. Again, I shot him another text, “Alright, found the address for this place. Should be an easy fix. Be home soon, Love Ya.” Sending it before starting to pull out of the parking lot.

When I made it to the mental asylum, the gates lock was broken making it much easier for me. Making my way into the mental asylum it was quiet, giving me an uneasy feeling. A scream grabbing my attention, but when I made it their nothing, nothing was there.

As I walked around more, trying to find these lost kids. Turning around at one point, I saw a figure of a decomposed older women. Her white nurses outfit torn at her heart, all the sudden instead of staring at me she was full speed running.

Cutting into one room I lost her, standing there for a minute. Re thinking everything that I looked up, and the parents had told me. It clicked it was ghosts, they were ghouls. This means that everything I had on me wasn’t going to work.

Hearing the should of many children screaming at once, I ran towards it. I saw the Doctor his stethoscope wrapped around the necks of one of the children, I ran in trying to get a shot in, but before I could I had they two other nurses hold me down, one trying to stick me with a needle. The other had her very decade hand around my neck.

I watched every single missing child be killed in front of my eyes, once the doctor was done, he turned looking at the two nurses. They let me go and he slow staked over to me, his hand covering my mouth. I reached down in a quick and swift motion grabbing a long machete knife I had attached to the loops of my pants. In two swift movements I sliced the heads of the nurses off. Looking over at the once respected doctor I chopped his head, it landing on the ground.

Swiping the blade over my thigh, I slipped it back into its case. I walked out of the asylum flipping it the finger. Getting into the car, it was starting to hit me, that I had watched at least 3 kids murdered in front of me. I was here to fix this, to bring them home safely.

I drove, no music, no running thoughts in my mind. I just drove, when I finally made it back to the motel, I grabbed a quick shower, trying to wipe away the images of them dying, trying not to cry. “Y/n you’re a big girl. You’re a hunter, fuck you’re with a Winchester get it together.” I said to myself.

“Hey baby, how is everything? I haven't heard anything in a while. Sam says that I should stop worrying, but you’re my girl. Text me back please.” Dean messaged me.

Climbing out of the bathroom, I grabbed my phone, my arms barely keeping the towel wrapped around my chest. “Everything is fine. I’m okay honey. I will be home tops 2 hours, Love Ya.” I sent him back.

If I broke down now, here, I’d never be able to leave. I need to get dress, I need to get home, I need Dean, now. Wrapping another stolen Dean flannel around me, I could just barely smell his leather, and whiskey cologne on his shirt, I pulled up my sweats.

Grabbing the rest of my stuff, and throw it into the passenger seat. I walked down to the front desk; I gave to women her keys back. Starting the engine to the car this time I turned the radio on, finding a station that reminded me of Dean. “80′s rock coming your way. Now playing ‘AC/DC Back in black” Taking a deep inhale I back out and drove down the street, radio blasting and windows down.

“Can’t wait to see you sweetheart!” Dean sent a message as I inched closer and closer to the bunker. Finally, I slowed down and drove down the darkly lite drive way that led to the bunkers garage. As I inched closer, I started to break down, I didn’t want to be a disappointment. I didn’t want Dean, or Sam to see me as a failure.

I could feel the prickle of tears wanting to escape from my eyes, but shook my head and pushed them back in. As I parked the car, I only grabbed my phone, not really in the mood to look or see anything hunting wise.

Slowly I made my way to the garage door. Stopping as my hand made contact with the cold handle. I reached for a deep breathe, and opened the door. Conversation still going on, I walked past the library hearing both Sam and Dean call my name.

But the idea of facing them, after everything was too much. I heard the scratch of the wooden chair against the floor. I walked into Deans and I shared room, plopping onto the memory foam bed.

I heard the bedroom door, slowly open “Y/n?” Dean’s voice bounced off the cinder block room. “Y/n? Are you okay?” He said shutting our bedroom door. “Y/n? Are you hurt? If you’re hurt, I can fix you up, but... but you’ve got to tell me.” He said coming closer to me.

My breathing becoming harder for me to control. Deans hand landing on my hips first. “Y/n please look at me. You’re scaring me.” I couldn’t take it anymore, I moved quickly making Dean lose a bit of balance before his hand wrapped around my mid-section.

A breath that I didn’t realize I was holding came out, “It’s okay, you can just cry. I’ve got you, sweetheart.” Dean said rubbing circles into my back. “You’ve got me Y/n. You just tell me what happened okay, let me known that us Winchester deal making didn’t rub off on you.” He said a little chuckle at the end.

“De... Dean I’m so stupid. I let 5 kids die because I di... didn’t know what I was hunting. I watched the gho..uls kill them. De... Dean Please just hold me. Please don’t thi.. think of me any different.” I said, a few hiccups interrupting me from finishing my sentences.

I felt Dean take a deep inhale, before speaking, “Damn, Y/n why.. You know what you’re so resilient, so brave, you’re no where to being stupid. Me and Sam got the covered for you. It’s okay, I’m so fucking sorry that I wasn’t with you, I’m sorry, but I’m tell you’

He said pulling me away from his shoulder. Lightly touching my chin, bring my attention to him. Our eye making contact. ‘Y/n I’m telling you that you couldn’t have done anything more then you did. You’re an amazing hunter, an amazing person, you’re prefect Y/n. I don’t to ever hear you say that you’re stupid, or that you think me or Sam will think of you differently because we just won’t. I love you baby” Dean said.

I reached up to kiss lips, a small, sparked filled kissed. It was as if that kiss was an okay for me. The okay that Dean was being true with me. “Dean, can.. can we just lay together please? I don’t want to let you go just yet” I asked.

He gave me short smile, and shook his head ‘yes’. “I love you, sweetheart. Get some rest.” He said kissing my temple, “Love Ya too De.” I said before the tiredness of crying and the beat of Dean’s heart lulled me into a deep and warm sleep.

Completed 02/27/2021

#dean winchester #dean winchester fanfiction #dean fanfic #dean fanfiction #dean x reader #dean x y/n #dean x you #dean #supernatural #supernatural fanfiction #Supernatural fanfic #supernatural fic #supernatural x reader #dean x female!reader #deangirl #request

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ronnie-azumane · 3 years

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Flower Rings

Hello everyone! I'm here with another Anisylum collab! This is the first time writing for my OG anime husband, so please go easy on me. But yeah! I hope y'all enjoy and check out the other works from the other creators participating!

CW: Abuse/beating, fluffy hurt/comfort, ATTACK ON TITAN MANGA SPOILERS, mentions of trauma, suicide, and death.

Life in the ghetto wasn’t a walk in the park. Sure, life could be worse, (Y/N) could be going hungry at night, slowly turning into skin and bones. (Y/N) could be shivering the night away in a flimsy tent with a single blanket to keep warm.

Although it’s a little hard to be grateful for what you have when it feels like the oppressor is always watching your every move.

It doesn’t take a genius to see the lack of justice in these ghettos provided by the Marleyan regime, however, young (Y/N) didn’t pay attention to her oppressors as much, they’re only a child after all. Why would they even want to be concerned about politics when the neighbors are playing a game of kickball?

Almost like clockwork, every week at precisely 5pm, the children born in the ghetto would gather in a courtyard and play kickball, with the ball being an old ball accidentally thrown over the fence years ago and the bases marked by old linens.

Kids of all ages gathered as usual at the court yard to divide out the teams and begin their game of ball. (Y/N) wasn’t the youngest there, but at seven years old, they were still young and scrawny, so it was no surprise that (Y/N) was one of the last ones picked.

(Y/N) sighed in relief, however, when they saw that Reiner was on their team. Reiner was three years older than (Y/N), and pretty much tied to their hip. Since both their mothers were friends growing up, they always had playdates together, playing with various figures and creating these elaborate plots to go along with them.

“We’re on the same team? Yes!” Reiner celebrates, jumping around excitedly as any ten year old would.

“You’re only celebrating because you’re too chicken to face me,” (Y/N) teased, sticking their tongue out.

A succession of ‘am not’s and ‘am to’s was promptly stopped when one of the older kids shouted that the game was about to start. Team Black would be kicking first while Team White would pitch.

(Y/N)’s favorite part of the game was kicking, so finding out that the Black Team was kicking first was music to their ears. They ran to the line, getting as close to the front as they could. Reiner held back, as he preferred catching the ball and running fast to get someone out.

(Y/N) was finally up to kick. Team Black had an out and kids on second and third base. If they scored, their team would get their first point.

The ball bounced a slight bit as it made its way toward (Y/N). (Y/N) wound back their leg and hit the ball back, aiming in between the second and third base. The ball flew and (Y/N) sprinted to first base.

What (Y/N) failed to realize was that Jameson, the eight year old boy that had a personal goal of making every day miserable for (Y/N), was waiting by first base.

As they ran toward the base, Jameson positioned himself to where his foot would ‘accidently’ get in the way of (Y/N)’s footing. Sure enough, (Y/N) stepped on his foot, causing them to lose their balance and fall to the ground before hitting the base.

“What the hell, (Y/N), you stepped on my foot!” Jameson shouted, landing a kick in (Y/N)’s side. (Y/N) yelped in pain as they curled into themself.

“You put your foot there on purpose,” (Y/N) sniffled as pain-filled tears leaked from their eyes.

“So what if I did? You still should have avoided it,” Jameson landed another kick to their side.

Reiner, who was zoned out looking at a bee buzzing around, snapped back to reality when he heard (Y/N) yelp in pain in the distance. Before he could think, he found himself running over to the two and punching Jameson square in the face.

Before Jameson could retaliate, Reiner picked up (Y/N) from the ground and ran away from the game, carrying them on his back. Deciding it was not worth the effort, Jameson let them run off as he got back to his game, but not before the team captain of the day switched him to outfield as punishment.

With (Y/N) on his back, Reiner ran to their self proclaimed happy place, if you could call anywhere in the ghetto happy. Near the entrance gate, there was a patch of grass where wildflowers grow, giving them a taste of the natural world that was unknown to them within the walls of the ghetto. He set them down and plopped next to their shuttering frame.

“How are you feeling, (Y/N), are you hurt? Do we need to go to the doctor?” Reiner asked.

“I’m hurt, but I don’t want to go to the doctor.”

“Are you still afraid that the doctor is going to give you a shot?” Reiner teased.

“Shut up! Needles are scary!” (Y/N) whined, causing Reiner to giggle.

Soon enough, the pain in (Y/N)’s side began to fade, and they focused themselves on making a flower crown while Reiner watched the Marleyan soldiers outside the gate train.

“My mama wants me to be a warrior, but I’m not too sure that's what I want to do,” Reiner sighed, lying all the way back on his back.

“How come? Isn’t becoming a warrior one of the best things an Eldian can do for Marley?” (Y/N) asked.

“Yeah, but that would mean I would have to work really hard, while buttheads like Jameson would get to play and make fun of you. It wouldn’t be fair!”

“Why are boys like Jameson so mean anyway? My mommy told me that it just meant that he liked me, but why would someone be mean to someone they liked?” (Y/N) asked.

“Is that a thing?” Reiner asks.

“That’s what mommy says,” (Y/N) finished their flower crown and unceremoniously flopped it onto Reiner’s head, earning a giggle from him. “I wouldn’t want to marry a guy like Jameson, I would want to marry a guy like you, Reiner, who’s nice to me.”

“Then how about we make a promise?” Reiner asked.

“A promise?”

“Yeah, like, we promise to marry each other now, and once we get big we actually do it?” Reiner’s cheeks were now bright red.

“Yeah! I like that! I promise to marry you, Reiner,” (Y/N) extended a pinky out.

Reiner crudely plucked a flower from the ground and tied the stem around (Y/N)’s finger. Reiner’s fingers were chubby and unskilled, so the flower ring didn’t turn out as pretty as the crown, yet (Y/N) still stared at it.

“And I promise to marry you, (Y/N).”

XXX

Reiner ended up joining the Warriors a few years later, to the dismay of (Y/N). The flower ring had since shriveled up beyond repair, but (Y/N) refused to let go of their promise, thinking that if the flower stayed in their possession, it would guarantee Reiner’s safe return home.

However, the mission that was estimated to take the four warriors a year or two to complete turned into a major failure with rumors stating that only one of them was making it home. However, (Y/N) didn’t have the time to mourn her lost friend, Marley was still causing conflict in both the battle front and the home front.

It wouldn’t be until after the Rumbling ended when (Y/N) would meet up with Reiner again. He was in the area negotiating peace with some other nations, and decided a late lunch and catch-up session with his childhood friend was in order.

“So, how was going through puberty like on an island without modern medicine?” (Y/N) asked shamelessly.

“What happened to hello?” Reiner asked, causing (Y/N) to erupt in laughter.

“I’m just sad I didn’t get to witness voice-crack Reiner,” (Y/N) wiped a tear from their eye, causing Reiner to groan.

They then began to catch up, retelling all their experiences from the past thirteen years. Reiner went into detail as to what it was like training with the man who almost killed all of humanity, his trauma, and even his suicide attempt while (Y/N) retold moments of agony in the ghetto, their dad getting drafted for one of the countless wars, and even confessed that they and Jameson dated at one point.

“You! And him!” Reiner stuttered.

“Apparently my mom was right, Jameson pretended he hated me because he couldn’t decipher his own feelings. Dumped his ass a while ago though, he started spending all his money on alcohol.”

“So I’m assuming you’re not seeing anyone?” Reiner asked.

“Not at the moment, why do you ask?”

“Well, (Y/N), I may have had ulterior motives to this lunch,” Reiner pulled out a small box from his pocket and set it on the table, inviting (Y/N) to open it up. Inside was a ring, with the centerpiece shaped as the flower that he tied onto (Y/N)’s finger all those years ago.

“What is this?” (Y/N) stuttered.

“You probably don’t remember, but one day, I gave you a flower ring with a promise. I’m sure it’s long gone by now.”

“Yeah, lost it in the rumbling. Are you really proposing to me right now?”

“No no no! This is just a reminder of that promise we made that afternoon. That promise helped me push through all the hardships I faced,” Reiner flailed his arms a bit, getting slightly flustered.

“So, a promise ring?”

“I promised I’d marry you, didn’t I?” Reiner asked as he pulled out his pinky. Smiling, (Y/N) slipped on the ring and interlocked their pinky with his.

“You did, Reiner, you did.”

#attack on titan #aot #aot spoilers #reiner x y/n #reiner braun #reiner x reader #reader insert #attack on titan x reader #h/c #server collab #I tried my best but classes start tomorrow and I'm lowkey nervous

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farfromsugafanfic · 3 years

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Sutures - Chapter 12: Cardioplegia

Genre: Soulmates AU, Idiots to Lovers, slight Enemies to Lovers

Pairing: Yoongi/Named Reader

Warnings (chapter specific): mentions of family member death, medical procedures, ANGST, hospitalization, references to memory loss

Synopsis: “A person often meets his destiny on the road he took to avoid it.” –Jean de la Fontaine

There was only one thing you and Min Yoongi had in common that night. You were both brokenhearted. You only intended to be together for one night, but when you both end up in the hospital the next day you discover that you are soulmates. It could kill you to be apart. As you and Yoongi attempt to sever the bond between you, will another be formed?

Note: Before y’all demand my head on a stick for this ending, please note that there is an epilogue and bonus part still to come.

Previous | Series Masterlist | Next

"Min Yoongi? Jang Sumi?" the doctor asked, carrying a clipboard in his hand. "So, I hear you have some concerns you need to discuss with me?"

You recognized the doctor from when you'd ended up in the hospital after the night you met Yoongi. He seemed to be the only soulmate bonding specialist in the whole city and your stomach turned. You wanted your needles.

"Yes," Yoongi said. "You see, an urgent family matter has come up for Sumi and she has to fly to the US as soon as possible." The doctor nodded. "The issue is that due to my schedule, I can't go with her. I know you said there were exemptions for work, do you think this would cover that?"

"It's hard to know," the doctor said. "It's possible you would have no problems as the conflict involves your work. But, for Sumi, there's nothing obligating her beyond the love for her family. I fear it would be risky. We wouldn't know until Sumi is on the plane and if you both have a reaction, it's likely Sumi wouldn't be able to get to a hospital in time."

"Then, no," Yoongi said. "What are the other options?"

"Wait," you said, touching Yoongi's bicep lightly. "What are the chances I have a reaction on the plane?"

"I'd say a 70% chance you react, 30% you don't. If it'd been over a year since you'd met, it would probably be 50/50. As the years go by, reactions become less likely. At least in the limited experience and research, we have from soulmate couples. Every couple is different."

"I'm willing to take the chance. Maybe we could hire a doctor to fly with me--"

Yoongi's hand shot to grip your thigh cutting off your words as your jeans rubbed against your skin where his fingertips touched. Even with the fabric between his skin and yours, it still felt like sitting too close to a fire. The sparks flying just over your head.

The doctor arched his eyebrow. "There aren't a ton of options. We are researching drugs right now to help curb reactions in situations like this, but since the reactions are individualized in some ways, it makes it hard to develop one drug that will work for all."

"I can come with you," Yoongi said, "It's the only option." You saw in the way his lips were in a slight frown that his thoughts were racing. His voice quieted. "And you'll need me."

"Yoongi, I-I don't know how long I'm going stay. You can't stay forever and I might."

Yoongi's eyebrows rose as his lips fell into a frown. "You want to stay?"

You felt the atmosphere lose color. The vibrant scene slowly turning black and white. Yoongi's hand still rested on your leg like it belonged there.

"I could teach Korean. Do translation work. I don't know. But, I miss my family and knowing things can happen so quickly and I could lose them, I just..." Unlike all the other times, there were no tears. You couldn't cry over this. You wanted to cry, grab the closest objects and fling them at the wall until they dented it, or at least chipped the paint. You wanted to grab Yoongi and kiss him, tear off his shirt, pull on his hair. But you couldn't. The only thing you could do was sit and listen to the doctor say you had to choose.

"Can we talk about this privately?"

"Before you make any decisions," the doctor said. "I should inform you that we have been working on an experimental cure. We haven't tested it on any human subjects yet, but we could use you if you consent. We can't guarantee it will work, but if it does, it would solve your problems. We don't know what side effects would be, but we would keep you for 24 hours for monitoring."

"Is it safe?"

"We believe it is. We've done animal trials and while they don't have soulmate connections like you do, they have not shown any side effects that we're concerned about." The doctor stood up to leave. "I'll give you some time. I know this isn't an easy decision, so take your time."

Once the door closed, you and Yoongi turned towards each other, your knees knocking together. His hands found yours, but you felt his gaze on your face which was angled downward, your eyes focusing on the way his thumb moved slowly over your knuckles.

"Yoongi, I don't know what to do. I need to see my grandma. I wish this wasn't so complicated and I'm scared cause what if the cure doesn't work or it gives us weird side effects. I mean, technically we could die. Yoongi, what do I do? I'm gonna lose my grandma. I-I don't want to lose you too."

"Hey, hey," he said, letting go of your heads and pulling you into his chest. You heard his heart beating against your ear and how his fingers shook slightly as he ran them over your hair. "It's going to be okay. Let's just think about this."

He was silent for a few moments. You didn't even hear the doctors and nurses rushing past the room or the beat of your hearts.

"We were working to sever this anyway. We won't lose each other. I'll still be here for you. You can still call or visit. I'm just concerned if something bad happens with the cure. Are you willing to risk everything for your grandmother?"

"Yes, of course."

“Then, we'll try it. I want you to be happy, Sumi. I want you to be able to see your grandmother, okay?"

You nodded. "Are you sure this is what you want?"

"If it's what you want, then I'm sure."

"Yoongi, I'm sorry. I know you--"

"Shh," he said, smoothing down your hair and bunching it up and curling it around his fingers. "Let's just enjoy this last moment, yeah?"

You burrowed into Yoongi's chest. You would truly miss his warmth, the way his heart beat in time with yours, how he noticed when you were anxious, and handed you your needles. You weren't sure someone like him would ever walk into your life again. And here you were, allowing him to walk out.

---

"Thanks for coming," the doctor said, nodding towards Namjoon and Eunji who stood off to the side, sharing furrowed brows and concerned glances between you and Yoongi. "Since we don't exactly know what state they'll be in after this we want to make sure they have someone to look after them after."

While the doctor continued explaining worrisome symptoms and aftercare protocol, Yoongi turned towards you and grabbed your hand, slipping a folded piece of paper into it. You flashed him an odd look before pulling your hand away and unfolding the paper, finding a plane ticket to Los Angeles.

"I've made the arrangements. If you miss that flight, I'll get you on the next."

"Yoongi, you didn't--"

"Yeah, I did. Now, you don't have to worry, okay?

The doctor finished talking to Namjoon and Eunji and turned towards you. "Are you ready? We need to induce a reaction for this to work, so I've made arrangements for one of you to receive the treatment at another hospital nearby. Which one--"

"I'll go." Yoongi got off the bed and met your eyes. You'd already said goodbye, but it didn't feel like enough. There was a chance one or both of you could die. That it wouldn't work at all. There was an even greater chance that it would work and all the things you felt for the man in front of you would dissipate like fog in the afternoon.

You'd miss the way you longed to run your hands through his hair. How your stomach flipped when he smiled at you or the way you felt his touch linger long after he pulled away. The way he could calm you with just a look or how he allowed you to fiddle with his fingers when you didn't have your needles.

"Bye, Sumi. Call me whenever you need to, okay?"

You nodded and clasped your hands together tightly. He leaned forward and pressed his lips gently to your forehead and left the room before he could look back.

Namjoon met your eyes and offered a sad smile. "Take care, Sumi."

"You too, Namjoon."

Namjoon followed after Yoongi and it was just you, Eunji, and the doctor. "Once her symptoms begin, we'll administer the cure. We'll then just monitor her for any reaction and go from there."

Ten minutes later, it started. You felt the tightness in your chest, sweat pricking at your hairline, and your legs were restless, wanting to move wherever Yoongi was.

"Eunji, hold her hands, help keep her still."

Eunji was hesitant, but she walked over and held your arms flat against the bed. "It's gonna be okay, Sumi. Just breathe, okay? Just keep breathing."

You flinched as you felt the needle in your arm and fluid spilling into your bloodstream. It was hot--not hot enough to burn--but almost. Your heart slowed, but your breathing didn't catch up.

"Sumi, how are you feeling? Are you okay?" the doctor asked. You could vaguely make out the two figures hovering over you. Your vision went black around the edges and your legs went numb. You felt yourself falling and the two figures became smaller and smaller.

---

You woke up. White sheets surrounded you and the room was dark except for the light peeking in from the hallway outside. You heard Eunji in the hallway. It sounded like she was talking on the phone as you didn't hear another voice.

"What do you mean, Namjoon?" Her voice sounded distressed. Worried.

You glanced down at the IV in your arm. Your head hurt and you couldn't remember why you were here or how you got there. How long had you been here?

"He-he's okay, though? I mean, other than--"

Eunji's voice was now hushed. You strained to hear, but the machines connected to you began to beep. Eunji rushed back into the room, flipping on the light.

"Sumi!" Before you could blink she had her head pressed to your chest and was hugging you the best she could without disturbing all the needles and cords attached to your body. "When you passed out I thought you were going to die and I didn't know what was going to do without my best friend."

"Eunji--what--what happened? Who's Namjoon?"

Eunji's face fell. "Oh, uh, that's not important. Let me get the doctor."

---

The doctor examined you. His eyes caught yours, a sad look crossing over them momentarily before he pulled away.

“You seem perfectly healthy," he said. "I'm going to discharge you, but if you start having odd symptoms of any kind get to an emergency room. Okay?"

You nodded, not fully understanding. "Wait, how long has it been? How long have I been here?"

"It's only been a few hours, why?"

"My grandma," you said. "I need to get to the airport and get a ticket and--"

Eunji reached into her purse and pulled out a slip of paper. "You have a ticket. The flight's in a few hours. If you hurry you can make it. I'll send your stuff along later."

"You didn't buy this, did you?"

"No, Yoo--you really don't remember?"

"Eunji, what aren't you telling me?"

Your friend glanced over at the doctor who mouthed something you couldn't make out.

"It's not important right now," Eunji said. "Come on, you need to get to the airport if you want to get to the airport on time."

---

"I'll miss you," you said, pulling Eunji in for a hug. "I'll call you when I can."

"Take it easy, okay? You just got out of the hospital."

"I still don't remember what happened, Eunji. Why can't just tell me? Was it an accident? I must've hit my head."

"The doctor thinks it'd be too stressful on you right now. Maybe I'll tell you someday, okay? Just go be with your grandma."

You nodded, even though you overflowed with questions, something made you feel at peace as you stepped onto the plane and into your window seat. Normally, this is when you'd begin feeling sick. You settled into your seat and pulled your flannel closer around you. You didn't remember owning a flannel with the sleeves cut off. It must be one of Minki's old ones that you'd stolen, but for some reason, it kept you calm as the plane rocketed off the runway and into the air.

THE END

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katsukikitten · 4 years

Text

Warnings College AU sexual and adult themes. Yall know the drill okay

Chapter 2

Bugzapper⚡💔: i have a proposition to make.

Jiro flashes Mina her phone as she sips iced coffee in the blessed air conditioning of the cafe.

"That's never a good sign." She comments, moon bright eyes glued to the phone as she thinks.

"What's not a good sign?" Uraraka asks from across the table, the two girls fill her in.

"Oh." She racks her brain on what that could be, "Okay well I'm dying to know, now."

🎵Music to my soul 🎶 : What do you want airhead?

Jiro's text sent a surge of excitement through Kaminari. It was exactly what he needed after three hours of begging and bribing Bakugou to allow the sorority in or at least invite them. His fingers fly across the screen setting up a date and time for a "meeting over lunch" to discuss the proposition in further detail.

Meanwhile across campus, you huff, eyes narrowed as a rare emotion is pulled from your fingertips in the form of deadly ice. Pulling the moisture from the air to freeze it or pulling any water towards you to keep your flank safe as your opponent rushes you at breakneck speeds.

You hated this fucking guy, cocky, brash, so God damn arrogant in the way he held himself, in the way he spoke. It made you nauseous just thinking of him.Had you known he was the male star of this university you wouldn't have transferred, yet you still needed to transfer didn't you? Anything to get out from under the shadow of a certain Todoroki.

No one cared to admit or to notice, that your quirk was different from Shoto's. You could manipulate water towards you to freeze, and manipulate whatever was already frozen. Your ice was denser and more durable than his and dare you say it colder than his too. Yet no one gave a shit, his was ice AND fire. You were just a one trick pony and a trick they already saw. Your opponent's taunting doesn't help matters much.

"I've already seen this before Ice Brat. Did ya forget where I fucking went to high school?" His hand heats the ice as he activates his quirk before three deafening blasts ring out.

As you allow him to break down the ice you act on pure rage, securing some revenge from the first time he signed your hair. Pointed icicles lie in wait and once the wall is fully down you give him a nasty smirk before sending the straight his way.

You're supposed to melt your weapons before they hit your opponent, neither of you are supposed to go all out per the professor's and college's strict rules in the athletics department but Bakugou always does. Somehow his big stupid mouth spews something that eggs you on. As if someone were shoving bamboo skewers beneath your skin, under your nails, sending you into an unheard of rage.

Normally you were as your quirk, icy, unbothered by the world but Bakugou, God you could wring his neck. Freeze his hot blood as you watch him turn into slush beneath your feet.

He expects you to abide by the rules, to splash him with glacier water but he realizes it too late. That you won't he let's off a quick blast, shattering two of the four deadly points. One grazes his cheek as he just barely dodges while the other lodges itself into his arm.

You have half a mind to twist it. You pull at his blood bringing it into your arsenal. Blood red needles and bullets surround Bakugou.

"I don't think you've seen this before.." You say darkly ready to release your hold and shred him into, give him a taste of his own medicine. Maybe he would see how bitter and nauseating he was. He smirks, opening his mouth to retort but you send your ice his way aiming for non vital spots although the ice creeps closer to your heart begging it to hit something vital. The inside of your ice palace begins to reek of burning sugar and spice, he plans to let out an explosion to bring this whole place down from the inside out.

Just as he is about to detonate and just as the blood and ice are about to pierce skin the professor bursts into the gym.

"I step out for five minutes and this is what happens?!"

The ice and blood return to liquid splashing across Bakugou as his skin pops. The professor takes in the damage from your ice and his explosions, still better controlled than most of his other students quirks.

"I gotta stop pairing these two together." He murmurs to himself before dismissing class. With a flick of your wrist the ice fortress melts, returning to the reservoir below the gym floor, ignoring the molten glare that is sent your way.

"You're such a bitch." Bakugou growls as you pass, flinging blood from his fingers as he wipes at his face. You offer him a fake pitying smile before heading into the women's locker room.

"Fucking asshole." You hiss, forcing the sight of his garnet gaze out of your mind. Instead turning your attention to your buzzing phone in your locker. It's a few missed calls and some texts in the girl's group chat. Briefly you wonder if you ever should have joined that stupid sorority, it was small, non toxic, and would look good should you need to transfer again.

Not only did you somehow get elected the president but you also became friends with the three other ladies despite your best efforts not too.

Mins: Prez we might have a way to save the sorority...lunch after you're done with training?

IceQueen ❄: Hope it's good, the Dean already put the house up for sale. Let me get ready and I'll be there shortly.

Mina presents her phone to the crowd around her, Kirishima, Denki, Sero, Jiro and Uraraka do a small celebration. Denki more so than anyone else, he knows the combined car washes will be more than enough to fix up the house, he also recently learned that you had the power of negotiation on your side. Having just listened to Mina retell the story of how you got free food for a month from a bar for yourself and your friends. And not from some sleaze who wanted to sleep with you either, no it was from the owner himself.

Denki is hopeful and so are the ladies indicating that this may be his best idea yet.

You arrive at the small bistro early, spying your party on the front patio. The three men had seen you in person before, they knew you were easy on the eyes but up close you were breathtaking. Manicured nails but nothing gaudy, normally nude or soft shades, light makeup, mascara at most as far as they could tell and your outfit was well put together. You were what the world called plus size but everyone else called thiccc. Your confidence oozing in your light blouse tucked into your black skinny jeans, uncaring that you had a pouch.

You needed that extra fat to keep from freezing by your own quirk. The only thing you needed society to worry about was your intelligence and your power.

Both were SSR ranked so what did you fucking care that your body was ranked lower. They were stupid in thinking you'd skimp power in the name of vanity.

You recognize everyone at the table and internalize the dread you're feeling. Scheming is afoot and you're the last to arrive. You can tell by their half finished drinks and picked over appetizer, still you sit and act unaware. Denki goes to hold out his hand first for a formal introduction causing a sly cat smile to settle over your glossy lips.

"No need, I'm aware of who the three of you are. Sero we share our lingual class, Denki, our chemistry class, and Kirishima we share two classes, world studies and villain hero theory. Truly a pleasure." You tell then your name before ordering something to drink from the lingering waitress. Sitting stick straight with your shoulders backs has the men mirroring you.

"Well ladies I take it the plan to save the sorority involves these fine gentlemen." You ask coolly and they nod. After a moment of silence Mina and Denki go to speak. Awkwardly encouraging the other to speak until Minai clears her throat.

"As you know they are a newly formed frat with Sero as their president. They moved into their house about a month ago and they say it is quite large. So they have invited us to move in."

"How do you propose we ask the college to have a co-ed house? What does this fraternity home even look like?" They knew you would be quick to ask questions Mina answers the first while Denki provides the answer to the second.

"Union and Diversity. Forming close relationships now to carry over into our hero careers."

"The house needs some work but looks a lot better than what it did." Denki shows you before and after pictures as you gesture for his phone. He passes you his electric yellow case with nervous hope tingling beneath his skin. You swipe through the photos.

"You boys did a great job on the outside. Inside needs a lot of work. Hardwoods will be easy to fix, they are original but don't seen to be damaged, a good scrub will spruce them up. Wait, are those?" You zoom in on the photo of the living room, "Are those foldable camping chairs and a VHS tv?"

They gulp loudly as they nod, your purse your lips in disapproval.

"I can fix that." You pass Denki back his phone, assuming that all the roommates will be present, "I see the main focus was the kitchen but some of the appliances seem to be on their last legs. I can fix that as well."

"Soooo….So it's a yes?" Jiro asks, feeling relief for the first time in months since they received the letter of eviction.

"Gotta get the college to agree first." You think on it a moment, "But I'm sure we can arrange that. Uraraka can you draft an email to the Dean requesting an official meeting regarding our sorority? Be sure to explain in detail our situation, how we are being forced to disband by their account and the solution we have. Make sure it's an afternoon meeting too. The dean hates to miss golf with our rival university's dean."

With the plan set in motion all of you return to your evening classes. Jiro nudges Denki in the ribs, listening to his heart race from their closeness.

"When are we going to tell her about Bakugou?" She throws her almost lover a look that he seems to wither beneath. His jaw tics before he retorts.

"I think we should wait to see if this even works first."

After a week the important meeting arrives and as you thought the Dean is already exhibiting signs of impatience. He is more than ready to wrap this up and you already know his answer is going to be no. Already trying to get it out before the four of you can even have a seat.

Still you weren't the Ice Queen on campus for nothing. You saunter into the room, mineola folder filled with your copies of counterpoints pressed firmly to your chest, you can already see he doesn't have the copies you sent him. You place the folder down and open it, leafing through the pages as you speak.

"This request is going to be approved and here are the reasons why. An example of sexism could be made that a new fraternity was approved housing, new housing, after a decades old sorority was deemed "too small" both parties are similar in count. Second funding and donations are easily influenced with letters to alumni and especially by attendees to this university. My transfer from YAU has brought in revenue of roughly 2.6 million dollars, increasing your diversity for women when this is normally a male dominated school. I am aware that my transfer had even encouraged other students from YAU to transfer here. Which I'm sure is one of your favorite bragging points to tell Dean Fraunk during your weekly golf trips isn't it? So it would truly be a shame if these points would come to light in the investigation of my return to YUA just months before the university sports festival. I do look amazing in Ice Blue you know. Matches my quirk a lot better than Maroon." You put the ball in his court, he is visibly upset, eyes flying to the facts that you've presented. All important, viable facts. You were right MMU was known to be a male dominated school and the media would have a field day if they uncovered a mistake he happened to look over. Not to mention you were his main bragging point, Dean Yuzi always talked about how he had stolen you, the female star of rising heroes, from YUA. The silence in the room is amplified by the ticking of the clock, seconds accumulating into minutes as it counts down his T time with his old college buddy and rival. He gulps nervously, knowing what he has to do in order to keep both his bragging rights and a law suit under wraps. He looks up to you as you wear your stone cold face, making him think of a loan shark who hasn't been getting their payments on time. He is fearful for your future boss.

"I believe I have no choice but to approve."

"Correct." You respond, "Now we have a bit more to discuss. I noticed that classrooms 456 and 215 are being remodeled. Those gently used flat screens will be given to our house since it is technically college property. Common space 3 and 1 are being renovated in dorms A and B. We will accept the leather arm chairs as they are in good shape but we demand a new couch. I know it is in the budget as I help plan the budget. I also believe it is time for an allowance for our hybrid house." The Dean shrinks away from your tenacity, nodding as that is all he can do.

"Well this is a generous offer and should cover most of the basic necessities such as a new fridge and mattress. The aesthetic we will be raising funds for. Kindly spread the word, we don't want to take up more of your time and be late with your 'meeting' with Dean Fraunk." You place a flyer on his desk as you turn on your heel. The rest of the sorority, mouth agape following suit. Yuzi looks down at the flyer, head hung in a mixture of disbelief and shame as he reads over the neon paper advertising a co-ed car wash.

He just hopes you and Bakugou are worth the trouble.

#bakugo x reader #bakugou x reader #bnha x reader #bakugou katsuki #bnha au #bnha college au #bnha imagine

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quidfree · 3 years

Note

can you Please write the scene with bakugou's piercing SGDHEFEH the concept is too funny to me !!!

anon you’re lucky 報復性熬夜 is a concept i am firmly attached to so here i am at 1 am rattling this off instead of getting my beauty sleep. please excuse the standard of writing as a result

by the second day, katsuki is seriously considering agreeing to todoroki’s earlier and ambiguously sincere proposal that they play i spy.

he doesn’t know what it is about this particular job that’s so unbearable. no, scratch that- of course he knows what’s unbearable; it’s sat right next to him on a too-small chair in their too-small room staring impassively out of a too-small window. but he’s been thrown into so much shit with icyhot you’d think he’d developed some kind of immunity by now, the way vaccines microdose you on viruses so you can resist the real thing. call katsuki an antivaxxer, he guesses, because he has overdosed on todoroki ever since he met the asshole and he’s still not ready for how far up the wall he’s driving him when they’re stuck together for two straight days without a breather or any contact with the outside world.

cards on the table: stake-outs aren’t his thing. he does them just fine, fuck you very much, but he doesn’t like ‘em. why would he? they’re some ungodly blend of extremely boring and extremely tense, where nothing happens right up until way too long into it and then everything goes to shit unprompted. it’s rare he ever gets called in on jobs like this- people tend to assume he lacks the temperament for it, for one, and for another he’s too useful to lock away for days on end. it’s only because their suspected target is so insanely volatile and dangerous that it’s the two of them waiting for her to show her ugly face- no one else is even allowed in the perimeter. which is fucking fine, but he just wishes the cops would get their shit together for once and actually have the proof ready by the time they call the pros in so he doesn’t have to wait before he goes in guns blazing. instead they talked some bullshit about how critical of a stage this was and blah blah fifteen years of (obviously mediocre) work had gone into setting this trap, etc etc. the point is that it’s led to katsuki stuck in the world’s most disgusting little apartment, staring out of a splintered window for two-going-on-three days with no one but the world’s most annoying prodigy to keep him company. the place is such a dump they’re sleeping on mats in sleeping bags. it’s like fucking UA summer camp, and at this point he’d take the kidnapping over the waiting.

day one wasn’t so bad, right up until he realized there would be a day two. day two is bad from start to finish. they’re supposed to take turns on watch but there’s fuck all else to do except sit on their phones, and katsuki can only quote tweet so much dumb shit before he gets bored. he can’t talk to anyone outside because of confidentiality bullshit, and there’s no point checking work shit when he can’t do anything from where they are. so it’s either silently watching the warehouse or talking to todoroki, and todoroki is a fucking terrible conversationalist.

the thing with icyhot is this: katsuki doesn’t hate him, okay. like, he hates him, but also not really. they’re, at a push, maybe, sort of, friends. verging on close ones. not that he’d say so, but after the amount of dramatic self-sacrifices and final stands against a joint enemy they’ve endured he can’t really muster the energy to argue otherwise. todoroki’s tolerable, sort of maybe. usually katsuki borderline likes working with him, because if nothing else he’s good at what he does, and they know each other too well to be anything but in sync in the field. if they were doing almost anything else he’d be relieved at the choice of pairing.

they are not, however, doing anything else, and todoroki still fucking sucks at talking like a normal person. when he’d woken katsuki up for his shift of night-watch he’d loomed over him ominously like a fucking ghoul and said, voice belying no humor: “do you think plants can feel pain?”

there’s fucking nothing to talk about. anything interesting is essentially vetoed because it’d inevitably distract them from the whole intent observation thing, and katsuki hates small talk on a normal day but especially when todoroki’s doing his ‘alien attempting earth dialect’ bit and asking him about weather or the tokyo transportation system or whatever. so they just sit in semi-silence and occasionally go on very stupid tangents katsuki is glad no one can witness and remain overall bored out of their fucking skulls.

by day three they’ve already exhausted i spy and also the alphabet game and hangman, and katsuki draws the line at tic-tac-toe. todoroki looks implacable as always but his eye has started twitching a little. katsuki tries to think of literally anything that could plausibly take up their time and not take their eyes off the window, comes up short. twister is not a good idea even ignoring their lack of a board. shop talk is so very tempting, but he’s not losing this villain and wasting two days’ suffering because they get carried away on some long-winded discussion, so that’s not an option either.

“how’s your ear?” todoroki says, and at first katsuki thinks he’s really fucking lost it if he’s started asking after the wellbeing of his individual body parts, but then he remembers the last time they saw each other katsuki was throwing himself into the path of some jackass with a trumpeting quirk who nearly blew out his eardrum, so he guesses half ‘n half’s not entirely insane yet. he shrugs, shifts in his chair.

“fine. couldn’t hear shit from it for like three straight days, though. and my balance was fucked.”

“it hasn’t scarred at all.”

“yeah. lame place for a scar,” katsuki says, flexing his fingers absently. they’re all of them more roughed up than they were at UA, but talent and good healers have kept him mostly intact, give or take a few big nasties like the time he got gutted in first year or his near loss of an eye around graduation. privately he suspects genetics have dealt him a good hand, what with his gene donor’s perfect skin, but then todoroki doesn’t have that excuse and he’s not scarred anywhere ugly except the obvious, though katsuki could point blind to most of the nasties he’s accumulated under his suit.

not that he thinks about what’s under todoroki’s suit. god, he needs to get out of here.

“i don’t know,” todoroki is saying now, thoughtful. “a lot of people have ear-scars, no? from piercings.”

“that’s different,” katsuki says, immediately contrarian, even as he thinks about it. by the warehouse a truck stalls, but then moves on, lessening his momentary excitement. “most people don’t let that shit heal. unless you’re a moron there’s no point getting a hole jabbed through your ear if you’re not sure you want it.”

“would you?” todoroki asks, mildly curious, and taps his ear where katsuki can see him in the window’s reflection. “get a piercing, i mean.”

“what’s it to you?”

todoroki rolls his eyes at him like he’s being pointlessly difficult, which he maybe is a little. “i don’t know. i think it would suit you.”

“yeah?” katsuki sniffs, mollified and trying not to show it. it’s always a mistake to let icyhot know when his obvious ploys are working. “been thinking about it?”

“i can hardly sleep at night for thinking about it,” todoroki deadpans, which makes katsuki scowl and stomp down on the extremely unwarranted flush crawling up his neck in response.

“fuck off. i guess i’d do like one or two.”

“really? you always say no to tattoos.”

“that’s different. i don’t trust some asshole to draw a fucking infinity sign on my knee or whatever. sticking a hole through an ear is hard to fuck up, and you barely register it after. if you get a shitty tattoo you have to think about it all the time.”

“if it’s easy then why don’t you have any?” todoroki asks, but he sounds genuinely curious more than like he’s trying to catch him out, so katsuki thinks about it honestly.

“don’t have the time. ‘s not like i can really afford to pencil in an afternoon to the nearest parlor or whatever just for that.”

“i read you can pierce your ears with a needle.”

“i guess i haven’t fucking thought about it that much, then,” katsuki grumbles, forever irked by todoroki’s smart mouth. problem solver his ass. the guy goes around making problems for everyone.

they sit in silence for a beat, watching the breeze rattle the wooden planks barricading a window opposite them, and then he thinks needle, and does some very quick mental arithmetics to reach the conclusion that todoroki is probably also landing on, judging by the way he blinks when katsuki briefly glances his way.

he thinks about the job, and how close he’d come to throttling todoroki during i spy, and the great dawning nothingness ahead of them for fuck knows how long still. at the very worst, they have to start moving with a needle in his ear.

“pass me your medikit.”

todoroki does, but when katsuki unzips the pack he shifts. “it’d be easier if i did it.”

“it’s not rocket science,” katsuki mutters, considering the needle critically before glancing back out of the window. “'s not like i give a shit about precise location.”

“i’m just saying i wouldn’t have to go in blind. and you can keep watch while i do it.”

“or you can keep watch while i do. same shit.”

todoroki only shakes his head, because unlike some people who shall not be named he is not so incredibly psychosexually attached to offering help where it isn’t wanted. “fine.”

katsuki eyes the window, squints at his ear. tissue’s the best bet- he thinks he could probably manage cartilage fine, but on the off chance they have to drop everything and run he doesn’t want to accidentally snap a bone and start the fight inconvenienced. lobe it is.

“wait,” todoroki says, just when he’s focused, and then reaches over without removing his gaze from the window to press two fingers to the needle, tip going blisteringly red-hot before he releases it. cauterised. their kit’s sterilised anyway, but katsuki grunts his begrudging thanks, repositions himself.

“wait,” todoroki says again, and this time katsuki can’t help but turn to glare at him where he’s still watchfully staring outside.

“fucking what, icyhot?”

“two seconds,” todoroki promises, gaze flickering his way for half a second with something like self-effacing amusement before he turns his eyes dutifully away and reaches his other arm around to pinch his ear, which flares cold so quickly katsuki hisses even as his cheeks heat. fucking weirdo.

“could’ve just said,” he mutters, ignoring his not at all jumpy pulse to refocus on the task at hand as todoroki does that obnoxious lip-twitch thing that means he’s smiling internally.

physics dictates that he keep his wrist at an angle if he wants the needle to come out right, so he does, braces and jabs. it goes so easy he almost doubts his own success, not even the slightest twinge of pain ensuing. he twists for good measure, removes the needle, watches tiny beads of blood emerge from the piercing.

well, that was anticlimactic, katsuki thinks, retrieving an anti-bacterial wipe for the needle, and then pauses, staring at the window.

“motherfucker.”

“what?”

“what the fuck am i supposed to put through this?”

todoroki’s mismatched eyes go gratifyingly wide in the window, and for one spectacularly braindead moment two of the world’s most outstanding pro-heroes stare at one another in a shitty broken window with equal amounts of retroactive dismay.

“um,” todoroki says, or as close to ‘um’ as todoroki will ever say. katsuki wishes dearly he was still of an age where he could throw him through a wall. then his eyes focus elsewhere, sharpening with what could pass as professional focus but is mostly naked relief. “um.”

um in-fucking-deed. by the warehouse, a door has just opened a sliver.

“you owe me a fucking earring,” katsuki declares, but so fast it lacks any aggression, already halfway out the window by the time he finishes speaking, atrophied limbs reviving with an ecstatic chemical burn as fresh air hits their faces.

god. if he ever gets stuck on stake-out duty again he’s sleeping by himself under a parked car or some shit.

they make disgustingly quick work of the fight, in the end, days of pent-up frustration and skull-numbing boredom leaving them so bursting with power that it’s almost embarrassing for the villain, but when the first kow-towing police officer reaches them full of praise and suggestion that they handle another job he has queued up they chorus a ‘no’ so violent the guy actually jumps.

todoroki’s not so bad, katsuki thinks fondly, watching his face slide into frigid blankness with absolutely no idea of how shitless he’s scaring the officers around them. it’s almost enough to make him forget to kick his ass for the enormously shitty banter he’d had to endure vis-a-vis his still-bleeding ear throughout the entire tragically short fight.

almost. not quite. who even knew there was a ‘gay ear’?

#qui parle #qui ecrit #anon #todobaku #bnha #tdbk

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angstyaches · 3 years

Text

I’ve Been Away Pt. 2

Part One

CW: anxiety, nausea, indigestion, hospital/nursing home setting, past death mention, degenerative illness, memory loss (dementia), loss of sight, family drama/issues very vaguely implied.

AN: I’ve been sitting on this for so long that everything is now obvious to me, and I’m sorry if it’s a lot more vague/confusing than I think it is. Hopefully Part Three will clear things up if so.

___

“Are you gonna go in?” Shayne asked quietly.

Felix swallowed thickly as the silence broke. He hadn’t even realised Shayne had woken up; he’d been sleeping since about thirty minutes after they’d left, and now it was four hours later.

“I am,” Felix said, trying to sound firm despite the queasy tremble in his voice. He stared out the windscreen at the pale orange building that ran in a semi-circle around the car park. The paint job looked fresh and clean, and the whole scene – even the car park – radiated a silence that reminded Felix of a graveyard. Even the pale blossoms that sprung from the bushes lining the pavement made him think of funeral flowers. He’d seen pictures of the place online, but actually being here felt… strange.

It was like he was stepping into a life that wasn’t his anymore.

He cringed at the sudden wrenching sensation in his gut. His stomach gave a low grumble as it shifted. He swallowed yet again, gently bringing the back of his hand to his mouth and stifling a weak burp that had crept up. He’d picked up indigestion tablets when he’d stopped to get petrol, but the chalky chunks hadn’t worked too effectively against the rising tide of stress in his belly.

“Did we drive here in silence just to sit here in more silence?”

Felix frowned at that. “We only drove in silence because you fell asleep.”

“Yeah, for about an hour.”

“You were awake for two hours and you didn’t say anything? You didn’t even ask where we were going.”

Shayne gave a lazy shrug. “Didn’t seem like you wanted to talk about it.”

Another uneasy belch rumbled in Felix’s belly. His shoulders moved forward slightly as it slipped up his throat. “Ugh. I really don’t feel well.”

Shayne gestured towards the main building. “I’m sure they’ve got a shit tonne of doctors inside. Wait, are we here to ask about checking Elliott in? He told me the other day that he’s almost seventy in human years, so it’s good that you’re thinking about where to stick him next.”

Felix sighed deeply, wishing he had the energy to deal with the joke, but the thought of Elliott only made his stomach and chest burn even more. He wanted this to be over. He wanted to go home and see his partner.

“Okay,” he said, tightening his grip on the steering wheel and inhaling deeply. “Wish me luck, buddy. I’m going in.”

“Okay, bye, then.”

By the time the long breath was released from Felix’s lungs, his hands hadn’t left the steering wheel of the parked car.

“You’re still sitting there,” Shayne mumbled in a sing-song voice.

“Yes, I’m aware,” Felix replied, sticking a thumb nail between his teeth and biting down on it. He wondered with a shiver of fresh anxiety if he was actually thirsty; should he have packed one of his lollipops to tide him over? Was it even safe for him to go, unescorted, into a building where there were likely needles and blood bags and other such contraptions? Had he really done such a bad job of thinking this through?

Had coming here been a complete mistake?

“Felix…”

“Yes, I know, I’m going,” Felix insisted quietly, an uncertain hand rubbing at his belly.

“Jesus, are you okay, or what’s going on?”

“I’m fine, I’ve just got… a tad of stupid indigestion.” A slight flush of heat rose to Felix’s cheeks as he felt his stomach gurgle under his hand. “Happens when I’m nervous.”

Shayne clicked his tongue and reached across to undo his seatbelt. “God, if you’re this fucking worked up, what if I go inside with you?”

Felix raised his eyebrows. “Would you really?” he gushed softly.

“Please don’t make this weird and emotional.”

“I always knew you loved me, cuz.”

“Aw. It’s like you think I won’t punch you in the throat.”

___

At least Felix couldn’t have said that the place smelled like death; there was quite a pleasant, disinfectant smell from the moment they stepped through the doors. Well, maybe not pleasant, but it was at least reassuring. The floors were old – beige linoleum from the 90s, it seemed – but they glistened, all the way from the reception desk to the open-plan recreational space at the far side of the lobby. Felix could see at least six figures seated in armchairs, one of them being attended by a nurse while another was shaking a walking stick in the direction of a flat-screen TV.

He swallowed, blinking in surprise when he turned his head and someone had spotted them. Another nurse, a bit older than the one across the room.

“Hi!” the young nurse chirped, glancing at Shayne first, and then at Felix. “Are you here visiting someone?”

Felix’s grip on his documents and newspaper clippings tightened. He wished he’d put them in a folder instead of carrying it all around so conspicuously. His jaw was heavy and his throat was clenched. Yes, he thought, willing his lips to move. How had he forgotten how to form the word yes?!

“Yeah, we are,” Shayne piped up, his voice slightly higher to mimic the tone of the nurse’s.

“Great, what’s the name?”

This time, Felix knew he couldn’t cop out of giving an answer. Shayne could have been the most helpful person in the world, but he wasn’t a mind reader. Felix cleared his throat, swallowing a burning belch before it could burst out of his mouth. “Patri- Patricia Bramley.”

The nurse pursed their lips as they referred to a clipboard on the desk in front of them.

Felix swallowed, fidgeting with the zipper on his jacket. “Trish,” he mumbled.

“Ah, Trish,” the nurse repeated with an air of recognition.

There was a beat of silence that Felix’s mind filled in with disturbing readiness; he braced himself for a look of discomfort or despair to cross the nurse’s face, and for them to gently explain that Trish had been dead for years; that she had wept every night out of loneliness until the loneliness ate so deeply into her heart that it gave out, and that whoever was responsible should –

“She’s actually in her room right now,” the nurse said, an easy smile crossing their face. “She might be sleeping, but if she’s awake, she’ll be very happy to see some visitors. Is one of you Avery, by any chance?”

The nurse’s gaze was more focused on Shayne as the question was asked, and Shayne quickly responded, “Uh, no.”

A panicked laugh burst past Felix’s lips, causing the nurse to throw him a confused look.

“Nephews, we’re – we’re Trish’s nephews,” he said, hoping his voice wasn’t as shaky as he sounded. “I’m Felix, and this is Shayne.”

“Alright, well, come this way,” the nurse instructed, guiding them towards a hallway to the west of the communal area.

Felix glanced towards the gathering of recliner armchairs and end tables, momentarily drinking in the sound of daytime TV and murmured conversation, before his chest tightened all over again. There was a shakiness in his bones and an empty longing in the pit of his stomach, and he realised he was missing Elliott. All of this could have been so much easier if he’d had Elliott’s hand to hold onto, Elliott’s calming voice to reassure him, Elliott’s easy smile to turn to.

“I can’t remember the last time Trish had a visitor, so this is exciting! She’s going to be delighted. Do you live far away, or..?”

“Mmm, something like that,” Shayne was telling the nurse, meeting Felix’s gaze as he looked forward again. His eyebrows were pulled together, question marks basically jumping out the top of his head. Felix gave a nervous smile that he was sure looked more like a queasy grimace, because he sure was feeling queasy, and the smell of disinfectant was suddenly not helping.

The nurse slowed by a private bedroom, peering around the door. “Here we go – ah, looks like she’s awake after all! Afternoon, Trish!”

Felix’s stomach pretty much hit the floor as he stepped into the room after Shayne and the nurse. The disinfectant smell vanished, talcum powder and the smell of roses swamping the air instead. She had always loved roses and had filled the house with them and doused herself with rose perfumes. Felix could practically hear her singing something in a soft, low voice as he inhaled, though his memory hadn’t held onto any words of the song.

Sunlight trailed gently through a netted curtain, warming the magnolia walls. A knitted purple blanket was thrown across her lower body as she cradled something to her chest with both hands, something that Felix couldn’t quite see. All he could tell was that they had cut her hair. She had always said she wanted to keep her hair long, even into her old age. She’d always been braiding it and twirling it between her fingers. He almost let himself get angry about it, before he realised that no one had been there to tell them to do otherwise – not even him.

“Trish? Your nephews are here to see you,” the nurse exclaimed happily. “Why don’t we sit you up, so you can have a chat?”

“Who – who is that?” the woman whimpered, reaching out a hand, which the nurse promptly took.

“It’s Andy, Mrs. Bramley,” the nurse replied, speaking a little more firmly this time. “I’m here with two of your nephews, isn’t that nice?”

The numbness began to spread out from Felix’s chest as the nurse adjusted the hospital bed so that the silver-haired woman was almost upright without the danger of slumping forward. Soft eyes that had once held such warmth and recognition were unfocused and foggy, never landing anywhere for longer than a few seconds.

She can’t see.

Just how long had he been away?

Shayne backed up a couple of steps, briefly meeting Felix’s panicked gaze, and then swept a hand through the air to beckon him further into the room.

“I-I –” Felix’s stomach flipped as he shook his head, pushing another bubble of acidic air towards his throat. “Shayne, I can’t – I-I don’t think I can do this.”

“Nephews?” the woman mumbled.

“Yeah, your nephews…” Nurse Andy looked at Shayne, beckoning him to the other side of the bed. “Felix and – Shayne, was it?”

“Uh, yeah, that’s me,” Shayne said, awkwardly letting himself be guided into a stiff plastic chair.

Felix lingered by the opposite wall, smiling weakly at the nurse as they glanced over at him.

“Shayne and Felix are here,” Andy repeated for the sake of Patricia’s hearing. “They’re gonna talk to you for a little while, okay? And I’ll be back in about fifteen minutes with your lunch.”

“Ah…” Patricia nodded slowly, a nervous twitch of a smile crossing her face. “Oliver will want steak for his lunch. But don’t let him near the whisky cabinet until the sun goes down.”

Andy shot Shayne and Felix a smile that said good luck, and left.

There was dead silence for what felt like the longest time, in which the woman turned her head to look in the direction the window. Felix could barely see her face now.

Shayne sat forward in the armchair, elbows resting on his knees. Felix felt his gaze land on him briefly before he stared at the floor. “Are you okay?”

Felix opened his mouth to answer, but Patricia answered first. Shayne’s head shot up at the sound of her voice, his eyes wide.

“Oh, I’m quite fine, sweetheart,” she replied, tilting her head in Shayne’s direction. “You can tell your father I’m quite alright.”

Shayne made brief eye contact with Felix again, before a wandering hand caught his attention. He seemed to automatically reach up to let it rest against his own palm, and the woman tightened her grip around it.

“I’m…” Shayne shifted in the chair and cleared his throat. “Patricia, I’m not – I’m not your son.”

“Oh, my son…” Patricia gave a low chuckle. “Are you friends with Avery?”

Felix felt his hair stand on end, bristling with a cold that just wasn’t there. He expected another look from Shayne, but he didn’t get one.

“Avery?” Shayne’s voice was surprisingly soft. He continued letting her hold his hand, which Felix found surprising.

A pinch of anxiety made Felix’s skin bristle. He shook his head in denial, thinking maybe he could shake the name out of his head; he hadn’t heard it in so long, and it felt like it would have dragged a gasp out of him, if he could bring himself to breathe at all. He looked down and rearranged his feet on the spotless linoleum floor. The nerves were a permanent tingling knot in the pit of his belly, a sour taste in the back of his throat that he couldn’t get rid of. Tears burned his eyes and throat, the kind that he knew would overwhelm him for hours if he let them fall.

“That’s a… nice name,” Shayne was saying.

“No,” Patricia mumbled, shaking her head with curious ambition. “My baby was never Avery, not for a single… Oh, I have to – have to pick him up at two o’clock. Have to – have to wash Avery’s hands, Avery’s little hands… Oliver hates mess. Hates it in the house.”

“Shayne,” Felix whispered, taking a step backwards, towards the door.

Shayne looked up. “What?” he hissed.

“I think we – we should – we should go,” Felix whimpered. He was starting to feel very, very ill, now that he was able to put a face, a voice, a set of memories, to the sketch outline he’d kept in his head. These were names and things he hadn’t let himself even think about for thirteen years. He’d put all of this in a box – in a coffin, more or less – and had never intended on opening it.

He lifted the back of his hand and turned his head to let out a couple of deep, anxious belches, trying his best to keep his eyes from watering.

“Hey, Trish?” Shayne said, starting to get up from the chair. “I have to go to the bathroom, but my friend’s going to keep talking to you. Right?”

“Wh-what?” Felix stammered. His heart leapt as Shayne nodded to the chair, beckoning for Felix to come around the bed and take his seat. Bitter acid licked the back of his throat.

“Yeah, come on, sit down,” Shayne said loudly, using that same breezy voice he’d put on when he’d spoken to Nurse Andy. It seemed to prick up Patricia’s ears and hold her attention, because she turned her head slightly, as though searching for

Felix’s hands shook as he laid his documents down on the bedside locker and then shuffled around the end of the bed. He let his weight sit at the very edge of the seat, legs too twitchy with nervous energy to sit all the way back. He glanced up as he sensed Shayne moving away.

He gently grabbed onto the dark-haired boy’s arm.

“Shayne,” Felix whispered, feeling the break in his own voice as it trembled.

“Relax, I’m right fucking here,” Shayne whispered. He cleared his throat and broke out the peppy voice from before. “Hey, Trish, this is my friend. His name’s –”

“Felix,” Felix murmured, gently laying his hand over the back of hers. The contact was surreal, like he was holding a hand made of wax, and he might have dropped it again out of abject fear, if she hadn’t closed her fingers around his. “I’m… I’m Felix.”

“Hello, sweetheart.”

“H-hi, how – how are you doing?”

“Oh, I was just weeding the flower beds.”

Felix’s heart sank. He wasn’t sure what exactly he’d been expecting; it wasn’t as though touching her own flesh and blood would suddenly bring back the coherency that had been eaten away by the dementia over the years.

“Sorry,” he whispered, clearing his throat and staring at the back of her hand. The words felt and sounded insufficient for what he needed them for, and yet he couldn’t think of any better ones. “I’ve been away for a, um, a long time, and I’m – I’m really sorry.”

Nothing changed on her face, nothing to indicate that she was taking any of what he was saying in. He felt a flutter of relief in his chest.

He realised Shayne wasn’t listening, either; in fact, he’d gone around to the other side of the bed and picked up something from Felix’s pile of papers. Felix didn’t have the heart to say anything to stop him.

“Oliver Bramley,” Shayne mumbled, frowning at a cutting from a newspaper. “Her husband’s a tech guy, apparently he’s worth millions.”

Felix squeezed Patricia’s hand and watched as Shayne flipped to the next clipping.

“Oh,” Shayne said, almost immediately after seeing the next headline. “He was worth millions. He’s been dead a few years…” His voice drifted off as he read to the end of the article. He looked up at Felix. “It says Avery’s dead too.”

“Yeah,” Felix said softly, turning his gaze towards her again. Her expression was peaceful, and her hands were gentle as they both cupped Felix’s. Her fingers, he realised, were drifting softly across his skin, a little more pointedly than Felix felt comfortable with. It looked like she was feeling for a watch or a bracelet, until she pressed the pads of her fingers into his wrist, as though she was checking his pulse.

Felix’s stomach flipped as he realised what was happening.

She was checking whether or not he had a pulse.

Felix sat up straight and tried to pull his hand free, but couldn’t bring himself to do it. Patricia jumped slightly, and lifted her head as though to meet his gaze, even though she couldn’t. He blinked, and tears dropped onto his lap.

All of the things he’d thought, at some time or another, that he’d like to say to her, seemed to evaporate straight off his tongue. His throat was probably too dry to form any words, in any case.

“Felix,” Patricia whispered, that smile breezing across her face again. As he looked up at her and blinked away tears, he envisioned the years melting out of her skin, her face quickly becoming the one that he remembered.

“Yeah,” he said, nodding briskly and trying to ignore the tears that were gathering in his eyes. He had never believed he’d hear that name being spoken by that voice.

“That suits you much better, darling.”

#Swallow the World #Thicker than Blood #Stw Felix #Felix's story #nausea #indigestion #anxiety #angst fic #sickfic #my OCs #memory loss mention #dementia mention #family drama

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marshmallow-phd · 4 years

Text

Catching Rain

Part of The Untamed - EXO Wolf Universe

Genre: Wolf!AU

Pairing: Minseok x Reader

Summary: You were more than satisfied with your life. You attended a nice college, had nice friends, a nice boyfriend. That’s what your life was: nice. You weren’t looking for anything more, so what were you to do when this seemingly harmless boy walked into your life and turned your nice little world into one much more dangerous?

Part: 1 I 2 I 3 I 4 I 5 I 6 I 7 I 8 I 9 I 10 I Epilogue

The theatre was loud, opposite of its normally hushed nature. People were yelling back and forth, saws and drills screeching as they tore through wood. In the background, sewing machines could be heard, along with the occasional curse as the needle got stuck in the fabric. One person, however, was quiet, focused. The paintbrush in his hand was small. The hairs tightly pressed together in order to create the perfect details on the backdrop. Erik was hunched over, sitting cross-legged on the stage floor as he squinted at the distant forest he was perfecting. Setting your bag down in the second row, you headed up the stage stairs.

“Hey,” you said softly in order not to scare him.

Blinking, he turned around. His glasses were on the very tip of his nose, having slipped from the slight bit of sweat that had conjured on his face from the glaring stage lights. With a green speckled finger, he pushed the frame back up to its proper position. “Hey! I thought you had a project?”

You shrugged. “I did, but… I kind of hit a wall and needed to give my brain a rest. I’m sorry, I guess I should have gotten lunch with you anyway.”

“That’s alright. If you want, I still have half of my sandwich left.”

Smiling, you ruffled his hair. “Thanks, I’m not really hungry.” Minseok’s dismissive response had ruined the idea of food for you. Later you knew you would be starving, but right now food sounded like a great way to churn your stomach and see what it had been brewing all morning. “I’m just going to go hang out in the seats, if that’s okay?”

“Yeah,” he nodded. “No one will bother you or question it. Not that anyone would notice in the first place.”

“It’s pretty crazy around here, isn’t it?”

“You missed the big explosion when Dorothy couldn’t find the armchair for the second act. Turns out, someone just leaned a piece of wood for the set against it and hid it from view. Still took us half an hour to find it.”

You snorted. “Wow. I’m actually kind of sad I missed that.” You kissed his cheek, careful to avoid a smear that you were sure he had no clue about. That stupid guilt knocked once again.

The seat was only slightly comfortable, the cushion long ago worn down from a thousand performances. You stewed there in the second row. Though it wasn’t appropriate during shows, you didn’t think anyone would care if you set your feet on the seat in front of you. Folding nearly in half, you hid your face from those who might look your way as you cranked the handle to get the gears in your head to turn.

Confusion seemed like too weak a word to describe what was going on in your head. You were angry, frustrated, sad, relieved. There had to be some language in the world that tied those emotions all together. You just didn’t know it. Perhaps that one word could be the pill you needed to no longer feel this way. If you could shove all of that into a single box, you would be fine. But is it ever that simple? When you closed your eyes and tried not to think of anything in particular, Minseok’s face faded into view. You’d shake your head to drive the image away. It came back anyway.

You felt powerless against this unseen pull, this innate desire to see him again, even after what had just happened in the courtyard. Your mind made excuses, told you that if you simply asked him to explain then he would. Looking up at Erik, you sighed.

There was no comparison because they were two different people. Erik was the sensitive artist, the kind who went to coffee shops on Friday nights to hear a mediocre guitar player sing his “poetry” because he believed everyone deserved an audience. Minseok, on the other hand, was a strange combination of math lab nerd and soccer team captain. He was goofy and dorky, easily amused by corny jokes, but also had the physique of someone who ran five miles in the A.M. for the fun of it. What you couldn’t figure out was what drew you to him in the first place. In any normal, not-already-dating-someone situation, you wouldn’t have been interested in his type. Yet, it was almost… effortless, being around him. Even after all these years, you sometimes had to force yourself into conversation with Erik. Comfortable silences didn’t exactly exist in your relationship, but you always chalked that up to your own personality. Now you wondered if those moments would be better with Minseok.

Was this a normal thing? You heard stories of college sweethearts all the time and for the last few years, you thought you and Erik would join that club. You hadn’t thought about marriage, per se, but you hadn’t seen an end either. The idea of coming to a fork in the road had never occurred to you. While logic and third party advice you’d casually picked up over your life told you to stick to the left, you were being drawn to the right. One road you could easily see where it led, signs, clear pastures, and everything. The other way wasn’t as clear, disappearing into thick woods that were both inviting and foreboding. You didn’t know if there was another side for the road to come out to. The only way you would ever find out would be to follow it.

You were able to sit there in that second row seat for a few hours, surprisingly, with your phone and the internet as your companion. Only occasionally would you contemplate that fork again. Left, right, left, right. Easy, hard, easy, hard. In the end, you decided you needed to see Minseok again to really decide.

The stage manager called it quits late in the afternoon. Erik washed up his brushes and came to meet you. “Hungry yet?” You nodded, more for something else to do before you were alone again. “Good. I’m starving.” Taking your bag like the gentleman that he was, he waited for you to stand up and then walked you out of the theatre.

Dinner ended up being a small burger joint that Erik had been craving all day. You gave no complaints as you started salivating at the thought of their fries. Surely they had to have some sort of secret, addictive ingredient to make fried potato sticks so incredibly delicious. The two of you ended up splitting a large basket of the side. It stayed equally in the middle of the table so no one could say that the other was hogging. Yes. Safe. Easy. Seeable.

Erik offered a follow up to dinner, but you feigned exhaustion (though there might not have been any faking truthfully, as your mind was tired from constantly running throughout the day). He walked you all the way to the door of your room. As usual, he told you goodnight and leaned in for a kiss. But unlike your normal anticipation, you flinched back to avoid his lips. He stared at you in confusion. Clearing your throat, you made it up to him by kissing his cheek before running for cover in your dorm. From the light of the hallway, you could see that Erik stood on the other side for a few seconds, hesitating to understand what had just happened, before finally walking away.

Teeth clenched down on your bottom lip, you pulled your phone out of your back pocket. Thankfully, Willa was still out so you were alone. The glare of your phone burned in the darkness. You squinted as you moved your thumb across the screen, unlocking it before opening the contacts. The number you wanted was easy enough to find. The pad of your thumb hovered over the little green phone. It accepted the slightest touch and switched over to calling mode. You placed the speaker to your ear.

Rrriiinggg. Rrriiinnngggg.

“Hello?”

You sucked in air. He’d answered. You didn’t have a plan for this. You didn’t have any sort of plan after pressing call. You’d hoped that he was one of those people who didn’t have a voicemail set up.

“Hello? (y/n)?”

You hung up.

Minseok watched you stalk off in the exact direction he wished you hadn’t. Anywhere else; he would have been fine with you going anywhere besides the theatre where your boyfriend was. His wolf growled and clawed with jealousy. Why was he so stupid? Since when was keeping his mate a secret more important than being with you? Of course he wanted to eat lunch with you, to see how you got along with his brothers. But the idea of Baekhyun figuring it out had caused him to panic. As obnoxious as Baekhyun could be, he wasn’t stupid. At some point during the meal, Minseok would have done something a little overprotective and Baekhyun would have started to connect the dots. Unfortunately, he’d already picked up on something.

“Oooo, breaking the rules, are we?” The brat even had the audacity to wiggle his eyebrows at the eldest wolf.

Not holding back, Minseok swung, hitting a good target on the upper arm.

“Ow!”

“First, it's not a rule,” Minseok grumbled. “Junmyeon simply suggested that we don’t date. Besides, you’re one to talk. How’s Daisy?”

Baekhyun was hardly phased. He sported a cheeky grin. “She’s great.”

Bored, Sehun asked, “Can we just go eat now? Who cares who Minseok was flirting with?”

“I wasn’t flirting with her!” Minseok shouted. He explained in a lower voice, “She’s having trouble in her math class so I’m doing Sungkyu a favor and helping her out so she can pass. That’s it.”

“So why didn’t you want her to eat with us, then?” Jongin asked innocently.

Minseok flinched. Jongin was more observant than anyone would give him credit for. Not that Minseok was subtle in any sense of the word. “I didn’t say that I didn’t want her to eat with us. Knowing you all, you would have let something slip about what we are.”

“Minseok, we all caught that she was willing to join us,” Chanyeol said.

Huffing, Minseok grumbled, “Are we going to go eat or should I just go by myself?”

Shrugging off the odd behavior, Baekhyun turned and headed for the parking lot. Minseok was quick to follow, feeling smaller than normal surrounded by his pack members. In his head, he pictured himself running back towards the theatre, bursting through the doors, and - in true dramatic fashion - declaring you his.

That would be a complete disaster. He should only do that if he wanted you to never talk to him ever again.

Minseok hardly paid attention as Chanyeol drove them to his favorite pizza place. He was in a trance as the others took control of what to order. Physically, he sat in the booth next to Sehun with Baekhyun on the other side. His shoulder was pressed into the chipped wooden guard rail that ran along the wall but he hardly noticed the uncomfortable poke in his skin. His mind was still back at the campus. He was driving himself crazy trying to figure out how he was going to make this up to you, how he was going to explain his bizarre switch up to you. He hardly ate, which was fine since the others were more than happy to devour the three large pizzas with varying toppings. The others weren’t bothered by his quietness since it was nothing new. Minseok was always more of an observer than a participant. In a time like this, it worked to his advantage.

There was no consulting Minseok when the lunch was through. They all simply piled back into the car and headed out of town towards the woods. Vague mentions of going for a run were tossed around. Minseok didn’t voice any sort of agreement. He wasn’t in the mood. Ha. A wolf not in the mood to run wild among the trees? He really was turned upside down because of you. While the younger ones headed straight for the trees, Minseok headed up the porch and through the front living room until he came to the kitchen. Oh, thank god. There were still beers in the fridge. He grabbed one and immediately opened it, still chugging as he walked over to the breakfast booth.

“Did you have fun?”

Junmyeon slid into the booth across from him. Minseok put the can down. “Yeah. At first. We had fun with the project. It was when the others showed up that things… went bad.”

“What do you mean?” Junmyeon asked with a frown.

“I… panicked. The others invited her to join us and I….” Minseok shrugged.

“Worried that the others would figure it out?” Junmyeon guessed. The response was a nod.

“Figure what out?”

Shit.

Baekhyun stood in the entryway, looking back and forth between the eldest and the alpha. Minseok gulped. He thought that all four of them had gone out on a run and he hadn’t heard anyone else in the house. Stepping further into the kitchen, Baekhyun asked again, “Figure what out?”

Minseok looked to Junmyeon for help. None was to be found.

“You should probably tell them.”

“I’m not going to tell just Baekhyun so he can go running and tell the others and exaggerate.”

“I can always call a family meeting.”

“I don’t want to make that big of a deal out of it.”

“Too late on that. Besides, that’s the best way to get everyone here. Get it out of the way.”

“Or to get none of them here.”

“I’m still standing here,” Baekhyun scoffed.

Minseok looked at him. “I know.”

Junmyeon sighed. “Baekhyun, will you go get the others? Tell them it's important?”

He nodded. “Sure. Be back in a flash.” He left, already shedding the hoodie over his head.

Slumping down in the booth, Minseok felt defeated. Junmyeon sensed this immediately. “It really won’t be that bad. And they need to be prepared.”

“Prepared?”

“Yes. Once a pack member finds the first mate, the others will slowly start to find their own. It won’t be immediate. It could take years, really. But it’s like a domino effect. They should be aware that it's their turn next.”

It made sense. The pack was always connected, both in mind and in instinct. But it had been just them for so long, the idea of bringing in mates to the fold was odd. Minseok wasn’t sure how the others would react. Fists clenched on the table, he leaned his head down. It took almost half an hour before the rest of the pack came back. Yixing had arrived first, coming back from a lab he was making up from earlier in the week. The rest came into the kitchen ten minutes later. They were knocking into each other as they yanked on shirts and pants.

“Okay, Junmyeon, what’s the emergency?” Jongdae asked, very prepared to be his usual sarcastic, troll self.

But Junmyeon didn’t reply, letting Minseok take the reins instead. Minseok didn't want to do this. He wanted to run, to keep his secret a little while longer while he figured this whole thing out. But Junmyeon was right. It was time.

“(y/n) - the girl that some of you met today… she’s my mate.”

It was pure silence in the kitchen. It was unnatural in this household. The only time it was ever this quiet was when the house was empty.

“I’m sorry,” Jongdae said. “You said… mate? Right?” Minseok nodded. He growled. “Fantastic.”

“You really found your mate, Minseok?” Yixing was more enthusiastic about the news. He looked elated, even. A small smile was creeping up.

Despite the stunned silence, Minseok found Yixing’s energy infectious. “Yeah. I did.”

“Have you told her yet?” Chanyeol asked.

“She has a boyfriend,” Jongin reminded him.

“Oh. Right.”

“I’m working on it,” Minseok said. “I just-” His phone vibrated in his pocket. Pulling it out, his eyes widened at the name popping up on the screen. With sixteen eyes on him, he answered, frantic. “Hello?” A gasp on the other end. “Hello? (y/n)?” You didn’t answer. Two seconds ticked by and you ended the call. He stared at his now black screen in shock. Then his brain started again. “I got to go.”

“Was it her?” Junmyeon asked.

“Wait, I have more questions!” Baekhyun whined. Minseok was out of the kitchen in a heartbeat, jumping into his car and flying down the road. He didn’t know if you were hurt or in trouble. Why had you called him? Why didn’t you say anything? He was determined to find out. There was only one problem.

He didn’t know your dorm number.

You’d briefly mentioned the shared campus housing with your best friend, but that was all the information he had. Looks like he would have to find it the old fashion way.

Asking.

As soon as he parked, he headed towards the dorms, thankful at least that the two large housing buildings were close in proximity. He headed for the smaller cafeteria located in the lobby of the first building. The kitchen was closed but there were still students taking advantage of the open seating. Okay. Here it goes.

The first few groups that Minseok asked had never heard of you. He was starting to berate himself on what a stupid idea this was. He should have called you back and asked you to call him when you were ready because it most certainly would have gone to voicemail. But his luck soon turned around. He approached a group of three girls sitting in a corner. One of them had a camera.

“Excuse me?” They looked up. Minseok cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, but I’m trying to find (y/n) (l/n)’s room. Do you happen to know her?”

One girl narrowed her eyes. “Why do you want to know?”

Minseok swallowed. “I… I have her notebook. She’d left it behind earlier at study group. She really needs it for class on Monday but I can’t get a hold of her.” Please believe his stupid lie.

The girl who’d spoken made eye contact with her two friends. “She’s in room twenty-three-nineteen. If she doesn’t answer, just slide the notebook under the door.”

He could almost jump from elated joy. “Thank you!”

Taking off, he headed for the stairs. Your dorm room was only on the second floor so it didn’t take long to follow the signs until he was right outside your door. Only now did the possibility that your roommate would be the one to answer cross his mind. What lie would he have to come up with then? He had to take the chance.

After knocking, he waited, shifting from foot to foot in an attempt to release the nervous energy surging through his body. The door swung open.

It was you. Thank goodness.

You were not the same level of relieved. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Crap. He probably should have thought of that. “You called me.”

You looked back over your shoulder before stepping out into the hallway, letting the door shut behind you. “So? That doesn’t mean you can just show up here!”

“I need to talk to you.”

You licked your lips. No, please don’t do that. It’s too tempting already to grab your face and kiss you against the door. Without speaking, you went back into your room. Well, that was a bust. But before he could walk away with slumped shoulders, you came back, this time with shoes on and your bag. “Let’s go.”

He gave no protest as you led him out of the dorm and into the dark. He had no idea where the two of you were headed, but he planned on embracing whatever came his way. The two of you were going to talk. His heart was thumping hard against his sternum. He was getting more alone time with you. Who knew what would end up flying out of his mouth in these next few hours. Would this be the night of truths and revelations?

#exo #exo wolf au #exo wolf!au #minseok x reader #kim minseok #xiumin #exo werewolf au #exo werewolf!au #exo fanfic #exo fanfiction #exo supernatural au #exo series #The Untamed Universe #Catching Rain

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matildashoney · 4 years

Text

London Town

Loving You’s the Antidote Extra

MASTERLIST // MOODBOARD // TAG LIST // TAGS // PLAYLIST

TAG LIST: @ihearthemcallingforyou, @goldenfeelin, @detroitkiwis

talk to me about it!

thank you miss @berrynarrybanana for creating the sex bucket list fic challenge! i wanted to write something with the mile high club for harry and ames a while ago and this gave me every opportunity to do so. this is pure filth about harry and amelie getting back to london recently after being stuck in malibu during the quarantine.

warning: this is literally 4.4k of filth. i can’t be sorry for what my brain has done. i take no responsibility.

Harry is guarded, to say the least. There was too much happening for him not to be.

One of the security guards that was driving them to the airport got out with Amelie first, making sure that there weren’t any photographers waiting outside for them (which there shouldn’t be, all things considered) and having her get inside to wait for Harry when he was able to get all their luggage and out of the car. Harry was nervous, his hoodie tugged over his head and his passport and identification all sitting in his hoodie pocket. Amelie was wearing the hoodie they bought at a Spice Girls concert the year before, but it was beginning to fit a big snuggly around her tummy and they knew that anyone that saw them would start pregnancy speculations before they could even begin trying to have a baby themselves. Her hand grabs his as soon as he walks beside her, interlocking their fingers and hiding her face in his chest, the exhaustion beginning to set in and the bruising on her hips from the needles beginning to ache as she stands for much too long without rest.

Harry guides them through security, his heart breaking as Amelie knuckles her eyes and desperately clings to her last bit of energy and pouts as his bag gets checked once more and she isn’t able to sink into his embrace as she wants. Considering the amount of time Harry and Amelie have spent together in quarantine, it would have made more sense that they need space, when in fact, Amelie has never been clingier. Not that Harry pays any mind to it. He knows that it’s with the best intentions, all because she loves him and is happy to be with him. Her hormones are messy with the new birth control she was trying, as well, with all intentions to perhaps make her body ready to be pregnant later in the year. All Amelie wanted was a good snuggle a very hefty amount of the day. Harry was happy to give that to her.

Los Angeles International Airport is surprisingly empty, Harry thought there would have been more celebrities trying to get back to wherever they’re from now that flights are slowly beginning to depart again – not that they really should be. Harry is excited to get back to England, London particularly. Amelie, although her heart is in love with California, misses London, misses home. All of the exhibition pieces that she was working on were left there, and for nearly four months her creativity was dry and there was nothing she could think of. Harry misses his family, his home. He even misses Tigger, especially now that he’s been staying with Anne for nearly six months. Harry misses their routine. Amelie misses the comfort of being home.

Malibu is home in a lot of ways.

Malibu is where they said the three words for the first time. Malibu is where they got engaged. Malibu is where they got married on a whim. All of Amelie’s family is nearby and their best friends and godchildren are only a fifteen-minute drive away. Mostly, it’s being together that makes it feel like home. Home is so subjective. To Harry, after travelling for so many years, unsteady relationships, the media overwhelming him with labels and rumours and the way his mental health suffered, Amelie really became the one thing that made the most sense, that made him feel safe. To Amelie, with all that she went through, the idea that someone could make you feel like home was absolutely mad, and there was a nagging voice that always told her she wouldn’t find it, and then Harry waltzed into her life and simply knocked every single thought she had about her life into another world; Harry made her feel as though there was nothing that she couldn’t do, and maybe he was right about that. Home was with each other, no matter where they are or where they go.

Harry squeezes Amelie’s hand, the engagement ring and wedding band ice on his skin. He smiles though, the feeling that the symbol gives him making his eyes sting with tears. He sniffles, drawing her attention and her eyebrows furrowing together in confusion. He shakes his head, kissing her hairline and nodding to the near-empty terminal that was about to board their flight.

“’ey,” Amelie whispers, brushing her thumb under his eye and moving the mask slightly to kiss his cheek, “you okay?”

“Thought about how we’re married and got all,” Harry mutters, his nose in her hair and laughing to himself. “Don’t know, guess m’heart is softer, now.”

“Always has been, baby,” she smiles, laying her thighs over his legs and cuddling into his chest, her eyes falling shut as he gently rubs her back. “Think they’ll yell at us for laying in the same bed, again?”

“Don’t think so since everyone has to stay away,” he mumbles, taking in the way the ten other passengers for the flight are wearing masks and gloves. “Can’t wait to be home and don’t have to wear this thing.”

“Meaning you’re gon’a be naked in the garden most days and dragging me out with you.”

Harry snickers, meeting Amelie’s knowing stare and shrugging his shoulders, “As long as you’re naked, too.”

“Don’t try your luck, Mr Styles,” Amelie sighs, squeezing his hips as his thumb dips beneath the waistband of her leggings. “Harry.”

“Didn’t wear any knickers.”

“Je ne voulais pas qu'ils me montent au cul pendant douze heures,” she whispers under her breath, trying to avoid the entire terminal hearing that her decision this morning was to go without any knickers on an eleven-hour flight.

Harry smirks, tugging his mask to his chin and pressing his lips to the shell of her ear, “Tu essaies d'entrer dans le club du mile high, chérie?” For a man that slept maybe three hours, Harry is awfully horny at barely four in the afternoon.

Amelie lightly smacks his hand as his fingers inch towards her inner thigh, coming dangerously close to her centre. “Harry, I swear to God.”

“Oh, it could be fun, Ames.”

“Ah, yes, because you,” Amelie’s voice lowers to a whisper that even Harry can barely hear, “fucking me in our seats in first-class sounds like so much fun when we could get caught.”

“’s the thrill of it all, baby.”

“Don’t do that. Don’t use the baby card,” she says warningly, her eyes narrowing at the man she loves with her whole heart, trying to convey her seriousness. Her thighs clench around his hand, a near-death grip to break his movements where his fingertips would brush over her heat.

“Need those fingers, Cherry.”

“Don’t stick your hands in my leggings, then.” Harry smirks at Amelie. “That doesn’t mean you find a loophole and stick your hand over my fanny either, thank you.”

“Mean, technically I’m not over your fanny.” Harry laughs so loudly, the entire terminal turns to face him. “Need you to tell me when the hell you started calling it that, though. Taking to all the slang now that you’re half a Brit, huh.”

“Much less aggressive than calling it my,” Amelie whispers, “cunt. Don’t you think?”

“Quite like calling it that,” he shrugs, weaselling his hand further up her thigh, nearly holding her heat in his palm. “’s mine to call anything, you know.”

“Oh,” she snorts, shaking her head and lightly pushing his shoulder and smirking when he grabs her hand with his other hand, kissing her palm with a smirk. “Is that how marriage works? Don’t think that was on the document we signed.”

“Mean, as far as I’m aware. Got like,” Harry hums, pretending to count on his fingers the number of months since they’d gotten married in March, “three months under m’belt. ‘s kinda like how you say you want my cock in your mouth.”

“Harry, quit it. There are people around.”

“Half of them would need a hearing aid to hear me, honey.”

Amelie shakes her head, “Whipping your best terms of endearment isn’t making me any more inclined to have sex on the plane.”

“Hate to break it to you, angel, but you saying, fanny, doesn’t really give me an inclination to stick my hand in your pants, anyways.”

“Good,” she says, wrapping her hand around his wrist and moving it away, interlocking their fingers and grabbing their bags to walk to the desk to board. “Not to mention, it’s barely four in the afternoon.”

“Oh, time is a social construct, baby. Isn’t that what you say when you’re begging for it in the morning before I have get on a flight out somewhere?” Harry whispers in her ear, smiling at the flight attendant and handing his phone for the boarding passes.

Amelie releases Harry’s hand, tugging her sweatshirt sleeves over her fingers and crossing her arms over her chest. “I hate you.”

Harry smirks, wrapping his arm around her shoulder and kissing her head, his phone stuck in the front of his The Face sweatshirt that Amelie threw onto the bed for him to wear while he was sleeping. “No, you really don’t.”

“Welcome,” one flight attendant says through their mask, oblivious to the sexual tension spurring in between the freshly married couple and the way her hand was holding his simply to ensure that he wouldn’t squeeze her breast with his hand hanging limply over her shoulder.

Harry steps inside the row first, and Amelie knows why he’s hiding in the seat that would be the least likely to be seen by the flight attendants. Her head shakes with a sigh, heaving a breath and settling into the chair, giving a warning glance to him as his lips toy with a mischievous grin.

“Garder les mains pour soi.”

“Can’t keep m’hands to m’self for eleven hours,” Harry stresses, his cheek laying on her shoulder as he stares at her through hooded eyelids, the separator pushed away to allow him to cuddle into her, the way her nails are scratching at his scalp making him want her more.

“Harry, yes, you can,” Amelie says, knowing that Harry is trying to wear her down with the dramatic nature of the conversation. Her thighs are warm thinking about the adrenaline that would course through her veins by having sex where they very well shouldn’t be, but with the environment being heavily closed away from interaction, maybe this was just the right time to do so.

Amelie wouldn’t admit that to Harry, though. No. Because that means he won.

“Haven’t touched you in like, three days.”

“Because we had to get all of our things together, see our godchildren, and see my family. Not because I didn’t want to.”

“Alright, well, now we have eleven hours.”

Amelie sighs, carding her fingers through her hair and gently pulling out the tie in her curls and letting the baby pink fall over her shoulders. Through her peripheral vision, she can see Harry roll his eyes, trying to look away as she tugs on the sleeves on the sweatshirt, gently pulling the material away and leaving his eyes to bask over the loose-fitting shirt from his closet and her chest free from any restrictions.

“For fuck’s sake, Amelie,” Harry groans, sitting up and beginning to pull his mask away from his mouth, all the passengers boarded and the flight attendants beginning to go through the safety measures as he’s heard a million times before. “Did you not wear a bra, either?”

“Like you said, eleven hours,” she shrugs, a smirk playing at her lips as she set the sweatshirt over her thighs, dragging the blanket over her body, locking his hand between her legs.

“Know just how to get what you want, huh?”

“Maybe,” she hums, spreading her thighs the slightly amount to give him the ability to roam further across her skin. “Have had quite a few years of practice.”

Harry smirks, taking Amelie by surprise and sliding his hand beneath the waistband of her leggings, her thighs unable to be held together as his fingers drag slowly and teasingly across her mound. “About, five years, huh, baby?” Amelie gulps. “Don’t go quiet on me, now. Have had the wittiest comebacks for an hour and now you’re quiet?”

“Harry,” she says through a clenched jaw, trying her swallow back a moan as his fingers delicately trace along her core, arousal collecting on his fingertips as his finger draws over her clit lightly, barely touching her skin. “Either you do it or you don’t.”

“Do you want me to?” Harry smirks, lips ghosting across the shell of her ear and making her sink further into her seat, her thumb between her teeth as she nods shamelessly. “Amelie Fay, tell me what you want or I’m going to take my hand back.”

Harry rarely uses Amelie’s whole name. And by rarely, Amelie means that Harry only uses her whole name – first and middle – when they’re arguing and she won’t listen (which is most of the time) or they’re about to do something filthy and she won’t give verbal consent (which is most of the time they’re taking to exhibitionism). But whenever Harry uses it, fuck, it’s another type of sexy. His accent draws out every syllable, especially when he’s trying to use an accent that her mother has or it’s deeply his own.

Amelie sucks in a deep breath, trying to steady her breathing and not melt into the chair with the barely-there movements of his fingertips, his middle finger teasing her warmth by dipping in to collect more arousal over her clit. “Okay, okay.”

“Okay, what.”

“Need you to use your fingers,” she sighs, his fingers beginning to ease into her warmth and brush against the velvet that squeezes him in. “Fuck.”

“Be quiet,” Harry says strictly, his cheek laying on her shoulder and his lips touching the cut of her jaw. “Have barely touched you and you’re already squeezing me, doll. Maybe I should’ve tried a bit harder to get you into bed, hm? Have I been neglecting you? Horrible husband, you have.”

Harry and Amelie never could describe their sex life as neglected – certainly not that – but it definitely was not what it was when they first got married at the beginning of March. Harry and Amelie tiptoed around the subject because there were days when there was too much frustration to even think about getting naked and sharing their thoughts with the other person. That definitely isn’t what want they wanted, what they promised each other. And so, here they were, three months into the isolation and just being able to go home, and there was a desperation lingering between them that neither really knew was there. Getting comfortable was something they didn’t want, and that’s exactly what they did.

His fingers work at a speed that could only be described as desperate and longing. His thumb pressed against her clit with patterns that have her hips longing to writhe beneath him, his middle and third finger curling inside of her with every thrust, taking a second to ghost across the spot that would have her screaming inside their bedroom.

“Baby, please,” Amelie whimpers, tucking her face into his hair and breathing out through parted lips, squeezing her eyes shut as the flight attendant walks through the aisle, completely unsuspecting of what is happening beneath the linen. “Harry.”

“All over me, honey. Gi’ me all of it.”

Amelie tugs on Harry’s curls, earning a smirk and a grateful kiss, swallowing her moans as the orgasm ripples through her body. Her hands shaking as she grasps onto the blanket and her hot breaths hitting his neck. His hand is coated with her orgasm, his mouth watering at the thought of her taste on his tongue.

If Harry couldn’t go down on her, right now, this is the next best option.

“Get out the fruit and water from your bag.”

“Huh?” Amelie whispers, her eyes barely opening to try and read Harry’s expression. “For what?”

“For you to drink,” Harry smiles, kissing her hairline sweetly. “And so, I can stick my fingers in m’mouth and it won’t look like I just fucked you under the blanket.”

“Christ, Harry,” she mutters, rolling her eyes as he chuckles under his breath. “Do you realise you still have your fingers in me?”

“And?”

“Can’t lean over and grab everything with you puncturing my cervix.”

“Don’t flatter me that much, baby,” Harry quips, nodding towards the bag laying at her feet and gently tapping his thumb against her clit once more. “Already have a big head.”

“Hate you,” Amelie swallows, trying to control her breathing as she leans forward and reaches for her bag, Harry’s fingers wiggling inside her warmth. He is just as needy as she is, at the moment, except, Amelie would rather wait until they are home and can’t be caught. “Here.”

“But, baby, I know you don’t.” He chastely kisses her cheek, gently taking his fingers from her warmth and slowly removing his hand from her pants, pouting his lips, “My hand is cold, now.”

“Unfortunate,” she shrugs, taking a long sip from her water as his tongue licks along his palm, his two fingers suckled between his lips and tasting all that he’s missed in nearly four days. He isn’t used to going that long. Maybe, he’s a bit spoiled in that regard. Harry and Amelie are running on the same sex drive at all times. Call it inspirational in some respects. Amelie has found it quite useful in the exhibitions recently. Harry finds that flattering.

“Quit being a brat,” Harry teases, squeezing her knee over the blanket and standing on his feet, nodding towards the bathroom a few feet away. “Have to wash my hands. Got a bit messy.”

Amelie shakes her head, wiggling around in her seat and shrugging her sweatshirt over her torso, settling under the blanket and laying over the chair, waiting for Harry to get back and cuddle into. Harry smiles at the sight, wiping his hands over his sweatpants and manoeuvring around her legs and settling into his seat. His arms open wide, graciously accepting Amelie as she climbs over into his seat and lays in the reclined bed with him, tucking her face into his neck. “Hi.”

“Hi, Cherry.”

“Can’t wait to go home,” she whispers, yawning as his fingertips drag through her hair. “Miss home.”

“Know you do,” he says, kissing her temple and bringing the blanket tighter over her body. “Me too.”

“Need a really good night of sex, too. Or day. I’m not picky.”

Harry snorts, “Have our other nights not been satisfactory to you?”

“Always the best with you. Don’t worry,” Amelie smirks, kissing his jaw and breathing in his cologne. “Different when we’re home, though. Don’t care about anything or anyone. Can just do it wherever, whenever. Don’t have to worry about my parents or sister, or our friends coming and knocking on our door.”

“Love your sister,” Harry says, his voice hanging on the last word, “but she is the biggest cock block in the entire world.”

Amelie laughs so loudly into Harry’s chest that the flight attendant peers over his novel. “God, you’re right.”

“Need to just be alone with m’missus for a while.”

Her voice is quiet, once again, barely above a whisper as she begins to fall asleep nuzzled into his warmth. “Alright.”

His eyebrows furrow together in confusion. “No argument? No rebuttal?”

“Not today.”

Harry laughs breathily, shaking his head and kissing her hair, his hands dragging along her spine as she drifts asleep. He stays awake until nearly eleven, waking her to eat and watching a film on his phone until they’ve fallen back asleep together, only waking to the sound telling them to buckle their seatbelts and settle into landing. Harry can see the relief on Amelie’s face, the smile that sits permanently on her lips as the pilot welcomes them to England and Heathrow Airport.

Amelie nearly forgets their luggage when Harry pulls into the garage, rushing inside to see Tigger and breathe in the scent that is permanently a mark of their London home. He tugs in their bags, setting the mickey mouse printed luggage in the foyer and wrapping his arms around her waist, kissing her neck sweetly and nosing her hair away from her skin.

“Fuck, ’m happy to be home.”

“Know you are,” Harry smiles, gently biting her neck and licking over the red mark lingering on her skin. His hands squeeze her thighs, lifting her onto his hips and wrapping his arms under her ass, his eyes rolling as their cat begins to rub along his legs. “Not the time, Tigger.”

“He missed you.”

“Flattered, but not really the time. Quite missed shagging m��wife, so that’s the priority at the minute.”

“That sounds really sexy coming from your mouth,” Amelie hums, dragging her thumb over his plump lips.

“Hm?” Harry asks, carefully making his way up the stairs and shoving their bedroom door open, careful to make sure that their cat would not be in the way when the door closed behind him. He became way too good at carrying her up the stairs when they moved in two years ago.

“My wife.”

Harry snickers, walking straight into the bathroom and turning on the light with his elbow, setting Amelie on the counter and harshly pressing his lips to hers. “’s what you are, m’wife.”

“Can’t wait to have this on me,” Amelie smirks against his cheeks, her fingertips dragging along his beard as Harry tugs their sweatshirts and shirt off their bodies. “First place you’re going to have sex with me in our house is the shower.”

“Know you better than that to think you’ll let me on the clean sheets after we were just on a plane for twelve hours.”

Amelie giggles, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and tugging him into her, his arms circling her waist and his tongue tasting her lips, her tongue, her. “Know me well.”

“Hope so after five bloody years.”

“Go turn the water on.”

Harry nods eagerly, walking away and turning the water in the shower, the waterfall faucet sprinkling water over him as he tugs on his sweatpants tie. His head rolls back as two hands skirt along his naked torso, dancing dangerously close to where he wants them most, his cock already painfully hard between his thighs.

“Don’t tease me, now.”

“Am I not allowed to have a taste, either? ‘s been four days, remember?”

“For fuck’s sake,” Harry moans, squeezing his eyes shut as Amelie’s hands bring his sweatpants over his ass and thighs, her gently hand tugging teasingly over his shaft. “Get in the bloody shower, woman.”

Amelie laughs, taking Harry’s hand and stepping inside the shower, the steam already beginning to fog over the glass doors. His back hits the tile wall, a gasp leaving his lips as she sinks to the ground, her knees printed with the tile, her tongue dragging over the arousal wetting his tip. He moans, the sound spurring her on, his hand running through her hair as she wraps her fingers around his base and begins sucking on his cock, all of him surrounded by her tongue and her wet lips and her warmth.

His stomach tightens, nearly spilling his entire orgasm down her throat. His whimpers as she pulls away makes her laugh, his eyes barely open before he’s helping her stand and grabbing her thigh to wrap around his waist, his cock sliding deep inside her warmth without warning. Her forehead falls to his collarbone, the sensation overwhelming and deeply missed. Her nails dig into his shoulders, their kisses messy and sloppy as his thrust reaches every inch into her core, his thumb drawing shapes around her clit the way he knows she loves.

“Missed this so much,” Amelie moans, her fingers tugging at his curls and bringing his mouth to hers. “Can’t go that long again.”

“Fucking swear on m’life,” Harry grunts, the way his cock is driving into her making her lift onto her toes. “Gi’ me your leg.”

“Do you want to fall over?”

“Trust me.”

Amelie wraps her legs around Harry’s waist, sighing when her back hits the cold tile that is out of the water’s reach, a gasp leaving her lips as his shaft sits deeper inside her warmth.

Harry is grunting mercilessly into her neck, Amelie’s moans echoing inside the bathroom, and to anyone that doesn’t know them, they might have thought that they’d not seen each other for a month, maybe two, with how intense their orgasms spill onto each other. Her thighs shake around his waist, their orgasms dripping out of her and onto his legs as he holds her, making sure that she wouldn’t fall.

And their shower isn’t devoid of more touching and kissing, in fact, the water goes cold before they’re fully finished washing up and rinsing the shampoo and conditioner from their hair.

Harry watches Amelie change intensely, soaking in the way she’s never changed the way she looks in their time together – except for the new three tattoos – the way she’s never felt the need to. Harry adores every curve and tattoo and mark and dimple, especially when she’s naked and he’s touching her skin.

“Can you look away for maybe two seconds?”

“No,” Harry deadpans, laying his hands behind him on the bed, the towel still loosely covering his waist.

“Are you going to eat lunch with me?” Amelie wonders, tugging one of Harry’s old shirts on and sliding briefs onto her hips – he never wears them anyways.

“Think I need to go for a run, and then I’ll shower and come back and eat.”

“You want to go for a run? After a twelve-hour flight?”

“Need to otherwise you and me will be in that bed for the next twelve hours,” Harry says surely, taking a deep breath and nodding his already semi-hard cock between his thighs.

“For fuck’s sake,” Amelie breathes, shaking her head and walking to him on the bed. Her lips press against his chastely, once, then twice, smiling when he tugs her onto his chest, and they fall against the mattress.

“Love you.”

“Love you more. Go for your run. Think I can take, like, six hours in bed, with breaks, alright? I’m not a machine.”

“Ooh, a compromise.”

“Married men get three compromises a year, this is one.”

“Deal.”

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palukoo · 3 years

Note

ooh amy and toby because i would die for them

okay i know you sent others before this one but i really wanna answer this one! i meant to just... write about basically what i've said before with their unique combinations of idealism and cynicism but also with the vast difference in loyalty and also their similar political positions, but then i spent all afternoon uh. writing this.

amy and toby meet on some doomed campaign that he's running, and she's fundraising for, and they both know it's doomed but that doesn't stop them from trying. she tells him it is, at some point, and he knows she's right but won't say it, because it's different. amy's consulting for a dozen campaigns this election cycle, and toby's got one, and he likes amy, but she doesn't get to say that about his one.

they bring amy in for debate prep, at the candidate's request, and toby sits back and smiles a little at the hopefully-but-doubfully future senator's comprehensive answer until amy starts eviscerating the woman's answers. she does it with an awkward, regretful smile, and the candidate adjusts, and toby asks amy to step out into the hall, asks if she has a problem with their policies. amy says no, she loves their policies and that's why she's doing what she can to give them a shot. toby laughs bitterly.

"you said yourself that we don't have a shot! we're trying to talk about issues and you're taking the only place we can do that and have people listen and turning it into pithy soundbites like every other guy!"

"the pithy soundbites might stick," she says, mostly unfazed. "let me try to give you a shot. she thinks she has a shot."

he sighs. "yeah."

the candidate loses, 41-57. before amy had started working with them more, polls were at 30-62.

they run into each other, after that, both of them with tendencies towards certain candidates. amy's associated with more winning campaigns than toby is by a long shot, but she's never run one, winning or otherwise.

amy's talking to a candidate she's excited about for maryland's fifth district, who's leading against the old, far too moderate and out of touch incumbent in her primaries. andy wyatt. and then toby's beside her.

"oh, hey, amy, this is toby, he's my--"

"you're working with her?" amy asks teasingly before andy can finish. "but she might actually win."

toby laughs. "yeah, no, don't worry, i haven't lost my touch yet. i'm her fiancé, not her campaign manager."

amy tries to keep the surprise from her face. "you two know each other?" andy asks.

"we've worked together before. congratulations, by the way," amy says. toby smiles awkwardly. "don't let him anywhere near your campaign," she teases.

"don't let her anywhere near your speeches," he quips back. amy laughs.

it's catching up and some unofficial consulting in the primaries that amy would really rather stay mostly out of even though she has a clear favorite. she meets abbey and liz at a starbucks that was a little diner the last time she was in town, and they bring her back to "campaign headquarters" after bribing her with coffee and using their trademarked bartlet charm. which is really what will help him more than anything, at this point.

she laughs when she gets to the office and sees him bouncing a ball against the wall. "toby ziegler. i should've guessed that you'd be on this campaign."

he doesn't question her presence, just sighs. "because it's doomed?"

she beams at him, shaking her head. "because it's good."

his lips twitch into something resembling a smile, and she turns around to abbey and liz.

"with him and governor bartlet--"

"you can call him jed, y'know," abbey says. amy can't, actually.

"well, with the two of them, you're gonna need to find someone less... long winded."

he sighs and glares, and then his brow furrows. "why the hell are you drinking an iced coffee?"

she runs into them right after they've won the primary, which means everyone's uncharacteristically excited, meaning josh unthinkingly drags her along to their party, and jed kisses her cheek, and toby, by some miracle, hugs her and cj laughs and hugs her, too.

"you and toby get along?" she asks, surprised. amy shrugs and turns to toby, who also looks deeply noncommittal. cj laughs again.

the giddiness of the room gets to her. "i admire his integrity and his politics," she says, and there it is again, that vague, almost smile, brighter with the new victory.

"when he recruited me for this campaign, he called emily's list 'that women's group with the dumb name'," cj says to her, and amy turns back to him, suddenly far less admiring.

"dumb name. not dumb... mission, dumb name," he defends. she stands down, a little. "so, what have you been up to lately?”

"i'm political director for emily's list," she says, and he opens his mouth and closes it, and cj laughs again.

when the general election rolls around in november, amy collects bets from coworkers and friends and really whoever. she can't help but admire that toby only bets on losing candidates, but she also knows it doesn't matter to him. he won the thing that mattered.

"did you know?" he asks, tense.

"what?"

"that-- you've known the bartlet's forever. you... did you know?"

amy shakes her head, and forces her face into a neutral expression. "no, i didn't."

"are you--"

"i didn't run his campaign, toby. i voted for him, and i would've done it either way. and i'm not sure i'm in the majority there, and i'm glad he's there, so... i'm not mad."

he laughs bitterly. "you admire my integrity?"

"didn't say i shared it," she says plainly.

"you're not mad none of them told you?" he asks after a moment.

she takes in a breath and nods slightly. "well," she says like a concession. "mostly i'm worried," she admits, and toby nods, too.

"about him or the election?"

amy doesn't answer. she doesn't need to. he knows as well as she does that it's both.

"hey, amy, that speech you gave last week," he says when she runs into him in the hall. "did you write it yourself?"

"yeah."

"i could tell," he says, condescending and teasing at once. she rolls her eyes.

"nice job with the president's remarks yesterday," she says back.

"that was sam."

"yeah, i know. i could tell."

"i don't want to have this conversation with you," he says, and her eyes narrow.

"okay."

"not 'cause it's you, 'cause you're actually... i just don't want to have this conversation."

"toby, did something happen?"

he shakes his head and looks at the floor. "josh really cares about you."

she scoffs, disbelieving in a couple ways. "got it."

"amy--"

"as much as i agree that josh really can't take care of himself, he really doesn't need your protection from me, if that's what this is."

toby nods, and amy hopes they'll never talk about that again.

working with stackhouse reminds her of the old campaigns she's run into toby on, and it almost makes her nostalgic, except for the part where she's still mad at him, because he knew as well as josh did that the marriage incentives were shit. he knew as well as josh did that they could've made a play other than the one that forced her to resign.

still. she knows that if there's anyone as proud of the president's answer on needle exchange as she is, it's toby.

sam's campaign really feels like the old days once they’re in it, mishap after mishap, impossible odds, her trying to get funding while toby coaches him on remarks. she feels bad, having talked him into this, knowing he wouldn't win.

toby's used to the loss, she knows, but he's not used to this one. she buys them both drinks and gets on a plane to start her new job.

her first day, after the ceremony, after every exhausting, impossible thing, she still finds herself going back to her office. there's an unpleasant banging sound coming from inside when she gets there, and she'd be more concerned were it not for the secret service and her exhaustion.

she steps inside, ready for whatever new prank josh has set up, but instead it's just cj and toby putting her diplomas back up on her wall.

it's a week or so before she catches up and remembers to congratulate toby and andy, but neither of them hold it against her.

it's another few weeks before she leaves, and for that, she's sure he does.

"rafferty's speech was really good," she says casually. he nods vaguely in agreement. "toby," she says.

"what?"

"i could tell," she says pointedly, and he sighs. "you should've... i like getting women elected, you know."

"i don't need your help," he says confidently. she rolls her eyes.

"your track record--"

"she's not trying to win, amy," he says insistently, and she shrugs.

"neither was the president at first."

he exhales. "the debates have been better than i expected. santos did well."

she shrugs, and he rolls his eyes.

"i could tell, too."

she knows it's stupid, but here she is, so. she hits the buzzer.

"hello?" he asks.

"it's amy."

"wh-- why the hell are you here?"

"i'm not associated directly with the white house or the campaign, toby, just let me up."

there's a long pause where he doesn't say anything, but then the door clicks open. he opens his door when she knocks, and she hands him an iced coffee with a grin. "you didn't answer my question," he says.

"i'm... not mad at you," she says. he squints.

"okay."

"i get why everyone else is," she adds.

"okay. you're still not answering."

she sighs. "i thought you'd want to know that."

"i don't care if you're mad at me," he says gruffly, a bit rude.

"okay," she says, unaffected. "i also... don't want to have this conversation with you."

"what?"

"josh really cares about you," she echoes. he laughs humorlessly.

"i think josh wants to kill me right now."

she smiles. "that's another thing we often have in common," she teases.

"what's the first thing?"

she rolls her eyes and doesn't answer.

"should you really be calling me?" he asks.

"i know for a fact that both josh and donna call you. plus, congratulations, you're free."

"and you aren't anymore. didn't think you'd take it."

"i didn't, either," she admits.

"what are you calling about?"

"sam said you knew congressman johnson pretty well. i want him to swing with us for a vote."

"how are the kids?" she asks, and he smiles, which makes her smile, too.

"good. they're good."

"good. how's andy? do you... are you and cj talking again?"

he nods. "yeah, they're both... you talk to both of them more than you talk to me."

"and when i do, i ask about you," she counters.

"they're good. how're things there? josh, sam, donna?"

she laughs. "you talk to all of them more than you talk to me." she waits for his eyeroll. "they're all good. things are... you know how things are."

"not as much as you do."

"you can guess."

"yeah."

"how's teaching?"

he huffs. "college kids can't write."

"you don't think anyone can write."

"i think sam can write. i think will can write, on a rare good day. whoever you guys have is... fine."

"a glowing recommendation. i'll be sure to pass it along," she teases. otto probably would be flattered, really. "what's up?"

"how are your internals looking?"

she laughs. "did josh cut you off?"

he sighs. "maybe."

"i have some notes," he says.

"on... what?"

"the book," he says, like it's obvious.

"well, considering that it's been, a, published, and b, selling quite well, i think it's a little late," she says, arrogant and exasperated.

"i agree. you should've sent me the draft first."

she laughs. "content or style?"

"the content's great. you make good points, and it's compelling, and... it's very..." he trails off and sighs, and she takes the compliment. "it's too pithy."

she rolls her eyes. "how's yours coming along? how many pages so far?"

he pauses. "touché."

she's just finished a guest lecture when she gets the call, and she's surprised, a little, by the name on caller id. it's been a while. they'd had less to talk about, other than comments on each other's books, since she'd left the white house and started going back to lobbying and fundraising and debate prep between campaigns for old friends. though, when she thinks about it, it could be that last one.

"hey, toby," she answers.

"hey. so, rafferty's running again," he says.

she smiles. she's always liked rafferty. "okay." she thinks about it. "you... want help fundraising?"

he laughs. "amy. she wants to win this time." he pauses. "you should come up to new hampshire with us."

she gets a plane ticket.

#this almost certainly has mistakes bc i just. wrote it but go with it #i wrote nothing about josh and jed getting shot bc toby and amy would not talk about that with each other thank you #same with gaza tbh #asks #answered #claudiasjeancregg #tww #amy gardner #toby ziegler

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queenbirbs · 4 years

Text

on this winter night with you | Ethan Ramsey x MC

Book: Open Heart

Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x MC (Sloane McTavish)

Summary: Ethan attempts to decorate his apartment for Christmas and worries himself into the ground about it, as per usual.

WC: 1.8k

Warnings: alcohol mention

Notes: Takes place during book two. Title from Gordon Lightfoot’s “Song for a Winter’s Night.”

------

“This looks stupid,” he mutters to himself for what might be the fortieth time.

Still, Ethan can’t resist reaching out and shifting the small pile of presents again. As if another inch to the right will suddenly make them fit in amongst the other decor on his mantle. They should be in their traditional place under the tree, but Jenner nearly consumed an entire bow when he turned his back. And with how much time he wasted watching wrapping tutorials on his phone -- twenty-seven minutes, according to the video length and the amount of times he replayed it -- he doesn’t have the energy to deal with that again.

Especially when he’s spent so much of the afternoon fighting with the lights. When he pulled them from the dark tomb of his guest bedroom closet, they were wrapped neatly around a divider -- thanks to his dad, who gifted them to him years ago. Somehow, in the short trek to the living room, Ethan managed to tangle them into an incomprehensible mess.

And there went another sixteen minutes.

He has studies published in several dozen medical journals; he wrote his own textbook before the age of 27; he’s been the keynote speaker at the North American Diagnostics Conference for two of the past five years. But Ethan doesn’t even want to know how long he struggled with wrapping the lights around the tree, before he realized he could just pull the damn thing away from the corner. After wrestling it back into said corner, he plugged in the cord. Only to find that the lights were set on some bizarre, rapid blinking pattern that he couldn’t seem to switch off.

There must be a joke out there about a doctor reading a wikiHow article on how to set up a Christmas tree. He sure isn’t laughing, though. Because for all his troubles, his apartment looks like the set of a low-budget holiday special.

“This looks stupid.”

From the floor, behind the makeshift barricade around the tree, Jenner grunts in agreement. Ethan bites back the sigh that begs to form, figuring that he’s met his quota already. It’s irrational to be nervous about something so trivial -- it’s all tinsel and plastic pine needles, after all. But that’s not counting for what’s at the bottom of the box on the coffee table. Which is why he wants this to be perfect. Which is why he should stop worrying over the decor and see to dinner.

He’s only gotten to slicing the tomatoes when Jenner races to the front door.

“--the state with the worst drivers, I swear,” Sloane says to no one in particular as she opens the door. “I read an article about it in The Atlantic.”

Bundled up in her coat and his scarf, she shakes the snow from her hair. Fat drops of ice plod onto the rug. She bypasses the coat rack and drapes hers across a barstool, then dumps her bag and scarf onto the island, muttering all the while about Massachusetts drivers. Her heels clatter to the floor as she kicks them off and moans in relief. It should be silly that, despite the panic he feels at her early arrival and the slight annoyance at the mess she’s made of the foyer, he’s still hit with that familiar pang of affection for this woman. He likes being on this side of the fence when it comes to their relationship. The side where it’s just the two of them, with no workplace rules or curious onlookers to spy on them. The sex is fantastic, don’t get him wrong, but there’s something thrilling about the domesticity. He certainly wasn’t ever able to say that about his other relationships.

Now, if he could emit any sort of verbal greeting from where he’s frozen in place at the counter.

“You’re early,” he declares, wincing at the lack of subtlety.

“Patient transfer went without a hitch. Must’ve been one of those Christmas miracles I hear so much about. So Naveen said I could head out.”

Sloane pops open the fridge and pulls out a bottle of wine. Passing behind him, she gives his hip a quick squeeze before locating the corkscrew. She glances up through the curtain of her hair at him and grins, reading his nervous energy as easily as a book. He’s never been good at hiding much from her which, looking back, was probably for the best. “I texted you.”

“I… you did?”

Popping the cork, she shoots him another look as she pours them each a glass. He takes his and tries not to seem too eager to have a sip. Reflections on the bottle pull her attention from him and to the odd light show playing in the living room. Ethan watches as she rounds the couch and lets out an amused chuckle.

“What’s with the textbooks?”

“Jenner kept trying to eat the ornaments. And the tree skirt. And the tree.”

“Most people get those weird, little fences.”

“I’ll get a ‘weird, little fence’ next year.”

“Don’t. I like it. It’s very…” she tips her head to the side, as if she’s assessing an art piece and not the Great Wall of Oxford University Press, “...you.”

“Thanks. I think.” Coming to stand beside her, he gestures to a plastic storage bin on the coffee table. “I didn’t have a chance to hang the ornaments yet.”

“Good. We can do it together.” Bumping her nose against his arm, she drops a kiss to the fabric there, and then another on his jaw. “After dinner, though, because I’m starving.”

Leaning down, he hauls her close with his arm around her waist and captures her lips with his own. After a long, long moment, he pulls away and lets them both catch their breath.

“Me too,” he says, grinning when she rolls her eyes at his antics.

“Yeah, I got that. C’mon, you take care of the main course and I’ll handle dessert.”

------

“Isn’t this supposed to accompany dessert?” he questions as he reads the label.

“Hush. It’s Christmas Eve. We’re both adults with high-stress jobs working on a veritable sinking ship that we’re choosing to go down with.” Sloane ticks off the reasons with her fingers, though she only gets as far as those two before he passes the bottle of Marchese dell’Elsa to her. “And it’s Christmas Eve.”

“You already said that.”

“Enough backtalk.” She uses her stern voice, but the effect is diminished by the sleeves of his sweater sliding back down over her hands. “It’s time for the best part.”

Reaching into the plastic bin, she pulls an ornament free from the tissue paper. It’s a green, silk ball, shot through with a gold stitching that’s coming loose. Ethan thinks it’s old enough to be his paternal grandmother’s. A woman he has few memories of, but the ones he has -- orange parquet floors, low, throaty laughs, and the spicy scent of menthol cream -- are fond. Sloane moves over to the tree and settles it near the top.

Frank Sinatra’s Christmas album and the hiss of the gas fireplace accompany them as they make slow work of emptying out the bin. Glittery snowflakes and chipping snowmen hang amongst the cheesy doctor phrases his dad insists on gifting him.

“Aww look at you,” Sloane drags out the word as he lifts out one of the last ornaments. Crafted from popsicle sticks glued together, the makeshift frame holds a glossy picture of Ethan clutching a first place trophy for the fourth grade science fair. “What was your project?”

“A lemon volcano.”

“That’s so cute. Mine was on the different decomposition rates of plastic in fresh versus saltwater.”

“Nobody likes a braggart,” he mumbles, prompting a laugh from her as she snatches the ornament from his hand and hangs it dead center on the tree.

She turns back to rifle through the bin for any small baubles they may have missed, only for her to lift out a gold key tied with a ribbon. Confusion draws her brows together as she inspects it. Though he despises hyperbole, he can’t deny the near-feeling of his heart in his throat. He gulps down what’s left in his glass and sucks in a breath. Sloane moves to place it on the tree when he reaches out to stop her.

“No, wait -- it’s… it’s for you,” he manages to stutter out.

She shifts to face him.

“What?”

“This year has been challenging. Probably the hardest and most grueling in a long time.” Ethan rubs his palm along his jaw, unable to suppress the smile that comes with his next words. “But you -- you made it all worth it. I can’t help but be thankful that I’m here with you, at the end of this awful year. And I know that we don’t know what’s going to happen with the hospital, or where we might be next year, but I don’t really care about any of that right now.”

And hadn’t that been a revelation, that the career he’d spent a decade dedicating his life to cultivating had fallen to the wayside when it came to his future with Sloane. Because that’s what he wants, at the end of the day, at the end of this mess. “Having you here with me -- I’ve gotten used to it. And I’d like for you to continue being here with me. If you want to, that is.”

Her green eyes are wide as they flicker from his face to the key and back again. The lights shimmer against the auburn waves that have come loose from her bun. She clears her throat and gives her head a little shake, as if waking herself from a daydream.

“I -- what are you saying?”

“I’m saying that I lied about needing to donate my clothes. I mean, I am still doing that, but the reason wasn’t just for a yuletide cleaning. I was making space. For you to move in with me.”

He steps forward and settles his hands on her waist, kissing her once on the forehead. The smirk appears on his face, unbidden. “I thought I was being pretty obvious, what with leaving the top drawers empty and moving my suits to the guest closet.”

“I thought you were going to embrace the leather jacket look you picked up in Brazil and expand your wardrobe beyond grandpa sweaters and khakis,” she serves right back.

Ethan rolls his eyes at the dig.

“Big talk for the thief currently wearing one of these so-called ‘grandpa sweaters.’”

Sloane snuggles close, right into the space where she fits so well against his chest. Her fingers trace over the key.

“My answer is yes, by the way.”

The confirmation warms him, right down to the center of his chest. Or maybe a little to the left. Cupping her face, he slides his lips along hers, sighing with content when she deepens the kiss.

“I’m glad to hear it.”

------

Author’s notes and what-have-yous:

Another fic that’s mostly dialogue? Absolutely unheard of from me. Another fic that should’ve been posted in a timely manner? Yet here we are, day after Christmas. Oh well.

Was the hospital talk vague enough for it to be obvious that I… haven’t exactly finished book 2? I got to chapter 14 and then work hit me like a category five hurricane for two and a half months, so I haven’t gotten a chance to actually play the last few chapters. I’ll get around to them eventually.

Also: the Atlantic article is fake, though MA did receive the worst driver award back in 2014. As of 2020, Massachusetts was rated as the best for drivers (using data from 2017 through 2019).

Happy holidays and warm wishes to everyone still chugging through this wild, wild year.

#Kaila writes things #ethan ramsey #ethan x mc #ethan ramsey x mc #open heart #haven't posted in a while so we get to play the age old game of will this show up in the tags #ooh how fun #f: on this winter night with you

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maybeimamuppet · 3 years

Text

I got you

surprise!! bonus chapter!! this is a thank you for 1.5k reads on this series on wattpad. featuring mostly janis being a cute mommy to the twins introduced in last week's fic.

tw for broken bones (popped joint, not actual break) and mentioned surgery.

enjoy!

one.

Janis is tidying her home studio while Leo is entertained with her toys in the next room. Cady took Layla out on a special one-on-one date for the day, so Janis gets Leo all to herself. They spent the morning in their pajamas playing with Leo’s favorite toys, and then napped together in the main bedroom, which Leo was thrilled with.

Janis does still have to work on a commission, unfortunately, but decides to set up a small easel and some kid paints so Leo can work too. She’s just finished squeezing out the last paint color when she hears tiny feet running down the hall, and what sounds like crying. She jumps slightly when Leo rockets into her leg in tears.

“Mommy,” Leo cries desperately, reaching to be held.

“Oh no, Bee, what happened?” Janis asks, assessing for any injuries as she picks her baby up. “Did you get hurt?” Leo shakes her head, making Janis breathe a quiet sigh of relief. She frowns as Leo throws herself at her, clinging to her neck and crying into her shoulder. “Shh, I got you. I got you. Tell Mommy what happened.”

“Mon’ter,” Leo whimpers in fright. Ah. A monster is anything that moves that Leo hasn’t seen before. Previous monsters have included her own shadow, the blender, Layla in the dark, and a small dog.

“A monster? Oh no,” Janis says. “That must’ve been scary. Shh, I got you. You’re okay. Come here.”

Leo squeaks in fright and clings to her tighter as they pass the playroom, but relaxes slightly when Janis carries them down the hall and to the living room. Janis sits on the couch and coaxes Leo off slightly, resting her baby on her knees so they can see each other.

“Can you take some belly breaths? Like Aunt Reggie showed us?” Janis asks. She coaches Leo through a few deep breaths, helping her calm down. Leo gradually does stop crying and lets Janis wipe her tears away. “Good job, Leo Beo! I’m so proud of you.”

Leo grins happily and cuddles back into her mommy.

“Bee, can you be brave and show Mommy the monster?” Janis asks quietly. Leo whimpers slightly and clings to her.

“Hol’ju?” She asks in fright.

“Yeah, of course I’ll hold you. I got you, I won’t let you go,” Janis comforts, picking her back up. “My brave little bee.”

Leo holds tightly to her as she’s carried back to the playroom. Janis asks where the monster was, and Leo points to the window. Janis approaches, feeling her child cling to her neck in fright. And then she finds it.

“Is this the monster, baby girl?” She asks, pointing to the little caterpillar inching its way across the windowsill. Leo nods desperately. Janis has to hold back a laugh. “Oh, Bumblebee, that’s not a monster. That’s a caterpillar.”

“A callapillar?” Leo asks. “Wha’ssat?”

“A caterpillar is a baby butterfly,” Janis explains. “She’s gonna grow a little bit, and then build something called a cocoon that she stays in for a while. And then when she comes out, she’s gonna be a butterfly.”

“A bullaf’y?” Leo asks in disbelief.

“Mmhmm. Should we keep her to show sissy and Mama?” Janis asks. Leo nods. “Okay, come on.”

She carries Leo out to the kitchen to grab a big jar and pokes holes in the lid. Leo helps add some paper towels and wet leaves, and then they head back to their new friend. Janis gently picks it up, letting the caterpillar inch onto her hand.

“Do you wanna touch it?” Janis asks, not moving it closer to Leo in case she doesn’t want to. “It’s kind of fuzzy.”

“Eat me?” Leo asks. Janis can tell she’s interested, but she’s also scared.

“No, baby, it won’t eat you. It won’t even bite, it wants to eat the plants we put in instead,” Janis comforts. Leo tentatively reaches a hand out, so Janis helps her gently brush her tiny fingers over the bug. Leo giggles at the tickly sensation. “See? Isn’t it nice?”

Leo nods, and helps gently plop the bug into the jar. She holds it carefully to observe the caterpillar now that it’s been contained, looking at it curiously. Janis is very glad she chose a plastic jar.

“Name?” Leo asks.

“Sure, we can name it. What do you think we should call it?” Janis asks, carrying Leo back to the studio to finish their original plan for the afternoon.

“Uhm… Mama,” Leo says. Janis does call Cady ‘Butterfly’ a fair bit, she supposes it makes sense.

“Mama the caterpillar, okay,” Janis chuckles. “Do you want to paint a picture of it?” Leo nods excitedly, so Janis snaps on her smock and sets her loose to paint a masterpiece while she finishes her commission.

Cady comes home with Layla after a while, and the delight on Leo’s face as she runs to show off their new friend and her painting makes the whole ordeal worth it.

—————

two.

Janis is home with Layla today. Leo had taken a venture into a thorn patch the day before and needed a doctor to help remove the last of them from her feet, so she’s out with Cady.

Janis plays with Elvira and Daffodil while Layla takes her nap. Suddenly, a cry comes through the baby monitor, and Janis rushes upstairs to see what the matter is.

Layla is, obviously, awake now, and holding on to her stuffed elephant. Janis doesn’t quite get what the problem is until she notices one of the elephant’s ears in her other hand.

“Uh oh, Lala, what happened?” Janis asks sadly, coming to hold her baby to comfort her. “Did Elmer’s ear come off?”

Layla nods with a pitiful wail, worried about her stuffed friend. Janis holds her closer and bounces her slightly to soothe her.

“Shh, Ladybug, it’s okay,” Janis hushes. “Mommy can fix his ear, shh. I got you, it’s okay.”

“Fissit?” Layla sniffles, looking at Janis curiously. Janis nods.

“Yeah, I can fix it. We’ll just have to sew it back on, he’ll be okay,” Janis confirms. “Come on.”

Janis carries Layla downstairs to the kitchen, stopping to grab a needle and thread from the sewing kit in the study and the twins’ play doctor kit from the playroom. Once they have everything, she rests Layla on the kitchen counter and Elmer in front of her.

“Alright Doctor Layla, you ready for surgery?” Janis asks. Layla nods curiously, her face still a heartbreaking red from her tears. Janis offers her a toy syringe. “Okay, give him the medicine so he doesn’t feel the pokes.”

Layla pokes it into Elmer’s arm, pretending to give him a shot. Janis threads up the needle while she does, then puts the stuffing back in and positions the ear where it should be.

“Can you hold his hand to help him be brave?” Janis asks. Layla gently takes a stuffed foot in her little hand and watches as Janis stitches the ear back on carefully. After a quick assessment, the surgery is complete, and Janis is confident that the ear won’t fall off again for at least a week. Toddlers are rough. “There we go, he’s all fixed!”

Layla claps her little hands happily and picks her friend back up, holding him close. “All bedder.”

“All better,” Janis confirms. “Now he can hear you again!”

Layla giggles as Janis kisses her chubby cheeks and helps her down. “T’ank you.”

“You’re welcome, Bug. I always got you.”

—————

three.

Janis takes the twins to the playground on a nice spring day. Cady needed them out of the house for a while to finish some work, so Janis gets to have some two-on-one time with their daughters for a little bit.

They both make a beeline for the swings as soon as they arrive, so Janis helps them into one together. The twins’ backs are against each other so they can both see out. Janis pushes them a few times to get them going and tickles Leo’s feet whenever they come back her way. After a few goes she switches to see Layla and does the same to her.

Janis takes a quick video to send to Cady of them swinging happily, with Layla babbling away about something very important. Janis can’t quite understand, since they both use a mix of English, Swahili, French, and their own special twin language. Leo just giggles the whole time.

After a while they both get dizzy and ask to get down, so Janis helps them out and sets them on the ground. Neither of the twins know what they want to do next, so Janis suggests they have a race just for fun. There’s a track nearby that joggers use, and they head that way.

Janis sets herself as the finish line a ways away, and the twins both set off on their shaky legs to run towards her when she gives the cue. They’ve only been walking for about six months, so they haven’t quite gotten the hang of running yet.

Layla makes it first on a technicality. She probably would have anyway, but Leo tripped just at the home stretch and hurt herself.

Janis scoops up Layla and comes to assess the situation as Leo starts crying where she rests on the pavement. She rests Layla in the grass nearby and scoops up the second twin.

“Oh no, Bumblebee, did you fall down?” Janis asks, already rooting through her backpack for the first aid kit. “Shh, I got you, let’s fix your owies.”

Leo sits on her lap and cries miserably as Janis gently brushes the small pebbles off her little chubby hands, assessing the scrapes. No bleeding, but they clearly hurt. Her knees are next, and Janis pouts when she sees the small scrape that is actually bleeding slightly. Layla looks on in concern for her twin as Janis opens a wipe and some bandaids.

Leo cries harder at the stinging sensation of the sanitizing wipe, but calms quickly as Janis tenderly sticks the fun smiley face bandaid over her scrape and kisses her little knee.

“There we go, all better,” Janis comforts, hugging her baby tightly. “Shh, Bee, I got you.”

Leo calms her crying after a good cuddle and is quickly ready to get back to playing. Janis holds their hands and leads them back over to the slides, deciding that the track has caused enough damage for one day.

—————-

four.

Janis sighs exasperatedly as she hears the twins kick off crying at the same time. Both babies are sick with a miserable cold that they unfortunately almost definitely picked up from Janis. Sick babies are miserable, especially when there’s not much you can do to help. And to make matters worse, Cady has a work event she can’t miss, so Janis is left alone for most of the evening.

Janis grabs the medicine and some bottles for them and heads up to the nursery. They both look miserable, pink cheeks from a mix of fever and crying, and pitiful little stuffy noses. Janis pouts and grabs both from their cribs, carrying them over to the comfy rocker and holding them on her lap.

“My poor girls. Come here, I got you,” she says quietly.

Janis quickly and carefully measures out the right dose of medicine and gives it to Leo, who pulls a face and whimpers at the metallic strawberry taste. Once she’s offered her bottle, though, she calms down and cuddles in. Janis measures out another dose and tries to give it to Layla.

“No!” Layla refuses, turning her head the other way with a sniff.

“Loopsy, it’ll make you feel better,” Janis coaxes, already exhausted herself. “Shh, come here. I got you. I know it’s yucky.”

“No!” Layla says again. Janis needs to resort to desperate measures, before this evolves into a full-blown tantrum. She stands up and carries the twins down to the kitchen. Layla looks excited but suspicious when she pulls out some juice boxes from the fridge.

Leo gets hers right away, no tricks. She sits next to her twin on the counter and kicks her little legs contently, sucking away at her tasty apple juice. Janis focuses on Layla, standing in front of her and having a little staredown with her baby.

She prepares the juice box, holding it in her hand and pretending to offer it to her. Janis secretly has the syringe of medicine in her other hand behind her back. Layla opens her mouth to accept the juice, but Janis quickly pops the medicine in instead.

Layla glares at her crankily but does blessedly swallow her dose of the syrup. Janis then actually gives her her juice, which she takes thankfully and drinks quickly to get the taste out of her mouth. Janis gets the death stare throughout the whole process of washing out the syringe and putting the medicine bottle away safely.

“Good job, girls! That medicine is yucky, huh?” Janis says. “My brave little twinkies.”

Leo beams, and even Layla gives a weak smile. Janis thinks for a while. The twins are both made lethargic by their cold, but it’s not quite bedtime yet. What can they do?

“Should we… watch a movie?” Janis asks excitedly. The twins don’t usually get much screen time, so any movie or show is a special treat. Janis thinks they deserve a Disney movie to help them feel better.

“Yeah!” Leo cheers hoarsely. Janis pouts slightly when she hears the grit in her voice. Layla nods eagerly around her juice box.

“My poor sickies. Okay, come on. I got you,” Janis says, scooping them up and carrying them to the couch. They both cuddle into her sides, all three of them watching Tangled and snuggling under a soft blanket.

Cady comes home a few hours later and smiles lovingly when she finds them all asleep together and the movie credits rolling on the screen.

—————-

five.

“I’m gonna get you!” Janis growls playfully, going into her ‘monster’ stance and preparing to chase her twins around the living room. They both squeal in delight and run away in different directions. Janis gives them a head start before she goes after Leo.

Leo shrieks as she’s captured, laughing heartily as Janis tosses her in the air and then blows raspberries on her belly before she’s gently tossed onto the couch. Layla is next.

She’s made it about halfway down the hall before she’s snatched up, screaming in surprise. Janis gives her the same treatment, but holds her by the hands to spin her around instead of tossing somewhere. Until she hears a pop and Layla gives a little yelp.

Janis quickly sets her down to check what the noise was. “What was that?”

Layla shrugs. She doesn’t seem bothered by it, but Janis has a gut feeling something isn’t right.

“Gimme five,” Janis asks as a test. It would make sense for the noise to have come from her arms. Layla only moves her left hand for the high fives. “Now this one. Can you move it?”

Layla shakes her head and looks at her in fear. She runs in for a hug, and Janis can feel her little body quivering in fright.

“Hey, it’s okay, I got you. Mama knows more about this than me, she can probably fix it. Let’s go see,” Janis says quickly. She’s absolutely terrified, but can’t let Layla know that. Did she break her own daughter’s arm?

She helps Layla sit next to Leo on the couch. Leo hugs her twin tightly, seeming instinctively to know something’s off. Janis goes to find Cady.

“Caddy?” She asks when she finds her in her study.

“Yes? Sounds like you guys are having a lot of fun,” Cady chuckles, spinning around from her desk to face her.

“IthinkIbrokeLayla,” Janis says quickly and quietly.

“You what?” Cady asks.

“I think I broke her arm,” Janis says desperately. “I’m a terrible mom, what-what am I doing?”

“Janis, hey,” Cady says gently. “You’re a wonderful mom. Our girls love you, and whatever you did, you didn’t mean it. You were playing with her. What happened?”

“I was… was chasing them, and then I grabbed her and spun her around, and then there was a pop and now she won’t move her arm,” Janis mumbles anxiously.

“Did you spin her by her wrists or her shoulders?” Cady asks.

“Wrists, I was holding her hands,” Janis says.

“You probably just popped a joint, then. I can fix that, let me see,” Cady says. Janis leads her back to the living room. Cady grins when she sees the twins cuddling on the couch together. “Hey, Bug, what happened to your arm?”

Layla shrugs. “Pop. Won’ work.”

“Uh oh,” Cady says. “Does it hurt?”

Layla shakes her head. “Not owie.”

“Good,” Cady says. “Can Mama see? I might be able to help it move again.”

Layla nods. Cady tells Janis to hold their daughter on her lap. Janis does, smiling as Layla rests her head on her shoulder and offers what works of her arm to Cady.

“It’s not her shoulder, it must be your elbow,” Cady says. She squeezes up and down the whole arm to make sure there’s not a real fracture she needs to take her to the doctor for instead. Luckily, nothing. “Yep. Easy fix. Ladybug, this might hurt a little bit, but it’ll be over super quick, okay?”

Layla nods anxiously, looking to Janis for comfort. In a series of quick motions, Cady shakes her hand, extends her arm out straight, and then brings her hand up to her shoulder. When she extends the arm there’s another pop, and Cady can feel the joint slip back into place. Layla yelps and starts crying, cuddling into Janis.

“Oh, Ladybug, shh,” Janis hushes. “I’m sorry, honey. Shh, it’s okay. I got you, shh.”

Cady rubs Layla’s back gently to calm her down, and tickles Leo’s foot to make her smile. She watched the whole thing go down, and looks very concerned for her twin.

“You’re all done, Loopsy. I felt it go back, we don’t have to do it again,” Cady hushes. “Your arm should work now, can you try?”

Layla wiggles her arm a little bit, bending her elbow curiously. Sure enough, it works!

“Yay, there we go,” Cady says. “All better. You were so brave, too! My big girl.”

“Alright girls, nap time,” Janis says quietly. She carries Layla and holds Leo’s hand as they head upstairs.

—————-

+one.

Cady frowns in confusion when Janis doesn’t come back downstairs after putting the twins down for their nap. She listens to the floorboards creaking above her, and it sounds like Janis is in their bedroom.

Cady heads up to check on her, and her frown deepens when she finds Janis curled into a ball on their bed and shaking with tears.

“Lovey, what’s wrong?” She asks sadly, cuddling up behind her. Janis rolls over and cries into her chest.

“I broke her arm! What kind of mother am I?” Janis sobs. “I broke my kid!”

“Janis, shh,” Cady comforts. “You’re a great mom. The girls love you so much, and so do I. You’re a wonderful mother.”

“But I hurt her,” Janis cries.

“By accident,” Cady hushes. “You were playing with her. It was just a popped elbow. Next time just spin her by her shoulders and not her hands.”

“But she was-she was so scared,” Janis whimpers. “I could feel her shaking.”

“And now she’s fine,” Cady says desperately. “Her arm is fine, and she’s clearly feeling well enough to nap alone. Layla trusts you. She knew you would make it better. She knows you didn’t mean to hurt her. It was an easy fix, love, she’ll be perfectly fine. Babies are bendy.”

Janis doesn’t say anything, she just continues crying into Cady’s chest. Cady holds her close and tries to comfort her. She knows the popped elbow isn’t the only thing Janis is upset about. She’s been insecure about her skills as a parent since before the twins were even born.

After about an hour, they hear the twins wake up and start moving around. “I’ll go get them. You take as long as you need,” Cady murmurs gently, kissing her forehead. She heads down the hall to the nursery to greet her babies.

Layla reaches for her, so she quickly changes her and then sets her down. Cady isn’t worried when she runs off, there’s nothing she can get into and the stairs are blocked off.

Layla pads down the hall on little feet carefully, on a hunt for her mommy. She’s confused when she finds her in the big bed, and is even more confused when she sees Mommy crying. Time to investigate.

She heads back to her own bedroom where Cady is changing Leo. Layla toddles up and tugs on her pant leg to get her attention. “Mama?”

“Yes, my little love?” Cady asks.

“Mommy cry?” Layla asks. Cady freezes for a second. Janis had just about stopped crying when she left, but maybe she picked up again. She decides it’s best to be honest with the twins.

“Yes, Mommy’s crying. She’s sad that she hurt your arm,” Cady says, resting Leo on the floor too.

“Oh.” Layla says. “Is okay. I fissit?”

Cady grins at her sadly and crouches down to her eye level with a ruffle to Layla’s curls. “I don’t know if you can fix it, Bug. But you can go see if she wants a hug, maybe that will help.”

Layla nods and sets off again at top speed, and Leo follows quickly. Cady finishes cleaning up the nursery and follows too.

Janis jumps as she feels small arms wrap around each of her legs, and little chubby cheeks rest on each knee. She looks down to find each of her twins hugging a leg and blinking those big blue eyes at her in concern. She smiles sadly and runs a hand through each head of dark curls.

“Hi, girls,” she says, trying to keep the thick lump out of her voice. “Did you have a good nap?” They both nod against her legs. “Good.”

Layla seems to be assessing her, and Leo is also clearly thinking hard about something. Janis remembers how strange it felt as child whenever an adult cried. Maybe she’s not hiding her tears as well as she thought. The babies look to each other and give a little nod before they each wiggle their way up onto the bed.

Janis is surprised when they both leap onto her and wrap her in a tight hug. They’re getting stronger, she’s nearly knocked onto her back by the force of them.

“Got you, Mommy,” Layla says quietly. Leo nods in agreement.

“Got you.”

Janis nearly starts crying again, wrapping her arms around them to hold them both closer. “Thank you, girls.”

Cady wipes some tears from her eyes and comes to join them too. They had plans for the evening, but sometimes a good family snuggle is more important.

They’ve all got each other.

#cadnis #paint by numbers #space safari #cady heron x janis sarkisian #cady x janis #cady heron #janis sarkisian #mean girls #mean girls broadway #mean girls musical

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