#nothing more rage inducing to a teenage girl than being looked down on | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

all-you-need-is-paul-mccartney · 3 years

Text

This Boy (George Harrison x Female!Reader)

A/N: Hey y'all! welcome to my first oneshot! a lot of my stories are very plot-driven and they end up becoming these long chapter fics but I'm gonna see if I can make a handful of oneshots in the next little bit to kind of give yous something to read while waiting for the longer fics to finish up. this is my first one, and it's for Georgie!

Summary: It's date night, and you're more than ready to meet your mystery date; George, however, is not.

WARNINGS: Swearing is in almost all my fics, so this one isn't safe either probably, hints of suggestive behaviour, slow burn, friends to lovers, lack of self-editing probably, etc. *This fic is also LONG AF so I would advise y'all to start reading this when you have nothing else to do*

I'll rate this one as a T. Enjoy, folks!

George checked the clock on the wall again and sighed gently.

You were still getting ready.

As much as it disappointed him, George agreed-- well, more like offered-- to drive you to your blind date one of your girlfriends set you up on.

It's not that he wasn't excited or proud of you for getting yourself out there. He knew you'd been meaning to do that since graduating school.

He was just frustrated at the fact that whichever lucky man was going on a date with you that night wasn't him.

When he found out about the date, he immediately vocalized his distrust for the mystery person, despite knowing absolutely zero about him. You seemed heartbroken at that, and to make it up to you, he offered to drive you to the date.

So there he was, sitting on the sofa in the living area of your flat, waiting for you to finish getting ready.

George had taken you to school dances in the past, and while your mother let you wear makeup to them, it never took you this long to apply it.

You were definitely dressing to impress tonight.

"Lucky man," he just mumbled under his breath at the thought of that boy.

You and George had been friends since you were children, and he deemed you his Best Friend Forever only an hour into your first playtime.

You spent your days as children riding your bikes to the park to play, and helping each other with homework at each other's houses every night.

However, that sort of platonic "buddy-buddy" dynamic changed when the both of you hit puberty.

It wasn't until a boy at George's school questioned him if you were his girlfriend, that George realized he had a crush on you. Some of his friends had girl friends, and they were always teased about whether or not they were dating, but this was the first time anyone had put you and George together.

After this discovery, (which he would endlessly thank the young boy who opened his eyes to the truth in the first place) George began to notice lots of little things about you that he hadn't before.

You would run your fingers through the hair on the back of his head during hugs, you never took your eyes away from him when he was speaking; there hadn't been one time to name that you'd ever made him upset or angry, but more or less excited, and free, and joyous.

And not to mention, the way you called him "Georgie" made his heart pound so loud and hard in his chest that he might as well have just completed a marathon...

He was in love with everything only when you were around.

Actually, as awkward as George thinks it is, Paul helped him realize he was physically attracted to you.

The boys were on their way to George's after school, a few years after George realized he had a little crush on you, and the teenagers both caught sight of you watering the front garden of your home at the request of your mother.

George stopped in his tracks when he saw you, his mouth hanging open as he watched you do your thing. After being enrolled in his boy's school, you never had much time to see one another, as much as it hurt him; so he cherished every moment he could see you.

"If her ma catches you out the window starin' at her daughter's arse the way you're doin' right now Harrison, they'll rip your tongue right out."

George's face went bright red, and he turned to look at Paul in horror, slapping him on the arm for saying such a thing. "I wasn't staring at her like that!" But he couldn't help but steal a glance at your behind since it was now the topic of discussion, though he really didn't want it to be.

Paul knew George felt compelled to say something to you, and he smirked as George awkwardly raised his hand to wave as he called to you from the other side of the street.

"H-hey, Y/n!"

You turned around, and grinned at who you'd seen.

"Hey Georgie! Hi Paulie!" You twiddled your fingers at them, and George's stomach churned in jealousy at the fact you had a nickname for Paul, as well.

"Your garden looks beautiful, Ms. Y/l/n!"

Paul stole George's line. He fucking stole his line!

"A-and you look just as lovely as ever!" George added to one-up his friend.

You put a hand to your heart. "You boys make my heart sing." George took pride in your words despite them partially being for Paul as well.

"We need to see each other more, yeah?" George never expected his question to really get him anywhere, but he was wrong.

"Why not tonight? I don't have any homework and my parents are leaving town 'round five for the weekend to visit my auntie and uncle."

George's answer came quick, and effortlessly. "I'll be 'round for six. Sound good?"

"Perfect! I'll see you tonight then." You waved to the boys again, and then went back to watering the garden after bidding farewell.

The rest of the walk home was just Paul making fun of how lovestruck George was with you, and by the time they got to his house, just down the road from yours, Paul looked over at his buddy and smiled.

"No wonder you value your time with your darlin' over there so much, Magpie. Looks like she would definitely be a fine birdie in bed."

George looked over at Paul, eyes wide, and his voice broke. "... What?!" The thought of going to bed with you never crossed his mind-- well, until that moment.

"Hey, her folks'll be gone by the time you go over! You can make your move then! It's perfect!" Paul's words laced with excitement made George feel panicked, and the boy shook his head worriedly after a moment. "M-maybe it's not the best idea to go tonight..."

"Why not? All you ever wanna do is be alone with her!" Paul set a hand on the other boy's shoulder when he didn't answer. "What's up, George?"

"Paul, I've never even kissed her. She doesn't even know I like her like that! What if she likes someone else?! What do I even do?!" Paul was the biggest heartbreaker George knew. He'd had like... ten girlfriends since they met, and he kissed a whole three of them. They didn't last long, much like the fate of other young relationships, but George took Paul's advice as serious guidance; he needed to in a time like this.

"You just need to be calm. Take some deep breaths. You'll know what to do when the time comes. I know you will."

That night, George had many opportunities to dive in for a kiss, or mention his feelings for you; some of those opportunities he even believed you encouraged, but he didn't budge out of utter fear of rejection. George knew for a fact that Paul was going to facepalm when he asks him for details on the visit to your place.

Instead, the night only consisted of talking, and the only contact you made were a couple of hugs and a kiss on the cheek (which left George a stumbling mess again), though you did agree to spend more time together, which is how your friendship lasted so long.

He was so close to having you, and because he was too scared to make the move Paul (and maybe you) were encouraging him to make so long ago, you slipped through his fingers; and since, the thought of not being able to have you that way never left his mind.

Especially not when you were now a gorgeous young lady, blindly torturing poor George, who beat himself up every day because he lost his chance.

You were like a piece of artwork to George. You could be loved, admired, and looked at by him, but he could never hold you or touch you.

And George hated that.

George wanted you to be his girl.

And you were his girl-- well, in a twisted way. You were always with him, smiling and laughing about nothing and everything, holding onto each other in your darkest nights and guiding one another through personal struggles...

But when other boys started to want you too, George wanted to make it a point to keep the majority of them away.

Some didn't heed George's threats and went on to pursue you anyways, only to be turned down on your front steps by yourself. George never understood why you never reciprocated anybody's feelings, but it's not like he was verbally complaining.

And that's what lead up to tonight. George had wanted you for so long, and the sudden knowledge of a blind date had him in shock, especially since this was your very first time giving in and agreeing to go.

It killed him to know some rando was going to appear out of thin air to whisk you away, whisper sweet nothings in your ear and eventually put his hands on you, thinking his love for you is stronger than any other despite knowing absolutely nothing about how you should be loved, and treated...

But George hid his fury from you because you were excited about this date.

And he would do anything for you.

George's rage-inducing, mind-racing thoughts were interrupted by the sound of your bedroom door clicking shut from behind him. He turned his head, heart in his throat, and you stepped into the room.

You wore a lovely high-waisted navy dress, and a pair of black flats. Your hair was half down, the rest coming together at the back of your head by a matching clip-on bow.

As expected, your makeup was quite noticeable. The burgundy colour of your lips and dark brown eyeshadow had George's head spinning, and he couldn't resist ogling at the way that dress fit you so well...

"So… How do I look? Like, if we were about to go on a date..."

A date? Us? We?!

George's palms began to sweat, and his heart did somersaults. If only.

It was only then that he realized his mouth was hanging slightly ajar, and after snapping it shut, he swallowed in embarrassment, not daring to look anywhere but your eyes again in fear of falling victim to your appearance again.

Imagine not being able to trust your eyes?

"... What would you think?"

George squeaked, his lips moving hesitantly though he didn't make a sound. His face was surely an embarrassing shade of red, and the longer he waited into answer, the more anticipated you looked for a response.

George rose to his feet and approached you, bravely deciding to give you another good onceover after a deep breath, though he kind of lost all sense of feeling in his legs when you smiled at him with that perfect mouth of yours...

"Wow." George sighed, eyelids falling heavy over his brown irises as he admired you.

"I just... you... wow, Y/n." He couldn't come up with a coherent sentence with the way you were staring at him like that.

God, he was absolutely smitten with you.

Your eyes shone joyously as you placed your hand on your heart, and George, as impossible to him as it seemed, fell so much more in love with you than he was just moments before. Your presence rendered him speechless, and the thought inflated your ego a lot more than you would have expected it to.

George remained silent, but his gaze was still glued to you. He'd looked at you for long enough in his life to probably draw you perfectly by memory, but he still took his time to drink in what he was given; because who knew if he'd ever be able to see more of you than this?

"I... I'm-- I'm speechless, is what I am." He cleared his throat after a moment and said, "I... honestly hope my eyes are doing all the talking for me."

"Aw, you're just a sweetiepie, aren't you?"

You beamed at George, blushing as you took another step toward him. "Well Georgie... if you keep looking at me and sweet-talking the way you are..." your warm words were carefully chosen, and it was obvious that George was hanging into every single word you were saying.

"I may just have to pass on this date and spend tonight with you." Your eyelids fell heavy over your eyes, and you offered George a smile that was suggesting something maybe not so innocent.

"Wh-what?!"

"... I said I'm ready to go." You raised your eyebrow in a little confusion at George's flustered state.

Oh my fucking God she didn't even say that?!

Idiot.

Idiot, idiot, idiot.

"... R-right, yes, of course." George shook his head as if to rid his brain of the idea of tricking him like that again. He offered his arm out to you, and you linked yours with his before walking to the door together.

You passed a mirror on the way out, and George caught a glimpse of the both of your reflections, and his chest felt like it was on fire.

He looked so happy to be with you in that moment.

And you looked so happy to be leaving to spend time with another man.

George just hoped at least the reflection of him and you were going on this date together, and both of those smiles were meant for each other.

George pulled up to whatever restaurant this guy wanted to meet you at, which was on the other side of town. George did not approve of this and even reminded you of this on the way there, though you insisted you'd be fine, like you had the couple of times he mentioned this before.

You looked at him after he threw his car into park, and he gave you a little smile after a moment, but it didn't reach his eyes.

"You do look beautiful, Y/n. This guy... he's very lucky."

"I... I don't know what to say."

"Say you believe me."

You didn't say anything. Instead, you smiled sadly, and leaned in to kiss George's cheek. His skin darkened to pink beneath your lips before you could pull away and leave the car with another goodbye, though his ears were ringing and he missed your final farewell.

She doesn't believe me...

George waited until he saw you were seated in the restaurant to put his car back into drive, but something kept him from lifting his foot off the brake. He watched you adjust your silverware at your table, and clasp your hands together in wait.

... Maybe George wanted to wait for this guy to show up.

But would he really want to kill himself by spying on you and watching you fall for someone who wasn't him over the course of one night?

That was the question that made him decide to look back, and pull out of his parking space before he could spot anyone even go near the building. He was in drive and speeding home moments later.

The car ride back to his flat was a quiet one. George kept the radio off, and his fingers drummed against the steering wheel the whole time as if he were almost impatient to get home and do nothing.

Every time he looked in the rear view mirror and saw his eyes stare back at him, it just reminded him that his reflection left that restaurant alone and just as disappointed as his real counterpart.

It wasn't long before George pulled into his building's parking space and sulked out of his car, slamming the door shut. His eyes and nose were burning from the assault of unfallen tears.

He dropped you off to meet this guy. This was all on him this time.

George loved you. He loved you with all his heart, enough to swallow his pride-- sacrifice his happiness for your own.

As much as he didn't want to admit it, dropping you off that night felt like he was letting you go.

And was he?

He pretty much stumbled through the door because his fucks to give for himself were pretty much nonexistent at this point. He kicked his shoes off, not caring if he scuffed up the wall with black marks.

He just wanted to have a long hot shower, crawl into bed, and hide from everyone.

And that's just what he did.

His shower was well over an hour long, and that's where he broke down and cried for the majority of the time. He cried about you, and the situation his own decisions put himself in. He cried in jealousy for the threat sweeping you off your feet right now, and he cried as if that was the last night he'd ever see you again.

When he got out of the shower, well after the stream went cold, he had no more tears to shed. He was dehydrated, and he felt broken. He did a half-assed job of drying himself off before leaving the bathroom and collapsing into bed, only a towel secured around his hips.

His face was pressed into his pillow, and he tucked his arms beneath it and submerged himself even further into the soft fabric.

He recently switched detergent to whichever one you regularly used, and he just took in the familiar scent; anything to make him feel more at home without you actually being present...

George had no idea how long he was in that position for, but he fell asleep like that, only to wake to the sound of the phone ringing.

He got up and stumbled out of his room to ease the obnoxiously loud phone by picking up the call, shouting, and hanging up on whoever decided to phone at this hour-- whichever hour it was.

"Yeah," George rasped through the receiver, his tone laced with underlying irritation. He just wanted to be left alone in his sadness.

"George..."

"... Y/n?" He was rubbing the sleep from his eyes with the palm of his hand before you spoke, but your voice made him freeze.

"Oh Georgie..." your voice was breaking over the phone, and he could tell it wasn't the connection.

"Y/n, my Love, what's the matter?!"

"George he... He didn't show." George's heart stopped.

He didn't show.

George's grip closed tighter and tighter on the phone receiver, and he could feel the pure rage bubbling in his chest, and the plastic receiver crackling from the force under his fingers.

"Where are you?" He demanded. "I'm coming right now to get you," George was about to start throwing his shoes on, despite wearing absolutely nothing to start off with, his towel discarded and still on the bed from when he passed out.

"The same place you dropped me off."

God dammit, this fucking guy had you go to the other side of town just to be forgotten about.

It was finally settled: if George ever found out who this guy was, he'd kill him for doing this to you.

"Don't move. Be there in five." As soon as George hung up the phone, he took off to his room. He was ready in record time: under a minute. Up until the day he died, George wouldn't have been able to dress as quick as he did that night, and he never knew how he did it.

What really mattered was that George got to the other side of town in about five minutes, as he said over the phone.

George whipped into the parking lot and got out of the car. He hurried over to the front of the building to go in and search for you, but he caught a glimpse of you sitting at the curb as he grabbed the door handle.

His grip eased on the lockset, and he slowly turned to you. You were facing away from him, arms folded as you tried to shield yourself from the cool evening wind. You had no clue he was even behind you.

George sighed gently, shedding his jacket off and placing it on your shoulders without another word. He could see your whole body relax from the weighted piece of clothing, and he wondered if his scent was comforting for you too, as it was vice versa.

George heard you breathe out, but you sniffled afterwards. It broke his heart to see you like this. George looked around to see if anyone was watching, because if there was a chance this guy was cackling away in a parked car at the sight of you in tears, George would have had no problem kicking his headlights in and slashing his tires.

He dropped to the curb and sat down right next to you, not hesitating to circle his arm around your body.

At his touch, you curled yourself into a ball, and George scooped you up to squeeze you tight. And against his chest, when you knew you were safe from all harm, you gently sobbed.

George let you cry it all out, and the tighter you held onto him, the tighter he held onto you.

"Am I just unlovable George...? Is that it?" Your words were quiet and muffled, but George heard every syllable you mustered.

He pulled away from your embrace to look you in the eyes, and his grip on your arms were firm, but not tight. "Now Y/n, you do not for one second even think you're unlovable. That is the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard." His eyebrows were lowered in anger at the very idea of you feeling unloved.

Tears began to well up in your eyes, and George's expression softened. He reached his hand up to your face, and he could feel you shaking. He pursed his lips and furrowed his brow again.

George wished then more than ever that he was the one who was supposed to see you. He would have shown up.

"Y/n, you deserve so much better than this. If you were mine, I’d make sure sitting alone on the curb, stood up, would be the last place you'd ever find yourself, especially when you were so excited to go out..."

George didn't know where his little spurt of confidence came from, but he was more focused on the words he was choosing to use with you, and what he was all going to say.

"... If I were yours...?" You sniffled again, cheeks and the tip of your nose turning pink and George paused at the sudden realization.

You still had a chance to be his.

And all because that boy didn't show up, he still had time to figure out how he could pull it all off; but it had to be tonight.

He took a deep breath.

"I mean, anyone would be lucky to date you. I just... I sometimes wonder why you were never mine. Why you're not mine..." his voice lowered throughout the sentence, and the end of his confession was barely above a whisper.

You watched George for a moment, lips parted, as if you couldn't believe your ears, and the young man panicked a little, deciding to disregard his last words before it suddenly became the topic of discussion.

"Oh, my Love," George's eyes suddenly saddened as he reached out to wipe away your fresh tears and smeared makeup with his thumb. Your bottom lip trembled at the contact, and he sighed.

"Just because he didn't show up doesn't mean your evening has gone to waste." He stood up and turned to look down at you.

"The night is still young." He then held his hand out in front of you, and you looked at it for a moment as if you didn't know what he wanted from you.

"Y/n... give me one night. Let me show you how a man should always treat you."

He wasn't quite sure if he just unintentionally asked you on a real life date, or if you thought of all this as an act, but even if you didn't reciprocate his feelings, it gave George the chance of a lifetime to at least pretend you were his, even if this opportunity only lasted one night.

"Please."

You didn't move at first, but George was patient. You eventually slowly reached your hand out, and George helped you up, not making the effort to let go of you afterwards.

George looked up at the restaurant, and did a double take. "... You... you don't even like fancy places like this, am I wrong?" All you could think about when looking at him was that he knew you so well.

"A place like this on a first date is a clear sign he'd leave halfway through and I'd be stuck with the bill." George smiled a little, and so did you.

You wiped your final stray tear from your cheek and George gave your other hand a squeeze. "... I'd rather get a burger and go for a walk, to be honest."

"Then that's what we'll do," George confirmed with a nod. It was settled, then.

George and you strolled to the car, still hand-in-hand, and he courteously opened your door to help you in. He ran over to the other side afterwards and climbed in behind the wheel before pulling out and taking off to find somewhere for you both to eat.

You both came across this quiet burger place downtown, and the both of you were able to get a booth in the back for privacy so you could both scarf down your meals in peace.

George ordered the same food you did, and you both settled on sharing a milkshake together (a single milkshake eventually became two).

"God," you looked around the nearly empty joint before turning your gaze back to George. "Do you know how much more comfortable I feel in here?"

"Even when you're dressed like you belong in a dress shop window?" George smiled around his straw and you matched his grin. "Shut up. At least my hair is brushed out."

The poor guy had no clue until now that he forgot to comb his hair out after his depression shower, embarrassingly clawing his fingers through his locks to at least tidy up the mess on his head.

You just laughed out that you were teasing him, and the joyous hiccups from your laughter had George briefly forgetting everything negative that had happened so far that night.

After settling down a little, your food was brought out and you both started eating.

There wasn't much for the both of you to talk about other than the part of your day when you weren't together, and it wasn't like George wanted to mention what happened to him in the last two hours or make you upset by talking about your night.

Instead you both settled on joking about old times. Before the both of you knew it, George had you giggling and smiling once again before your dessert even came, and when the waitress came around to your table with your two-person cookie skillet, you grinned even wider.

You thanked the waitress before she went on her way, and you looked up across the treat to George, whom you were half expecting to be drooling over the cookie. Instead, he was in a dream-like trance, soft gaze fixed on you, and only you. You weren't too sure if he even knew the skillet was in front of him, he was so distracted.

"George...?" You called to him gently as to not frighten him when coming back down to reality. His response was almost immediate, like he could hear you.

And maybe he did.

"... I'm sorry, I don't know how many times I've tried to say this already tonight but have chickened out, but you look just..." George was examining every inch of you that he could see and you blushed, casting your eyes down to the table.

"Angel, look at me." George reached over the table and rested his hand over yours. You lifted your head to look him in the eye, and he hesitated for a moment. Your full attention flustered him, then again it always did, but he took a deep breath.

"You look heavenly, Y/n."

You said nothing. This time, he had you speechless, but nothing wasn't the response he was looking for.

"Dontcha believe me...?" His question echoed through your brain, and you blinked. George scanned your eyes after giving your hand a squeeze. He knew you had something to say, and he was at the edge of his seat in anticipation for your words.

"... Do you really think so?"

"Are you kidding me?! Y/n, I... when you came out of your room tonight I just... looking at you right now, I'm at a loss for words. Heavenly doesn't even scratch the surface. No word exists that perfectly describes how you look to me. Now, or ever."

There was yet another spurt of confidence that washed over George. He had a feeling his words and actions were getting the both of you somewhere, especially when his final sentence had you blushing the way you were.

At least he knew he was doing something right.

George's grip on your hand tightened a little, and he flipped your hands over so your palm was face-up in his. He brought your hand closer to him, and he kissed your fingertips before leaving a final one at the centre of your palm. His eyes never left your red face as he did this, and he grinned against your hand when you offered him a shy smile.

Oh... she IS actually liking this.

When he pulled away, George looked down at the still-untouched dessert, and he smiled, releasing another nervous breath he was holding as he finally let go of your hand. "Let's finish up so we can go on our walk. Sound good, my Love?"

You only nodded before digging in with him, every nudge of his hand against yours reducing you to a blushing mess, and George, who was gaining more confidence as every second passed, would just smile to himself knowing he was successfully turning the tables on you.

But it wasn't yet the time to give in and confess, as much as George wanted to. He still had a nice long walk to woo you on, and then he had to do the important step of walking you to your apartment door at the end of the night, and God knows that was the part he was dying to get to.

You finished your dessert not long after and George payed the bill. After helping you out of the booth, you'd left hand-in-hand again.

The both of you stepped out into the cool night and you looked up at George. "Are you cold? Did you want your jacket back?"

You were holding it in your other hand since you'd taken it off at dinner, and you shoved it in his direction without another word.

He laughed and took the jacket from you, unfolding it and pulling it back around your shoulders before rubbing his hands up and down your arms to keep you warm.

"You'll catch a cold without it. Besides, you look better in it anyways." He leaned in and kissed your cheek, smiling proudly to himself when he pulled away and continued to lead you to the car, deciding it'd be smoother to not turn around and gauge for a reaction from you.

Like before, George courteously opened the car door for you, and closed it when you were in. Their destination was his place. It wasn't for the reason one would think, but the idea of driving you to his home and inviting you in with every intention of walking right past the kettle made George's legs restless.

In reality there was a park down the road from his flat that cut pretty much directly to your own humble abode. You'd walked the trail hundreds of times together to look at the pretty flowers growing in the garden, but something told George that this time, like everything else happening that day, was going to be very different.

When you pulled up to his building he raced you to get to your door for the second time of the night; the first being at the burger place when you first arrived. He took your hand and helped you out of the car, and he didn't let go, even after locking the doors to his car and leading you both down the road.

There was a silence that fell between the both of you. It wasn't bad. You took this time to think about your night, as did George. With every step down the road and into the park you took, the smile on your face only grew wider. As for George, he began to sweat with every step he took.

Every foot forward led him closer and closer to your door, where he was going to finally let everything off his chest and confess to you. The problem was that George's confidence was quickly draining, and this was something he needed to do.

He eventually let go of your hand to wipe his palms off on his pant leg, and at the immediate loss of contact, you were turning to him with a confused look on your face.

"Sorry uh..." he breathed out slowly, cheeks dusted pink. "I-I don't know why, but I'm kinda nervous."

Your look of confusion faded into an unreadable one. "Was it holding my hand?"

George shook his head. "No no, not that, I want to hold your hand."

"So what's the problem?"

He just shook his head again. "Maybe it's just... the stress of making sure tonight is perfect for you."

"What?!" Your reaction was sudden, and George's eyebrows were raised high up on his forehead at your exclamation.

"George, tonight has already been perfect for me! I had a great meal, I'm on a lovely walk with you..." you reached out to take his hand again, and he lifted his gaze from his shoes to look you in the eye. You smiled up at him from under the streetlight, and George smiled back a little.

"Georgie, I would never have asked for a better night." You squeezed his fingers with yours and tugged him forward gently. "C'mon, Magpie. Let's get home. It'll be cooling down soon, and I don't want you walking outside much longer than needed tonight."

George followed behind, but you still took your time coming home since the both of you got caught up in another conversation. This time, it was about the flowers you were passing in the park.

"... I used to water those for you, y'know." He pointed to a cluster of marigolds. To think that was ten years earlier and they still stayed put, growing outwards and stronger than ever.

"I used to check on them every day to make sure they weren't dying. You told me one time you really liked those flowers and I just..." he smiled a little at the memory. "I just couldn't get enough of your smile every time you saw them."

You turned to look up at him. You had absolutely no clue he did that for you. It made you love the flowers even more, and your heart jumped a little when you realized that the marigolds were the very reason George insisted you both took the trail all the tine.

"I'll still come across them when passing flower shops. I always think of you when I see them."

"Wow. George, I... I never knew you paid that much attention to me."

"Why wouldn't I? You're my best friend."

And George didn't say anything after that, especially when you didn't respond to his last comment, which he didn't even mean to say.

By the time George could think up a sentence to save himself from friend-zoning the both of you right then and there, he felt like he'd left it for too long.

His heart was sinking, and he tried to shake off the comment best he could, and walked you the rest of the way home.

His stomach was in a knot as he looked up at your apartment building. The front door to the lobby looked intimidating, and his palms began to sweat again. You slipped your hand out of George's, and it distracted him from his racing thoughts.

"You think I'm gonna just leave you here?" His question was sudden, and you blinked once.

"I'm sorry?" You looked from George, to the apartment door which was ten feet away from the both of you. "But George, I'm home?"

"I have to walk you to your door." You laughed at his response, head thrown back as you sighed. "You mean to tell me you, George Harrison, are gonna walk up five flights of stairs in the next two minutes just to make sure you can hear me lock my door and know I'm safe?"

"Would it be a real date if I didn't?"

There was another beat of silence as George watched your eyes shift from left to right in thought. You pursed your lips a little, and then looked him in the eye.

"... Suppose it wouldn't be then, no."

"Then may I walk you to your door, Y/n?"

You finally answered him with a simple nod of your head, and George reached out to take your hand again. He wordlessly led you to the door which he opened for you, and then brought you to the flight of stairs. Nowhere else to go but up.

In about two minutes, you and George got to the fifth floor. As soon as he entered the hall, it felt like the walls were slowly closing together as you both took quiet, careful steps towards the end of the way.

The entire time, your hands were glued together, and no one let go, even when you were both finally stopped, and standing in front of your door.

"I'm sorry about tonight, Y/n. I know you were saying earlier tonight turned out perfect and everything but..." George's brain was still on that platonic comment he made on the walk.

"George, there is no one I would have rather spent tonight with than you. No one."

George squeezed your hand, and then sighed. "I just wish tonight happened under different circumstances."

"Different circumstances?" You repeated a little confused, and the boy in front of you pursed his lips and nodded his head.

Deep breaths. Here it goes.

"Y/n, ever since I found out about this date, my blood has just been boiling with jealousy for that boy. Hell, I still don't even know his name and I could tell you he isn't good for you."

You looked taken aback. Jealousy was definitely not where you thought he was going with all of this.

"I fell in love with you, Y/n. Years ago. And because I feared rejection, I didn't want to take my chances and say anything. But the truth of the matter is that I'd be the happiest person alive just to be able to love you openly. I can't stand to see you cry the way he made you tonight."

Again, you stood there, no words coming to mind to respond with. Your silence didn't make George stop.

"To think for years my feelings for you haven't gone away. I've always thought you felt the same, yet you were never mine." George paused. "When can this boy get you back again, Y/n?"

There was a long silence, his eyes searching yours for your answer, and you were staring up at him like a deer in headlights.

"I-- if I'd known-- I never thought-- George, I had no clue." He could see the lost look on your face, and it made his heart ache, especially when your lip began to tremble and your eyes started filling to the brim with tears.

"Why do you think I turned down every guy who's tried to get with me? I just... I never thought you'd love me back, Georgie." His emotions sank into a deep dark guilt. All this time, and you felt the same way about him...

And then he blinked.

You feel the same way about him!

George reached out to you, his hand cupping the side of your face and stroking your cheek with his thumb. Your tears began to fall, and he pulled you into his chest tightly for a moment. "My Love," he mumbled, pulling away just far enough for him to see your face again.

"Oh, even when you're crying, you are the most beautiful thing I've ever set eyes on..." There was a beat of nothing; just the sound of shallow breaths shared between the both of you before George began to inch in slowly towards you.

"... George, what are you doing...?" Your question was gentle, and you didn't stop him from coming any closer. You didn't want to stop him.

"Something I should've done a long time ago."

His attention fixated to your mouth once before your lips finally clashed together.

For over a decade, George had waited for the moment he tasted your lips; and now that it was here, he was almost scared he wouldn't know what to do.

The both of you were holding your breath since you both felt a little unsure at first, but it was a given, he was kissing his childhood best friend, and you were, too. You kissed back a little, and George exhaled lightly through his nose, a little relieved knowing you were getting a little more comfortable with the situation.

George's hands fell to your waist, fingers curling around your body as he eventually pulled you even closer. You parted your lips a little, and he bit down on your bottom lip, pulling away after hearing you gasp.

"Oh! Did I hurt you? I'm--" George could barely rush an apology out before you pulled him down to kiss him again, and pushing him backwards until his back was flat against your door. He watched as you closed the space between you again, and your lips were on his again.

His heart was pounding, ears ringing loudly as you slipped your tongue into his mouth, and all the boy could remember thinking about was how blissful it all was in that moment. George threw his arms around you and started pushing back just a little.

You pulled away from him to gasp in a breath, George's hands grabbing your arms and pinning you against your door so he could put you in the place he was moments before; to give you the moment to experience just a fraction of all the love he would be able to eventually give to you.

His lips briefly found the crook of your neck and you moaned quietly as George sucked at your skin a little, which only resulted in him pulling away just to lean back in to kiss your lips and swallow your pleasant hums.

You eventually pulled away to face him again, lips swelled and pink, and breaths quick. You never thought you'd have so much trouble breathing while kissing someone.

Then again, it's not everyday that the man you're kissing is George Harrison.

"I know it's rare to ask this on a first date but..." George leaned down to attach his lips to the column of your throat, and he hummed against your skin when you moaned gently, delaying your question for a moment.

"... Did you maybe wanna, I don't know, come in, stick around for some tea?"

"Is that even a question?" George asked lowly against your neck, and you smiled. You reached into your purse to retrieve your apartment keys, which you blindly stuck into the keyhole since George was back to kissing you again, and the both of you stumbled through the door as soon as you got it open.

You and George kicked your shoes off after shutting the door, and you pushed him up against the wall in the front corridor to kiss him once again.

Ten years was way too long for the both of you to be deprived of one another any further, and George gladly let you migrate your lips to his neck after a moment, tilting his head back for you to make things a little easier.

With your head buried into his neck and your arms circled around one another, George lazily opened this eyes to watch himself in that same mirror across the hall he looked into a few hours prior.

All the boy could do was smile to himself, breathing heavily as he watched your reflection switch to the other side of his neck after leaving a mark on the right side of his throat.

Not only was his reflection successful in this date tonight, but George himself pulled off the biggest risk he could imagine and it paid off.

He finally got the girl of his dreams.

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

A/A/N: honestly, this fic lives rent free in my head and it has been since I wrote it, so I gotta show it off to y'all. Again, I know it was long, but I really hope you enjoy it <3

PERMENANT TAG LIST

@culturefiendtrashqueen

@rogermeddow

(message me if you want to be added to any of my oneshot/queen/beatles/chapter taglists)

#the beatles #john lennon #john lennon x reader #paul mccartney #paul mccartney x reader #george harrison #george harrison x reader #ringo starr #ringo starr x reader #paul mccharmly

439 notes · View notes

wlw-lovestruck-fiction · 3 years

Note

May i request hc or fic of liora, zhora, and vivienne finding out that their girlfriend had been psychologically/emotionally abused by her parents; making her use the safe word because of how triggering it was for her? For Xenia, make it MC’s foster parents psychologically/emotionally abused her while she was moved from house to house? Pretty Please?

Warnings for: Near Drowning Panic Attacks Autistic Overload Reference to ABA therapy Emotionally abusive parents Reference of physical abuse SPOILERS Swearing

Written by: @evoedbd *****

The sound of water rushed in her ears. That dulled, sloshing of limbs weakly paddling. Underwater always felt so far away from the world, each source its own little ecosystem waiting for someone entitled enough to come by and befoul it. Bubbles, little pockets of air rushing to escape the vast nothingness, the inevitable trap before they burst at the surface. Until they ceased to exist to contribute to a larger whole. There was something morbidly poetic about water and bubbles, something that enchanted even the youngest of minds. Water and bubbles, no matter the age of the being observing them, held an allure. Zoe remembered when bubbles and pools were a thing of joy when the bath was the highlight of her day. That time when her mom would spend time with her, and later, where she could be alone to think. The journey into adulthood had seen bath bubbles fade into basic soaps, then baths into quick showers. Strange, that her life would lead her back to pools. Back to the inevitable. Perhaps time was nothing more than an air bubble, and she was merely meant to add to the whole.

Zoe let her body float, unable to do anything but watch the bubbles from her escaping breath. That was wrong. She knew she was meant to rise now, meant to use her arms to take a stroke enough to lift her face from the water. To take a breath… but she couldn’t. Her body was locked, floating face down, about to begin sinking if she couldn’t do something. Puff her stomach, rollover, flap for help. Something. ANYTHING. She couldn’t. She was helpless to do anything but think. Teenage years all over again. That same drugged out feeling, that cloud on her mind, that helplessness with her own body and opinions. An air bubble at the bottom of an ocean doomed no matter what.

She had to wonder, if a bubble could feel, would it be as melancholy as she was thinking? Surrendering to the water was so effortless. Letting herself sink, she was able to finally look up, to see how far she had fallen beneath the surface. Or was it how far she’d come? When everything had started, she was merely this naive little girl babbling about all the attractive people she bumped into, trying to just stay in line and keep her head down, then trying to protect what she loved so that everything would be normal again. She’d been so safe in normal, content with the lies she’d been fed for a scrap of approval. Now? She could see how brainwashed she’d been, how accepting of things as normal instead of wrong. How she’d enabled these things by holding her tongue. It had only taken a storm of nature to sweep her off her feet, to grab her in the typhoon, for her to truly see what had been in front of her all along.

It was so beautiful, looking up, especially once the bubbles had all burst. A clean screen but a blurred view of white blue bands dancing across the industrial concrete ceiling. No shape was the same, yet all were stripes, rippling between straight and curved with the gentle artificial waves. Light and reflections, smoke and mirrors, but so serene that Zoe could almost just let herself drift away. But her body had other ideas. She tried to breathe, only to inhale a lungful of water. The beauty faded. It was no longer serene, but stinging and agonizing. It was a lungful of chemical and death, foul-tasting and burning all the way down her throat. It was bitter defeat, with a side question of how many people had peed in this pool? Was she really about to let herself drown in a pool full of other people’s piss?

Before she could even answer that, it was white. It was a storm of bubbles, a stampede of white crashing so loudly in her ears that she almost screamed. Why was it so loud? What was the muffled screaming? The chaos? It was her teenage years all over again. Her life. Was this what a life flashing before one’s eyes truly meant? Not all the sexy times, not a movie of achievements and desires, but a mottled sensation of one’s worst times? Why would anybody romanticize this crap? Before she could truly contemplate it, there was an answer. A tight arm around her midsection, pulling just that little bit too tightly, squeezing and intimidating, dragging her through the water, out of the water. Finally, she could take a breath.

It was useless. Everything was too cold, stinging against confused nerves. But her back was hot, cushioned, but the cushioning was all rough and wet which made it cold. It defied logic. What else could she do but gasp for that useless air to make her lungs work? She needed air to struggle, to defy this illogical clash of sensation and right the galaxy. Then it was moving, it was vanishing, replaced by a smooth heat, save particular points of contact. A silkier wetness, somehow, and more heat than even the warmed water. A nicer sensation. At that, Zoe turned, trying to worm her way into the comfort even as she tried to think of everything she wanted to say. To process what had happened.

“Zoe?” The mass behind her spoke, tone… why couldn’t Zoe identify the tone? It was right on the tip of her tongue, within reach of her grasping mind, but it was just… blank? Was that even the right word? She knew the word, she knew lots of words, words that had people scratching their heads, but right now. Right now, not a single word was within her reach. She couldn’t access her files, couldn’t make herself process the world. It was too much, too loud. The assistant droids were clanking, the kitchen pots and pans beating her over the head, making it throb… only, nothing was touching her. Wyst was yelling for help, or was it her father yelling at her to get help? They sounded nothing alike, but… she was scared, terrified. Was a zombie coming back from the grave or was she the zombie? Well, with all the cells constantly dying in people, everyone was always a little dead inside but that was totally irrelevant. Why did she think that? She shouldn’t think that… should she? Could she even say that? If she tried to explain what was happening, would the words even make sense? She wanted to scream, to shout, needed to get the noise off of her chest before it drove her deaf, but what noise should she even make? If she was to be silenced, what solitary cry would save her? What would bring her world back into balance?

“Dolphin…” The whisper escaped. A single word. A code. Something she remembered even in the depths of her pain. When her mind was flooded, the word remained. An old-world mammal, which swum the oceans. Logic defying and yet completely logical. Beautiful. Unique. Her favourite. An image of safety for a young child, turned a word for an adult. A single word which said more than an entire sentence could. A word she wouldn’t ever be punished for uttering. She knew that in her bones. Zhora had told her.

“Dolphin.” Louder this time. Zhora had let her pick one word, for when she was so overwhelmed that she needed everything to stop. Just like now. Zhora would make it happen. Zhora would make the world stand still if Zoe merely requested it. If a way did not exist, Zhora would invent one. Zhora was safety just as she was the typhoon. How a force of nature was the safest thing in Zoe’s life made no sense, especially Zhora, but despite defying what Zoe had always recognized as logic, the results spoke for themselves. Beaten, bruised, wounded, Zhora would always win. She’d crawl across molten lava and shards of glass, bleeding out whilst being shot at if it would see Zoe safe. Zhora had been the storm to wake Zoe to corruption, just as she was the saving grace when Zoe had begun to fall. Zhora sparked rage but quelled it too. She was a criminal with a heart of gold. She was the constant. Zhora was… Zhora.

“Zoe?” that tone again. Zoe couldn’t even think what it was, but it was. She knew exactly how it made her feel. That warm, gooey feeling in her chest, as if her heart were a melting chocolate pudding. As if the warmth of a good hot chocolate was blooming in every muscle, in every bone, without the unpleasantness of having to slide down into her gut first. Instant gratification, instant security. Enough to lure Zoe out of her hiding place. To lift her head.

“Dolphin,” Zoe repeated, this time crystal clear. The word escaped clean, even as Zoe was finally able to blink enough to see through the blur. Green. A unique shade of green that washed away the awareness that anything else existed. Captivating, gentle and sweet without appearing weak. Zhora’s eyes, concerned, relieved and understanding. Zhora understood! She knew. She could now bring everything to a halt, hit the restart, or perhaps shoot the knees out of any racer who didn’t respect the pause button.

“Cover your ears, cutie.” The captain warned; that same goo inducing tone laced with an edge that left no room for question. Zoe obeyed, or rather, she was pretty sure she did. What were ears again? She knew the answer but damned if she could comprehend.

“STOP! Everyone, clear out. Wyst, get them out of here.”

There was no way anybody would second guess Zhora. No way anyone would do anything but obey. The muffled stampede of obeying bots and humans alike barely reached Zoe’s ears, not when Zhora’s warm arms settled around her, pulling her into a firm embrace. Safety. Zoe wasn’t sure how long she lingered in that embrace, appreciating the heat against her, the way the world was still save for the rhythmic rise and fall of silky wetness… no, Zhora’s wet bra. Bra and skin. The rise and fall of her chest… weapons and jacket abandoned. That was enough to have Zoe’s cheeks heat, definitely embarrassment mixed with something else. If Zhora had just jumped in though, that would mean that… a quick glance down and a shuffle of one leg confirmed both of Zoe’s suspicions. The Captain was still wearing those form-fitting pants, which were now soaking wet and clinging enough to outline defined muscles. All at once, Zoe realized how small she was, cradled to her half-naked captain, staring at the pale skin on display.

“Enjoying the view, cutie?” Zhora’s teasing tone was accompanied by a ripple of tension through her defined core. Then the piercing, emerald and sapphire across silks. Two moons in the skies above the rolling hills. Glorious, fluidly rolling hills. Strong hills that could flip credit chits. That felt so… oh stars. The gleam of her belly button piercing was enough to have Zoe’s poor ears near steaming. It was bad enough to be so overwhelmed, but this was an entirely different direction Zhora was yanking her in the land of overstimulated. If she looked away, there was so much happening, nothing which appealed as much as the view Zhora offered. Yet, staring was also so much. Inappropriate, thirsty behavior… in a swimming pool, no less. Oh hubble, that’d read so badly on her tombstone. Here lies Zoe Leonis – Loving Inventor of ADA, AI- died of thirst in aquatic physical therapy.

“Yes?” she squeaked, earning a low chuckle in response. Oh… that definitely had her aware of her toes again, they practically curled at the low timbre of such a sound. And her ears, they were probably on fire by now. Still, she wasn’t about to lie. Especially since her response earned another round of selective flexing. It was enough to have Zoe’s mind wandering elsewhere, until her weakness due to the long term side effects of the antidote in her system came swinging back to the forefront of her mind. Seriously, fuck Zenith’s poison. Fuck Scorpion and her “misleading implications” over the lack of side effects. Right now, Zoe was prepared to create the most cusswords she had ever created in her life to cuss out the bitches and their poisons.

“Want to tell me what that was about?” Zhora requested, bringing her hand to Zoe’s face. Cautiously, she tucked hair back behind Zoe’s ear, careful to keep every move telegraphed. The care behind each gesture was more than Zoe’d ever experienced before, especially from those close to her. Why wasn’t Zhora angry? This was the type of thing people could get angry about, but Zhora was so relaxed. So tender…

“I have autism spectrum disorder, commonly known as ASD,” Zoe answered quickly, barely taking a breath. This was the moment it’d all go to hell. Where Zhora would realize what a wreck she was.

“I know, cutie. I saw your medication withdrawal.” Zhora’s answer left Zoe reeling. She… knew? Why didn’t she say something? Why didn’t she ask about it? Why was she taking this so calmly? It was as if Zoe had just read her a shopping list, not divulged a diagnosis which had haunted her childhood.

“Wha-? How? Why didn’t you say something?”She demanded quickly. These were the types of things that people asked when a big secret wasn’t a secret, right?

“Zoe, your symptoms over your mom. Increased aggression, lowered impulse control? I knew, but I wasn’t about to come at you about it. You’d just left your family and we were all you had left. I wasn’t about to make the ship unsafe for you to satisfy my curiosity. I also know you; how could I not notice the little things you do differently?” Zhora explained, stilling her hands around Zoe’s jaw. Supporting her head, never forcing the eye contact they held. It was effortless to keep eye contact with Zhora. Her eyes were so pretty, the emotions there were always so pure, so kind. Even in her fury, those eyes never held the hatred Zoe had witnessed in even her own flesh and blood. Zhora never forced eye contact, she lured Zoe in. Zhora never shied from eye contact. She could hold it without increasing the tension, without that awkwardness creeping in… she was also nice to look at. Definitely, her looks made it easier.

“I never knew you felt that way,” Zoe admitted weakly, offering a twitch of her lips. An awkward flicker of a smile. What expression should she make in this situation? Oh shucks, she was probably making all sorts of weird expressions trying to settle on one. If so, Zhora never laughed. She simply smiled, eyes twinkling in that endlessly fond manner.

“If you need to talk, I’m here, cutie.” Zhora’s voice was so gentle, her eyes so understanding. How could Zoe do anything but talk? But spill her guts and trust Zhora wouldn’t tangle them up? There was a terrible realization in her eyes, a terrifying understanding. Of course, Zhora knew. She’d seen the moment Zoe’s relationships had crumbled. She’d been there when Zoe’s aunt had tried to shoot her, had been the one offering comfort and covering fire. Had been the one to talk her through all the family lies, to gently open her eyes. Zhora had been the one watching Zoe slowly crumble, the one holding her together, encouraging her to talk to her family. Zhora had been in the next room over when Zoe’s mother had all but disowned her. She deserved to finally hear the semi-tragic backstory.

“We tried to cure it when I was young, you know.” Zoe began, barely taking a breath before plunging into the explanation.

“We did all the treatment with the specialists, I mean, my parents were medical geniuses. Me not being… well, I was delayed. I didn’t talk for years. Then I wouldn’t shut up.”

“You do ramble a lot, Cutie. It’s adorable.” Zhora commented, smiling as she gave Zoe a playful squeeze. In return, Zoe merely stuck her tongue out, eyes twinkling. Zhora, without missing a beat, simply nipped in Zoe’s direction, would have caught her tongue if Zoe hadn’t sucked it back into her mouth. Instead, a playful bump of noses left them both grinning like fools. It was effortless, to take a moment of playful reprieve before diving back into the darkness of the topic at hand.

“Everyone thought it was weird. The other kids didn’t like me much back then. I knew too much, spoke too much like an adult and couldn’t play like a normal kid. These doctors would make me play all these games I didn’t really want to play, then take things away from me if I didn’t do what they wanted, how they wanted. I never bothered too much cause they’re just things, right? I like things but things are things, not people. Then, if I did things wrong, my parents would ignore me until I got it right. They were trying to help me learn but I didn’t process learning without this. I had to use big girl words when I was struggling to get help, couldn’t be all weird or I wouldn’t get acknowledged. Sometimes, it took me a long time to get the words right.”

“That’s why you keep talking until you feel you’ve said the right thing,” Zhora noted softly, her brows lowering over her eyes in concern. There was more there, something hardening, a storm brewing.

“I had to get it right. Like, if I wanted the food, I had to read the label and ask correctly. If I didn’t pronounce it right or asked wrong, I didn’t get it or even acknowledged until I did. I had to play with toys a certain way. If I played wrong, they got taken off me. That’s why I liked science so much. There was no wrong. It was all an experiment, and me doing things differently was appreciated.”

“They wouldn’t give you what you needed unless you were perfect? Fucking hell, cutie…” Zhora’s lowered tone became a growl, irritation flooding her… yet that kindness in her eyes remained. That protectiveness that somehow Zoe could always translate. It wasn’t anger at her, but for her. It was a safe anger. One she could cuddle up to and forget she’d ever been in danger.

“Dad always got angry and yelled. Started ignoring me no matter what. Mom was with me more. But, it all got to be too much. I kind of snapped. I took a lot of medication and went for a bath. Passed out, hoping to drown myself. My parents found me, screamed at me, called me selfish and…” Zoe trailed off, taking a deep breath as her thumb ran across her fingers, across the cuts surrounding her ring. At that, Zhora froze, eyes homing in on the little damages. Injuries always explained as engineering accidents. A mechanic’s hands. Gently, as if she might break Zoe beneath her grasp, Zhora lifted the hand.

“These aren’t from an accident, are they?”

All Zoe could do was shake her head. No. They most certainly weren’t. The pressure built in her throat, forcing her to gasp for breath. She was drowning again, ready to succumb before Zhora leant closer, pressing her lips to Zoe’s forehead as if it might still the rising flood. It did. Somehow, such a gentle gesture allowed Zoe to take a breath, comforted.

“Oh, Zoe, fuck… I’m so, so sorry.” The Weapon smuggler whispered; her tone laced with the tears pouring from her eyes as she pressed her lips to the scars. It was beautiful, to see the storm in her eyes, to see her rage burning even as she touched with such sweetness. To see the kindness amplified into wrath, yet never disconnected.

“My parents said I should look at it. So, if I ever got married, I’d see it and remember how selfish I was for trying to end my life. Dad left after that, and things seemed to get better. Mom realized how fucked up it was and apologized for it. I thought… I don’t even know, Zhora. It just came back to me when I fell, and I couldn’t even move. It just bombarded me, how small and helpless I felt. And the poisoning weakening me, just… thanks for jumping in after me.”

“If I meet your parents, Zoe, I’m going to fucking shoot them. I am so glad you’re out of that family.” Zhora whispered, once more pulling Zoe into a tight embrace. The Captain closed her eyes, quietly tucking Zoe under her chin. Those closed eyes couldn’t conceal the reckoning brewing within Zhora.

“Think Leonis fits me better?” Zoe couldn’t help but tease, taking the out such a joke offered. This conversation was too much, too heavy, but a weight gone too. Feeling someone had heard her, feeling someone validating her own ire and outrage towards the past with their own. Perhaps that was all she truly needed. After all, she couldn’t run from the past, couldn’t wipe away the emotional and physical scars. Time still turned the pages of the books it burned, after all. But, maybe, with her chosen family at her side, Zoe could write faster than the flames. Maybe, with Zhora, the story could have the happily ever after she’d always dreamed of.

It had always been Zhora. For each and every time Zoe’s family had let her down in her adult life, Zhora had been there, gently and silently picking up the pieces. Helping Zoe reconstruct herself the way SHE wanted to be. Not the way others had moulded her to be. Even without knowing how, Zhora had seen the tampering others had done, just as she’d seen the woman Zoe could become. It’d always been Zhora. Why Zoe had felt the ending could have been any different was suddenly laughable. Even jagged, a mess of open wounds and scars blended into dangerous coping mechanisms, Zhora had refused to be another letdown. Another betrayal. Rather than ever demand Zoe change, the Captain had sat back, had worked on her own issues to be better for the woman Zoe was moulding herself into. Zhora hadn’t just abandoned Zoe, or merely offered a place to be. Zhora had grown with her, quietly changing to become a better foundation for the little engineer. Opening her own wounds so that Zoe was not alone. Opening her heart to no longer be a lone wolf, all to ensure Zoe had a pack should the worst happen. At least, Zoe was somewhat convinced that’s what Zhora told herself. Zhora hadn’t looked at the broken girl as less worthy, or her challenges less valid. She’d taken them on board, had grown into herself to ensure Zoe could grow into herself. Two separate trees shaped around each other. Both could stand alone, but together their unusual shapes finally made sense. Finally had harmony.

“Zoe Leonis… sounds better than Zhora Rayner.” Zhora’s gentle purr lured Zoe back into the land of the living, had her turning in the smuggler’s lap, winding her own arms around Zhora’s neck, a hand running over the shaved side of her head. In turn, Zhora’s hands crept below the water, landing on the familiar curve of Zoe’s rump in a manner Zoe had come to associate with sweet. How someone grabbing her butt could be sweet was another one of life’s illogical logics. It was this way because it was Zhora. It was that simple, to Zoe, at least. Zhora could defy a lifetime of logic, yet still be the clearest thing in Zoe’s existence. That was just Zhora. Her air at the end of a bubbles journey. Her inevitable.

“Yeah…” Zoe couldn’t help but agree, lips peeling into an utterly smitten smile as she leaned closer, pausing a moment before pressing her lips to her happily ever after.

“It does.”

#Anonymous #lovestruck #lovestruck fanfiction #lovestruck starship promise #starship promise #starship promise zhora #zhora leonis #zhora x mc #tw: panic attack #tw: near drowning #tw: autistic overload #tw: swearing #tw: spoilers #tw: reference to ABA therapy #tw: emotionally abusive parents #tw: reference of physical abuse #angst #woeful wednesday

42 notes · View notes

yourdeepestfathoms · 3 years

Text

I Ain’t A Judas (part two)

[Off-West End]

TW: Blood

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

Lynn had seen her fair share of gruesome injuries in her time, both as an active sports player and gym coach.

When she was on her high school’s wrestling team, she vividly remembered throwing her (male, mind you) opponent to the ground and hearing the distinct sound of bones cracking. There was something haunting about being on top of a person while their skeleton seemed to fold inward, having her ear so close to that sickening snap. The resulting nightmare-inducing scream was actually a mercy to the other noise.

She had scrambled off of the boy, backing away on her hands and knees like she was a scared animal. Her opponent must have landed wrong when she pinned him because his knee was bent at an unnatural angle and he was screaming bloody murder. Someone in the audience threw up. Someone else fainted. The boy’s parents rushed over to him and began yelling.

The parents had tried to sue Lynn for the broken leg, but the school defended her, saying it wasn’t her fault and injuries were to be expected in sports. She obtained a title of sorts, being one of the most feared wrestlers in the district. She took it with honor, despite its double-edged outcomes.

The experience desensitized her to all types of gore, but not without a price. For a while, she was sensitive to any sound that resembled snapping bones. Even a foot stepping on a twig was enough to bring back the memory of the boy and the broken leg. She got over it eventually, but at the time, it had been hell.

Injuries became repetitive after that. Broken arms, broken legs, broken noses- she saw it all when she became a coach. They always went the same way, too- that damned snapping sound, a limb bent at an angle that wasn’t normal, screaming that was so loud it could probably break the sound barrier, everyone in the general vicinity panicking like chickens with their heads cut off. Not that Lynn blamed them for such a reaction; she supposed it wasn’t ever the same after you were chest-to-chest with someone when the injury happened.

But in sports, broken bones were the worst thing that could be inflicted upon someone. Scratches, bruises, black eyes, bloody noses, even the broken bones themselves to some extent were nothing compared to other horrors. So as the repetition of injuries continued its cycle, Lynn believed nothing could get worse than that time back in high school.

And then she entered the darkened White bungalow and saw Carrie on the ground, surrounded by blood and covered in blood and frothing up blood, and that way of thinking was thrown out the window.

This. This was worse.

Lynn used to think that the screaming was the worst part of any injury, regardless of severity. That elongated, guttural sound of agony that the victim didn’t have the power to mute or muffle, bearing completely raw emotion, ripped out from the throat without control or consent.

But as Lynn had knelt above Carrie White’s body, she now knew that the screaming was a mercy. The silence was the real thing that she should have been fearing all these years.

The screaming, at least, as awful as it was, meant the victim was alive. Even with their mind clouded with agony, they were sentient enough to even feel that agony. They were there, they knew, they could feel.

Carrie White was not, did not, could not.

The silence did not bring serenity. The silence did not bring peace. The silence brought panic- overwhelming, blood-rushing panic that made Lynn feel like she was standing in the middle of a rushing white water river, battered by the current. It made everything fall away into little broken pieces that would never be able to form its proper puzzle ever again. It made her feel true, unadulterated, unbridled terror for the first time since she was sixteen and in a gymnasium that smelled of salt and sweat with another kid screaming his heart out right beneath her.

It made her feel helpless.

And then, as if a giant log had been hurled from the raging river of dread and hit her in the face, awareness came rushing back to her. She stopped the flow of tears that she had not been able to fight back in those initial moments of hysteria and got her head on straight.

Sue was there, holding Carrie’s body close to her chest. Margaret was there, too, face-down on the floor, unmoving, but Lynn could have hardly cared. Her focus was entirely on the young girl bleeding all over the place before her.

The cause of that bleeding didn’t feel real, either.

“Her throat. She slit her throat.”

Lynn remembered watching something on TV, one of those cookiecutter crime shows that had been copy and pasted dozens of times before, saying something about how a throat wound could bleed out within minutes, if not seconds. She cursed her school training for not teaching her how to deal with this, opting instead to make all the teachers relearn the heimlich maneuver and CPR for the hundredth time in a row.

When she took Carrie’s small, shaking body into her arms, she discovered something worse than the silence. The gurgling. That wet, foamy sound that gargled in the back of Carrie’s throat, so desperate for proper articulation and enunciation, choked back by a torrent of her own blood. It may have meant she was still alive and fighting, but Lynn much preferred the silence.

Unwrapping Sue’s shirt from around Carrie’s neck and actually gazing upon the wound felt like a physical knife against Lynn’s throat. She had never been one of those people who could feel pain from watching others get hurt, and yet, in that moment of raw horror, she swore she could feel her own flesh being sliced open, muscles and tendons snapping away like weak thread, vessels punctured and windpipe split, slowly filling her lungs with her own blood, drowning her, restricting breathing--and then she realized she wasn’t breathing. Not while she looked at the gash. It used its severed arteries as a noose and strangled her, so she strangled it back.

Even with the hideous green and brown curtains wrapped around the wound like bulky bandages, Carrie’s neck was still so small. Lynn’s hands were so large. She felt like she was trying to asphyxiate a baby bird.

Lynn realized then that the experience in the gym was not the most horrific thing she had ever witnessed. At least she was a teenager when it happened. Being an adult and squeezing onto a child’s slashed open throat hurt in more ways than she could truly express. There was just something so fucking terrifying about being the one to pinch gushing blood vessels closed, to be the hands around a dying girl’s throat, to be the one and only defining factor to if that girl would survive the night. Even though she knew it had to be done, Lynn wanted to cut her hands off for the things they had done in those horrifying six minutes before the ambulance arrived.

Carrie’s eyes had looked so dull, so lifeless. It was a stark contrast to half an hour before she was bleeding out all over the place, when they were full of joy and life.

Lynn had never seen Carrie so happy before. She had never seen her dance, either, which made everything pre-blood dump even better. Carrie looked like a normal teenage girl, having fun at her school prom, being treated as she should have been all these years.

Lynn remembered, clear as day, those hours before the destruction.

Carrie had truly stuck out like a sore thumb in the Prom, but not in the way that any of her bullies had been expecting. The dress she wore, hand-sewn herself she had said, was soft pink and seemed to glitter in the overhead lights. Her red hair was brushed back to neatness, though that one iconic lock of bangs still dangled in front of her left eye. When they had spotted each other, Lynn was endeared to watch Carrie rip away from Tommy and run over to her in her heels.

“Miss Gardener, you look incredible!” Carrie had exclaimed.

“Thank you, Carrie,” Lynn said. “You look beautiful.” As shy and modest as always, Carrie ducked her head and said, “Oh, thank you.”

Tommy had then walked over to them. “Miss Gardener, I don’t think I would ever see you in a dress.”

Lynn gave him a sharp look. “Tommy.”

Tommy cleared his throat. “You guys want some punch? I heard Stokes and Freddy spiked it.”

“Oh no,” Carrie said in a woebegone voice. “Isn’t it dangerous to drink spikes? What if someone chokes?”

“Really?” Lynn said to Tommy at the same time.

Tommy had laughed, then noticed Lynn’s unamused, deadpan expression. He stopped instantly.

“Uh-- No.” He said. “I’m joking.” He rubbed his palms on his black pants. “I’m going to get us some of that punch! Which is not spiked!”

Lynn rolled his eyes as he skittered away, then turned her attention back to Carrie. She looked so amazed as she gazed around the Prom, like it was the nicest event she had ever been to.

She and Carrie had talked until Tommy came back, but it wasn’t the last she would see of the girl. She chatted with her several times during the night, even danced with her on a few occasions. It was nice to see her smile after everything.

But of course, it had been ruined. Would Carrie ever get to experience true bliss without someone taking it away from her?

The memory of the blood dump had brought Lynn back to the present, to the blood on her hands on that moment. Every time she would lift them long enough for Carrie to get air, more would gush out, and she slammed them back into place every time, desperate to halt the flow. She wouldn’t have taken them away at all if Carrie wouldn’t have suffocated from the pressure on her neck.

Lynn thought about Chris when she was effectively strangling Carrie. Her own will was keeping her from adding the proper weight to Carrie’s neck, so she made herself angry to compensate for the thing she really didn’t want to do.

How could anyone be so cruel? Especially to someone who didn’t deserve such treatment? Lynn imagined it was Chris beneath her hands, and that made her squeeze tighter.

She knew it had been Chris, and not just because of her gut feeling. Norma had told her.

During the panic of laughter and shock and confusion after the blood dump, Lynn had found Norma Watson, Chris’s second-in-command, in the crowd. For a moment, she didn’t know if it was even really her, as she wasn’t used to seeing her without her trademarked red backwards hat, but then recognized her snarky face and grappled onto her with her nails dug in. However, when Norma looked at her, her face was anything but snarky. It was horrified.

“What happened?” Lynn had demanded. “Who did this?”

“Chris,” Norma told her instantly. She looked back to the stage, to the blood dripping off the edge. “I-I didn’t know it was blood…”

“What?”

Norma shook her head, mouth hanging open.

“Norma!” Lynn dug her nails in further. She didn’t care if it got her fired, she had to know. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Norma looked back at her, wide-eyed and sickened. “I didn’t know it was real blood.” She said. “Chris-- she said it was red water. Just dyed with food coloring. I didn’t think she would--”

Lynn had released her, noticing that Carrie was now gone. She couldn’t stick around any longer.

Before she rushed away, she could have sworn she faintly heard Norma utter, “I’m sorry.”

When the paramedics finally came rushing in, Lynn did not let go of Carrie. She couldn’t risk it, not anymore. Not when they were so close to salvation. The paramedics let her stay by the girl’s side until they got to the actual hospital, but then not even she could remain. She had to peel her hands back, and they were completely covered in blood.

She and Sue sat in the waiting room for what felt like forever, when it was really only two and a half hours at best. They spoke to each other in brief, choppy instances. The stink of guilt wavering off of Sue was sickening--though, that may have just been the stench of the rancid pig blood and regular human blood mixed together into a miasma upon their skin.

When the nurse finally came out and walked up to them, Lynn had been expecting the worst. Surely such a lethal wound take longer to treat. But it didn’t, apparently, because the nurse said that Carrie was stable and Carrie was going to live and they would be able to see her if they liked.

They did.

Lynn and Sue both comforted Carrie when she woke up. Her voice was very hoarse and weak, and Lynn guessed that was both because of her throat wound and from her having to strangle her to keep her from bleeding out.

Carrie didn’t seem very happy to be alive, but then Lynn realized she didn’t have much to live for in the first place. Her mother was all she had, and now even she was gone (the doctors said it was a heart attack). Lynn was hoping to take the place of that empty maternal role and give Carrie the life she deserved. She just wanted to see her happy again.

It was one in the morning when Lynn finally left the hospital. Since she had rode in the ambulance, Sue’s mother dropped her off back at the White bungalow to get her car.

The place was already swarmed with yellow tape and crime scene investigators. A few neighbors were standing out on their porch, watching the scene. Red and blue lights lit up the dark street. A police officer walked up to Lynn while she was trying to get to her car and began asking her questions about what happened.

By the time she got home, Lynn was mentally and physically drained. The first thing she did when she pulled up in her driveway was step out of her car and throw up in the lawn. Carrie’s blood was still on her hands.

Lynn lost her complete sense of time when she took a shower. She stood beneath the spray of scalding hot water and blankly watched blood run down the drain. She dimly wondered if this was what Carrie saw That Day in the locker room.

She finally broke when she got out of the shower. Staring at her own reflection in the fogged up mirror, she crumpled. Everything she had been holding back hit her like brass knuckles and she sunk to the floor, sobbing.

The tears stopped, eventually. When Lynn dredged herself from the bathroom floor, she went downstairs, started a fire in her fireplace, and threw her blood-stained Prom dress into the flames.

She would not be getting sleep tonight.

Carrie was permitted to leave the hospital two days later. By then, it seemed like everyone in the whole country had heard of what happened. Apparently a few reporters had even tried to sneak into the hospital under the guise of being family members to do an interview with Carrie, but were wrangled out.

Carrie herself looked no better than the day she came in. Her hair was wiry and tangled, and her skin was very, very ashen. Her eyes were dead, sunken into two pits in her skull. When Lynn had stepped into the hospital room, her gaze did not brighten like Lynn had been hoping. She just stared at her with a blank expression.

Lynn was given strict instructions to keep an eye on Carrie’s neck, to come in if even a single stitch popped out. Carrie was prescribed tramadol, which she should take a few hours after arriving home. If Lynn’s house could even be considered her home.

The drive was silent. Lynn tried to fill the space, but Carrie never responded. Hell, she barely even looked at her. All she did was look out the window with the same dead fish look in her eyes.

Was this even still the little girl she had danced with at Prom?

“Here we are,” Lynn said as she parked. “There’s someone waiting for you inside. I’ve told them all about you.”

Carrie tensed. Lynn realized her mistake and quickly went on, “They’ll like you, I promise. It’s nothing bad.”

Carrie’s anxiety did not go away. Lynn quickly unbuckled both of their seatbelts (had Carrie ever even ridden in a car before?), then led Carrie inside. Instantly, Carrie flinched, probably expecting someone awful to be waiting there for her, but instead a grey pit bull bounded up to them, tail wagging so fast it became a blur. Carrie relaxed slightly.

“You have a dog.”

It was the first thing Carrie had said to her all day. Lynn smiled and nodded, scratching behind the dog’s ear.

“I never told you?”

Carrie shook her head.

“Well, her name is Rosebud. You can also call her Rosie. She responds to both.”

Carrie nodded. She reached down and tentatively pet Rosebud. Rosebud responded by eagerly licking her hand. Carrie pulled away with a tiny noise, but it wasn’t one of shock or fear, rather awe. Had Carrie ever touched a dog before?

“Come on. I’ll show you where you’ll be sleeping.”

Lynn gave Carrie a tour of the house while Rosebud trailed after them. Carrie nodded to everything she said, not voicing her opinions about anything. Not that Lynn was expecting her to. She wasn’t like that. Even if it weren’t for her traumatic injury, she wouldn’t say anything.

By the time Lynn was done showing Carrie around, she realized it was only now turning to 12:00. They still had the whole day stretched out before them, and Lynn had no idea what to do.

It was weird, she thought. She had imagined raising Carrie herself several times before this, but she always pictured them doing regular family things like watching TV together or baking or going jogging. Now that the opportunity was finally in front of her, she didn’t know what she was supposed to do. Though, in her defense, in all of her fantasized ideas, she hadn’t pictured Carrie with a slashed open throat and severe trauma.

“Would you like to do anything?” Lynn asked. Might as well like Carrie choose.

But Carrie just shook her head, looking as clueless as she felt.

“Ah-- well…” Lynn was grasping at straws here. What did Carrie even like to do? “Here, I’ll turn the TV on for you. You can watch something.”

With a small bit of coaxing, she got Carrie to sit down on the couch. Rosebud jumped up next to her. Lynn turned on the TV and opened up the channel guide, then handed the remote to Carrie.

“Turn on whatever you want.”

Carrie looked down at the remote, then up at her, blinking.

Oh, please don’t tell me she doesn’t know how to--

“I-I, umm…”

Yep. That was enough of an answer. Carrie didn’t know how TVs worked.

“Oh, let me--” Lynn took the remote back and began explaining how it worked. “See these two arrows? If you press on them, you can go up in the channels. That’s what all of those little boxes on the screen are. And you can select with this circle in the middle.” She demonstrated, selecting one of the channels and turning on one of those house hunting shows where the white couple (and they’re ALWAYS white) never seem satisfied with any of the options they’re given even though they’re all beautiful houses. “So, is there anything specific you want to watch? Sports? Cartoons? Movies?”

“This is okay,” Carrie said softly.

“Alright,” Lynn set the remote down next to her. “You can change it anytime you want.”

Carrie nodded, then looked up at the TV. Lynn lingered beside her for a moment before walking into the kitchen.

Wow, okay. She did not expect motherhood to be this awkward. This was definitely going to be an adventure for her and Carrie both.

Time passed. The hours went by. Carrie didn’t say very much. There were some instances where Lynn completely forgot that Carrie was even there and found herself rushing back into the living room to make sure she was as she had left her (which she always was).

It was a very quiet day, indeed.

At around five o’clock in the evening, however, that quietness was broken.

There was a whimper.

It was so faint that Lynn thought she was just imagining things at first. She had looked up from the soup she was making (the doctor said that Carrie was going to have a liquid/soft food diet for awhile) and furrowed her eyebrows. She strained her ears, but the only sound she got in return was the voice of one of the Property Brothers (she couldn’t tell which was which) from the TV, so she turned her attention back to stirring the noodles in the pot in front of her, writing it off as nothing.

But then it sounded again, this time slightly louder.

Lynn’s spoon clattered against the countertop when she took it out of the pot. She looked out of the kitchen. Maybe it was just Rosebud? She whistled for her pet, then heard the scratching of claws beneath her. She looked down and saw that Rosebud was already there, begging for food in the way she always did when Lynn would cook. Lynn gave into her adorable puppy dog face and tossed her a piece of meat, which she scarfed down greedily.

Well, the whimper was probably just from Rosebud pleading for food in her usual doggy way. But then there was another whimper while she was looking down at the dog, and it had most certainly not come from Rosebud.

Lynn’s eyes widened.

Remember when it was said that Lynn sort of forgot that she had a child now living in her house? This was one of those times.

Lynn hurried out of the kitchen and into the living room, where she found Carrie curled up against one of the pillows, hand on her throat. Lynn was half-expecting there to be blood everywhere and was expecting Carrie to already be dead even more. If only she had been faster, paid more attention, actually known what the fuck she was doing and how to take care of a child--

Carrie whimpered again.

Lynn knelt down beside the couch and gently touched her arm. Carrie flinched away, eyes popping open wide. She looked at her as if she were expecting someone else, someone worse. There was terror written all over her face, and Lynn could tell she had an apology sitting on her tongue.

“I-I’m sorry--”

And there it was.

“Shh, it’s alright,” Lynn said to her, keeping her voice low and soft as to not freak the poor girl out even more. “You’re alright. You’re not in trouble. Are you okay?”

“M-my neck--” Carrie’s voice was strangled, caught in her throat like it was snagged by a fish hook. “I-it hurts--”

Lynn cursed herself for not knowing that. Of course that would be the cause of Carrie’s pain- she got her damn throat slashed open! Was she expecting it to be her damn elbows or something?

“The painkillers have probably worn off by now,” Lynn said, glancing at the time projected underneath the TV. “I’ll go get you some more.” She retrieved a tablet of Tramadol and a glass of water in record time, not wanting to leave Carrie alone for very long. She helped her sit up, then set the two items in her hands. Carrie went to take a sip from the cup, but flinched away at the last second.

“N-no--”

Lynn frowned. “You have to drink, sweetheart.” She said. “You need to take that medicine.”

“I-I can’t--”

“It’ll make the pain go away.”

Carrie shook her head, then cried out in pain when she did so, nearly spilling the water. When Lynn reached out to steady her, she jerked away as if her hands were made of fire.

“Hey, hey,” Lynn spoke softly. “It’s okay, Carrie. You’re okay. I’m not going to hurt you.”

Carrie looked at her, and there were tears glistening in her big hazel eyes.

“Why don’t you want to drink?” Lynn asked. Maybe if she knew the cause of the problem, she could solve it.

“Hurts--to swallow.”

Once again, Lynn mentally punched herself for not knowing that. She couldn’t imagine what Carrie must have been feeling at that moment. Was she worried that the stitches would fly out if she simply took a drink of water?

“Oh, honey,” Lynn said sadly. She reached out and gently rubbed Carrie’s shoulder, hoping to comfort her. “I know it hurts, but the medicine will help with that, I promise. You just need to take one sip, that’s all. Just one. Think you can do that for me?”

Carrie looked at her uneasily, then nodded. She drank from the cup and put the pill in her mouth while Lynn rubbed her back comfortingly. The poor thing got an expression of absolute agony on her face when she swallowed, but she managed to force it down.

“It hurts!” Carrie cried.

“You did it, baby,” Lynn said, smiling warmly. She thumbed away the tears that had sprung to Carrie’s eyes. “You did it. I’m so proud of you.”

“Hurts,” Carrie uttered again. The hand that wasn’t holding the cup grasped at her neck, as if she thought the flesh was still splitting open and she could mend it back together if she held it for long enough.

“I know,” Lynn said. “The medicine is going to help with that, though. You’ll feel better soon.”

Carrie nodded weakly. Her eyes were so dull and lifeless. Lynn wished she would smile.

“I’m going to go take the pot off the oven before I burn the whole house down,” Lynn said. “I assume that you aren’t up to eating right now?”

Carrie shook her head.

“Okay. But when the medicine starts working, you’re going to have to eat something. Doctor’s orders.”

Lynn went back to the kitchen and took the pot of soup off of the burner. She got to it just in time; it was about to bubble over the edge.

When Lynn went back to the couch, two bowls of soup in hand, Carrie was leaning back against the cushions, a glazed look in her eyes. Her hand was still on her neck. Lynn nudged her gently to get her attention.

“I’m back,” Lynn said, sitting down next to her. “I hope you like chicken noodle. Homemade.”

Carrie blinked at her slowly. “My Mama would make me boiled chicken.”

“I--”

That sounded absolutely disgusting.

“Sounds delicious!”

Carrie shrugged. Pain flashed in her eyes, and Lynn knew it wasn’t because of her neck for once.

Everyone knew about Margaret White and her weird teachings, but nobody had ever thought to do something about it. Lynn was, shamefully, one of those people. Even after she grew attached to Carrie, she still held out hope that it wasn’t as bad as everyone was saying, that the bruises that constantly showed up on Carrie’s little body were just from clumsiness.

She should have known. She should have been smarter. Maybe if she stepped in sooner Carrie wouldn’t be the way she was now.

“It was certainly boiled,” Carrie finally said, and Lynn couldn’t help but bark a laugh. Carrie blinked at her in delight.

“I bet it was,” Lynn said back, patting her head.

She and Carrie ended up switching the channel to some animated movie while they ate. Or, while Lynn ate. Carrie didn’t touch her bowl from where it sat on the coffee table in front of the couch.

Some time passed. Lynn noticed that Carrie was starting to blink a lot more, as if she were fighting off tears, but when she looked directly at her, she realized it was from weariness.

That was right. Tramadol’s main side effect was drowsiness. Lynn tried not to smirk.

“Someone is sleepy,” Lynn said.

“Mm-mmm,” Carrie shook her head stubbornly, then let out the most adorable yawn that Lynn had ever heard.

“You definitely are,” Lynn set her bowl down, then picked up Carrie’s. “Think you can take a few bites for me? Just a little.”

Carrie looked at her, then the bowl, then back to her, then nodded. She took the bowl from Lynn and began taking small bites.

“Good girl,” Lynn smiled, rubbing Carrie’s back. Maybe taking Carrie wouldn’t be so hard after all!

“Hey, Miss Gardener?”

“Yes, sweet girl?”

“You wanna know what it was like?”

“What?”

Carrie looked up at her, eyes like hollow glass, a thin line of soup dripping down the corner of her mouth, and said, “Your hands felt like they had been hanging me.”

…Or not.

#i aint a judas #off west end carrie #carrie #carrie the musical #carrie white #lynn gardener #rita desjardin #sue snell #norma watson #tommy ross #carrie fanfic #tw: blood

36 notes · View notes

let-the-dream-begin · 4 years

Text

In My Daughter’s Eyes Chapter 6: End of the Rope

Chapter 5

Read on AO3

Claire was supposed to be looking at charts on the computer in front of her, and she would, of course, right after she finished checking her phone for any messages from Mrs. Lickett.

“Beauchamp!”

Fuck.

“That’s the third time I’ve caught you on your phone. You trying to get fired on your first day?”

Her supervisor, Doctor Moore, was the most Nurse Ratched type Claire had ever seen in real life: tyrannical and unforgiving. The only difference was the grating nasality of her thick Long Island accent. Claire opened her mouth to defend herself, for the third time, but Ratched cut her off.

“Plenty of other doctors have kids at home, Doctor Beauchamp. Do you see any of the rest of them with their heads buried in their phones like teenagers?”

Claire could feel the tips of her ears growing hot with rage, but she swallowed it down and answered as levelly as possible: “No, Doctor Moore.”

“Get going. Your team is waiting for you.”

Claire exhaled heavily as soon as the tight-faced woman bustled out of the room, clenching her teeth to avoid outwardly groaning.

“The Ratched already on your nerves?”

Claire practically jumped out of her skin. She turned in the swiveling chair to see a kind-faced black man about her age, perhaps a bit older, smiling at her. He was sitting at a computer as well, craning his neck around to look at her. His eyes were dark, but soft.

“Did you read my bloody mind?” Claire stammered, still slightly alarmed.

He gave a short, barking laugh. “Seems I did. Everyone calls her that. Not to her face, mind you.”

“Wasn’t planning on it.” Claire’s eyes widened at the thought of doing so.

“I’m Joe, Joe Abernathy.” He stood and crossed the room to shake her hand.

“Claire Beauchamp,” Claire returned, taking his hand.

He chuckled as he returned his hand to his side.

“What?” Claire said, face scrunching in suspicion.

“Just thinking about you asking if I read your bloody mind,” he said, flashing his teeth in a wide grin. “I heard you were English, but to hear it is another thing.”

Claire rolled her eyes, though she couldn't suppress her own smile as she turned back to the computer to complete her given task.

“Kids at home, huh?” His tone was sympathetic, having heard Doctor Moore’s reaming out of Claire.

“Just one,” Claire said. “I’m quite aware there are other parents here,” she continued hotly, though her anger was not directed at the man standing before her. “But I’d like to know how many of them are single parents of a daughter with special needs.”

Joe nodded in quiet understanding. “That must be tough, leaving her all day.”

Claire nodded, fighting the urge to check her phone again. “I’ve never left her alone with a babysitter this long. When I was in school I was still married, so she wasn’t ever alone for too long even though her father was a professor. After the move and the new schedules…I’m just worried.” All the while, Claire kept her eyes on the screen, scanning over charts and making mental notes. “The woman’s a marvel; I wouldn’t have hired her if she wasn’t. I just can’t help it. She’s nonverbal, my daughter. Autism.”

“Ah.” Joe nodded. “Gotcha.”

“So I just keep waiting for a call that she’s having a meltdown and that even the all-knowing, licensed professional can’t calm her down because she can’t tell her what’s wrong.” Claire shook her head, sighing. “It’s silly, I know.”

“Nah, not at all.” Joe shrugged, keeping his tone casual, but his eyes still shone with sympathy.

“Christ, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to unload my whole life story on you.”

“Don’t worry about it. I get it. I’ve never personally known anyone with autism, but you see it come in and out of the hospital often enough. It’s scary as hell when there’s something wrong and they can’t tell you, even the verbal ones sometimes.”

“Right.”

“I didn’t mean to make you worry more,” he said quickly. “I’m sure everything is just fine. All I’m saying is I get why you’re worried. And Ratched sure as hell doesn’t. I’d like to tell her to kiss my ass.”

Claire chuckled through her nose, taking note of one more thing on the computer before turning to smile up at him.

“Thanks, Doctor Abernathy.”

“Please, none of that in private.” He waved her off. “Just Joe when there are no patients.”

“Alright, then.” Claire logged off the computer and gathered her things. “Thanks, Joe.”

“No problem. Good luck out there, Lady Jane.”

She paused in the doorway. “What was that?”

He grinned. “One of the other residents called you that. Said your accent sounds like you just had tea with the queen.” He held up his hands, pantomiming holding a teacup and saucer, sticking his pinky out.

“Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ.” Claire laughed, rolling her eyes as she wrenched the door open.

“Toodle-pip, my lady!” She heard him call behind her.

Christ, was she doomed to have nicknames thrown at her reminding her of her Englishness for all eternity?

Her heart warmed at the thought of that soft Scottish burr saying Sassenach, and more laughter bubbled in her chest at the thought of her newest title.

She supposed she didn’t mind.

——

Claire was dead on her feet by the time eight o’clock rolled around. She briefly glanced back at the hospital in her rear-view mirror as she pulled away, and despite how her head and feet throbbed, she was thrilled at the prospect of every day being like this one.

When she’d done her research on specialities back in the days before med school, she’d read of the unpredictability of Emergency Medicine, of never knowing what kinds of emergencies would burst through the doors at any given moment. The prospect had thrilled her then, and experiencing it first-hand now was even more thrilling. Today alone, she’d saved a man’s finger after a cooking knife incident, put a shoulder back in place, stopped a head wound from bleeding long enough to see the patient into a successful surgery, and saved a pregnant woman and the baby after trauma-induced labor from a car accident.

It was quite a heady feeling.

Despite the thrill, however, there was nothing Claire craved more than the sight of her little girl’s face, the sound of her happy humming to see that Mummy was home.

The whole day had gone by without a hitch, unless Mrs. Lickett was hiding something from her. The only updates she’d gotten were positive ones, prompted by Claire’s frantic “is everything ok??” texts.

Claire had washed up and changed out of her scrubs at the hospital so that she could spend whatever little time was left before Faith’s bedtime with her on the couch, and then she could fully shower and decompress once Faith was asleep.

Claire turned the key in the lock and pushed open the door, but before she could take a single step into the living room, a little body was plastered against her legs, wrapping itself tightly around her.

“Hello, baby!” Claire cried out joyously as a buzz of humming filled her ears. “Oh, Mummy missed you so much!” She pried her daughter off her legs and scooped her into her arms, dropping her bag on the porch. Claire held her close, kissing her cheek.

Faith nuzzled her face into Claire’s, rubbing her mother’s cheeks as their foreheads rested together.

“Hello love,” Claire whispered, rocking her gently in the doorway. “I missed you, too, baby. Yes, hello.”

Claire gradually moved them into the apartment, kicking her bag inside and nudging the door shut with her knee.

“Hello, Mrs. Lickett,” Claire said, struggling to meet her eye around Faith’s pawing of her face.

The older woman was smiling warmly. “Hello, Miss Beauchamp.”

“Everything was alright today, then?”

“Sure was,” Mrs. Lickett said. “Faith was a very good girl, right Faith?”

“Is that right, lovie? Were you a good girl for Mrs. Lickett?” Claire shifted her onto one hip and bounced her, eliciting a few giggles. A glance at the telly told her that Finding Nemo was nearing its end; Mrs. Lickett had paused it upon Claire’s arrival.

“How was the first day at the hospital?” Mrs. Lickett said, gathering her things.

“It was…a lot. But good, very good.” Claire crashed on the couch with Faith, trying to settle her and failing. Faith very firmly insisted on remaining in Claire’s lap. “I did miss her very much, though. It’s been a while since I’ve been away from her for so long.” She wrapped her arms around her and pressed a tender kiss to the crown of her head.

“I understand. I could tell she missed you, too, but I kept her pretty busy.”

“I appreciate that.”

“We started some basic signs today,” Mrs. Lickett beamed. “Might be a while before it registers, but at least she knows now. The more you start using them around her, the better.”

“Right.” Claire nodded. “I’ve been watching those videos you sent me every night.”

“That’s good.”

Faith made a rather indignant noise, pointing toward the telly.

“Somebody wants to get back to her movie,” Mrs. Lickett said.

“Right.” Claire forced a smile. She wanted to stop her from leaving, to sit down at the table and spend the entire night talking about every minute of the entire day, every little accomplishment, everything Faith was learning. But she supposed if she wanted that much involvement, she’d be home with them herself instead of pursuing a career as a full-time physician.

Jesus, Beauchamp. You sound like Frank.

Shuddering at the thought, Claire adjusted Faith so she could watch Mrs. Lickett go. “I’d see you out, but I’m a bit pinned down at the moment.” She gestured with her head to Faith, sitting in her lap and locking her grip on Claire’s arms around her.

“No problem. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Say goodnight, Faith,” Claire said, releasing an arm so she could wave to the woman. Faith mimicked her, waving emphatically as Mrs. Lickett shut the door behind her. The second she was gone, Faith groaned again at the telly, and Claire smiled.

“Alright, be patient.” Claire reached for the remote on the coffee table. “I’m quite eager to see if Nemo escapes to the ocean, as well.”

Claire, of course, had the movie memorized, along with the rest of the DVDs in their vast collection. Perhaps it was Faith rubbing off on her, but she didn’t think she’d ever tire of watching them over and over again, especially not if it meant she would always get to spend this time cradling her little girl.

When the movie ended about fifteen minutes later, Faith slipped out of Claire’s lap and waited expectantly by the DVD player. Normally, Faith liked to listen to the music during the ending credits, so Claire didn’t make any moves to take the disc out yet. Only when Faith grunted and started tugging on Claire’s hand did she get the message.

“No music tonight, darling?” she said, puzzled, as she removed the disc and handed the box to Faith to file away. She was buzzing with excitement. Something was up, and Claire was none the wiser. The very second the DVD was away, Faith bolted into her bedroom, leaving Claire bewildered. She’d only just started to get up when Faith returned, holding a pile of colorful paper in her hands.

“What’s this, now?” Claire’s face lit up at the sight of Faith’s toothy grin, holding up the construction paper. Claire could see they were cut into the shape of little fish, and they were plastered with glitter, pompoms, google-eyes, and marker.

“Did you make these, Faith? Did you make these little fishies?” Faith hummed loudly and jumped up and down. “Oh, they’re marvelous, darling! You’re quite the little artist!”

Claire perused every single colorful fish, and she made a note to thank Mrs. Lickett. Arts and crafts were something Claire had never been into as a child herself, and something she didn’t have the time or the creative mind to think of. It was obvious now that Faith adored creating, and Claire wanted to smack herself upside the head for not thinking of it sooner. God bless that Mrs. Lickett.

“No wonder we watched Nemo tonight, hm? Are these Nemo’s little friends, then?” Claire held up a bright pink paper fish and swam it around in the air, much to Faith’s delight. Faith joined in the little game, and though Claire knew that bedtime was rapidly approaching — for both of them — she couldn’t bring herself to stop.

After a few minutes, Claire led Faith into the kitchen so they could use magnets to put the fish on the fridge. Claire let her arrange them to her heart’s content, only leading her into the bathroom when she was satisfied.

Teeth brushed, pajamas donned, Faith tucked in, and nightlight on, Claire finally allowed herself to fully feel the exhaustion of her day. The adrenaline of seeing Faith had kept her wide awake on the drive home, and then actually being with her had chased away any thoughts of sleepiness. Now, she barely had the energy to prepare a shower, and she very well almost crashed into bed, fully dressed. It was sheer willpower that finally got her back into the bathroom. This reminded her that tomorrow was bath night for Faith, and she sent up a brief prayer that she would cooperate for Mrs. Lickett. She’d considered waiting until she got home and just taking her into the shower with her, but that would have interrupted the movie, and God forbid that should happen. But if she’d waited until the movie was over, it would have been too late, and the routine would be disrupted. No, it had to be Mrs. Lickett.

Washed and dressed for bed, Claire was wide awake, despite how weariness was etched into every muscle and bone in her body. She could not stop thinking about all of the silly little things that could go wrong while she was occupied at the hospital, of all the possible triggers for a meltdown that she would not be able to stop. No matter how well today had gone, no matter how wonderful Mrs. Lickett was, she’d never stop worrying. Maybe not never, but it would certainly be a long time. At some point in her fevered, internal ramblings, Claire teetered into oblivion, grateful for whatever sleep she was lucky enough to get before her alarm screamed again.

——

Claire drove home the following Friday, her knuckles white on the steering wheel and her vision blurred with tears. She’d been so damn grateful to clock out at four o’clock, and she’d barely made it out of the locker room without falling apart in front of Joe.

She lost a patient for the first time today. Paul Castano, forty-seven, much too young for the heart attack that killed him.

Claire had been beside herself, and Joe had soothed her, told her there was nothing she could have done.

“Go home and hug your daughter, Lady Jane,” he’d said. “Enjoy the horses. You need it as much as she does right now.”

And, Christ, did she.

Claire hugged Faith just a little too hard for the slightest bit too long when she got home after nearly bursting into tears at Faith’s joy to see her. Faith did not tolerate being held as such for very long, and she squirmed out of Claire’s grasp. Today, not only was Faith happy to see her mother, she was excited: she knew it was horse therapy day.

Seeing Faith so happy to see her and so excited to get to the stables was a welcome distraction from the anguish Claire was feeling. The drive over to the stables was calming as well, though Claire was now paranoid about the change in appointment times. Toni hadn’t called her at all, so she had no reason to believe that the switch hadn’t gone over well. She supposed after the day she’d had, she’d be prone to overthinking just about anything.

Upon arrival, she calmed considerably at seeing Faith’s exuberance, and even laughed when she began tugging on her hand, willing them to get inside faster.

Leave it to you to get me laughing on the worst of days, Faith.

The door to the visitor’s center opened, and Faith began humming loudly.

“There they are, the Beauchamp girls!” Toni greeted warmly.

“Hello, Toni. Say hello to Miss Toni, Faith.”

“Hello, Faith!” Toni called as Faith waved timidly.

Erica was standing by the counter, and she crouched down to greet Faith. “Hello, Princess. I’m so happy to see you again!”

Faith smiled shyly and hid half of her little body behind her mother’s legs.

“I’m gonna take you guys out to the stable today, get her started with the hellos and leading her to the riding hall.” Erica stood up to address Claire. “Jamie will join us when we get there.”

“Alright,” Claire said, exhaling deeply. “Shall we?”

——

Joe had been right. Claire needed that hour at the stables just as much as Faith had. As they were driving home, Claire felt something resembling peace settle in her heart. Faith was humming happily, kicking her legs, waving the newest Minion Happy Meal toy in the air.

She did very well again today. She was gentle with Pippi, she didn’t protest about the helmet, she was attentive to both Erica and Jamie. Claire kept waiting for the other shoe to drop, for something to go terribly wrong, but it just never did. Not at the stables, at least.

They arrived home, Faith zipping up the stairs to the front door as usual. Claire was grateful to get to watch an entire movie with Faith tonight, to decompress, to hold her little girl and be soothed by her oblivious, youthful happiness. When they passed through the front door, Claire dumped the contents of her arms onto the couch as usual and started toward the kitchen, but Faith did not follow.

“Faithie, come on! Don’t you want your chicken?”

Faith didn’t seem to hear her. She lifted Claire’s purse and looked underneath, and then let out a groan.

“What’s the matter darling?”

Faith made a beeline for the front door, and Claire sprinted to lock it, having forgotten to do so upon arriving home.

“No, no, no,” she quickly blocked Faith’s exit. “What are you doing, Faith? What’s wrong?”

Faith began whining and pawing at Claire, hitting her thighs.

“Do not hit, Faith.” Claire crouched down and grabbed her wrists. “What is wrong? Hm? Hungry? Tired? Pain?” She did the signs that she’d learned from the videos Mrs. Lickett had sent. “Can you sign for Mummy? What’s wrong?”

Of course, she couldn’t. It was much too soon for Faith to be carrying out conversation; she’d only just learned any signs at all.

Faith suddenly began wailing.

“Faith, baby, it’s alright, I’m here…” She wrapped her in her arms, but it only lasted for a moment. Faith clawed her way out and began pounding on the door.

What could possibly be wrong? What was she looking for on the couch…?

Then it dawned on her.

Horsie.

She hadn’t checked to see if Faith was holding the stuffed horse before they left the stables.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck.

“Oh, darling, it’s alright!” She stroked her head and tried cupping her cheeks. “Can you look at my eyes, Faith? Faith…it’s alright. We’ll get Horsie back next week. He’ll be alright.”

She was inconsolable.

Claire exhaled heavily and stood up to retrieve the Happy Meal from the coffee table.

“Aren’t you hungry, darling? McDonald’s! Your favorite!” She held the box in front of Faith’s eyes. “Come on, lovie, let’s go eat.”

She reached to grab her hand, but Faith shrieked and pulled back, apparently having no intention of eating a thing until Horsie was returned. She’d be quite hungry by next Friday.

“Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ…” Claire threw the Happy Meal back on the coffee table and ran a hand through her hair.

She needs to eat dinner. I have to make this stop. There has to be something…

“Do you want to watch a movie, lovie? How about Frozen?”

Claire scrambled to get the DVD in, holding her breath until the movie started, praying that she’d be drawn to the screen and sit down to watch quietly, and then she could gradually coax her to eat on the couch.

But she just continued wailing.

Claire knew full well once a meltdown was in motion it had to run its course. And this particular meltdown would not run its course until the missing object in question was found.

But she can’t not eat, she can’t not sleep…

Claire didn’t realize she started crying until it was too late.

It was just too much. She’d held a man’s hand today while he died before her eyes, and then hugged his inconsolable wife while she came to terms with having to tell her children their father wasn’t coming home. And then Claire had come home and sought comfort in her own child, and she’d gotten a bit, but of course it didn’t last long.

She knew by the time she drove back, the stable would be closed, so she could not go and pick it up. She tried calling the stable, but no one answered. Apparently, everyone had already gone home.

Faith gave a particularly loud shriek, and Claire felt all her nerves go shot one by one. Hands trembling she scrolled through her phone for something, anything.

Jamie.

Toni had provided her the stable number, her own number, and Jamie’s number in case the main phone was busy. He’d mentioned that he and the other therapists took turns staying after closing to see to the horses. She threw up a quick prayer before clicking on his contact to start a phone call. Even if he wasn’t the one that had stayed today, perhaps he could tell her who had and give her their number?

As the line rang, she felt surges of panic go through her. Was this even appropriate? To be contacting his personal cell number for something that wasn’t really an emergency?

Faith started pounding on the front door again, screaming her head off all the while.

Claire suddenly didn’t given a fuck about what was appropriate.

——

Jamie was sitting at his kitchen table, enjoying the stir fry he’d made for himself and his usual glass of whisky. His phone buzzed in his pocket, and he made a note to check his texts later, but then it kept buzzing. Somebody was calling him.

Curious, he pulled out his phone and saw a number he didn’t recognize.

“Bloody telemarketers,” was his first thought, but the area code was local. Eyes narrowing in curiosity, he swiped up to accept the call, setting his fork down.

"Hallo? Who's this?"

"Uh...hi, Jamie. It's Claire. Claire Beauchamp. From the stables.”

Jamie felt like he’d had the wind knocked out of him.

"Oh...Oh! Uh, hello, Claire. What's uh...what's going on?"

Someone on the other end shrieked, and his stomach lurched.

"Is that Faith? Is she alright?"

"Yes, she's perfectly fine. Physically, at least. She left her horse at the stable, the stuffed one. She's absolutely beside herself and she won't stop crying. Nothing is calming her down, none of her other toys, not putting on a movie or music, not even food.”

Jamie felt his chest tighten. Her voice sounded strained, and she seemed completely frazzled. The second he’d laid eyes on her at the stable today he could tell that something was wrong. It wasn’t the usual sadness he saw in her eyes, it was something different, something visceral. Whatever was happening now was certainly not helping.

“She won't eat, and I know she won't sleep either. I called you because no one was picking up at the stable and I was hoping you'd still be there but just not near the phone?"

"Yeah, I'm still here. Just in the stable. Canna hear the phone," he answered without thinking. What the damned hell are ye doing, lad?

"Oh, thank Christ. I'll be there in twenty minutes."

"No," he said quickly. "I'll, uh, I'll bring it to ye."

"What...?"

"Wouldna do fer ye to be drivin' wi' Faith as she is now." Though Jamie was making things up to cover the fact that he was already home, he wasn't entirely wrong. Even if he was at the stable, he wouldn't feel comfortable with Claire driving twenty minutes with a screaming bairn. "Wouldna be safe.”

"But...it's...are you sure...? You wouldn't get in trouble?"

"Nah. I'm sure other therapists have done the same fer some o' their kids."

Keep digging, James.

"But you haven't done it before?"

"No."

"But others have?"

"Aye." Liar.

"Alright...as long as you're sure it's not inappropriate."

"Only inappropriate if we make it so, Sassenach."

Why the bloody fuck did I say that?

Claire cleared her throat. “Right. So…you’ve got my address from Faith’s file?”

“Aye.”

“So...twenty minutes? Half hour?"

"Aye. Just about."

Idiot. Bloody feckin’ idiot.

"Alright. See you soon."

"Bye, then."

Jamie hung up, threw his phone on the table and slapped an exasperated hand over his face.

"Jesus, Mary and Joseph! What is wrong wi’ ye?”

#outlander #outlander fanfic #outlander fanfiction #outlander au #claire fraser #claire beauchamp #faith fraser #jamie fraser #joe abernathy

160 notes · View notes

backintothematrix-archive · 4 years

Text

The cause, the kid, the course, the charm, and the curse!

I did threaten to write this. Here's Rex's trial and sentencing. It's under a read more because it's so damn long.

He was found fairly quickly by one of the members of the Assembly of Master Builders as he was trying to access his ship. The reports from Emmet and Lucy stated that Dangervest was not supposed to be a problem anymore. Why was here now? Oh well. This just created a new problem: what to do with such a destructive man.

The first thing the Assembly did was lock him in a makeshift prison, built by the best Builders be impenetrable and unbreakable. It was guarded 24/7 by the strongest figs they could find. There were some objections, of course; some arguments that they didn't do this to Lord Business. But Rex was a wild card, dangerous and unhinged. It was easy to silence the naysayers.

Rex could have called Emmet at any time during his incarceration. He didn't want to. He couldn't face him, not like this. He barely wanted to face him in the laundry room the day he came back. You couldn't expect Rex to want Emmet to see him under lock and key like this, curled up in a corner and waiting for... what? Final judgement?

That judgement came soon enough. He was soon taken by a Friends and Duplo guard to a rebuilt and very sparkly dog dome. His face fell when he saw the place, memories of the last time he met the Master Builders in that building hitting him like a crushing wave.

He was pushed to the center of the circular room and he could almost feel the Piece of Resistance on his back again. The gazes of the other Master Builders felt more cutting now, though. It was Abraham Lincoln who spoke first, his voice barely cutting through Rex's memories.

"Rex Dangervest. You stand accused of starting Ourmommageddeon and nearly destroying the world as we know it. How do you plea?"

Why bother with this fake courtroom posturing? Rex took a slow breath, finally digging himself out of his thoughts.

"Why don't you answer that, big guy? Ya clearly know the answer." His tone was defensive and defiant but there was an underlying fear mixed in. This reply earned a volley of offended whispers from the gathered Builders.

"Answer the question, Dangervest! How do you plea to the charges?" Rex couldn't be sure who shouted that, but it really didn't matter to him. This was all clearly a game. Someone up there was introduced to the courtroom dramas Finn and Bianca's mother occasionally snuck downstairs to watch.

"I'm not gonna plea anythin'. What are ya gonna do? Make me?" He kept his tone defiant as she scanned for familiar faces. Soon, his eyes fell on Benny. The one person last time who was willing to vouch for him. This time, though... He could tell the other was disappointed. Benny didn't even know who he really was and he looked so heartbreakingly disappointed in him.

"We can so make you, Dangervest." A different voice spoke, this one from someone he didn't recognize at all. Clearly, they were already letting Systarians in. Others chimed in with demands for Rex to make a plea.

"Fine. I'll play your little game. Guilty. You an' I both know I started it. Woulda finished it, too." He kept his tone flat, despite the feeling of guilt that threatened to choke him out from his throat. He was, to his credit, a good actor. More whispers from the Assembly. More heartbreak when he turned to look at Benny.

"Even the accused admits to his part in Ourmommageddeon. Is there more we need to do here?" Gandalf's voice made Rex's eye twitch. Did he always sound so damn pompous?

"Yes!" The voice of his former spaceman friend chimed in. "Shouldn't he give us his side?" The color found its way to Rex's face. Once again, Benny came to his defense. Even if the spaceman didn't know who he was.

"Intent means nothing here. He started Ourmommageddeon! That's a big deal!" Damn you, Abraham Lincoln.

"We gave President Business a second chance and he tried to Kragle us! How is that better than the Bin of Storaj?" Rex again couldn't place who said that. His focus was mainly on Benny and Gandalf.

"Because we say so, that's why!" Gandalf banged his staff against the floor, like that helped solidify his authority. The old man seemed unmoved.

"Aw, come on! Let him speak!" Benny pleaded, the voice of mercy in this kangaroo court.

"Alright, Dangervest. Speak on your behalf. "

Rex could feel everyone's eyes on him. He had their attention and took full advantage, painting the picture as vividly as he could. He held nothing back and, by the end, was shaking. He didn't like being outed like this, but there wasn't much of a choice here. Maybe the truth would grant him leniency. When his story was done, he was sent away with two different guards back to his cell, waiting for the punishment for his crimes.

The next week felt too long and too fast at the same time. He was present for every testimony, every nail in his coffin. Each person's side, depicting the ripple effects of Rex's rage induced actions made the Matrix he was dragged into feel more real. To him, it was all NPCs crying for justice, all of them imaginary pawns in a teenager's...tween's?... maybe both?... mental court of opinion. But the more the trial dragged on, the more he had to answer to his crimes, the more real it all felt. He felt weaker with each story of rebuilding after his shot against their gods. Not even this fact helped keep him from finally breaking down at the last day of testimony. He was glad Emmet wasn't there. He couldn't see Rex like this, looking so weak.

----------

He couldn't sleep so he attempted to connect to the Man Upstairs. Maybe if he did that, he could bend the verdict to his favor. He sat in his corner and closed his eyes, doing his best to clear his mind. It used to be so easy! Why couldn't he clear...

His mind. After what felt like a decade, it was empty enough that he could see into the other side of the veil between worlds. What he saw, though, was not what he expected.

He saw a woman's face. She had dark hair that was the length and style of his own, but with blue and pink highlights in the bangs like his former girlfriend. She didn't notice him as she checked her phone. "There. Never thought I'd be installing this again." She threw on some headphones and bounced her head to an unheard song. She soon started singing.

"Because the Hook brings you back! I ain't tellin' you no lie!"

Before he could register the song, he was pulled out of the vision by the guards. Who was that girl? She wasn't Finn or Bianca. Didn't matter. He had bigger things to think about.

He was soon at the dog dome one last time. Rex felt sick from worry, but he kept his composure. He scanned the stands where his former peers sat, trying to read his fate on their faces but couldn't.

"Rex Dangervest, we have heard testimony from the people of Syspocalypstar about what chaos your crimes have wrought. Are you expecting mercy from this court?" Gandalf seemed particularly melodramatic today.

Rex shrugged. "You can do whatever ya wanna. I'm not expectin' nothin'." He sounded as weak as he felt. Just get this over with.

"We have taken your tale into consideration, however we do need to make sure you really have learned your lesson. You are to help rebuild the Downstairs Realms to the way they were before untill such a day as this Assembly believes your debt to society has been paid. We will assign you to a new place every month. If you are to move away from your current residence, we must be informed. Is this understood, Rex Dangervest?" Abraham Lincoln read this sentence from an official looking scroll.

Rex felt a little relief. "Yeah. That works for me."

#[ how it will begin... again ] || rex's origin #[ don't like talking about my backstory ] || headcanons #[ the death of imagination in the subconscious of an adolescent] || drabbles #[ ... it's not a cookie it's a chainsaw. ] || mobile

5 notes · View notes

wxlawson · 3 years

Photo

[ WAGNER ‘WOODY’ LAWSON. 42. CISMALE. HE/HIM] is here! They’ve lived in Silver Lake for [ THREE YEARS ] and are originally from [ TENESEE]. They are a [ MANAGER AT A DUDE RANCH ] and in their downtime love [ COLT STARTING ] and [ TAKING NAPS IN THE HAYLOFT ]. They look a lot like [ MILO VENTIMIGLIA] and live [ IN OASIS APTS ]

Name: Wagner ‘Woody’ Lawson

Age: Forty-Two

Birthday: January 25, 1979

Sign: Aquarius

Home: Quaint two-bedroom home with a small yard

Occupation: Manager at a dude ranch

Character Quote: “Sometimes I feel like Jesse James / Still tryin’ to make a name / Knowing nothing’s gonna change what I am” ~Troubadour by George Strait

Pos. Traits: Hard-Working, Steady, Humble

Neg. Traits: Blunt, Firm, Dissonant

Likes: farm work, aged whiskey, loping through the open country

Dislikes: people who push around others, well-done steak, warm beer

Aesthetic: tennessee whiskey, the smell of fresh hay, roping

~bio~

Born in Tennessee Wagner Lawson was raised along the banks of Mississippi mud, never given a chance to be anything but the down-home country boy, which had always suited Wagner just fine. His daddy was a colt starter and former rodeo champion, having won national titles for roping and reining. From the moment Wagner could waddle he was following his daddy around everywhere, at first just watching as his father worked and as he got older helping with the chores himself. He found that spending time tending to the many horses cathartic and volunteered for just about any chore that would get him around them. Never once did he need to be asked to pitch in to do what was needed at the family ranch, from picking vegetables in the garden for his mama to helping his daddy check the cattle fences. As far as most childhoods go, his was pretty perfect. Sure, sometimes his dad drank too much and sometimes his mom just would not stop fussing over him, but he had no cause to complain.

His father, seeing his boy take an interest in horses at such a young age decided to help Wagner begin to follow in his footsteps. As a kid he enrolled Wagner in the pee-wee portion of rodeos where his wife would take pictures of the young boy struggling to stay on the back of a wildly running sheep, but in the end, he stayed on. He almost always did. With natural talent like that his father was quick to get his son started on the path to becoming a bull-rider. His mama threw fits and got into fights with his daddy, it was too dangerous, he could be hurt, killed even, but as he got older and started to have a mind of his own there was nothing that he wanted to do more. So he practiced, and practiced. By sixteen he was competing on broncs, a safer alternative to the bull, and was cleaning up at junior rodeos, his room becoming full of belt buckles, the tack room full of all the special made trophy tack he had won. But being bucked was far from his only talent. At age ten he had broke his very first colt and at twelve he was winning local roping competitions. He even became adept at helping his dad sort and catch cattle, something he was never fond of but did anyways as it was expected of him. Despite how it sounds, his childhood wasn’t all work. While never the best in school he managed to get passing marks and had a group of boys he roughhoused and fucked around with who were constantly getting him into trouble as a teenager.

Fast forward a few years and he was one of the hottest young bull riders to hit the circuit. But his career as a rider didn’t last as long as anyone would have hoped. The reason? He fell in love. Some would have called the pretty woman he fell in love with a buckle bunny, what with her affinity of dating all the big rodeo stars, but when him and her spent one night together the rest was history. Now twenty-two and married with a baby on the way, Wagner knew he could not be as hell mell as he had been for the past few years. He now had a family to think about; and so, he quit bull riding and switched exclusively to broncs. It was still dangerous, but the risks less than if he was on the back of a bull. Life went on and for the most part the little family was happy, until tragedy struck. On the night of his twenty-eighth birthday, with his wife and little girl in the stands, he overtightened the strap around his hand. At first everything seemed to be going well, he had one of his best times, but as he threw himself off the bucking bronco his hand caught. It was an instant disaster. The animal began to panic, bucking harder and higher, with Wagner hanging on for dear life. His only blessing was that the first hoof to his head knocked him out cold. He was rammed into the side of the fence and drug for minutes before those in charge of wrangling the horse were finally able to calm it down. In the midst of the chaos, his wife, fretting over her husband, had not noticed her daughter slip down through the stands calling out for her daddy. No one noticed her presence in the ring until it was too late. All it took was one wrong move from the frightened animal and the sunshine of Wagner’s life was no more.

The blow to Wagner’s own head had been so severe that he was kept in a medically induced coma for two-weeks, giving the wounded flesh time to heal. When he awoke, his whole world was shattered. He grieved, and as he did his grief turned to anger. Anger at the situation, anger at the long arduous healing process, and anger at himself. But all that anger had to go somewhere, and with the only person around during his recovery being his wife, she took the brunt of it. It took him a little over a year to fully heal physically, and during that time he began to develop a dependency on his pain medication. He spent his days sitting in front of the tv drinking beer after beer on top of the opiates as his wife worked in a small diner to try and keep the roof over their heads. One day, a year and half after the tragic accident, the woman had decided that she had had enough. She gave Wagner an ultimatum, get help or she was gone. It led to largest fight yet, a massive blowout that made it clear where Wagner stood.

At that point he was nearing thirty and with nowhere else to go moved back in with his parents. His father though older now was still tough as nails and no patience for his son’s pansiness as he called it. He put Wagner to work. Sober or not he was expected to help, and if he didn’t, God help him. At first he railed, his rage boiling over and eclipsing everything. Rather than argue with his son, the elder Lawson simply gave him a new task. It would be his only job- start the colts. It was something Wagner had used to excel at, but his anger and rage at the horse’s mis compliance made things difficult. The gentle animals became scared of him and began to lash out. One colt in particular, a beautiful bay, resented Wagner more than any of the others, and he let him know it. That was Wagner’s wake up call. He ended up forming a bond with that colt that pulled him out of his stupor and set him back on track. His special relationship with that animal also earned him a nickname, Woody, because wherever Woody went, Buzz followed. Buzz and Woody quickly began racking up wins in roping and reining competitions, and for the next years, Woody allowed himself to feel the happiness that had come into his life. The two traveled all over the countryside, with Woody picking up odd jobs such as stable hand or working cowboy. Until one competition where in the middle Buzz came up lame with an injury too bad to fix, leaving Woody the tough choice of having to put his beloved companion down.

The loss of his friend sent Wagner ass-first back into the destructive patterns of his life, drugs and alcohol once more waging war inside his body. Only this time he wasn’t a young man, and the substances were taking a heavy toll on his health, not that he cared. His parents, unable to reach him, packed his things and kicked him out. Woody’s father, unable to completely give up on his son, reached out to an old friend who owned a dude ranch an hour outside of LA. For over a year Woody lived there, forced to claw his way back to sobriety through back-breaking labor. The option was always there for him to quit the job, fend for himself, but the company of the horses and being the source of looking after their well-being brought him back from the brink much like it had the last time. A year and a half later he was completely back on the wagon, though he can be known to slip with the drinking whenever the subject of his daughter is brought to the forefront of his mind, mainly around birthdays, his and hers, as well as holidays.

Wanting more independence Woody turned in his resignation, thanking his father’s friend for getting him back on his feet. Much to his surprise, rather than accept his two weeks notice, he offered Woody a promotion: to oversee the entire running of the dude ranch. It is a big job and one he takes very seriously, knowing that the overall welfare of the horses depends on him, even if he is no longer responsible for their day to day care. That was three years ago.

Since then he’s moved into an apartment at Oasis Apartments in Silver Lake, a place where he could have his freedom yet still manage his responsibilities. Anyone who’s ever been inside his apartment will say it looks like a country movie blew up, with saddles scattered on stands throughout the place and rodeo memorabilia hung up throughout, but for him, it’s the closet thing to home.

#tw death.#tw alcohol #tw addiction #tw drugs #tw death of a child #tw death #about || wagner lawson #bio

2 notes · View notes

pluviophile-bookworm · 5 years

Text

Thoughts/ reaction to AWAE 3x7

This cold open is… different. It has actual tension. Also, it ties directly to the end of last episode, and gods know I love that. And… it has actual speaking, too? Honestly, Anne is the typical teenager caught sneaking back in at night, while also being socially engaged. I mean, there’s nothing typical about her and the present mission of hers, but an untrained eye might have thought so.

I’m honestly afraid of people’s reaction to whatever Anne wrote in that paper. I have been since last week, and maybe not without good reason.

Have Diana’s parents learnt nothing? Not even from missing their chance with Mary? Apparently these people are immune to redemption. I hope I’m wrong about this.

Diana’s face after excusing Anne oh-so-smoothly is just like, “What has she done now?”, but she’s still not letting anything on. This is the friend we all dream of.

Poor Josie is getting those judging looks from everyone while Billy just sits there like he has nothing to do with it. In fact, he seems annoyed by the whole situation. Who gave you the right? How dare you sit there like you have no part in this? If I were Anne, I would definitely have done all she did and more. Heck, even if I were just me, I would have done something, and I’m so afraid of speaking up… Billy deserves the worst.

It seems to me that Josie’s father is no better than Billy. Blaming his own daughter and making her marry that little piece of *no swearing on main, but you’ll know what I mean* after what he did to her? Someone needs to teach those men a big lesson.

“Get him back”? Don’t you mean get back at him? Listen to your daughter, woman, why don’t you?

“How bad could it be?” Let’s just say you’re lucky not to know. I’m screaming right now, but we’ll have to live through this. No change comes without suffering.

Anne asking Marilla if she doesn’t deserve an opinion, and then bringing up Matthew’s blunder… hitting where it hurts the most, that’s what that was.

“All will sort itself out” Yeah it will, if Billy never so much as goes near another girl again. But we all know that’s not happening.

What? They’re looking for another girl? “More compatible with our interests”? What does that mean? Okay with being assaulted and treated like a piece of meat with no soul or opinion? No girl deserves the monstrosity that is Billy Andrews.

I knew Prissy would speak up. I hoped and prayed for at least one member of that family to have their mind and heart in the right place. The world needs more women like Prissy Andrews. At least two for every man like Billy Andrews. I still can’t wrap my mind around the two of them coming from the same genes. Biology and blood relations make no sense when it comes to what matters most, I guess.

Has Diana gone nuts? “Apologise to Josie”? For what? Trying to speak up for her when she herself wouldn’t dare to? Telling the honest truth to a town of people that are apparently too narrow-minded to see it? This isn’t the Diana that kissed Jerry at the fair last week. This isn’t the Diana that would fake an injury to experience freedom. I’m witnessing a full-speed slide down the metaphorical hill of character growth, back to square one. I’m disappointed in my girl.

“You’ve always been jealous of me”… for what? Being engaged to a piece of *see above* that assaulted you? Or for being too blinded by what society has taught you to believe - that you are lucky to be marrying him and are not the victim of what he did to you? Honestly, I feel bad for Anne in the present situation, but I feel even worse for Josie because, unlike Anne, she doesn’t seem to realise that she is the victim here and has rights to fight for. I hope this works out.

But honestly, does none of the girls remember about the Beltane? Does Diana not remember that Josie was in their circle and is therefore their sister now? Does Jane not remember what happened to her actual sister not so long ago - which said sister just reminded her of, in case she had forgotten? Josie is now her sister, too. Does that mean nothing? Is ostracising Anne and treating her like trash all over again going to benefit any of those girls? What is with everybody? Wake up, people!

Oh, shut up, Gilbert Blythe! Or whoever you are these days because I frankly don’t know you anymore. Do you still not realise what this is all about?

And Miss Stacy, too? You’d think she would have a thing or two to say about women’s rights. What is wrong with everybody?

Oh, so she agrees with Anne, but still won’t help her? I see where she’s coming from, but right now everything that goes against Anne even in the slightest is wrong in my eyes and ears. I’m looking at this too passionately. I might need to cool off.

All of a sudden I sympathise with Rachel Lynde. Who would have thought? But well, she just so happens to be the only woman in a council of men. Them trying to pass her opinion off as “hysterical” fits in perfectly with the theme of the episode about women’s voices and the right to equality.

Ok, so Diana might not be so lost, after all. I have to admit, I squeal in delight at the sight of her and Jerry. But… wait. What is going on just now? I’m not liking the sound of this. And why do I feel like his heart wasn’t in that kiss? Why are you doing this to me? I should be excited, nay, ecstatic, about Derry’s second kiss. Not hurt by the look on Jerry’s face. What did you do to my boy, Moira?

Miss Stacy seems to have finally come to her senses and is ranting about the stupid censorship that stupid men put on the newspaper instead of the “scandalous” actions that Anne took. And Anne having a full-on raging breakdown and taking it out on the remains of the writing club… “We rest in truth”… I feel for her.

Gilbert has finally come back. I have no idea where he was all this time, but he’s back and there’s at least one thing in this episode I’m glad about. It seems that suffering does bring about change, after all.

Anne coming back and being accepted with literal open arms… and then Gilbert’s face says it all. “I did what’s right. It was about time.”

“Anne’s farm boy is ever so tall…” First of all, yes he is, isn’t he? *heart eyes* Second of all. though, he has a name, and it’s Jerry. Third of all, he’s not Anne’s farm boy, he’s her brother. But at least we agree on something. Honestly, every now and then I feel that if I were to write a self-insert character for AWAE, I would end up with Ruby. She is just so much like me…

“Wonder if he has a farm girl…” Jerry’s just trying his best to hide at this point, and Diana looks like she would very much like to hide as well. But this is not hiding of the “secret forbidden romance” type. Why do I feel… embarrassment in her eyes? This is not my Diana.

“I’m certain Billy won’t understand any of it” - and that’s why the business should go to Prissy alone. Also because Billy deserves nothing, whether he understands the business or not.

What is wrong with Josie? The poor girl doesn’t even understand she’s perpetuating her own suffering. At least Anne tried. Multiple times. I’m afraid some victims deny themselves the chance to be saved…

“My girl”… oh sweet, gentle, wonderful Jerry… I fear she might not be very worthy of you right now… Also, it’s funny (read: cruel) what the fates do to us. I’ve wanted for Anne to know about Derry, but not in circumstances such as these…

“She seems to like the kissing part, but not the part where we talk”… this seems like a half-subtle parallel between their situation and what Billy did to Josie, and I’m not liking the implications this has about Diana. And it seems Anne has got the same impressions…

Poor, poor Jerry… I can barely see what I’m typing right now because I’m bawling my eyes out. I so wish I could be there to give him a hug and tell him just how much more he’s worth. Only, I couldn’t be much help because, as I said, I’m bawling my eyes out myself… That is NOT my Diana. Who’d have known the day I’d take Gilbert back in would be the day I’d lose Diana? But this is not about her. This is about how she made Jerry feel - wonderful, hard-working, smarter-than-he-is-given-credit-for Jerry who deserves absolutely no hurt. I knew the development of Derry was too good to last, but I did not expect the pain to come from within. I expected anything - society, their class difference, their families, even Diana’s higher education - to come between them, but never Diana’s behaviour to Jerry. Excuse me while I go throw pillows at my wall in rage and heartbreak.

“They can’t take your beauty away from you”… Umm, exuse me? All this happened because Josie was reduced to a “pretty face”. But you wouldn’t know. You weren’t there. She was, though, and she seems to finally realise just what was done to her. Please don’t let me be wrong in assuming that.

“I still like you”? Come again? What has happened that might reduce her likeability other than what you alone did to her? You’re an entitled effing brat, that’s what you are. And she owes you nothing. Good on Josie for finally realising her worth.

And you dare to just show up and act like nothing happened after what you did to Anne’s brother? If somebody treated my brother like this, I would make them pay. That much I know. I thought you would know better, Diana. “It doesn’t mean anything”… you better shut your mouth before you say anything else hurtful about the two people you’re alleged to love the most. walking on thin ice there, Miss Barry.

“Don’t you dare” No, don’t YOU dare! I was afraid Jerry would be just a temporary escape, a little adventure to Diana, but I shuddered to think it would be so anywhere beyond my anxiety-induced nightmares… and now there are some insulting words floating around in my head that I’m not directing at her just because I’m sure that, unlike Billy, she will redeem herself. I’m dying right here. I did not opt to miss my lectures to cry so much.

A real quote from my reaction to 3x5: “I live and would die for Anne and Diana’s friendship.” Well, now I feel like I AM dying - because this seems like the end of it. My brain knows it’s not, but my heart sides with Anne. And Jerry. I side with respect and equality. What side are you on, Diana?

“Just a suggestion. Not telling you what to do”… Gilbert seems genuinely a bit scared of her and I’m still dying - but now it’s of laughter. Gil has learnt his lesson and as of now deserves to be called Gil again… until further notice.

And the “rallying” that the episode description promised is in full force now. I’m finally smiling at this episode. It was high time.

Marilla stading up for Anne in front of the council and Matthew just smiling with pride is the golden content I had already lost all hope to see in this darkest of dark episodes… In Matthew We Trust!

In the name of all that is holy, I hope Moira’s deviations from the source material include the survival of both Matthew and Ruby. Seriously, source material, Matthew and Ruby? The biggest cinnamon rolls of them all? what’s next, Jerry? Delphine? No, forget I ever said that.

And now Josie joining in is just about the best thing I can hope to see before the hurricane of suffering this episode is comes to its end.

The “Not a Take Notice kind of guy” scene flashed through my mind when Gilbert said “Thanks for the suggestions”… this moment is so different, so much better… My Gil, Anne’s Gil, is back, and he’s making sure everyone knows it. You should see my face now.

The world needs more teachers - and women in general - like Miss Muriel Stacy.

Anne and Gil being aware of what exactly their relationship is like (Shouldn’t we be arguing about something…”) while not being sure what their relationship is like at all is… the most wonderful paradox I can think of right now. We’re getting a Shirbert kiss… in, like, season 6 or something, but it’s worth waiting for. Some slowburns should remain slowburns.

The spelling… oh gods, the spelling! #Shirbert

When Anne mentioned Winifred, I couldn’t help thinking of that time she mentioned Ruby… why do you do this to the guy, Anne? He’s trying to take a step forward, I can see that he really is.

Wait, what is happening? Why do they always make screens so dark, I can’t see what’s going on at all.

Oh no! When Miss Stacy mentioned the building spontaneously combusting, I didn’t think that was foreshadowing… but then, if I remember correctly, a fire was what made Anne and Ruby friends, so we never know - something good might come out of this. I hope so.

To sum up, in this episode we saw: Anne’s actions and their disastrous outcome; the town isn’t ready to accept the changes that are happening inevitably; Billy is an a**hole, Prissy is an icon - no surprises in either situation; Diana is not Diana; Josie doesn’t realise she’s a victim and has a voice; all the girls except Anne suffer from what we over at TV tropes call Aesop Amnesia about Beltane; Derry’s second kiss was nothing like the first one; Gilbert is BACK; Ruby is me; this is NOT MY DIANA; Anne finds out about Derry in the worst way imaginable; Jerry suffers and I want to kill someone because of it; the fall of Diana and what seems like, but is hopefully not, the death of Anne and Diana’s friendship; Josie realises her worth and puts Billy in his place; Gilbert is back like he’s never been gone; rallying and organised action at its best; In Matthew We Trust; Josie is back for the better; Shirbert knowing their relationship and not knowing it at the same time; Anne mentions another girl yet again - some people never learn; Miss Stacy unknowingly predicted the fire.

55 notes · View notes

literary-shitstorm · 5 years

Text

//: An AU in which Kevin is a football player and Aaron is a dancer and they meet under mildly questionable circumstances, cross-posted on AO3

Kevin had run past the dingy studio on his biweekly route for the past year and a half, yet for the first time, he noticed a warm light creeping under the cracks in the crooked door. The place had obviously gone bankrupt years prior, left to rot through the vicious winters and even more dangerous summers- the years hadn’t been kind to those four walls. It was in one of the older parts of town and the history major within him couldn’t help but wonder if the building had once served a much higher purpose than the one it had sadly been reduced to.

The faint light wasn’t the only puzzling addition to the scenario, the slightest hum of music cut through the nighttime air. Not the sound of rebellious teenage rock or the top charts like he would’ve expected, instead it was a delicate melody. A string of graceful notes with the ever so slight snap of a beat in there, a deep thrumming that kept the song alive. Kevin had never claimed to be any kind of music connoisseur but it was beautiful. It was drawing him in like he didn’t think possible, all thoughts of his jog almost void from his mind. Almost. He quickly pulled himself back, the bite of the evening reawakening his senses- if he stayed out too long his step-mother would be worried sick, no doubt eager to bring out Carolina’s entire police force to gather his whereabouts.

He picked up his feet and carried on his way without a second thought.

_____________

Two weeks later and Kevin was back on the same route past the studio and it was becoming increasingly harder to resist the temptation to look inside. Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday and now Thursday; each day he had felt the stuttering in his stride as he heard the familiar tune, the draw to an inevitable stop and the way his torso would always twist to face the entrance. He tried to tell himself that he just enjoyed the music and that it wasn’t the underlying curiosity screaming that somebody was in there begging him to peek inside and see just what kind of creature chose to inhabit a place like that. But every time he would get too close all those school assemblies about ‘stranger danger’ would flood to the forefront of his mind, the anxiety would begin to kick in and he would be on his way before you could say run.

Friday came around he knew that things would be different.

He had set out earlier than normal, the sun hadn’t even begun to set and there was only the slightest sliver of grey licking the skyline, the streets were still buzzing with activity; if he wanted to safely get a glimpse of his mysterious visitor there was no better time to try. So he waited with his phone in his palms and a foot placed neatly against the wall behind him, a desperate attempt to avoid drawing attention to his meandering.

Half an hour passed and nothing changed other than the blooming of colors beginning to ripple across the sky and the disappearance of the sun behind a thick layer of clouds. It was when a weak chill started to settle in that Kevin considered calling it a night, heading home and preoccupying his mind with plays and strategies for that weekend’s game. That all changed when he pocketed his phone and drew his foot from the wall; he looked up at the boy walking past him and he knew.

He was short, that was the first thing Kevin noticed, impossibly so. There was an air of grace and nonchalance to the way his feet curled into the floor as he worked and the way his body combined sharp features with even sharper movement. It was cat-like and bordering on plain sinister. Whoever this guy was, he seemed just as on edge as Kevin. A golden mop of curls sat atop his head, ever so slightly beginning to brush into his eyes, or perhaps it was being pushed down by the almost comically large headphones that covered his ears. As expected, when the figure deemed that there was nobody around to witness, he slipped into the studio and slammed the door behind him.

He wished that he could go back and pretend that it had never happened because Kevin’s mystery had a face and oh god it was beautiful.

_____________

“It’s kind of weird, isn’t it?” “Shut up Neil.” “I’m just saying, Kevin, you’ve been listening to this guy for weeks-” “Neil.” “And now you’ve seen him-” “Shut the fuck up, Josten.” “And you can’t go a second without thinking about him.”

It wasn’t true, Kevin was perfectly capable of going without thinking about his mysterious stranger, wasn’t he?

_____________

Kevin didn’t dare believe that things could get any worse from there. He’d always had a problem with fixation: football, friends, family- but now it was him and every single time he saw the slightest flash of blond he felt anxiety beginning to knaw at his chest. He didn’t dare admit that whatever this was could be a crush, because this was a stranger that he’d never even spoken to. He didn’t even know his name. He wasn’t gay. He’d dated the star of the Girls Football Team, Thea Muldani, back in high school for over two years and prior to that, he’d had a few silly adolescent romances. He wasn’t gay but he felt as though the picture of this boy was burned into the back of his eyelids. It failed to ease any of the anxiety that he was feeling.

It was on his Wednesday evening jog, two weeks after first laying eyes on his puzzle, that Kevin encountered an unavoidable trap that begged for his attention. The door was open. Well, it wasn’t intentionally open, but for the first time the light that usually managed to just creep under the doorframe was bleeding out full force onto the concrete, casting the shadows of the room within. Before any rational thought could even begin to process the situation, Kevin found his feet moving towards the entrance and his eyes drawn to the opening, however, he squeezed them shut before he got to close in a feeble attempt to avoid the heartache he was so obviously determined to bring upon himself. He braced himself with fingers latched on the frame and made sure that he was positioned so that he would be forced to take in the whole room; it was like the boys from his team always said: Go big or go home.

It took him a few seconds to readjust to the light flooding back into his vision, especially with the rapidly moving figure shifting in front of him.

He was dancing.

Kevin had never found himself being the type of person that argued his opinions; friends and family were a maybe but strangers were a clear cut no. He’d always found himself nodding and smiling along with whichever clique he’d had to cater to during that conversation and allowed things to flow without his input. During football training growing up, he’d often heard the boys surrounding him make jokes at the expense of dancers, especially after their Coach had suggested that perhaps they should incorporate some ballet into their fitness regimes. They had gone on for hours about pretentious dancers and their prissy songs and uptight attitudes towards others. Kevin would be a liar to say that after years of hearing the same judgment he hadn’t somewhat bought into the idea, but watching his enigma move fiercely in front of him- he was inclined to rethink his opinion.

He had never seen anything like it; every movement set off hundreds of muscles flexing underneath taut skin. Every flick of a foot or hand was perfectly precisioned, strong yet delicate at the same time. Every spin was perfectly catered to the music, he seemed to be almost floating as he spun on the tips of his toes- how was he doing that- it was entirely beautiful in a way that Kevin had never experienced. In spite of all the grace, however, there was a look of rage plastered on the face of the boy; his brows were furrowed into a deep v and there was a fury flickering in his eyes whenever he caught a glimpse of them in the dusted mirror on the wall.

Beautiful wasn’t the word. Dangerous was.

Danger was definitely the emotion that Kevin felt when the music came to a slow stop and the boy landed facing directly towards the entrance and, in turn, directly towards him. It was only at that moment that he realized in his stupor he had stepped out to the point of almost being in the room. For a horrendous moment, their eyes met and there was nothing but fire between them, a blazing connection of blown-out pupils that seemed much too intimate for their first-ever acknowledgment of each other. He imagined that the same concoction of fear and shock on his opposers face also matched his own, and before any words could pass between the two of them, he was on the balls of his feet and sprinting faster than he could ever remember being.

It took an extra four blocks for his heart to ease some of the thrumming, still, he knew that he wasn’t struggling to get breath into his lungs due to the exercise.

_____________

It was hard, but he tried his best to remove any recollection of the dancing boy from his mind. He finally persuaded Neil to stop talking about it, no longer offering him the satisfaction of a reaction at the mention of blond hair and pointe shoes. He changed his running routes and made sure that he steered clear of the old abandoned building at all times.

Allison always talks about self-care. That was what he tried to tell himself- that by completely avoiding the anxiety-inducing experience that was anything to do with him was his way of looking out for himself. Of course, he knew that it was a complete lie.

After getting fed up with his ‘constant moping’, Neil, Allison and a few of the other reprobates his father had taken under his wing that he had somehow found himself associated with had organized a night out at a club a few towns over. Associates or not, they seemed to know that Kevin would be anywhere at the promise of alcohol on somebody else's tab. He never understood why everybody made it into such an ordeal; he was waiting in the front room of the apartment he (half-)stayed at with Neil, tapping his foot on the carpet whilst the others were still emerging from their various different ‘get ready’ points.

Neil had told him that the club they were going to was called Eden’s Twilight and that Allison and Renee knew three of the people who worked there and could probably hook them up with a few free drinks. The drive crammed into Matt’s pick up was agonizingly slow and the engine never seemed to sound any less like it could die at any second; he’d be a liar to say he didn’t enjoy the blurring of the highway as they sped past trees, cars, and buildings. The way they all seemed to morph into one gave him an oddly serene feeling, it was peaceful.

Of course, that peace could never last. The moment that they entered the bar Kevin was struck with a feeling of abject terror because the dancing boy was behind the bar and Renee was talking to him like all of this meant nothing. The words slipped out before he could stop them, “It’s you.” The eyes that passed over him as a result were nothing like the ones he had witnessed weeks prior, those had been angry and driven, these were the eyes of a dead man, completely cold and void of anything that could be considered feelings. In spite of that, there was a cruel smile twisted on his face as he said, “Righty ‘o,” and more sinister, “What have I done this time?” “You’re the dancer in the abandoned room.” He wasn’t justified with an answer that time, only the slightest giggle from Renee, “Andrew’s certainly not a dancer, Kevin.” “But how-” “You must be thinking of Aaron,” a louder voice rang out from behind the bar, followed by a much taller, tanned man with dozens of glasses stacked in his hands, “You a friend? Don’t sweat it, I still get them confused sometimes. He’s round the back on his break if you want him.”

In an all too familiar turn of events, Kevin was out the door and making his way around the back before his mind could make sense of the information that it had received.

And there he was.

He spotted the golden hair under a streetlight before anything else, the rest of him was clad in black from head to toe, barely visible in the darkness. There was an open bottle hanging loosely been his fingertips and Kevin watched as he pulled it to his lips and took a deep swig.

Kevin tried to swallow any anxiety he felt (it didn’t work) and set forward into the light himself, “It really is you.” The figure jumped slightly at the comment, fear passing over his face before it curled with recognition, “You’re my stalker.” “No,” Kevin’s response was frantic, “....yes. But it wasn’t like that I swear-” “Relax, I’m much too buzzed to care about you right now,” he paused before offering the bottle which Kevin too almost too enthusiastically.

They stood in a kind of awkward silence for what felt like an eternity, moving the bottle between them until there were only droplets left in the bottom. “Are you a professional?” “What?” He could feel the red hot blush grow to his cheeks, “Uh...athlete...dancer....” Even in the darkness, Kevin could make out the way Aaron’s eyes were smoldering like coals, “Used to be.” “What happened?” “What’s it to you,” Aaron’s voice came out like knives on a grater before gaining a darkness akin to his twin, “Drug testing.”

The silence returned for a few moments, but Kevin quickly decided what he needed to do. “My dad sponsors and manages athletes from...disadvantaged backgrounds. He’d definitely help you out if that was what you wanted.” “You think I’m some fucking charity case, huh? You don’t know shit!” Kevin couldn’t help but flinch at the angry words flying in his direction, “I don’t want your stupid fucking pity offer.” Kevin took a shaky inhale before slipping one of the cards he always carried with him out of his pocket and dropping it on the floor, “The offer is there if you want it.”

With that, he turned on his heel and practically ran back into the club with only one plan of getting completely shitfaced.

_____________

Life carried on. At the time the upset that Kevin had felt churning in his stomach was mountainous; he wasn’t sure how he’d ever overcome the unbearable memory of the experience that followed him wherever he went. Alas, it took some time, but he moved on from the disappointment of his meeting with Aaron Minyard.

As if the world was taunting him over and over, it obviously couldn’t stay that way.

It was on a Saturday morning that his dad rang him to warn him of a client coming over for their first meeting and that he and Abby wouldn’t be able to make it back in time, asking if Kevin would be okay with making a few introductions. He’s your age, he’d assured.

Nothing could have prepared him for answering the door to Aaron Minyard on that Saturday morning. “Fuck, I thought it’d have to deal with this at some point but not as soon as I got to the damn door.” “Come in,” was the only monotonous response Kevin could muster amidst the nerves, “Would you like a drink?” Aaron held up a coffee cup in his hand in response, “I’m okay.”

If Kevin had though the silence that night had been unbearable, that didn’t come close to the awkwardness of the two of them sitting in his dad’s office. All that he could think to do is run through the little booklet that sat on the desk, explaining the types of things that they would offer support for until Aaron’s tense voice cut him off, “Listen, I can’t put up with this awkward shit...” he paused and Kevin could practically hear his teeth grating, “So I’m sorry.” “Not used to apologizing?” “No, I suppose I’m not. I was a dick that night- I was drunk and high and I’d had a shitty day,” he inhaled through his nose, “But I wouldn’t fucking be here if I didn’t want that to change, would I?” “No, I suppose not.” “We even?” “I guess so.”

Things were somewhat less painful after they’d gotten that out of the way and Kevin even found himself slipping into a conversation with the blond when they ran out of business to discuss, “What do you do?” “Huh?” “This all seems pretty athletic,” Aaron motioned to, well, the whole of him, “What sport do you play?” “Football.” Aaron allowed the smallest of bemused smiles to slip onto his face, “All football players are Neanderthals.” “I can agree with that.”

It took a while for the conversation to slip to the inevitable, but the blow came as expected, “Why were you watching me that day?” Kevin couldn’t lie, not now, after all this turmoil and anxiety and disappointment. “It was beautiful.” Aaron’s gaze quickly dropped to his lap, obviously uncomfortable with being complimented in such a way, “...You really think so?” “I do.” And at that moment Kevin had always been sure that he wasn’t gay, but he felt something different when Aaron’s chocolate eyes (a gorgeous color, so dark that they almost blended with his pupils, Kevin noted) forged their way into his own. It was only when he felt his center of gravity lean minutely forward and he could see his opposition doing the same that the bang of the front door broke them from their trance and sent them flying apart. His father barged in with his usual rough exterior.

“So Aaron Minyard, right?”

_____________

Two weeks after that, Aaron let Kevin watch him practice for the first time.

_____________

And two months after that they kissed for the first time and Aaron became Kevin’s dancing boy.

//I hate this with a passion and I feel like the only way it should truly be read is within hellfire, but I really wanted to post something and this was about all my motivation could stir up. Kevaaron own my dead heart and that's my only justification for this

Fun Fact: I wrote this with a maybe broken finger

This is my first contribution to this fandom on tumblr- ew.

#all for the game #all for the gay #aftg #aaron minyard #kevin day #kevaaron #neil josten #andrew minyard #nicky hemmick #renee walker #all for the game au

48 notes · View notes

hobiwonder · 5 years

Text

Teen Idle | (m)

Pairing: Hoseok x Reader

Genre: Smut. PWP

Warnings: Unprotected sex, creampie, blowjob, dry humping, exhibitionism, dirty talk, degrading language, mentions of religion in a negative light. Mentions of infidelity.

Summary: “Wish I’d been a teen, teen idle Wish I’d been a prom queen, fighting for the title Instead of being sixteen and burning up a bible Feeling super, super (super!) suicidal The wasted years, the wasted youth The pretty lies, the ugly truth And the day has come where I have died Only to find I’ve come alive” - Teen Idle by Marina

OR: You’d been a good girl and for what? Hedonistic adventures of a church girl turned.... well, bad.

Words: 6k+

A/n: Bad like this absolutely last minute smut lmao eejhbduefhebfuejdn i wrote this in two days and this was NOT on my list of WIPs until like a day ago so I apologise if this isn’t your cup of tea. But tysfm to @yminie for the AMAZING mood board I forever will be amazed by her talents. Not beta read bc it’s my baby’s bday and i dont wanna be sending over work for her to read over!! pls let me know if you enjoyed. I loved writing hoseok ravage me in my mind :’))).

It was hard to understand what exactly was your place in the world. Ever since you’d been a young girl, growing up in a conservative house with a preacher for a father and a very strict mother to match – you had known nothing but disciple, purity and how to make conscientious choices knowing that god is watching at all times. Even to think of an anomalous thought earned you a solitary confinement in your room with the holy book itself to make your wrongs in to rights. Your parents couldn’t have the preacher’s daughter being just like those insolent teenagers that you went to school with – could they?

The whole of your youth had been spent singing in choirs, volunteering at church on every Sunday and making sure each moment of your life was free from sin and impurity. You never wanted to be like the drugged, easy harlots that went to your impure school. You were better than that. You were better than them. That’s what you’d been told your whole life. To be better than everyone else in the eyes. It did not matter to you that you didn’t have a social circle surrounding you like the rest of your peers that you witnessed on a daily basis – making out freely and shamelessly on the hood of their cars after school or even before school.

“You’re better than these heathens, y/n. Remember that. The lord will reward you for your resistance.” These words have been spoken to you so many times you’d lost count. Your father was a strict man and every punishment, every lesson came down to this; being better than those ‘heathens.’ It wasn’t to say that you regretted servicing the church as a teenager, spending your nights sorting out bulletins instead of crashing college parties like the girls in your class giggled about in the hallways. Charitable work was regarding high in the eyes of the lord. And this life was temporary. You had the whole of heaven to look towards after passing from this world and the hedonistic people that inhabited it.

You wanted to be nice and virginal because in the eyes of the lord, in the holy book, that was more desirable than being an easy slut. Society still valued the innocence, perceived dependency, and sexual inexperience of a female virgin, while shunning women when they “corrupt” themselves by giving themselves away and you’d been a fool when you’d given it all away to one man that you’d thought was the one for you. But what did you get in return? A cheating bastard who’d been sleeping with his secretary – quarter his age.

“Y-Y/n!” your whole body had been on auto pilot and your feet had taken you straight towards your car while Sehun had ran after you – shirt unbuttoned and haphazardly tucked in to his slacks after the scandalous scene you had walked in to at his office.

“Y/n, wait! I can explain!” you’d been told all your life that rage was a sin too. Never to let the anger consume your brain enough to make it cloudy with bad decisions and yet, you hadn’t cared then when you’d turned out – heaving with so much anger you weren’t sure if it was possible to explode from just one emotion.

“Explain what?! What is there to explain?” Your tone is louder than the gentle croon it always was, speaking gracefully and politely like good girls from noble, pious families did. It the surprise on Sehun’s face at your outburst is almost as surprising as finding out that your fiancé had been sleeping with another woman for god knew how long!

But that’s right isn’t it? God knew everything and he had known about this too. So why did he think you deserved this? Did you not deserve to be happy? With a fiancé, a good job, a ‘good’ family? Where did you go wrong?

You’d given up your body for this man thinking he’d done the same. He’d given you himself in return and you had felt whole – at least then. So why did you feel so conned now? Why did you feel the regret creep up now at giving up your purity, your virginity to a man you had given everything to and gotten absolutely nothing from?

“I can’t believe you’re talking to me like that.” The look of utter surprise with an undertone of disgust had you wanting to hurl your bag to his face – wiping away the contorted expression as if he’d met the most vile person on earth. He was in in place to be chastising you after being caught fucking his secretary and yet he had the nerve to do it anyway?

“Fuck you, Sehun.” That’s the last thing you’d uttered to his face, surprising even yourself at your boldness before you’d dashed out of the lot to where you sat now. The bar that was closest to your work building while you’d been driving by. Your emotional state was somewhere between a mess because of your time wasted with Sehun and feeling bitter as you questioned your whole life. What did you have to show for all those years spent following the rules, being a good religious girl only to break one of the most scared rules for a man that didn’t give a crap about you?

You felt dirty and disgusting and craved the glory that you felt within you – like you were better than the people surrounded by you – pure and almost godly. It fed the narcissist in you that your parents had made you out to be. Always telling you that you were better than everyone else out there because of who you were and how you lived your life. Sure your co-workers thought you a but stuck up. But of course – they weren’t the ones with a modest job, a fiancé, a perfect home at such a young age. They were just bitter that your life was flawless and you had it all while staying pure and remembering god while the heathens out there could never have both.

At least that’s what you’d thought. How did you even fool yourself in to believing that you could have it both ways? Have pre-marital sex while trying to live a life that ensured you your place in heaven. Why did it all seem like a waste of time? You’d been a fool and lived a lie. Thinking that being a good Christian girl instead of living a life like the typical teenager did would ensure that you avoided heartache such as this. But it happened anyway. So why? Why had you been so good? Why did you waste your youth burning up a bible while your peers were out there making these mistakes already; probably learning how to avoid men exactly like Sehun than being a fool almost nearing 30 and never having had intimate relationships – at least not like the one you had with Sehun. You’d given him your virginity for goodness sake.

“What would you like ma’am?” The bartender looked at you – slightly unsurely as you stared up at his face just as confused, having never been at a bar like this alone. In fact, you could count on one hand the times you had visited a bar and it had been with Sehun to attend work functions that you both usually left early to pray together before you went to bed at 10pm promptly. God, you were a fucking disaster. And maybe this was a mid-life crisis because even you weren’t sure you’d make it to 60 years old let alone live a normal life in to your elderly years.

“She’ll have a vodka tonic.” The deep, sultry voice was unmistakably of someone you had known very well at work. Well, known was a bit of an over statement.

The bartender nodded, getting to mixing your drink straight away while all the golden skinned, glowing sharp features and a lithe body and a perfect coy smile that was Hoseok, took a seat beside you on the bar stool. His hair was parted and the tie he’d been sporting at work today was loosened around his neck but the blazer still stayed. He looked like a sin you wanted to commit and you couldn’t believe that your mind was so loose tonight that it had even allowed you to think lustful thoughts rather than filtering them out of your system like you’d trained it to.

“Mr. J-Jung.”

“We’re not at the office anymore Y/n. Please call me Hoseok.” He smiled at you so brightly that if you weren’t so at war with yourself internally; you may have even returned it. Usually you avoided much contact with the opposite sex as you already had a fiancé and looking at strange men was not looked upon favourably in the eyes of god. Especially men that induced such lustful thoughts in your mind… But did that even matter anymore? Why had you done all of that when it in the end you’d been fucked over by life anyway? Were you just another pathetic woman; like the ones you despised and told yourself that you were nothing like them?

“Never thought I’d see you at a bar, let alone, by yourself. What’s happening? Lover boy skip a date to go to church?” He chuckles at his own joke and you can’t bring yourself to fight with him. Because at the moment you were questioning every aspect of your life, every opportunity missed and every mistake not made.

Fuck Sehun. Fuck him. Fuck religion. Fuck the people who fooled you in to thinking that you were special. Because if you were then why did this happen? You were no better than any other woman out there even when you kept yourself the cleanest you could. You denied yourself the pleasures that everyone indulged in – thinking and even feeling to some extent like the godly being you were told to strive to be.

“No. He diched me to fuck his secretary at his office.” Your casual response has Hoseok’s eyes going wide, spluttering for a moment before he’s shaking his head as if trying to wrap his head around what you’d told him.

“First of all, never thought I’ll hear you swear,” He shoots you a smirk before a more sombre look takes place on his face, “Damn. Holy shit. I’m sorry to hear that y/n. How could he do that to… toyou.”

Maybe you’d be offended if the context and the circumstances were different. But they weren’t. And it was true. You had thought yourself to be better than everyone else you worked with and thought that you deserved it all. It was your reward for following the rules that god made man to follow. But of course, where did that get you? A lost virginity that made you feel like a whore with even actually being one, not knowing what was true and what wasn’t and the regret. The fucking regret that in your late 20s you had wasted your youth and never gained the ability to deal with a heartbreak such as this. Suddenly, you craved it all. You wanted to go back in time, fuck every guy on the basketball team, fall in love with all of them just for them to break your heart the next week. Drink yourself to oblivion to numb the pain of said heart break or eat your feelings. Do everything that would prepare you for today so could handle these feelings like an actual strong woman and not one whose confidence lay solely on god. Who waved around a false sense of superiority because she didn’t drink? Didn’t smoke? Had only slept with the man she was going to marry?

You’d wasted all those years like a fucking fool. And of course, Hoseok, who teased you the most about being the way you were – stuck up – to witness your downfall.

“Well, he did.” You’re nonchalantly taking a sip of a drink you’ve never had before but thankfully you’re not spitting it back out like a rookie as the alcohol burns its way down your throat and settles in your system. Already making your body temperature rise and you weren’t even through with all of the glass.

“What a shitbag.” Normally you would reprimand anyone who sore in front of you but today; you just shrugged. Still deep in thought, letting the regret take you over as you downed another glass, the pleasant haze of feeling tipsy tearing down your walls of defence and your inhibitions.

“Well, as much as I dislike you for being a killjoy at work and having your nose in the air every time someone even walks by you; I apologise on the behalf of male species. Never thought any bad would be happening to you.” He’s snorting to himself as he drinks his own glass of whiskey, gesturing the bartender to fill your glasses once more. And while he does; you look at him. Reallylook at him. You no longer want to deny that Jung Hoseok was a devastatingly charming man. He was a favourite around the office and you’d never seen him without some sort of smile on his handsome, sharp face. When you’d first started work at his department; he’d tried to flirt with you on day one but you’d quickly shut him down, holding on to your cross necklace as you told him you didn’t court men that easily. But as you watched his easy stance, the way his thighs spread out naturally to accommodate him and the dishevelled look of his hair from running his hands through it; you wanted him.

You wanted him to make you forget. You wanted to live out each and every fantasy you had and make up for the lost years you spent holed up as a teenager. And who best to do it with the most handsome and effervescent man you knew? Sure, you’d only given him dirty looks each time you caught him in the break room making out with a different co-worker every other week. But you were a hypocrite. Because in this moment, you wanted nothing more than to be one of those girls. You wanted him to fuck you on every surface of every building. You wanted to be an actual whore than pretend like you were treated any better than one. Discarded to the side so easily by Sehun.

“You okay, y/n?” He’s looking at you now and you know that he’s caught the spark in your eyes, no doubt being able to tell that you weren’t the y/n he worked with on the daily basis. You realise; that version of you had died the moment you’d caught Sehun in the act. This was the new you and she wanted to make up for lost time and suddenly, you felt jittery and moist between your legs as you glanced at Hoseok’s fingers circling the mouth of the glass.

“I will be. If you can help me.” Your voice is soft but determined as you stare him square in the eyes. Sometime during the night, he’d somehow moved closer to you, face now inches away from yours as his own shamelessly took in your pencil skirt and your collared blouse. To proper and put together for his liking. And now, to your own as well.

“You really mean that?” His voice is deliciously husky and it sends a chill down your spine but you nod your answer anyway. Not breaking eye contact with his glossy ones.

“I need you to say it sweetheart.” And you will. Because tonight you wanted nothing more than to feel the feelings you had avoided your whole life – thinking that somehow you’ll remain a better person than everyone you knew.

“W-Will you… will you fuck me Hoseok? Show me what good girls can’t have? Make me regret ever not wanting to let you have me on that day?” Even to your ears, your voice sounds foreign. Never being so openly blunt and shameless. But you knew that Hoseok doesn’t care because he’s cursing under his breath, muttering a ‘fuck’ as he rakes his gaze over your body once more. Then, he’s pushing back his glass while he holds on to your wrist – dragging you out of the bar with him.

“W-Where are we going?”

“To fuck.” Your face is going red and the blood in your veins is bubbling from excitement. You were being careless and reckless and yet; you’d never felt so alive before. This really was your new life. And you could do everything you hadn’t in your past one. Hoseok has your hand firmly in his own as he’s pushing you in to a darkened alley next to the bar. The night air is slightly cool and people are still walking by once in a while to access the bar. In an instance, you’re pushed up against the brick wall, the rough edges digging in to your back harshly as Hoseok blankets your body with his own, towering over you. You’re breathing hard and watching his each move while he only places both of his arms on either sides f your head.

“Do you really want this y/n? Because this is your last chance before I have you the way I’ve always wanted.” And somehow, your breathing is getting faster as you stare at him expectantly.

“I am. U-Use me Hoseok. It’s what I want.” I want to feel like a dollar whore. I want your cum dripping out of me. I want to have your cock in my mouth until the day I die.

It was as if your previous self had been so deprived to the point that the new life you suddenly have made you a nymphomaniac as the default setting. Wanting nothing more than to do anything and everything to fill that deep ache you felt inside your soul and now your pussy. Hell, your previous self wouldn’t have even said any of these words even in your thoughts.

And Hoseok needs no more reassurance as he’s pushing up your skirt in a haste – in a public place, mind you, where anyone could walk by and see two figures huddled up against the wall – and then pulling down your modest white cotton panties that were now soaked.

“Fuck, you’re this wet already? I always knew you were so prim and proper to hide the inner slut in you. Weren’t you baby?” And all you do is nod slowly, watching him hitch up your legs as he settles them on his waist to steady you. All the while his eyes grow increasingly frantic, watching you tremble beneath him. In a way – he was also getting to taste the unforbidden fruit and you were more than willing now. Ready to rid yourself of your virtue that you’d held on to so tightly – at least in spirit.

“Answer me, y/n. Did you always want me? Hm? You always wanted my cock?” His voice is gravely and it sends shivers down your spine that’s perched up against the brick wall.

Something about letting a practical stranger like Jung Hoseok take you in such a public setting was so sensual and erotic to you that you were a mess between your legs, sticky arousal smearing the insides of your thighs as Hoseok looked down between you both. But to your surprise – he doesn’t open his belt buckle as you’d assumed he would. Instead – he’s pushing his hips in to yours, mashing his hardened length against your naked pussy and the breath is taken straight out of your lungs.

“H-Hoseok.”

“Yeah baby?” His hips have started to roll a steady rhythm against your soaked core and you know that he’s making a mess of his own slacks every single time he’s rubbing his cock against your sticky core. And affectively helping you get ever so close to that peak you’d been familiar with but never quite so intensely. Sure, you’d thought Sehun was good in bed but in comparison to whom? Hoseok wasn’t even inside you and you were a mess already. The pleasure so intense and concentrated that the noises that were leaving your lips were almost uncontrollable. As if no matter how much you’ll try; they’ll escape you anyway, painting the dim lilted walls of the alley with your breathy sighs and cries of Hoseok’s name.

A man who you were not courting nor were you even remotely romantically involved with. And saying his name over and over again only made you wetter knowing that fact. It was an act of defiance against your own beliefs and you were going to yell his name in ecstasy any chance you got.

“I need you,” your moan that comes out more as a whine only makes him smirk and push his hips harder in to you, pushing your back farther up against the rough brick wall as it grazes your back almost painfully. And you love every second of it.

“Need me where, y/n?” He’s fastened his pace, resorting to now just a quick grind of his hips in between your legs to deliciously put pressure on you bundle of nerves – almost never detaching from your hips at all.

“Ah! I-In me. Oh god. I-I’m-”

“Already? Such a hungry cock slut.” Hoseok tuts, eyes never leaving your face that’s contorted in a look of almost pain because of being so dangerously close to the edge. Your hands are clawing his back and his face is buried in the crevice of your neck, picking away at the threads that held your sanity close until each string was giving away to the carnal lust that flowed all throughout your body. You weren’t wanting to fight any sensation that you felt. But somehow, your mind still tried to fight off the impending orgasm despite knowing that’s exactly what you wanted. You wanted a release. You to let go. But Hoseok isn’t exactly making it easy for you. Because the next thing you know – he’s pushed you down on your knees until you were level with his hips and looked up hazily in to his own hungry eyes.

“You don’t get to cum so easily my dear y/n. Not after all these years I had to put up with your self-righteous attitude only to have your slutty mouth ask for my cock. You need to earn it.” He’s almost spitting out the words while he unbuckles his pants, the sound of his belt buckle opening and the sight of his veiny arms sending another trickle of arousal out of your pussy – panties still around your ankles and skirt still pushed up high.

Slowly, he’s fisting out his throbbing cock that has you gasping when you take in the length and its girth as well. He was bigger and wider than Sehun but a good few centimetres and the thought of his cock stretching you out terrified and excited you all at once. Giving it a few shallow pumps as he smears the pearly white liquid around his length – he eyes you expectantly, gesturing with his chin to come forward.

“Get to work babe. If you want this cock inside you – you better show me how much you want it.” Your eyes most look like a deer caught in the headlights because after a few seconds, Hoseok is cursing under his breath before he’s fisting your hair – only to tilt your face up harshly.

“Open your mouth wide, y/n.” And as if in a trance, you do. With one quick thrust – Hoseok is hitting the back of your throat, making you gag around his slightly salty cock.

“Fuck. Your mouth is a sin in itself babe. And you know I’m the biggest sinner.” He’s spitting out every word between clenched teeth as he thrusts his cock in your mouth again and again. Your jaw already starting to ache as it opened almost painfully wide to accommodate his length while he continued his assault on your mouth.

You’re trying to keep your breathing even and breath through your nose so you don’t faint. The moans that escape you are again – unstoppable. You’d never given Sehun head because he’d deemed it ‘disgusting’ and ungodly behaviour. And yet – you’d found him with his cock buried deep in his assistant’s throat. The act itself with Hoseok’s handsome face peering down at you – lips between his teeth and hands guiding your movements – you can’t remember the last time or anytime in fact, you’d felt this sensual. This erotic and sultry and just plainly like a whore.Giving this beautiful man head in a dark alley with your skirt bunched up to your waist and ass exposed to anyone who could be passing by.

And what do you know – you can hear steps approaching the alley and on instinct, you try to pull away. But it’s hard when Hoseok’s nimble fingers are gripping your hair so tightly to the point where it stings. And with every passing second, you can hear the steps getting closer.

Your voices of protest are muffled while Hoseok only chuckles above you. “You think I care if someone sees you with my cock down your throat? You need to know,” He’s moaning out before he continues, “that your place is on your knees – before me. Like the cock slut you always have been hiding under your granny panties and high collared shirts.”

You can only muffle out a moan around his assaulting member as he continues to fuck your mouth while lewd, sloppy sounds fill the alley.

“F-Fuck. I’m going to c-cum babe.” His pace has increased and he’s frantically pushing his length deeper and deeper in your mouth while you try to suck on the tip of his engorged head as much as you can. And just when he’s about to cum – a voice all too familiar interrupts you both.

“Y/N? Is… Is that you?” You can hear Sehun approach the two figures he can probably only see vaguely. Your eyes shoot towards his direction and you know exactly the moment he’d recognized your voice and your form that’s sitting on the alley floor.

“Y/N!” Sehun has rushed forwards, grabbing your shoulders in a haste as he pushes Hoseok off of you. You’re sitting there with saliva dripping from your swollen mouth, eyes glazed over while Hoseok is only chuckling as he slips his hardened length back in his pants.

“How dare you do that to her?!” He’s roaring at Hoseok who looks like he doesn’t give two fucks about Sehun catching you with your mouth around his cock. He clearly had the wrong idea. Thinking you’d been forced. Just when you’d collected enough breath and reason in your mind – you push Sehun away forcefully while you walked towards Hoseok who was leaning against the opposite wall.

“Y/N…”

“What Sehun? What do you want?” You’re looking behind you as you walk towards Hoseok – completely throttled and thrashed with your skirt up to your waist – panties around your thighs.

“What in the god’s name are you doing?!” And you can only giggle as you start fishing Hoseok’s cock out of his trousers again – right in front of Sehun.

“Letting this man fuck my brains out.” You don’t need to look behind you to know that Sehun is probably looking at you shell-shocked. Never being able to imagine you this uninhibited and callous with your words. But you get a sneak at his face anyway when Hoseok is flipping you over so that your back rested against the brick wall again whilst he hitched up your legs to his waist again. And the thought that he didn’t care that Sehun was watching before rubbing the fattened head of his cock against your pussy all the while Sehun watched – only made your pussy gush.

You don’t remember the last time you felt this excited, this sexy when you’d been with a man. Not even Sehun who you’d considered to be the love of your life. But now you were finding out that you didn’t know any better and had no other man to compare him to. Of course you thought he was the one because your father approved of him.

“You’re going to go to hell for this y/n. For acting like a disgusting-”

“Slut? I know. I don’t give a shit Sehun. Now go away so I can get fucked in peace. Or don’t, I don’t care-ah!” Just then, Hoseok has pushed his girthy, painfully hard length inside you and Sehun is seething; disappearing from the dark alley just as you’re putting a hand to your mouth to quieten your cries as Hoseok’s length stretches out your pussy. And he’s looking straight down between you two, watching the way the labia of your pussy stretches around his length.

“Fuck, your cunt is hotter than the 7thcircle of hell my dear y/n.” He’s cursing under his breath, taking in a deep one just as he’s sheathed completely inside you, letting you take a breath as you try to get used to the largest intrusion you’d felt inside you.

“M-Move Hoseok.” You wanted him to wreck you. You wanted him to take his pleasure from you and use you so much so it made up for all the years of being a fool made you miss out on sleeping with every and any guy you wanted to.

“Can’t believe you preached to us all at every general meeting when your cunt is hotter than hell. You’ve always been the hidden devil among us all haven’t you? Hm?”

He’s throwing your hand away from your mouth when you just muffle out your answer behind them with each thrust of his cock inside your channel. You’re so wet that a squelching sound accompanies every thrust inside and it’s making you pink all over.

“Answer me y/n. You’re a cock whore who’s always been hungry for it haven’t you? Yeah?” With each word, his pace had increased the sounds of skin slapping against skin were so loud that they even brought you back down to earth and feel a hint of shame. But the pleasure coursing through you was enough for you to cry Hoseok’s name over and over like a prayer you wanted to have desperately answered.

“Y-Yes. I love c-cock. I want your cock to t-tear me up. U-Use me Hoseok-” you hiccup as tears well up in your eyes, feeling the bulbous head of his hard member nudge your cervix again and again. The natural curve of his dick hitting each nerve ending inside you that you didn’t even know existed.

“Oh baby.” He’s clenching out between his teeth, “I,” A deep thrust, “will.” Another one that has you almost howling every single time he bottoms out.

You don’t know how he’s holding back after being on edge for so long but you can feel him get even more impossibly harder. Almost as hard as stone inside your velvety walls.

“Fuck you’re so wet Y/N. Did Sehun ever make you this wet? Hm?” You’re pushed up against the wall with each punishing thrust that has a string of continuous moans falling from your lips.

“N-No. You f-fuck me so well h-hoseok.” It’s hard to speak but you love it nonetheless. Saying all the erogenous words out loud only made your pussy gush and clench around him harder.

“You gunna cum baby? You’re gunna cum for me?” You’re vigorously nodding your head while the tears escape past your eyes and on to your already sweaty and teary face while you sniffle away.

“Too fucking bad.” And just like that – he’s pulling out of you and pulling away so abruptly that you fall to the dirty floor in a heap. Pussy leaking with his and your combined fluids while he quickly tucks back his erection that almost look menacing now. You didn’t know why he insisted on torturing you both but you didn’t question it. Loving every second of your hedonistic and spontaneous sexual encounter.

“Come on.” He’s tugging you up on your wobbly feet and dragging you out of the alley. And when you try to pull down your skirt to cover your ass – he swats your hands away.

“No covering up. I want everyone to see what a whore you actually are. You want this to don’t you?” It takes you a few seconds to look at Hoseok’s smirking face and slowly; you nod. Letting him tug you out towards the parking lot – knowing that any passer-by – albeit it being almost 10pm – would be able to see your skirt pushed up with only your panties barely covering your modesty.

And just like that – Hoseok drags you over to his car; a shinny range rover. Pulling open the driver’s seat, he’s sitting inside and pushing back his seat slightly and then within seconds, pulling you on his lap to straddle his spread legs. Both of you are panting and both of you are staring straight at each other; consumed completely by lust as Hoseok gives your wrecked state a once over. He’s reaching out only to rip open the front of your blouse that had been buttoned up high – only to pull down the cups of your bra as your heaving breasts spring free.

“Fuck,” He mutters under his breath, groping the soft flesh between his large vascular hands, “Your tits are amazing. I want to suck on them all day.”

When you moan out in response, he continues, “You’d like that wouldn’t you? Maybe I can drop by to your office for a midday snack, huh? Suck these tits till they’re all puffy and swollen.”

“H-Hoseok. Please.” You’re desperate to reach your peak and now are shamelessly grinding against his hips to get some sort of friction. Hoseok’s bent forward with a nipple in his mouth, licking and sucking in the whole of you areola.

“Oh f-fuck. I’ll c-cum like this Hoseok.” And you were going to. You were so, so close you were about to lose your mind. Thankfully, Hoseok is opening his belt and letting you fish out his hard cock again and within seconds – you’ve taken initiative and impaled yourself on his hardened length.

“Fuck, you’re so hot baby. Just like that.” His hands have now found purchase on your waist as you start riding him like only your pleasure mattered. With the continuous teasing and the exhibitionist that Hoseok has awoke in you – your pussy was plenty wet and even overly so. Making deliciously dirty squelching sounds every time you slid over his pole again and again. Your rhythm increasing as your high built up again – and quite fast thanks to all the edging for hours.

“Yeah, fuck yourself on my cock y/n. Just like the dirty little cock whore you are. Aren’t you?”

“Y-Yeah. L-Love y-your cock.” You’re slurring your words as the car bounces from the sheer force of your pace as you ride Hoseok towards the sun. You could die a happy girl on his cock and when you look at his face that’s watching you like you’re the holiest thing he’d ever seen; you’re crying out your release while he thankfully gets the hint and holds up your hips, thrusting his cock inside you from below to push you over the edge completely.

“Fuck! Hoseok I-I’m-” Your teary face is looking at his own in panic while his hips frenetically push inside your gushing pussy.

“Cum on my cock baby. Let all your cunt juices go. I want to drown in your cum, fuck!” He’s growling and seething out the words as if he’s angry. Livid in fact and it only stretches out your orgasm further – as well as the hand that’s slipped between you both and now strummed your clit to almost a second peak while he chased his own high.

“Fuck fuck fuck I’m going to cum in your dirty pussy y/n. Can I? Fuck I’m n-not going to last. Please baby.”

Your teary face is weakly nodding while your head rests against his shoulder, body bouncing with every thrust inside your sopping and oversensitive walls. The hand on your clit that was incessantly rubbing was so close to make you cum again. And when Hoseok starts to slam your hips down on his lap – sticky and wet sounds echoing through the walls of the confined space in his car, flesh sticking to flesh – you cum once more and with a few more deep thrusts of his cock inside you – you can feel the spurts of his own cum flooding inside your walls.

“Fuck, I-I’m leaking out of you babe.” He’s watching between your bodies as the sounds get even sloppier with his cum overflowing from your pussy and back on to his cock – making a creamy mess between you two. And in that moment, you could only rest your head against his shoulder after having cum for the second time. Your body was worn and tired but your mind was buzzing in the aftermath of your rendezvous. Hoseok looked as beautiful as ever with his golden skin shining with perspiration while he caught his breath – caressing your behind almost lovingly. Love.

That’s not what you were after right now. In fact, even just thinking about it made you want to forget about the whole concept of it all. And when Hoseok looked down at you with a raised eyebrow – you just quietly lean back against the steering wheel, letting him have a look between where you two were joined again.

“Can you f-fuck your cum back in to me?” your sultry tone and your incredibly filthy question catches his off guard for sure. But it’s not even a minute later that he’s ordering you again.

“Turn around y/n. Let’s see that ass bounce.”

And of course, your new self in your new life is more than willing to oblige. Today was the day you had thought you’d died – only to find that you’ve come alive.

a/n: yay or nay? let me know!!

#bts smut #hoseok smut #hoseok x reader #jhope #hobiwonder #hope u like it :))

837 notes · View notes

txladyj-blog · 4 years

Text

This Time Around - Chapter 17

A Daryl Dixon x OFC collaboration written by @xmistressmistrustx by request of @txladyj-blog

Rating: Explicit

Relationship: Daryl Dixon/Original Female Character

Tags: Friendship, Friends to Lovers, Awkwardness, Awkward Flirting, Awkward Crush, Fluff and Humor, Angst and Humor, Mild Smut, Strong Language, Eventual Sex, Eventual Romance, Slow Burn, Canon Divergence, Some Canon Scenes and Dialogue

Chapters 23/?

The next morning saw Jess making her way to Deanna’s place via the pond. Bypassing hunting for one day meant she could take the time to wander casually around the town before many of its residents had risen and therefore, she could enjoy the peace and quiet. The Pond was usually occupied by those who needed to take some time out and just…be. It was the quietest part of town and was frequently host to smooching teenagers and individuals needing to mourn a loss which unfortunately, had become the norm in the apocalypse.

On that particular morning, Jess happened upon the lonely figure of Carl. His checkered shirt and sheriffs’ hat being the main giveaway. His hunched over stance lured her over to him, something wasn’t quite right. Whistling a subtle tune from behind him alerted him to her presence and he smiled broadly when he twisted his body on the bench and set eyes on her. His youthful, innocent face could have fooled anyone into thinking he’d not been exposed to the horrors that lurked beyond the walls. But Jess knew better than that. Carl was a smart kid, brave too. A little too brave, his father might say.

“Hey Carl” She chirped as she plonked down next to him.

“Jess, hi.” He grinned as he studied the attire she dressed in that seemed to intrigue him so much. He was sure he’d played computer games that mimicked her apocalyptic style and as much as he knew she only wore it for practical and defensive reasons, he thought she looked pretty cool.

“How’s it going?” She asked with a light pat on his knee.

“Good” He replied with a lingering look. Jess wasn’t buying it. The fact that he was occupying the most somber spot in the town all alone proved he was lying. Having been the one to encourage her to reveal her identity to everyone, to Daryl, meant that she felt she owed him one. The world hadn’t imploded and she still had her home and her life. She just got to look at Daryl a whole not more than before. Deciding she wasn’t giving up on the conversation any time soon, she threw one leg over the other and settled down beside him.

“Right. Of course. Because when I’m doing good, I like to come and sit out here all alone at the ass crack of dawn.” She challenged with a sympathetic expression as she looked down at him beside her. “C’mon, kid. What’s up?”

His eyes moved round to cast over the pond. Dragonflies and bees flitted in the air, going about their daily business and creating a hive of life over the body of water. Yellow and white flowers decorated the edges amongst the bright green hues of the foliage. A small piece of paradise in a rotten world.

“I talked to Enid.” Carl whispered. His hands fumbled in his lap, his fingers not quite sure of what they were supposed to be doing. Jess thought it might be a physical representation of what was going on in his head. She could relate. It was how she felt whenever she was near Daryl, but she wasn’t about to admit that to anyone.

“Oh, you did, huh? How’d that go?” She pressed.

“Alright, I guess. We played some video games. I think we’re friends” He explained.

Jess was confused. To her, there was nothing bad about what he’d told her.

“That’s a good start.” She commented.

Carl side glanced at her, unimpressed but curious to hear her reasoning.

“It is?”

“Sure. They say that friends make the best lovers” she winked. Worried she was treading on dangerous territory with such a topic and having used the word ‘lovers’ she considered that she should just cut the conversation short there and then. But he looked too distracted and conflicted for her to just walk away and leave him with his thoughts without an attempt to help. The damage was done, so she opted to just roll with it.

“Who’s they?” He wanted to know, the corner of his mouth quirking up into a smile.

“I don’t know… people that were once friends and are now lovers?” She reasoned without a clue as to what the correct answer might be.

“Yeah. Right. I don’t have a chance anyway.” He dismissed as he adjusted his hat. It still seemed too big for him, even after he’d grown considerably. It was a reminder of his innocence and vulnerability.

“Sure, you do.” She encouraged.

Then, he turned his body to her and she prepared for the punchline.

“No, you don’t get it. She has a boyfriend.” He told her.

Her heart dropped.

Shit, kid. I bet he’s a douchebag too.

“Oh, dang.” She said, her words a little more PG than what was running through her head.

“Yeah. It sucks.” he complained

“Well, maybe she’ll get to know you a little better and she’ll realize you’re way cooler than the stupid boy she’s with and you’d make a better boyfriend” She offered with a genuine sincerity. All too often, the nice guys finished last and she wanted to urge Carl to be the exception to the rule.

“I don’t know about that. But Thanks, Jess.” He sighed.

“No problem. I gotta go. Keep me posted, OK?” She requested, getting to her feet and straightening her clothing.

“Jess?” He croaked. She halted, looking down at him still sitting on the bench. “Has it ever happened to you?”

“I’m sorry?” She asked.

“Have you ever had a friendship that turned into something more?”

What followed was a long and uncomfortable silence while Jess weighed up her two options; lie and give him hope or tell the cold, hard truth about her lack of dating experience. Lying wasn’t one of the skills she possessed, that much had been proven when she eventually caved in and admitted who she was to the group. After witnessing Daryl’s rage at her mistruth, she promised herself she wouldn’t lie again. Not to him and not to anyone else if she could help it.

“No.” She confessed. “But, I’m just not the kind of girl that guys want to date.”

His features fell into a truly baffled expression and he smarted at the statement.

“What? Why?”

Truthfully, aside from the fact that bigger girls were always overlooked in the dating pool and she thought herself to be nerdy, awkward, clumsy and clueless about relationships, she didn’t have a simple, clear -cut response that wouldn’t induce hours of trying not to sound like a self-pitying mess.

“I don’t know” She shrugged “But I’m OK with it.”

Yeah, maybe that was a small lie.

Carl still looked confused, but seemed to accept her interpretation. He nodded a couple of times and peered up at her.

“Well, I think you’re awesome.” He wanted her to know.

Jess’s heart swelled at his attempt to boost her confidence and she couldn’t help but wonder if it was Rick or Lori that had instilled such a fierce need to see people happy in him. Carl cared about other people and often went beyond the limits to try and inject a dash of positivity into their lives. She remembered how he’d begged her to come clean to the group, because they needed it. They’d been through so much, he truly believed that being reunited with Jess would make his father, Carol and Daryl happy.

“You’re a good person, Carl. You deserve some of the light that you try so hard to give everybody else. If she means something to you, fight for her…” She quickly checked over her shoulder, sweeping the area and mentally ticking off the list of routes to the pond that could potentially hold someone that could overhear her. Seeing no one, she turned back to Carl. “…But don’t you dare take any shit, you hear me?”

He giggled and held her gaze. “I hear you.”

She reached out and tugged his hat over his eyes, hearing him laugh from beneath. When he tipped it back again, he caught sight of her vanishing around the corner.

The furniture on the front porch of Deanna’s house was frequently used as a place to touch base, to make plans and to relay ideas and concerns. Deanna was clear that whether it be day or night, the inhabitants of the town were permitted to use the front porch at any time.

After the weekly meetings, those involved in the supply runs schedule would often meet here to sip lemonade and plan their next move, which was exactly what Jess, Rick and Abraham were doing under Deanna’s watchful eye one sunny morning. With a straw situated in her glass, thoughtfully provided by Deanna with no questions asked, Jess sipped Lemonade under mask and rocked back and forth on her chair with her boot planted firmly on the wooden fencing in front of her. Occasionally, she coughed and fanned the air in an attempt to rid the air of the smoke from Abraham’s cigar.

Rick and Deanna were hashing out the details of what type of vehicle would be required of such a run and what weapons could be checked out of the armory while Abraham made faces at Jess across the table, some crude, some goofy and some downright weird. In the street, Carl played with Judith, gently kicking a bright blue ball back and forth with her. Her innocent chatter and laugher were a welcome sound to everyone, grateful to hear anything but the growling beyond the walls. By all accounts, it was a normal Monday morning.

“Good morning Mr. Dixon.” Deanna called out, attracting Jess’s attention from blowing bubbles through her straw into her drink.

“Mornin” He muttered back.

Jess couldn’t help but do a small double take. Something was different about him but she couldn’t quite put her finger on it straight away. She wanted to laugh but in an ill-tempered way at how annoying it was that no matter what he was doing, Daryl was always extremely nice to look at.

This is ridiculous. How is he getting hotter? Now, what the hell is going on here? That’s me not concentrating for the rest of the day.

Biting down on her straw, she pondered over what could possibly be different. Ripped pants patched up at the knees? Check. Leather vest with dirty angel wings? Check. Messy, ruffled and wavy hair that obscured his eyes most of the time? Check. No, she couldn't figure it out.

“Hey Daryl, we were just discussing clearing a five star hotel for supplies. We’re after another couple of generators too.” Rick conveyed “We need them, now the population here is growing thanks to you and Aaron recruiting.”

“Plus, I like those chocolates they give you with coffee and the mints they leave on the pillows.” Jess shrugged as she collected her quiver from the floor beside her and started to count her arrows.

“She’s lyin’.” Abraham droned from across the table “She just wants to be alone with yours truly in the honeymoon suite. Aint that right, Angel?”

Jess slowly looked up the big, red-headed military man that was winking at her shamelessly in front of everyone.

“Oh yeah, so I can drown you in the bathtub.” She shot back nonchalantly.

Daryl witnessed their exchange with a mild impatience. It wasn’t in his nature to converse with anyone like Abraham Ford did, least of all a woman. Therefore, his efforts to understand the motivation of such talk when the endgame wasn’t to pair off were all but failing. If he wasn’t interested in her in that way, why would he persist?

“When we goin?” Daryl asked, involving himself in the run without bothering to ask permission. Larger groups were always beneficial. Or, that’s what he would say if anyone asked. The real reason masked behind his stoicism; he just wanted to be near Jess.

“Oh, you’re not invited” She joked and he could see the smile behind her mask portrayed in her eyes.

“Today.” Rick replied with a more polite response.

“A’right. I’ma leave the bike here, sit up front." Daryl expressed "We can toss her in the back seat like a burger wrapper”

At that, Abraham chuckled loudly and extinguished his cigar on the sole of his boot. Deanna offered her a sympathetic smile but quite obviously found the whole thing highly amusing, having never seen Jess, or ‘Parker’ as she knew her in such a relaxed and social environment before.

“Hey!” Jess complained.

“Can dish it out, but ya can’t take it.” Daryl mocked with a slight curl to the side of his mouth.

“Easy you two, or I will turn the truck around and we will come right back here” Rick told them with a chuckle, as if he were a fed-up father taking his kids out on a trip to the beach.

“Want some company in the backseat?” Abraham asked Jess as he got to his feet and shuffled past her on the porch. His nose was turning pink from the sun. Jess merely rolled her eyes in response, meaning he only chortled louder and lowered a big hand into her shoulder, giving it a squeeze as he passed.

Daryl’s chest tightened. He wasn’t sure why he was faced with such feelings, but the playfulness that had developed between Jess and Abraham made his temper flare and his mood turn irritable. It was strange to him despite knowing that now, she was just as likely to engage in such mockery and teasing with him as well as Abraham and in public as well as when they were alone. It just wasn’t flirtatious. Jealousy wasn’t something he’d had to contend with in the past, having never had any real feelings for anyone in that capacity. Did this mean his feelings towards Jess were changing? Was he experiencing something akin to a romantic attachment? He wasn’t quite sure. But he did know what when she smiled, she lit up a room and with it and sparked a fire inside him that left him unable to deny that he thought she was the prettiest creature he’d ever seen.

“Be safe.” Deanna intercepted as everyone started to filter down the stairs and over to the waiting trucks that could be borrowed “stick to the route on the map. Please let me know when you return. Oh, Mr Grimes?”

Rick stopped and handed the map to Abraham.

“Yes?”

“No diversions, no changes of plans. You are all our best fighters; I can’t have you all away for too long.” She requested

“You got it.” He accepted, looking at Daryl and nudging his head towards the trucks.

“Parker, a word before you go?” Deanna called out.

Jess stopped in her tracks, already suspecting that whatever ‘word’ Deanna wanted to have with her was likely to exasperate her after a certain topic hadn’t been mentioned in a while. She hung back, sliding her quiver onto her back while Deanna waited for the others to move out of ear shot.

“Any particular reason you’re around here so much these days?” She asked.

Jess’s brow furrowed, she thought that if anything, Deanna would be pleased to have her around after being pestered so much to join the community, then to live among it.

“Any particular reason you’re asking me?” She retorted.

“Because it’s nice. I like having you here. I know Aaron and Eric do too.” Deanna expressed.

Ah, here it is. A few weeks of peace and she’s back at it.

“Annnnd here we go again.” Jess groaned

Deanna placed her hand over Jess’s leather gloved hand and peered at her with pleading eyes.

“Please reconsider. You would never have to give up the fairground. It’ll always be yours. But you’ll be so much better off living here with us. I know you and Mr, Dixon work well together and I always see you and Abraham laughing. Since their group arrived you’ve been happier.”

Not wanting to seem rude or cagey, Jess stepped back slightly, breaking the physical contact and clearing her throat as she tried to think of yet another way to decline an offer which had been put to her many, many times before.

“I just like being kept busy. This new runs schedule has me out almost every other day.” She mumbled in a tone that came across as less than interested.

“It’s more than that. I know it is.” Deanna pressed, managing to catch her eye.

“Your observation skills still remain unrivaled, I see.” Jess challenged with a smirk that could be detected even with her mask as a barrier. “Look, I’m not moving here. I like my life as it is. But thank you for yet another offer and I have to hand it to you, you’re one persistent woman.”

The Wyndham Grand Hotel was a five-star establishment, nestled into the woodland that surrounded a town that was a two-hour drive from Alexandria. As soon as she arrived, Jess was impressed by the grandeur of it all and couldn’t wait to get inside and start sweeping the rooms for luxury items and non-perishable food stuffs.

The lobby boasted marble flooring and pillars with a sweeping, oval desk and a plush, red carpet. Couches and cushioned armchairs filled the space and in the corners were what must have once been large and colorful exotic plants. Jess was glad they’d managed to make good time so navigating the building with be easier without the use of a flashlight. Having parked the truck in the loading area, Rick and Abraham made their way to the reception desk to collect keys and sweep the place for generators that could be removed and fit onto the back of the vehicle.

“I’m going to leave you guys to the technical stuff and heavy lifting. I’ll be clearing the rooms, see if I can find anything useful.” Jess announced over her shoulder while heading to the stairs.

“I’ma go with her unless you guy need me?” Daryl asked.

“No, it’s OK. We’ll be fine. You go with Jess, none of us should be wandering around alone.” Rick told him. He signaled to Abraham to follow him from the reception desk to a set of double doors with a sign above them which told them they were heading to the Kitchen.

“They could use some more alone time together.” He mused.

“What, Jess and Daryl?” Abraham questioned in surprise. “That’s a thing? He’s into her?”

“Think so” Rick confirmed. “Let's just say it has potential.” He stopped and positioned himself on one side of the door while Abraham did the same opposite, both with knives drawn and held up, ready to defend themselves.

“Well, I’ll be damned.” Abe chuckled.

Getting a head start on Daryl, Jess breezed through any open rooms she could access, eventually finding a large designer suitcase on the bed in the penthouse suite which from the window, provided views of the mountains for miles across the canopy trees. So far, she’d found the maids trolley in the hallway and taken a series of miniature bottles. Shampoo, shower gel, soaps and spare toothbrushes.

They’ve thought of everything. She thought.

Pulling her mask down, she felt a trickle of perspiration run down her temple and decided to lose her hood along with it. It was hot in the room, mainly from the daylight hitting the windows and creating a greenhouse effect. She used her knife to crack the small and relatively useless padlock on the suitcase and flung it open, rummaging around various boxes of make-up and clutch bags until she spotted something she really could not bypass.

She gasped as she pulled out a huge box of tampons and stared down at them with her mouth open like they were the most precious thing in the world.

“Oh, sweet baby Jesus, thank you.” She said to herself.

Tampons and sanitary products, like medication and food, were becoming increasingly scarce and coming across such a find felt like a major triumph to Jess, who, like many other women, despised using old school, washable products that created not only a level of self-consciousness from such an adjustment, but a lot of getting used to.

“Hey, you find anythin’?”

At the sound of his voice cutting through the air so unexpectedly, Jess jumped. Everything seemed to kick into slow motion as she tossed the box in the air, widening her eyes in horror as the contents created an explosion of tampons all around her, rotating as they spiraled out of control and careered to the floor. Time jolted back to normal when they all scattered onto the carpet like a million grains of sugar, each tiny, little thud like a gunshot as they hit the floor. Jess stood with her hand’s half risen, still poised as if she was holding the box which was now at her feet. She slowly looked up to see Daryl stood completely still in the doorway with one eyebrow raised.

“Uuuuuh…” She tried. “I uh, I, I-found some of the mints I like.” She stammered “Aaaaand then…it started…” her eyes lowered to the floor at what felt like a sea of offending articles “…. raining tampons.”

The corner of Daryl’s mouth quirked up as he stepped into the room and nudged his head up at her

“Okay” He replied quietly and she could tell it was taking every single bit of his self-control not to burst into fits of laughter.

Jess sighed and grit her teeth, offering him a bizarre and strained smile as she pointed to the floor with one hand.

“Just going to…pick those up.” She uttered, bending her knees, staring in total embarrassment at the floor and feeling unwaveringly certain that her face was now a deep shade of crimson. Her hands started to scramble across the carpet, collecting the tampons and shoving them in the box. Daryl knelt down and started to assist her. “Oh, you don’t have to.” She said.

“Gonna be here all damn day if I don’t.” He pointed out. She had to admit, he was right, there was a lot of them. Or maybe it just seemed like there was because of the painfully awkward nature of the situation. Jess reached out to grab the last two which lay next to one another near the bed, unaware that Daryl also had his sights set on them. Their hands collided and Jess withdrew as if she’d just shoved her hand into a furnace. Dread engulfed her and she was sure her entire body had now turned red and not just her face. “Uh, sorry.”

“My fault.” He grunted, avoiding her gaze.

“No, it was mine. I’ll just-”

“-Let me”

Once again, they both reached out, this time stopping half way.

“Ooookay” Jess breathed, taking a minute to decide who she was going to pass her possessions onto when she died of humiliation "I’ll get them”

“Yeah. K.``he murmured, quickly withdrawing and scratching the back of his neck with his head low.

When Jess got up, she braved a quick look in his direction and noticed him staring right at her.

“It’s the end of the world. These are like the holy grail. I’m still expecting a pig to fly past the window at any moment.”

“Right” He nodded, straightening up. “You um, you want me to bring some back for ya if I see ‘em when I’m out?”

Not expecting such an offer, for a moment she was rendered speechless. Until it occurred to her how useful and thoughtful his offer was.

“That would be great, thank you.”

“Sure.” He nodded “So, uh…you just want the little bullet-shaped ones or are they like a ‘one size fits all’ thing?”

Feeling her skin literally crawling at the awkwardness of it all, Jess let a small uneasy laugh escape her and wished the ground would open up and swallow her.

“Hah. Um, that is not a conversation you and I are going to have. Just, bring back anything you find.” She told him, turning her back and exhaling the large breath she’d been clinging onto and letting it flare out her cheeks and blow tufts of her hair upwards. She set to work removing the sheets from the bed and trying to put the last few minutes in a box in her mind so she didn’t ever have to re-visit it.

“Ya ain’t already got sheets?” he inquired, confused by her actions.

“Daryl, these are Egyptian cotton. I could never afford sheets like these before. But I can now”

Just about having enough with the topics of discussion so far, he reached out to help her remove the folded quit cover from the bed. His hand brushed against hers and it makes her skin tingle and her eyes closed. Her body froze and he noticed her still beside him briefly. He said nothing, only licking his lips and stifling a smile. If he didn’t know better, he could have sworn that she enjoyed the fleeting contact of his skin on hers.

From the risen bar area above the lobby, Daryl and Jess sat at a table by the window, watching the trundling mass of Walkers pass by outside. Trapped until the way was clear, Abraham and Rick played cards on the reception desk while Jess drew patterns on the table with a marker and Daryl watched her carefully. She glanced out of the window to what looked like the endless line of dead people below. Each one with a past, an identity. She scanned their vacant and pale faces, spotting one in particular that held her attention.

“Huh. He looks like Ben” She said to herself, forgetting for a moment that she was in Daryl’s company and was speaking aloud.

“Who’s Ben?” He questioned.

Having backed herself into a corner by absentmindedly voicing her thoughts, she accepted that Daryl was about to find out that when she lived in the city, she reached a whole new level of crazy.

“My pet Walker from the city.”

Sure enough, he looked at her as if she’d lost her mind.

“Your what?”

“It’s not as weird as it sounds.” She began to explain “I found him trapped at the bottom of the elevator shaft in my building. He was wearing this janitor’s uniform with a name tag. Ben. I tried to figure out how I could get him out of there and put him down. But as time went on, I changed my mind.”

Daryl lit a smoke as she was talking and sat back in his chair, throwing a leg across his knee and resting his cigarette between his fingers, which were perched atop of the chair’s arm.

“Why?” he wanted to know.

“He became a kind of listening post for me. I stopped journaling and started telling him everything. He kept me sane.” Saying the words for the first time gave Jess a kind of clarity about the situation. She had indeed credited the Walker with helping to keep her sanity after spending so long alone and slowly learning to feel the fear and use it to her advantage.

His expression was unchanged, a wary disbelief in his eyes. Jess felt like a fool trying to explain her strange relationship with the dead janitor but worried that if she didn’t finish her story, the half truth would be much worse.

“Eventually I realized that he had the keys to the elevator grate in his pocket. Long story short, I managed to get him out of there and tied him up on the roof.”

“Why didn’t ya just get rid of him?” He furrowed his brow and tilted his head back, finding her story interesting. Having made out that she was better off solo, she was now proving to him that she did, in fact, need somebody when she’d left all alone.

“Because he taught me things. Like how the dead detect sound and how much they can see. How they move and how they deteriorate with time. He’s the reason I’m better at dealing with Walkers than with live people.”

Daryl thought it over while he checked the progress of the herd wandering by below. It was one of the smellier herd’s he’d seen, but it still meant they’d been waiting for almost an hour for it to pass.

“I dunno if that’s smart or stupid.” He eventually said.

“It was smart. Y’know why?” She asked.

He shrugged and smiled thinly, enjoying their conversation more than he cared to admit. Aside from the dead beyond the doors, and the uneasy quiet, it was like they were sat in a bar as friends, or maybe even on a date, swapping anecdotes over a beer. Only the beer in reality was in the form of his hip flask and her plastic bottle of water and the only date Daryl had ever been on was having to hold back a crack head’s hair in a parking lot after Merle had given her too much booze.

“Because if it wasn’t for him creating a distraction. I’d have been caught by those assholes we encountered in the woods. I’m sure they were from the same group that tried to capture me in the city. Ben bought me valuable seconds to make my escape. He saved my life”

It didn’t bear thinking about; Jess being caught by the gang and never walking back into his life. He held up his hip flask “In that case” He rasped, tilting it slightly “To Ben.”

Jess raised her own water bottle and gently touched it on the metal flask.

“To Ben”.

She grinned and took a sip. Then, out of nowhere came memory that she’d been mulling over for a while; The fact that he kept her T-shirts. She felt guilt come creeping back into her mind.

“Daryl, you know I’m sorry, right?” She blurted out, albeit quietly. A hushed whisper on her tongue.

“Thought ya wasn’t good at apologies.” He pointed out.

“I’m not.” She admitted.

“That explains the weird timin’ I guess. What’cha sorry for?”

In truth, she was sorry for a lot of things but didn’t want to ramble on for too long and make herself too vulnerable. It was only now, after getting to know him again and learning to trust him that she felt reasonably comfortable with bringing the topic up.

“Leaving the quarry without saying goodbye. Lying to you. The note I left. All of it. I realized I never really apologized. Not properly.”

He was peering up at her through the wavy strands of his hair, his blue eyes fixed on hers. She expected him to speak, but time passed and he said nothing. She tried to divert her vision but found that it just didn’t feel right.

“M’sorry too. Didn’t mean to be such an asshole to ya” He confessed.

“It’s OK. So, we’re cool?” She grinned.

“We was cool anyways.”

“I just wanted you to kn-“

“-I know. You can quit yabberin’.” He teased, provoking a subtle giggle and a playful slap of his hand.

Some time later, Rick interrupted an intense game of I-spy when he thundered up the stairs, calling both of their names and pointing to the fire exit. When Daryl shot up and asked him what the racket was, he simply yelled “They’re inside! Move!”

Jess could hear the sound of hundreds of Walkers pushing through the glass doors on the ground floor, shuffled steps and groans striking fear into her chest. Without hesitation, Daryl grabbed her wrist and hauled her out of the bar and to the fire exit stairs, following after Rick. Behind them, Abraham was racing to reach the door with his M4A1 Carbine gripped in his hand like a relay baton. When he caught up, he slammed the heavy metal door behind him and flew up the steps.

On one of the floors, which one Jess wasn’t quite sure, Rick flung open the doors to a lounge area with floor to ceiling windows, plush couches and heavy, gold and cream drapes. He hurried everyone inside, breathless and panicked, just as the mass of Walkers began to appear at the end of the hall.

“There’s a hell of a lot more than we thought, they’re moving up the hotel, right on our tails.” Abraham told them while behind him, Rick set to work securing the double doors with a fire axe slid through the bars. “There I was thinkin’ we were going to have to bed down here for the night. Shame. Looks like you’re going to miss out on a steamy night in a hotel room with me, honey” He prodded.

“Oh my god” Jess muttered to herself between labored breaths “shut up”. She shoved him in the arm and he laughed as he tried to catch his breath, clocking Daryl’s unimpressed expression.

Deciding to steer clear of winding Daryl up any more, Abraham aimed at one of the huge window panels and fired off a few shots, shattering the glass and leaving a whistling, gaping hole in the side of the building.

“OK. No guns unless we have to. We’ll just attract more” Rick instructed, quickly holding up a hand to stop anyone else getting ideas “We need to figure out how to get out of here before they break through that door.”

Daryl edged closer to the glassless window and peered out of the gap. Jess heard him sigh and her heart started to pound even faster.

“Can’t jump this” He said “It’s way too high.”

Jess, Rick and Abraham all joined him at the edge, agreeing that it was indeed too high for a human to jump and walk away with no injuries. But Jess knew they had to do something and fast.

“If you lower me down as far as possible, I could try? Go get hel-”

“No” Daryl interrupted loudly “you’ll break ya damn legs fallin’ that far.”

His tone was firm and stern but if there was a chance that she could make it then that was good enough for her. She charged back to the couches, lifting one of the cushions from the frame. The doors heaved with the Walkers outside and the fire axe clunked in its place.

“We could throw these down there, it’ll cushion my fall.” She suggested.

“No, Jess” Daryl replied without giving anyone else a say.

“We have to do something or we’re all going to die here!” She cried, stamping her foot like a child having a tantrum “I’m chunky but I’m the lightest out of us all. I can do this.”

“It is an idea” Rick admitted

“The only one we got” Abraham agreed

“I have to try”

Daryl crossed the space between them and stopped inches from her face, causing her to raise her eyebrows so she could look up at him.

“You not hear me or somethin’? I said no, Jess. We’ll find another way.” He scolded.

When he spoke, it was like there was no one else in the room and she couldn’t deny that his bossy refusal and need to protect her from injury was an unsettlingly attractive trait in him. Rick and Abraham swapped knowing glances before Rick took Daryl to one side and Jess wandered around the room and looked for another option.

“You got another idea?” Rick asked.

“No. But we ain’t lettin’ her go out that window. She ain’t gonna get outta that without an injury which means she could get bit. I ain’t riskin’ that.” Daryl confirmed. It was non-negotiable, there was only one way Jess was executing her plan of going out of the window alone and that was if Daryl couldn’t stop her. For that, he’d have to be dead.

“There are enough couch cushions in here to take a few feet off that fall, Daryl.” Rick tried.

“Gotta make a decision people!” Abraham announced from the door, the doors were splitting open, rotten hands with nails hanging off were slithering through, grasping at the air and leaving coagulated blood stains on the woodwork.

“It ain’t an option.” Daryl growled at Rick “She aint doin’ it. Over my dead body. Ya gonna have to shoot me because I won’t let it happen.”

“Uh, guys?” Jess said “I think I have an idea”

The three men all turned to find Jess sat on the floor, clawing bedsheets from her bag and testing their strength by trying to rip them as best she could.

“Can’t set up camp in here, sweetheart” Abe commented. But Jess ignored him and started knotting them together and pulling them tight. “Rick, give me a hand.” She instructed. Rick was on the floor beside her in seconds and she handed him the corner of a bedsheet while she took hold of another, a tight knot connecting the two in the middle. She got up, handing the other end to Daryl “You’re physically strong. Both of you pull each end, as hard as you can, try and rip it.” They nodded at one another and engaged in a tug of war. The sheets went taut as both men became red faced and failed to even dislodge the knot. Jess emptied the rest of the sheets from her bag and dumped them on the floor. “Great. If we tie all these together and attach it to that pillar over there, we have a rope.”

“Not just a pretty face. Let’s do it!” Abe cheered

“It’s a little ‘Cartoon Network’ but it could work.” She shrugged, picking up more sheets and tying knots. “Means we can all get out of here together”

Tying the crisp, white bed linen around a pillar and fastening it with a hefty knot, Jess, Rick and Daryl all applied their weight to the makeshift rope, pleased when it failed to break.

“OK, it’s holding” Rick declared “Good job, Jess.”

“I’ll go first.” She told him. A hand clamped down around her wrist, halting her before she could even take a step.

“Like hell you will.” Daryl cut in “You’ll go second. Looks clear down there right now but it might not be once ya hit the deck. Pass me those couch cushions”

Swallowing her pride and allowing Daryl to have his protective moments, Jess began throwing parts of the couches to Daryl and Rick, who tried to drop them as strategically as possible to the ground outside. Before she could protest, Daryl shot her a warning glare, picked up his crossbow, slid it across his torso and grabbed a hold of the sheets.

“Alright, stay aware” Rick told him, holding onto the white rope himself as well as relying on the pillar for stability. Daryl slowly backed through the window and Jess was sure she was going to throw up from worry.

“Gotta hurry this up, guys. This door aint gonna hold much longer. This is makin’ my ass itch!” Abe informed them.

As Daryl worked his way down the rope, Jess appeared at the top with her bow aimed in case any Walkers appeared on the ground.

Don’t you dare fall. She thought, over and over again.

Her stomach lurched and her heart almost exploded when he slid at least two feet down unexpectedly, but managed to regain his grip by using a boot on a window ledge to halt the momentum. She was sure the two other men could hear her practically hyperventilating. When he was safely at the bottom, he equipped his crossbow, stood balanced on the cushions and beckoned for Jess to go next, followed by a finger pushed to his lips that urged them all to keep quiet and not attract any more attention.

Jess descended the rope under Ricks careful instructions, slowly working her way down and crediting herself for building up her upper body strength. She could hear Daryl below, encouraging her quietly and informing her of the distance she had left to go.

Back up in the hotel lounge, Rick quickly left Jess once she was a few feet above Daryl and shoved a couch over to where Abe stood with his back now pressed against the doors. The two of them worked to push the heavy piece of furniture into place, knowing it wouldn’t hold for long due to the shiny surface on the floor. Abraham was ordered to get to the ground next and Rick monitored the barrier they’d created between them and the dead as it threatened to release. When it was finally Ricks turn, he scaled the outside of the building as fast as he could, hearing the doors slam open above him and the snarling of Walkers filling the room.

The four of them ran through the trees and around the building to the loading dock, which by some stroke of luck, only continued a dozen or so Walkers. Jess started firing off arrows alongside Daryl, the two of them working together to take them down, while Abraham and Rick secured the generators and started up the Truck. Arrows and bolts criss-crossed in the darkened, warehouse like area and with each thud of a brain being penetrated, an echo sounded out, making the experience even more visceral.

Daryl yelled at Jess to get behind him as the second wave of Walkers closed in around the truck, when she didn’t comply, he moved in front of her and gradually stepped back, all the time firing and eliminating the dead in front of him. Eventually, Jess was forced to retreat to the vehicle and Rick hit the accelerator, ploughing into two corpses and allowing the archer to grab a hold of the truck and climb in as it passed.

Inside the truck cab, everyone tried to catch their breath with the hotel becoming smaller and smaller in the rearview mirror. Daryl leaned over to Jess in the back seat, pulling her coat to one side.

“You hurt?” He demanded.

“No. I’m fine. Are you?”

“Naw.”

“Good” She panted, turning to lean her head against the cold window. “Good.”

The aftermath of the hotel supply run was almost non-existent to Rick and Abraham, who arrived back at Alexandria and unpacked the cargo without the bat of an eyelid. For Jess and Daryl, the events of that day were entirely more lingering. Jess had chosen to be the one to relay the happenings of the run to Deanna, who listened in horror as she recounted the sheer numbers of Walkers they had to contend with and their close brush with death, had it not been for her quick thinking with the bedsheets. She made no bones about accepting the credit for the idea, it had been one of her better ones and she knew from her time in the city that she was resourceful and smart.

Daryl refused to leave the front porch of Deanna’s house until Jess reappeared and he smoked in a brooding silence, offering a feeble wave to Aaron when he rolled back through the gate, returning from recruiting. Rick tried to check on his welfare when he passed the porch on his way back to the house but Daryl simply told him he was good and that he’d be home later on.

Jess left Deanna’s place and descended the stairs without even checking the porch. She wanted to get back to the fairground and sleep, the adrenaline that pumped through her veins and aided her to come out of almost being eaten by a heard but now resulting in a crashing, heavy tiredness. Daryl sprang up when he saw her walk straight past him and to the gate, deciding to follow her.

“Hey” He called out. The gate closed behind him but Jess continued on her path.

“Oh, Hi” She sighed “Look, I’m exhausted, I gotta get home. You’re welcome to walk with me but I’m not exactly full of conversation.”

Wordlessly, he followed her, matching her pace and witnessing her check her distance from the town before she lowered her mask. He reached out, gently touching her arm which stopped her in her tracks.

“What is it? Are you okay?” She asked, concerned by the downcast look on his face.

“Maybe you should opt outta these runs” He suggested.

“Why would I want to do that? I like going on runs.” She turned her body to face him, shifting her weight to one foot as if she was preparing to be there a little longer than she’d expected.

“You could have died today, Jess.” He said sadly.

She studied his features, the way he nibbled at his lip when he was trying to say something revealing or awkward or out of character. His eyes were tired but still bright enough when he looked at her. Well aware that she could have met her demise, she’d tucked it away in her memories and counted herself lucky that she was with a strong team who took a chance on her idea. But as Daryl stood before her and refused to break their eye contact, she realized that what she was witnessing, was how deeply he cared for her.

“But I didn’t” She whispered with a small smile “Tomorrow is never promised for any of us.”

“I know.” He nodded, stepping back and digging his toe into the dirt. “S’why I don’t want ya to go no more. I um…” He grunted quietly and Jess waited, not wanting to interrupt his train of thought or distract him to the point that she would never find out what he wanted to say. He risked a look at her face, relieved to find she was still with him and waiting patiently. His head buzzed with thoughts, things he wanted to say but didn’t know how. He rubbed his chin and sighed and then, at the sight of her shy smile the words were there.

“…I can’t lose you. Not again. Not for good. I just can’t.”

His voice shook as he spoke, cracking at the end of the sentence and Jess had to close her eyes and take a step back to stop herself from doing one of two things; crying or kissing him. She slowly licked her lips, thinking over his intent. How exactly did he mean that?

To Daryl, he’d just spoken a very secret and emotional truth and was way out of his comfort zone. He hadn’t considered the true ramifications of his admission and that was that Jess now knew that her cared about her enough to follow her halfway home and beg her to take herself off of the supply runs team. That he cared so deeply, he’d taken longer than anyone else to admit it.

“I’m not going anywhere, Daryl.” She attempted to assure him.

“You don’t know that.” He countered. She didn’t. She didn’t know how much longer she would survive in the world. She knew that some people left Alexandria’s gates and never returned. She’d attended funerals inside the walls and even helped Aaron to retrieve bodies. She’d felt the heavy weight of loss and that was the people she didn’t even know that well. She tried to imagine the pain Daryl would endure if she were to never return. Based on what she could see in front of her, it was clear that it would destroy him.

“I’ll compromise with you.” She suggested “I’ll only do the local supply runs.”

Her offer seemed to placate him and he nodded subtly, mulling it over and eventually taking a deep breath.

“A’right. Thank you.” He mumbled.

“I’d ask where this has come from, but it's been a rough day.” She grinned. Her effort to lighten the mood and make him more comfortable fell flat when she noticed him suck his lower lip into his mouth once more. She braced herself for yet another one liner that was bound to silence and stun her.

“I know I was a dick today.” He acknowledged “I care about you.”

Now he was refusing to lift his gaze, his eyes focused on the dirt under his boots. It was not lost on her that Daryl was the kind of man to show his feelings through actions rather than words, which explained his snappy and bossy demeanour and refusal to put her in harm's way at the hotel. But hearing him actually say the words to her had stunned her. She couldn’t believe what she was experiencing. It was a big first, a man so unusual and unique, a man so attractive and unattainable was declaring to her that out of everyone, he had some kind of feelings for her. It may not have been outwardly romantic, or even romantic at all. But it was enough to make her nervous when she contemplated that no matter how much Daryl cared about anyone else; Carol, Rick, Michonne, he never asked them to step away from their duties in order to keep them safe. Up in the lounge of the hotel, it wasn’t the thought of Rick or Abe being hurt that drove him to his defiant comments. It was her. Jess dipped her head, managing to encourage him to lift his vision just enough to see her return the sentiment.

“I care about you too, you idiot.” She told him. When his head raised enough for her to see his face, she beamed at him and saw him smile back for the first time.

“I’ll uh, let ya get home.” He moved back, shoving his hands into his Jeans pockets. His crossbow clanked against his back with the movement and he adjusted his shirt at the collar.

All at once, Jess had an epiphany.

“I know what it is!” She cried, the second time in one day that she’d thought out loud.

“What?” Daryl was baffled.

She held her breath and thought that in that moment she probably looked as awkward as she did when he’d walked in on her throwing tampons around.

“Ah. This morning, I thought there was something different about you. I know what it is now. You got a new shirt.”

Daryl huffed and glanced down at the plain, black, button down shirt beneath his leather vest. She was right, it was new, dug out from the mass of clothing they’d fetched from the Cherokee Club. But he never expected her to notice, he never expected anyone to notice. It was just a shirt, after all.

“Um, yeah. Carol made me.” He shrugged. Jess laughed at the thought of Carol ordering him to get himself a new shirt. If Carol told her to do the same, she wouldn’t argue, the woman could be terrifying. “Why’d ya notice that?”

“Because you look great in it.” She said without thinking.

Oh god. I just gave him a compliment without thinking it over a million times and taking into account every possible consequence. Shit.

He sucked both lips into his mouth and gave her a slow and uneasy nod and she was sure, beyond any doubt, that she witnessed his ears and the tops of his cheeks turn pink.

“Thanks” came his gravelly response.

“Isn’t it supposed to have sleeves?” She asked as she squinted at the frayed edges around his broad shoulders.

“Cut ‘em off.”

“Why?”

“’Cause it’s fuckin’ hot here.” He shrugged as if she should know the answer to her own question.

Her mind delved into the gutter and for an indulgent moment she wondered what it would be like to slowly drag her fingers over the taut muscles of his arms and shoulders. She emitted a long sigh with her tongue tracing a line along her lower lip and her eyes shamelessly fixated on his skin.

“You’re right. It is…fucking…hot.” She breathed.

Daryl narrowed his eyes at her, wondering what the change in her signified and then it hit him; he’d seen this expression before. A long time ago, back at the quarry, stood in the water while she insisted on teaching him how to use rocks to clean clothes.

Is she…checking me out?!

“What?” He said loudly, snapping her from her delectable daydream.

“What?!” She quickly exclaimed back.

“Uh, I’ma head back now.” He smirked a smug sensation filling his body.

“Huh. Um. No problem. Yeah. I should go, too. I’m tired and hungry and I have mints. From the hotel”

You’re rambling! Shut up!

“See ya” She chirped, throwing him two finger guns.

“Sure. I’ll see ya tomorrow” he chuckled. Walking away, he tried to remember if he’d ever met anyone like Jess and came up with nothing. Not a single soul he’d come across in all his years was as delightfully awkward, funny and genuine as she was and when he wasn’t around her, he craved her presence and the ability to see her contagious smile and pretty features. Yes, he did care about her and the thought of her not being around anymore was just too abhorrent to comprehend.

Turning rapidly on her heels, Jess looked down at her finger gun hands and curled her lip in disgust.

“Such a loser” She whispered to herself.

Next Chapter

--- tagging as requested --

@lilred254

#daryl dixon #daryl fanfiction #twd daryl #the walking dead daryl #daryl x oc #daryl #twd fanfiction

8 notes · View notes

sweetcloverheart · 1 year

Text

I posted 12,154 times in 2022

That's 2,054 more posts than 2021!

104 posts created (1%)

12,050 posts reblogged (99%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@vulpiximisa

@twinklecupcake

@pocketramblr

@supersoftly

@avalonblue12

I tagged 8,738 of my posts in 2022

Only 28% of my posts had no tags

#prettiful - 1,151 posts

#i spotted a queuety - 1,098 posts

#miraculous ladybug - 756 posts

#pokemon - 491 posts

#fire emblem: three houses - 491 posts

#spy x family - 227 posts

#owl house - 224 posts

#dc comics - 204 posts

#the owl house - 204 posts

#genshin impact - 204 posts

Longest Tag: 126 characters

#more like bruce calls up clark and goes ''hey i think lex is trying to clone you again have you been to fawcett city before?''

My Top Posts in 2022:

Clover Rants Miraculously: Nope, still hate it

(This is more me venting then anything really. Spoilers below!)

Okay, to properly explain why I greatly dislike “Lila and Chloe are more evil than Gabriel” thing, I need you all to think back to the olden internet days when you would read those fanfics where the writer clearly and obviously wrote one half of their NOTP as a raging jerk/yandere psychopath to justify their preferred OTP/Self-Insert character and fav character getting together.

Did you imagine it? Did you remember how cringey and eyeroll-inducing you found it?

That’s how I feel about the whole “These two teenage girls are more monstrous and capable of greater villainy than the established magical terrorist super villain who emotionally abuses his son”.

Because it’d be one thing if Lila and Chloe becoming a supervillain criminal girlboss duo just for the hell of it was being done as a way to expand on their characters and explore new plot territory - That I don’t mind at all and would 1100% be down with. But instead, it’s very clearly and obviously being used to help hype up Gabriel’s frankly unearned in my opinion “redemption arc” because instead of writing Gabemoth showing actual remorse for his actions and eventually turning himself in or having him have this “too late now” moment that ends in his defeat and the slow realization that he destroyed his and his son’s lives for nothing, we are instead treated to the show repeated screaming at us that the two teenage bullies (both of whom could be very easily dealt with if the adults surrounding them did their jobs and forced them to face consequences for said bullying) are clearly the greater threats here, what with their constant scheming to...*checks plot* ruin the day of a girl they don’t like while trying to steal her boyfriend via lies and one of said girl’s parent’s money, which is clearly leagues more evil than...*checks plot again* magically controlling your son through the ring that’s literally tied to his life, while abusing the sentient cosmic entities you stole (well, actually your teenaged nephew stole them for you, but I digress) as you forcibly use their powers to buff up your magically transformed croonies to help them fight the pair of magical teenagers who’s magical jewelry you’re trying to steal.

It’s so obvious they can’t be bothered to make Gabriel into the 3D villain they claim he is, so their only option is to drag down the other antagonists so they’re “more evil” and make all the terrible and awful stuff he’s done on screen seem “minimal”/less bad than it is. That’s why Chloe’s “worse than usual” and Lila’s collecting moms and alternate identities like pokemon cards - not for actual plot development and character progression, but so that the writers can prop up Gabriel as this “misguided saint” who “only did what he had to for his family” while shoving his “redemption” through the story and down everyone’s throats. Because it’s the only trick they have in their bags for making a character “good” - make one character super evil/mean so whoever they’re propping up looks better in comparison. They did with the Zoe/Chloe comparisons, they did it with Felix’s intro, they’re doing it with Nathalie and Gabriel, they’re doing it with Amelie and Emilie (Don’t think I don’t see that nonsense going on with that “The other Princess wants a magic baby because she was overcome with jealousy over her sister” line), and they’re doing it with this.

Like, mark my words, almost every other episode of Season 6 is going to contain at least one character going “Wow, Chrysalis is so evil! Hawkmoth never did something like this!” or “If only Gabriel had kept the butterfly miraculous - he would never abuse it the way Chrysalis has!”

67 notes - Posted December 4, 2022

Does Chloe still work as an Antagonist?

You know, I’ve come to the realization that one of the main issues with Chloe being an antagonist isn’t simply that Thomas doesn’t really use her unless it’s to have the episode follow her around with a big fat giant “Hate this character!” sign (much like he does with Lila and Felix too, I realize, but we might end up off topic so let’s move on), but the fact that once you go past season 2-3, Chloe has...basically no real role in the story anymore as an antagonist

Like, when the plot was contained to the Akuma-of-the-day formula and the slice-of-life stuff, Chloe was a spectacular “villain”, because everything was still very much small scale in terms of stakes, enough so for her to seem a big enough threat to Marinette daily life. After all, Chloe is a titular mean girl, the rich kid school yard bully who just had to flash a credit card or call in daddy dearest to make everyone miserable and leave Marinette and Adrien worrying about what person she’ll end up ticking off bad enough to turn into a Akuma next. It made you hate her, revile her, wish that she’d eventually get her comeuppance (and usually, she did, depending on how the episode ended)

And it worked, because that’s what she was built for, where she fit best.

But then the show expanded it’s stakes by bringing back Lila, who ends up having more influence and doing far more damage than Chloe usually would with her bullying (Like, Chloe for all her threats and insults, is more bark than bite. Lila actually had impact with the trouble she brought to Mari’s door). Then they expand again by introducing Felix, who ends up deepening the whole Gabriel plotline while being an active thorn in his and the heroes side (where as Chloe mostly just existed and was slowly becoming regarded as a nuisance). Then the show actually tried to give Chloe depth and a character arc (which they end up aborting because screw breaking the status quo I guess), showing the reasons for her behavior and that she could actually be decent when given the chance and right motivation. Then season 4 kicks off bringing in Chloe’s half-sister (who we only hear about just that episode) taking her place as the bee hero while Marinette deals with her new responsibilities of being the Miraculous Guardian while Felix is trying to sniff out Gabriel’s secret and - well, you get the picture.

With every raised stake and furthering of the plot, Chloe’s mean teen bullying kind of becomes small potatoes when compared to everything else going on in the show. Who really cares about her taking over a group film project or her trying to get out of playing in a class soccer match when the cast is busy trying to deal with Hawkmoth creating magical sentient doppelgangers, Master Fu getting amnesiaed, Marinette getting stressed out with all her new Guardian responsibilities, who will become today’s temp hero, the overarching mystery of Emilie Agreste and the wedding rings, and Adrien causing the apocalypse (again). Most shows at this point would have their bully character get sent “to military school” or move abroad with a distant unknown aunt, but there Chloe stands, still thinking she’s one of the big kids while the show desperately tries to keep her relevant despite her no longer having a miraculous and no real involvement in the Akumas attacking everyone (actually, now that I think about, Chloe isn’t even responsible for 2/3rds of the Akuma during season 4). We’re suppose to think of her as this powerful malicious force on the same level as Hawkmoth that’s ruining Marinette and everyone’s lives with her very presence because...well, the show says so. Did you not see the giant sign they’re holding over Chloe’s head saying “Hate this character!”? That means you have to hate her no matter what, even when there’s other things to focus on outside of hating her.

Not to mention she’s...very much irrelevant to the plot now. Sure, she still has that “crush” on Adrien/interference with the Adrinette side of the love square, but it hasn’t been a thing or plot-focused in forever, and Lila and Felix (much like with Lila’s bullying) are having and had more effect of that relationship progression than Chloe did. And as said, Zoe taking her place as the Bee hero has removed her from the temp hero plot (unless they plan on having a Chloe VS Zoe battle now that Hawkmoth’s stolen it), and her becoming friends with the rest of the cast had basically edged Chloe out of most of the slice-of-life stuff since “no one likes her anyways”, so there’s no point in involving her in activities they can invite her more “likeable” and nicer half-sibling to (and yeah, Chloe could force her way into those plots, but that’s what it’d end up being - forced). The only real connection she could have to everything still is Sabrina (Who gets barely any screentime as is! She finally becomes a temp hero too once, and is immediately replaced by Felix in the finale episode), and that “budding” relationship with Lila (that is literally last minute with no real build up. I want to say they’ll likely show them becoming “friends” in the fifth season, but knowing the show, it’s just gonna be Chloe playing the Sabrina role to Lila’s Chloe with no real self-reflection or interesting character dynamic exploration...). Hell, despite her betraying Ladybug for Hawkmoth at the end of season 3, almost no reference or callback is made to it, and everyone seems completely unaffected by Chloe brainwashing almost all of Paris considering they’re treating her like normal (in fact, if anything, they only seem just slightly more annoyed with her and her antics now - just not for the reasons stated previously)

And it’s sad. When I see Chloe pulling her usual stunts in the later seasons, I don’t feel the urge to hate and deride her like in season 1. When I see Chloe still trying to be the big bad mean girl bully in a season that had the show’s second apocalypse, sentimonsters being revealed as sentient beings with feelings (and one of the main cast potentially being one), families getting held hostage, and Hawkmoth successfully (with help) grab almost all the miraculous, I feel more bad for her than the other characters, because it’s clear that the show is just simply putting her through the motions since they don’t know what else to do with her now. It’s like watching a parent force their child into a costume that clearly doesn’t fit anymore to do a dumb little performances they liked to as a kid that they’ve clearly outgrown now.

And now we have Season five to wait on (and it’s likely going to be a long wait with all the protests going on about Zag not paying VAs Edit: Congrats to the VAs for succeeding in their protest and getting their raises), where Marinette’s going to be laser focused on getting the stolen Miraculous back, alongside the Emilie plotline still being a thing and Felix’s betrayal opening up a huge can of plot-theory worms - not gonna be much room in there for pull her “wait till my father hears about this!” shtick and leave an impression like before.

Honestly, if Thomas really hates her as much as he claims, he’d of just sent her off to New York with her mom now that they’re “Besties” (by the show’s word) or have her sent abroad for some sort of “fashion scholarship” or something. At this point, Chloe’s run her course as an antagonist and should be retired if they really have no plans of redeeming her or anything.

67 notes - Posted April 3, 2022

I can’t wait for Season 6 of MLB to open with Lila burning down a children’s hospital or kicking puppies or some other wild nonsense before Thomas heads to twitter and posts “So we all agree we don’t like Lila anymore right? :)”

77 notes - Posted November 30, 2022

Clover Rants Miraculously (Because no this actually bothers me)

(I’ve decided to put all my Miraculous salt/complaints under the tag #Clover Rants Miraculously from now on. I’ll go through all my old UOT tag to add the new one to any Miraculous related post)

I love how Felix can screw Marinette and all of Paris over for “Senti-rights” (Despite the fact that Marinette clearly wasn’t even aware Sentimonsters were, in fact, sentient living being, that it’s mostly Gabriel’s fault since he’s specifically making Sentis to die fighting Ladybug and co and has “killed” more than they had (but sure, give him all the Miraculous for the Peacock, dude’s totes earned it), and the one that was “too far” for him was destroying Paris), and get rewarded for it with a shiny new hand-me-down girlfriend and getting to be Marinette’s new good-aligned ally by the end of s5 if the spoilers are to be believed (and with no accountability for any of the nonsense he’s pulled since his intro), and that Gabriel will basically have all evidence of his Hawkmoth activities erased and be given a free pass by the narrative via Ladybug/Marinette keeping his secret to return to his old civilian life (despite learning nothing considering he purposely throws away the Butterfly to spite her despite how merciful she was being to his ungrateful ass)

Meanwhile, Lila and Chloe are basically labeled the most evilest beings on the planet (with the former basically taking the Hawkmoth mantle) not for the actual awful stuff they did (getting Marinette falsely expelled for Lila, near crashing a train for Chloe, and teaming up with Hawkmoth purposely for both), but because...*checks bible* Lila lies, Chloe is a brat, and they both have the audacity to get in the way of Adrienette - ‘Cause only real monsters get in the way of the perfect teen romance!

Just...fantastic. Really loving this guys!

88 notes - Posted October 15, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Things Adrien will never know since he’s not allowed to find out his father’s Hawkmoth

That Gabriel has purposely gone out of his way to upset Adrien’s friends via unfairly punishing him/limiting his freedom solely so he could have an Akuma to use (”Bubbler” and “Chat Blanc”)

That Gabriel once tricked him into believing he had upset his father so he could akumatize himself and keep him and Ladybug from realizing his real identity (”Collector”)

That after akumatizing Gorilla (“Gorizilla”), that he purposely put Adrien’s life in danger and had him thrown from on top a building just so he could find out if he was actually Chat Noir or not (and only changed his mind after Adrien had been thrown and it looked like he wasn’t about to transform to save himself)

Had noticed via his akuma butterflies when Adrien is upset/depressed but did nothing about it

Openly threatened his cousin (Like, feel how you want about Felix, Gabriel still threatened a child)

Has had Paris nearly flooded/burned down/deleted/eeby-deebied/brainwashed/zombie invaded several times while Adrien was outside the house with no idea if he had gotten/might get caught up in the attack (and not seeming to care)

That the few time he did arrange for Adrien to not be around when he was planning something (NY and Shanghai specials, “Risk”, etc.), it was specifically so he could hurt his friends, and usually done at Adrien’s own expense

That Gabriel almost caused WW3 by threatening the world with nukes (NY special)

That his father murdered someone(Or at least had their murder arranged via a gang hit) (Shanghai special)

That Nathalie’s health dove into the negatives specifically because she was helping him with his supervillainy (Yeah, she chose to become Mayura and everything, but this is still someone Adrien considers family here)

Everything about the Grimoire

Went out of his way to manipulate Chloe in “Heart Hunter” (Again, feel however you want, Gabe still purposely made it so Chloe would think Ladybug didn’t want her so he could get her on his side more easily)

Purposely put Lila and him together so she could “keep an eye on him” at his behest

Was the one who instigated Lila into enacting her plan in “Ladybug”, which ended up with Marinette expelled, and all because he considered her a “bad influence” on Adrien

Had twice Akumatized Adrien after he found out about him being Hawkmoth and his mother’s actual fate, just so he could get Ladybug’s miraculous (“Chat Blanc” and “Ephemeral”), which led to the world ending and everyone being dead in one of these scenarios

Has been magically manipulating him into obeying his will (If Senti!Adrien proves to be canon)

Made a deal with Felix to get all the Miraculous the latter stole ( “Strikeback”)

Deliberately chose to focus on stealing the Miraculous instead of taking the opportunity given to him to save his mother and Nathalie from their respective ailments (“Evolution”)

Purposely had him Cataclysm his arm, and near risking making his son a murderer/orphan (“Destruction”)

Kept the Kwamis he stole/kidnapped in cages and called them “slaves”

That the whole “Alliance Ring” nonsense was specifically to help mask his activities as Hawkmoth

And that he mainly just cares about his rivalry with Ladybug now.

169 notes - Posted October 24, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

#tumblr2022 #year in review #my 2022 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review #So much Miraculous Ladybug

0 notes

crue-sixx · 5 years

Text

For Family

Title: For Family

Author: tiddly-winx

Fandom: The Dirt

Summary: The reader is a hit-man for the mob. The boys get into more trouble than they can handle.

Warnings: Swearing, descriptive violence, making a murder look like a suicide

Note: Italics mean it was in the past

It all started when you were ten years old, the sweltering heat of an Arizona summer sun was hot enough, but you being left in the car with the windows up and doors locked while your mother, Darla was trying to score more drugs for her and her moron boyfriend Lucas. Said moron was waiting outside the car, making sure you couldn't get out and ruin the deal was laughing at you. Sweat was pouring down your face and you could feel yourself grow weaker every passing second. You eventually passed out, sounds of a skirmish reverberating in the back of your mind.

It was the sound of shattering glass that momentarily woke you from your heat stroke induced stupor, a big fat man with greying hair carrying you to a cool place. "To the hospital, Henri" the man said to the driver and the smooth motion of the car eased you back into a deep sleep. When you awoke, you were in the hospital getting fluids and the fat, aging man sitting beside you with all the love of a father in his eyes.

"Hello, Little One" he greeted in accented English "I am Enrico Gatto. From this day, I will be your father" he kissed your hand and you nodded in respect and accepted his hospitality with grace. "What is your name, Little One?"

"Y/N, L/N" you answered weakly.

"No" the old man shook his head "From this day, you will be Gatto. My daughter" you didn't argue with him even if you could. You had heard of the Gatto crime family and what they'd do to anyone who disrespected them. You'd much rather live by their rules than end up in a filthy, battered orphanage with the thousands of other parent-less bastards the family left in their wake.

Your eyes were getting heavy again, and when you felt the gentle caress of his hand on your forehead, he said "Rest now, when you are well again, your training begins..."

In the world of 1981 at twenty years of age you were already the most successful hit-man in the Gatto family. Your father had ordered you to go to Los Angeles and keep an eye on his biological son there, and if he acted against the family to take him out. For the past ten years of your life, you were trained in business practices, hand-to-hand combat and all the different ways you could fuck with people's minds and lives. Only a select few of The Old Man's men knew your real purpose there, and they reported directly to you the goings on of the son, Gino. The only person you answered to was Don Enrico himself.

But to keep up appearances of being a shy, weak damsel in distress, you were told to dress modestly, keep your head down and your nose out of drugs, and use your former name when people asked about it. Other than that, you could do whatever you want. But if you ever saw a crow with a messenger pouch on its leg, you had to drop everything and do exactly as the note said, then send the bird back with a white rose petal stuffed in the pouch to tell The Old Man that the job was done.

In your spare time, you rented out a shitty apartment in a filthy building where the renters directly below you were always loud and rehearsing their rock music. To be completely honest, you knew next to nothing about rock music at all-the only music the Old Man would allow was opera. The first time you heard them play, you had an epiphany-you actually liked their kind and went down to ask if you could listen to them.

The drummer leaped over his drum set and ran up to you, with a big grin on his face "Fuck yeah you can!"

The bassist and guitarist looked at each other in utter annoyance, the consternation clear on their faces. Finally the bassist said "Okay, just be quiet and sit on the couch. You're so lucky you're cute" the guitarist just rolled his eyes.

"Fuckin' teenagers and their fuckin' hormones..." he grunted.

The singer eased his way over and sat down on the couch next to you and said "Hey, cutie! I'm Vince what's your name?"

You internally rolled your eyes at the word "cutie", you hated pet names like that and if you ever got the chance you would teach this blonde surfer punk some manners. "I'm Y/N, L/N. I live right above you!" you added the most annoying valley girl giggle you could muster, to which you saw the guitarist's eye twitch in rage.

When the other three heard where you lived, they kind of looked down in mock shame. "Sorry" the drummer said "our rehearsals and parties must be so loud it's hard to think up there..." he extended his hand and said "I'm Tommy! Nice to meet ya!" you shook his hand firmly.

"Nikki" the bassist said, raising his hand and a weak smile. He seemed to be warming up to you slightly.

In a barely audible voice the guitarist added "Mick" without as much as looking up.

"We're playing at the Whiskey A Go Go tonight! You should come!" Tommy said and added "we always have parties afterward! Come to that too!" It was as if the tall young man was one of those 'Love at first sight' assholes.

"That sounds great!" you said in excitement "What time do you go on?"

"10:30" Nikki said, not at all perturbed at the addition of another fan.

"Cool!" you then saw a crow with a message pouch in the window, not skipping a beat you checked your watch and said "Shit I'm going to be late for work! See you later!"

They all waved good bye, some more enthusiastic than others. You went back to your apartment and opened the message. Only a single word was written on it "Gino". You swallowed it right away, and prepared for a fun time. You hated that prick ever since The Old Man bought you back to his house.

You knew by now, the few men who knew of your whereabouts had their orders to subdue Gino and wait for you to get there. They would chloroform him during breakfast and keep him drugged until nighttime.

When he woke up, you were the first person he saw. "You have been a bad boy, Gino" you said in a condescending tone "Prostitution and drug trafficking? Really?"

"Hey! I'm bringing in cash for the family!" he protested, but with great satisfaction you swing the butt of your handgun across his face, blood spurting from his nose and mouth.

"You know the Old Man's rules" you said "No hookers, no drugs and no kiddies" you cocked the gun, rolling the bullet in the chamber and placing the gun to his temple "When you get to Hell, Gino tell em Y/N sent you" and pulled the trigger. A reddish pink cloud erupted from his skull, brain matter and bone littered the floor of the warehouse.

You were wearing latex gloves of course, and put it in Gino's dominant hand. You then placed a typed suicide note at his feet. When you called it into the police you stripped from your work clothes and tossed them into a burning trashcan along with the gloves. Underneath you were wearing a tank top and Daisy Duke shorts, waking towards the Whiskey. One of the other guys had already sent the crow back to The Old Man with the white rose petal.

You came in the middle of a song, the whole place was rocking out and you were genuinely having a good time when the song ended and Tommy saw you front and center. Apparently it was the last song of the night and he ran up and hugged you like you were old friends. You were taken aback but you returned the gesture, saying "Sorry I was so late! I was stuck at work!"

"What do you do that takes more than eight hours?" Mick asked suspiciously.

"I work at a nursing home as a house keeping lady" you said, having procured a name tag from Sunnyside Nursing and Retirement Home, complete with your name, picture and job title.

"That's cool, sweetheart" Vince said, another tack on your tally for utterly beating the shit out of this blonde bimbo.

"It's a job" Mick smiled softly, finally taking a liking to you.

"So let's go to that party you were talking about" you winked at them, and they all smirked with knowledge of what they were about to partake in.

When morning came, you were crashed on their couch wearing one of their shirts. The smell of burning eggs wafted to you and made you cough. "Who taught you how to cook?!" you shouted as you opened the widow to get the smoke out.

"Julia Child" Mick answered sarcastically, as the toast began burning as well. "Eat, I wanna talk to you" he slowly sat down across from you.

"It's black" you said "I'm not eating that" you pushed the plate away in disgust.

"Fine" he scoffed but then got serious "Your last name, my sister married a man with that same name" your stomach dropped from its place into your feet.

"What are you getting at, dude?" you asked.

"What are you're parents names?"

You wouldn't answer him, feeling yourself getting tense "I don't like talking about them" the one thing that got under your skin quicker than anything else was talking about HER.

Mick did his best to try and stop you physically but his physical limitations stopped him from doing more. "I might be your uncle" he said quickly. A million thoughts came flooding your head, clouding your judgement. You were about to say something, but the training you received from the Old Man kicked in so you just walked out in a huff.

You still hung out with the younger members all the time but Mick kept his distance, though from his facial expression it was rather painful for him to see you. A few weeks went by without hearing from the Old Man, but one day a crow with a message tapped on your window. You let it in, petting it's head. The message was some random druggie business associate of the Old Man's, who apparently didn't pay his monthly protection fee and narc'd on the Old Man.

You sighed and got his address from the note where you were also instructed to make him suffer. But imagine your surprise when you opened the door to find some of the Old Man's fingermen with the dude right here in the apartment. One of the Old Man's most important lessons was to never bring your work home with you. Its like shitting where you eat. You don't do it.

It was late on a Saturday night, the party was raging downstairs with its loud music, people so fucked up that they could barely walk so nobody would notice. You immediately knew what was going on. Some men loyal to Gino wanted revenge, but if you were to die today, you wouldn't go without a fight. You reached for your handgun but shot were fired before you could even get a round off.

Bits of plaster went flying through the air, the impact making the paper thin walls crack and see into the apartments next door. You dove behind your couch for cover, praying that it was thick enough to stop the bullets. Sounds of people running and screaming from the whole floor flooded your hearing and you were bought back to your training-imagine an aria. Soon you couldn't hear anything but said aria, and your focus was reached.

Almost as if you were a robot, you pulled your gun and fired five shots, three hitting the targets and two missing. Now that the playing field was more evenly matched, you saw that the remaining two were trying to re-load. You took the opportunity to push forward the heel of your palm and break a nose, then you grabbed the elbow and immobilized the whole arm. The man cursed as you performed a perfect hip throw and locked his arm in an arm bar. With a swift jerking of your hips, you heard a sickening snap as bone went through the skin.

The other guy had re-loaded and a slug went into your hand. You let out a scream of rage as you rolled the guy with the broken arm on top of you so he could take the bullets meant for you. You then heard a shotgun blast and everything went quiet. You pushed the man off you to see Nikki, Vince and Tommy in stunned silence while Mick was expertly holding the smoking shotgun.

"What the fuck..." Nikki started but you shut him up.

"Quiet asshole" you barked, all of your false sweetness now gone. You peeked out of your window and saw three more cars with armed mobsters pull up and run into the building.

You pushed past them yelling "If you dipshits have enough sense, you'd hightail it out like I am!" you hauled ass down the back stairs and into the alley. You knew that if they found you here, that your other hideouts were likely compromised as well. You were about to dash to a manhole and into a sewer when someone pulled you back. On instinct you ducked and threw the person over your back and rolled into a camel clutch, stretching the person's back beyond what is humanly possible and grasping the head. The mixture of blonde hair and incoherent screeching of cuss words let you know it was Vince.

You let him go and said "If you're gonna follow me then hurry up!" you easily lifted the manhole cover and slid it aside, climbing down.

Tommy grabbed your hand and pulled you up "Not without a fucking explanation!" the footsteps were getting closer, shouts of :FIND HER!" were heard.

"If you REALLY want to get blown to hell today then by all means, stay here but I have no intention of dying! Let me go!" you roared to him.

"NO!" he yelled back, pulling you up. You pulled a bowie knife from your belt and slashed his hand with it, he reflexively let go and you dropped into the most foul smelling liquid you'd ever inhaled. You took a few limping steps and vomited. You heard splashes when more people came down the ladder, and you honestly thought you were done for.

You were shocked when Nikki and Tommy hoisted you in between them and began walking. You were soon on the very edge of town when you three emerged from the sewer, all smelling like a fucking toilet. "We're here..." Nikki said, letting his side down and knocking on the door "Marty! Get the iron ready! I got a gunshot victim!"

Marty was a pimple faced teenage medical master, having graduated as a doctor at age 12. He was also a stoner who would take people who didn't have insurance and treat them in his little shack. He was 18 now so it was his very own home, one that his parents couldn't leech off of. "Got it!" he helped the others bring you in and laid you down on the floor.

"Jesus what happened?!" Marty said as he was applying some ointment to your scratches you got when bullets whizzed by your head.

"Fuck if I know!" Nikki said "We were having a party when we heard her" he pointed to you "fighting with a bunch of guys then gunshots and people running" when the iron was good and hot, Marty sat you up and handed a dirty dish rag to Tommy. The tallest young man in the room knew what he had to do, he got behind you and gagged you.

The pain of burning flesh was something you felt before as part of your training but it was always so painful. As soon as the hot iron came down on the raw, bleeding meat of your hand, you let out a muffled scream and for the first time in years, you l"et tears fall down your face. Tommy kissed your hair and said softly "It's okay, Y/N...only a little longer..." when they let you up, your good hand swung out and punched Marty right in the face. He fell back and cursed you, his eye already swelling.

Nikki turned you so he could look directly at you and said "What the ever loving fuck is going on Y/N?"

"I'm a hitman for the Gatto crime family" you told them plainly. "The Old Man adopted me when I was ten after he killed my mother and her boyfriend" you were beyond pissed now and looking for blood. You got up, but a jolt of pain from your legs prevented you from moving.

Nikki and Tommy pushed you back down and said "You're not going anywhere. You need to heal up and get better before you get revenge" Marty was now icing his eye and about ready to wrap your burnt hand.

"Why are you admitting this freely?" Nikki asked.

"My fuckin' cover's been blown, my apartment's shot to shit and if I cant get in touch with the Old Man, he'll come up here and look for me. That puts you all in danger too" you said. "Get me the phone..."

Marty was hesitant, but after looks from the others he relented, You called and explained the situation to the Old Man, and he promised to come get you the next morning. He did as he promised and got you in the car, looking as disappointed as a father scolding a wayward child. "What's the matter?" you asked, taking out a cigarette.

"You've failed me, Little One" he said as he pulled out a revolver and handed it to you. "Take your own life to atone for your transgressions, or I will torture you when we get back to Arizona..." his voice was full of malice and you simply put the gun beside you and looked directly at him.

"You dishonor your family by refusing a direct order?" he was growing incredulous as you stared him down.

"Family? No" the driver turned around and put a bullet in Enrico's head without a word "You? You bet your ass I would" the blood pouring out of his nose and mouth was like a fountain, staining his upholstery an ugly burgundy

"Nice shot, Uncle Mick" you smirked as you admired his handiwork.

"That's Pumpkin" he replied. "You get your love of firearms from your mother's side of the family" you laughed at that. You knew when you talked to the Old Man on the phone the day before, from the sound of shock in his voice that he was the ones who sent those men to kill you, not people avenging Gino.

The others met up with them back at the apartment and you apologized for playing them like cheap banjos, to Vince and Tommy for injuring them. "So how did you change drivers without the Old Man noticing?" you asked them.

Nikki chuckled "I've got some buddies in the mob too. I called in a few favors people owe me" that was all that he'd say about the subject and you knew better than to ask.

You turned to Mick and said "It seem like we have A LOT of catching up to do..." you decided that you'd let him in your life if he wanted it.

"That we do Pumpkin" he smiled warmly "That we do"

47 notes · View notes

thesinglesjukebox · 4 years

Video

youtube

FULL TAC FT. LIL MARIKO - WHERE'S MY JUUL??

[6.11]

Do we choose rule, or do we choose suck?

Alex Clifton: Juuls. Juuls. Juuls. Oh my god, Juuls. [7]

Katie Gill: It's a little bit telling how all the comments on the YouTube video are comparing this song to other meme songs and not talking about the merits of the song itself. Still, there will always be a place in the world for meme songs that are serviceable memes but less than serviceable songs that teenagers can obnoxiously quote on the bus. "Where's My Juul" fits that niche perfectly. I expect a fleet of TikToks featuring people lip-syncing to this and will be very disappointed when this inevitably doesn't happen because I am out of touch with the youth. [6]

Kalani Leblanc: I can see there's already an abundance of blurbs submitted for this song, and the number will have risen by the time I finish this. After thinking so hard about how to go about being the fifteenth person to say "It sounds like "Shoes"," I'm realizing it's not really "Shoes" anyway. While they're both jokes that bear a resemblance in the thrash of a breakdown, "Where's My Juul??" is also listenable. The comparison is getting tired because it's like did anyone listen to "Shoes"? As a song? In earnest??? While this is not an entirely impressive piece, no concerto or FKA Twigs production, it's enough. Since 2006, we've been making everything into jokes, so it makes perfect sense. Nicotine-induced freakouts would've been the subject of an after school special ten years ago, but now they're joke material for hypebeasts and others on Twitter. Lil Mariko makes an impressive case while trying to find her Juul; I can't find anything this song did wrong, sorry. [8]

Will Adams: The mid-song 0-to-11 ramp is what takes this past the mean-spiritedness of "#Selfie" and the meme-spiritedness of "Phone" into effortless "Shoes"/"Let Me Borrow That Top" absurdity. The Juul is a placeholder; sub in any other monosyllabic cultural artifact, and Lil Mariko's rage against Full Tac's electroclash-y beat would cut through just as effectively. "Sorry, guys!" she says at the end, except there's nothing to apologize for. [7]

Jacob Sujin Kuppermann: I wrote 20 pages about Juul culture in 2018 so I should in theory be the exact target audience for this. Yet "Where's My Juul??" doesn't really click for me. It's charming and funny in parts (Lil Mariko's spoken verses, which transmit nervy anxiety and barely restrained fury effectively) but the hook, which takes up most of the very long minute-forty-five, is comedy via brute force principles: repeat a phrase enough and it will transfigure into a joke. [5]

Brad Shoup: About as funny as the related TikTok meme, though not as menacing, surprisingly. I wish so badly that Full Tac had gone full hardcore -- or even brostep! -- but am glad that Lil Mariko's Danny Brownian ad-libs and sudden reversals grind "#SELFIE" into the dirt. [7]

Oliver Maier: I need not catalogue the myriad ways in which this is transparently designed to blast off on TikTok -- you would probably know better than me -- but that cynicism detracts from "Where's My Juul??" for me. There's none of the spontaneity or sense of genuine fun that animates certain other genre-agnostic, threat-spewing, extremely online weirdo duos, more savvy than it is genuinely silly. It's not badly executed, but I felt like I got the picture before even hitting play. [4]

Will Rivitz: I get this is supposed to be more meme than song, but I so wish it had leaned into the latter for more than half its runtime. The "FUCK!!!" at the beginning of its second chorus is worth at least a [7] on its own, and its redlining nu-metal production is such a tight fusion of XXXTENTACION's sonic fingerprint and simplified TikTok trap that I'm surprised the "oh my God" ad-libs aren't followed by a "Ronny." As it stands, "Where's My Juul??" and its just-a-little-too-long interludes that grate after listen number four or so functions as a sort of "Thrift Shop" for the current day, a track defined by its novelty that we as an Internet music-Twitter hivemind all agree was genuinely good about five years after it's exited the public consciousness. It deserves more. [8]

Ian Mathers: Both less musically compelling and with less of a point than "Can I Get a Box?". [5]

Katherine St Asaph: It's kind of amazing how it took seven years for Rebecca Martinson to release her debut. [1]

Nortey Dowuona: Lil Mariko is actually kinda weird in the lol so random funny way that people think that [insert overrated white comic who had a Comedy Central show] is and has a really great metal screaming voice. I don't know who made this dull approximation of Kenny Beats and Pi'erre Bourne, nor do I care. Lil Mariko will hopefully get a recurring cameo role on Nora From Queens and get her own show from that. [5]

Mo Kim: The best joke here is the escalation of nonchalance (hey, where's my Juul?) into something desperate, and therefore dangerous: it hits like the drop in a rollercoaster when Lil Mariko finally breaks out the deep-throated metal screams, but the moment wouldn't have half the thrill without the masterful way she gradually ups the heat on the song's first chorus before that. Both of her spoken monologues, where she merges Valley Girl affect with murderous menace, only sweeten the deal. [8]

Ryo Miyauchi: "Where's My Juul??" gets spiked with an infectious dose of adrenaline when it suddenly turns a lot more aggro than you'd expect from a meme-y cross-section of Rico Nasty's mosh-pop and PC Music's ironic bubblegum. The demented beat stings with a pungent metallic sourness, and while her Valley Girl accent scans as an obvious put-on, Lil Mariko's blood-curdling scream is legitimately hair-raising. The song rapidly combusts, ensuring the joke doesn't overstay its welcome. [7]

Joshua Lu: Yes, hearing the unassuming Lil Mariko scream and snarl over a missing Juul is intrinsically funny, especially accompanied by a music video that knows exactly how to push the limits of its concept. But the real strength of "Where's My Juul??" lies in its sheer relatability. The title could be anything -- where's my wallet, my phone, my eraser -- because anyone who has ever misplaced anything can relate to the escalating panic and rage in not only the cataclysmic vocals, but also Full Tac's discordant production. Also crucial to the song is its sense of plot, as it steadily progresses from confusion to blame to outright violence. The ending, though predictable (Lizzo used the exact same twist not that long ago), is a necessary denouement, as it provides the moment where everyone involved can look back on the last minute and a half of chaos and laugh. [8]

Iain Mew: As a song structure trick, I love the fake-out final verse, those ones that seem like something slowly developing before the artist brutally cuts it off for the chorus or instrumental to come back stronger than ever; the "Don't Speak" and "Your Best American Girl" kind of thing. The key moment of "Where's My Juul??" comes in taking that same trick to a ludicrous, brilliant extreme. It has a drawn-out, jittery verse, a cartoon scowl of a chorus, and then one question into verse two it veers straight into swearing, screaming and fucking everything up. That's perfect enough that it would ideally be even shorter than it ends up. [7]

Kylo Nocom: Full Tac and Lil Mariko do in less than two minutes what took Justice five. The gimmick is the least fun part, and judging by my sample size of BigKlit's "Liar" and Full Tac's very own "CHOP" the producers behind this might not even be as funny as this video would imply. But I've long settled with music that's good on the merits of just being fun; when the production here is layered with discordant guitar sampling, analog drum kits, and distant screams of "piss!" and "fuck," I'm willing to buy into the ugliness. [8]

Joshua Minsoo Kim: Full Tac returns with another take on "Liar," succeeding because the goofy conceit here finds an appropriately goofy (that is, unexpected) vocal performance. Part of the appeal is how "Where's My Juul??" could sit comfortably alongside songs from Rico Nasty and Rina Sawayama, but has the appeal of shoddy viral videos from yesteryear. It's that "Kombucha Girl"-type reaction it's striving to elicit, and it accomplishes that as soon as the screaming starts. The best detail, though, is the most subtle: the moment Lil Mariko stops herself from saying "who" and politely asks "have you seen it?" [7]

Michael Hong: Have you ever been dragged to a party only for your only friend to disappear, leaving you to mingle with a group of people you don't know? And one person makes a comment so absurd that you just giggle along with the rest of the group even though you're not really sure if they're layering their statement with even a hint of irony or if there's something much more unsettling lurking underneath? But the jokes are getting more and more uncomfortable and suddenly fewer people are laughing along, instead furtively glancing across each other with an exasperated look as if to say "is this person for real?" And instead of backing away, that person instead starts doubling down, getting more and more aggressive, screaming across the room for what feels like hours and surely people must be ready to head out. Instead, when you finally catch a moment to glance down at your phone, you find that only two minutes have elapsed since you arrived and you realize that not even a quarter of the time has passed before your ride will come and you can leave this godforsaken party. You have absolutely no choice but to continue standing in the group in discomfort, waiting for this moment that feels like an eternity to finally finish, with the only background noise being the stereos blaring what sounds like someone's first attempt at using GarageBand. [0]

Crystal Leww: While I was digging through "likes" on SoundCloud, I noticed that a friend of mine had liked "Baby Let Me Know" by Full Tac, which sounds like the synth heavy dreamy pop that was popular at the beginning of last decade. I did not stick around for "Where's My Juul??" so imagine my surprise today when I turned this on and it's umm, screaming. A consistent genre as an essential part of an up-and-coming artist's brand is less essential than ever, especially in an age where (waves hands) dance music has eaten itself alive in its swirling storm of troll energy. Chaos in and of itself is a brand -- from 100 gecs to Alice Longyu Gao's dueling sister tracks "Rich Bitch Juice"/"Dumb Bitch Juice" to any DJ Bus Replacement Service set, it has fully infiltrated dance music. How this goes from sweetly threatening to full-on psychotic and back to cutely apologetic is chaotic so yes, I think Full Tac could make some noise (both in creating a fanbase and also like literally) with this. [8]

[Read and comment on The Singles Jukebox]

#Full Tac #Lil Mariko #pop #meme #music #music review

1 note · View note

waypathfinder · 5 years

Text

Crimson Lane - Chapter 4 - Uninvited

Moodboard by @ashtyntaytertot Beta’d by @kathknight and @ashtyntaytertot

Links

Tumblr Master Post

Archive of our Own

Fanfiction.net

Chapter Text

The shower tiles were cold as steel slabs. Rey leaned into them as she stared at the stark white ceiling, gashed with cracked paint. Scalding water dripped over her skin, making her shoulders and chest flush with a crimson burn.

Grey water pooled at her feet, bubbling with soap. She had lathered herself in it—all over her body, inside her—everywhere.

And yet she’d never felt so filthy.

She turned off the tap and stepped out amidst vapours of steam. Overheated and sluggish, she wrapped a towel around her body, and another folded in a tight cover over her hair. She moved on autopilot, her mind trapped in the events of the night before.

Flashes of ecstasy, smouldering eyes, gentle touches, rough thrusts, and a haunted face, stacked together in a kaleidoscope of sights and sensations.

To be honest, she was still in shock. Last night’s experience had rocked her, from being fucked by that soulless robot, to being held so tenderly and … yeah, that. Whatever that was.

In the kitchen, her phone was ringing.

She peered at it, hesitating to even touch it.

Buzz. Buzz. Buzz. It vibrated loudly on the bench, the name on the caller ID: Phasma — Brothel

She needed to answer that call...

Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.

She picked it up, holding it a fair distance away from her ear and with her bottom lip caught firmly within her teeth, pressed “accept”.

“Hello?”

“Rey, It’s Phasma. I’ve called you three times this morning already. Are you ignoring me?”

“No, of course not. I was in the shower—”

“It doesn’t matter. What time are you coming in today?”

“Coming In?” Rey gulped, quashing down the way her stomach did nauseating somersaults. “I thought you didn’t need me tonight, seeing as—”

“I’m not paying you $200 an hour to sit on your arse at home! There’s plenty else you can do other than sleep with guys. It’s a full house this evening, and we’re booked back to back. I need you in here at 5 pm or don’t bother picking up your paycheque this week.”

A feeling of cold water washed over Rey’s head.

“Are you coming or not, Rey?” Phasma asked.

Rey swallowed and looked at the spring-flower calendar she had bought from the dollar shop.

“Well?” Phasma snapped again.

“Yes, yes,” Rey almost stumbled over her words — just one month —the silent promise was her secret mantra, clinging to her every negative thought and fear.

She could do this. She had to do this. And with a deep breath made one more promise. “I’ll be there.”

The night passed in a blur.

A gag-inducing, revolting blur of lap-dances, massages with a happy ending, and giving head to guys that made her skin crawl.

Phasma had worked her harder than any of the other girls, a game of Russian roulette that neither of them would back down from.

But there was one thing Phasma hadn’t counted on.

Rey was a survivor. And by God, she would survive this. She hadn’t lived on the street, scavenging meal scraps through her teenage years, just to give up at the first sign of hard work.

So every hour, Rey marched down the stairs, dressed in some ridiculous fetish costume to ask which client would be next. Phasma’s perfectly shaped brow arched at the sight of Rey each time, daring her to give up.

Not a chance .

It was exhausting work, and Rey had spent more than one trip to the toilet dry-heaving in utter misery.

The only clients she could think about without wanting to projectile vomit was the guy who wanted nothing else than to watch her eat pizza. He wasn’t too bad, as long as she didn’t focus on his dopey, slack-jawed expression, and the way his arm straddled between his legs, pumping wildly.

Then there was financial domination Thomas, who’d insisted she tie him up while she robbed him blind by going on a shopping spree courtesy of his credit card. He could come back again.

But mostly, her clients were walk-ins: drunk, bored and horny loners who wanted nothing more than to watch her, suck her, and grind their bodies up against her.

There was only one rule: no penetration.

All ages, all sizes, one after the other, they came through the doors, scouring over the menu before pointing to Rey, and following her up the stairs.

None of them was anything like Kylo Ren.

And whether that was a good or bad thing, Rey had no idea.

All she knew was by Friday night she would be with him again. Most likely pinned beneath him like some kind of limp sex doll.

Dappled light streamed through naked beech trees into the courtyard of the Taco-dana Restaurant, as serving staff bustled around the tables in their subtle black slacks and white t-shirts, taking orders and placing oversized sombreros on eager children, and the occasional adult.

Kylo Ren shifted uncomfortably in the coal-coloured wicker chair, his knees bumping the table as he tried to stretch his legs underneath it. Snoke had insisted on the restaurant, and they’d travelled half an hour to get here in place of their usual lunch spot.

That alone was enough to put Kylo on edge.

“Comfortable?” Snoke asked with a smirk that created smile-lines beneath his eyes.

“Of course,” Kylo lied. “Why the new place?”

“I like the scenery,” Snoke gazed around the courtyard nonchalantly, but Kylo noted the way his pale blue eyes never stopped searching the faces around him.

“Funny. I never pictured you as a ‘scenery’ guy.”

“I appreciate beauty as much as any man.” Snoke’s lips curled into a sneer. “I dare say as much as you do, Kylo.”

Their eyes met again and Snoke smiled at him. A chill darted through Kylo’s veins. What was this? Snoke turned on his favourites as easy as flicking the lights off, and everybody was expendable. Even him.

“So, how was your evening the other night? Phasma mentioned you came in,” Snoke asked, his words smooth and venomously friendly.

“Fine,” Kylo answered brusquely.

“You had the new girl, didn’t you? I haven’t had the pleasure yet. How was she?”

“Fine, like I said.” Kylo looked away indifferently, but inside his heart was racing.

Snoke laughed. “She must have been more than ‘fine’. By all accounts, you booked her out for the entire week!”

“What of it?”

“It’s just curious. You’ve never shown a preference for any of my girls before.”

“There was no preference. She was nothing special. I have a boring week ahead and—”

Snoke looked up at that, eyes narrowing. “ Boring? ”

Kylo froze. That was the wrong word to use.

“Have you forgotten what your job is this week?”

“Of course not.” Kylo swallowed down a lump in his throat, drying his sweating hands on his thighs.

“There can be no screw ups on this one, Kylo.”

“There won’t be. San Tekka is due to arrive tomorrow night and everything is prepared,” Kylo said, working hard to keep his voice from wavering. “He’s a dead man.”

“And yet you’ve booked this girl for the same evening.”

“I like to unwind afterwards.”

Snoke stared at him unmoved, those baleful eyes never shifting from him. Kylo could feel them peeling back his layers, cutting deep into his words, his mannerisms, the speed of his breath, and even the rate of his pulse.

Kylo worked to blank any expression from his face. Snoke knew he could find the truth there, in those subtle micro-expressions that always betrayed him.

Snoke laughed, an undulating wave that carried through the courtyard. Light enough for Kylo to relax.

In the periphery of his vision, Kylo noticed a waiter approaching. He didn’t bother looking over at her until the sweet British accent filled the air around him.

“Hi there. My name is Rey and I’ll be your server today, can I start you off with some drinks?”

Fuck! Kylo avoided her gaze, devouring the menu below as if it was some kind of sacred text.

Snoke began. “A black coffee for myself, and my friend here will have…?”

He let his words hang in the air, pulling Kylo into the conversation.

Kylo looked up at her, blank and indifferent. “Just give me a cup of water, no ice.”

Rey froze at the sight of him, her lips parting in shock. The pen between her fingers slipped to the floor although she didn’t notice.

“Do you need me to repeat it?” Kylo asked, forcing an edge of aggression into his voice.

She flushed, the bloom of colour spreading onto her cheeks, down her neck, and dipping beneath her shirt.

“Water and a black coffee.” She slid her notebook into the pocket of her slacks. “Got it. I’ll be right back.”

She turned and sped away from them as Kylo watched her go, realising his eyes had lingered on her far too long.

Snoke chuckled as she left.

“What the hell is this?” Kylo asked, turning back to face his boss.

“I just want to make sure you’re not straying again,” Snoke purred, a smile breaking across his face, exposing his yellow-stained teeth, gold fillings glinted in the light.

Kylo’s heart raced, blood rushing through his body like a boiling rapid. “So it was all a test?”

“Do you think you passed?”

“You’re a perverted fuck, you know that?” Kylo spat.

“Stop! it hurts too much!” Snoke cried with a high voice, struggling between fits of laughter. “She played her part well I thought.”

Kylo’s eyes stung, unsure which betrayal was worse, Snoke’s or the girl’s, or the fact he had fallen for it all. Muscles twitched beneath his eye and he bit on the inside of his lip, turning away to hide the emotions fast betraying his features. “I can’t fucking believe this.”

“And what did you do to her? God, I almost vomited when she phoned me. How could you defile yourself in such a way?”

“Shut up.” Kylo gripped the menu, his skin blanching at the knuckles. He’d been fucking played.

He tried to breathe, to meet Snoke’s gaze without hesitation but his vision faltered. Rage, deep within, building, burning, churning like a storm breaking. He squeezed his eyes shut, the motion producing bursts of white light beneath his lids before he opened them again to face him. “What is your point?”

“The point is you are unbalanced. What is it about this girl that makes you so incapable of being a man?” he spat out the last word with utter disgust. “And to think after all these years, she still—”

After all these years? Kylo looked up, his heart stopping.

“Yes Kylo, don’t pretend you didn’t know.”

He didn’t. There was something the other night that triggered him, the faintest flicker of a memory, a fleeting feeling of déjà vu the moment those hazel eyes pleaded into his own to stop. It had stunned him, to say the least. But… Fuck!. His hands trembled as he clutched them together.

“Kira,” Kylo said breathlessly, slumping in his chair with defeat.

“She’s changed her name now—obviously,” Snoke leaned back in his chair, fanning his fingers together before his chin like a Machiavellian mastermind. “Turns out there isn’t much she won’t do for a bit of cash.”

After everything he had done this had come back to haunt him. His dark gaze wandered over to the coffee machine, noting the way her palms rubbed at her eyes, the way she clutched the bench where she worked. Her lips were pale and her cheeks sallow. She was exhausted.

“You think she is beautiful?” Snoke asked with a velvet voice.

“Yes,” the word escaped him, hushed and low. It was automatic, forced out of him at a question he couldn’t deny. Maybe not in the traditional sense, but there was a fiery spirit in those embattled eyes that was attractive to him. Not to mention, the way loose strands of hair fell across the sun-kissed brow, her child-like freckles, her athletic body and the way it felt beneath his …

Yes, she was beautiful in his eyes. Far too much so.

“Just think, if you had done as I asked you might have had her much earlier. She could have been your own. I would have gladly gifted her to you. A reward for work well done.”

Kylo was silent, gaze still fixed on her. “Why are you doing this? I’ve given you everything I proved—”

Snoke reached his hand towards him, reaching out in a fatherly gesture, but Kylo just looked at the pale disfigured mass on the table with disgust. “I’m trying to help you son. To show you they all lie. Your parents… your uncle… this girl… But I will never lie to you. That is my promise.

“I have sensed in you these past few years a loss of purpose. Ever since that night, you have questioned your path, your worth. We are on the cusp of something great together you and I. But I worry your compassion for this girl is part of a larger epidemic. And with the Santecker job coming up this week, I don’t know if I can trust you any more to pull it off.”

Snoke paused for effect, tucking a serviette beneath his chin. “And if I can’t trust you—”

Snoke glowered in the direction of Rey, holding his sentence unfinished. “You know more than most that things don’t go so well for people when I lose my trust in them.”

“I told you,” Kylo leant forward, his voice in a loud hiss. “I will do what you asked me.”

“I know you will,” Snoke relaxed.

Kylo’s gaze returned to Rey, the gravity of her presence pulling him toward her.

“Oh, and here.” Snoke slipped his right hand into his pocket, searching around for something. “If you doubt me about her. Search for her old name using this. I’m sure you’ll find it very … enlightening.”

“I think your coffee is done!” Jess Pava laughed, bumping Rey along with her elbow.

“Huh?” Rey jumped, realising she’d been staring into the distance with one hand gripped on the portafilter of the coffee machine and the other holding a full cup of black coffee beneath it. “Oh shit. Sorry, I was lost in thought.”

“Yeah, so I see.” Jess leaned forward, switching off the grinder. “You look terrible, what’s wrong?”

“I’m okay, just a little tired.” Right on cue, Rey’s mouth gaped open in a slow yawn, causing her eyes to water and her shoulders to hunch. “Hey, Jess, how much do you love me?”

“Not much,” Jess deadpanned, as she steamed a jug of milk.

“Is it enough to take table 20?”

“That depends,” Jess drawled as she turned an appraising eye to where Rey pointed. “Ew, creepy bald guy, no thank you.”

Rey sighed resolutely, dying a little inside.

“Wait, hold on!” Jess raised her hand, a mischievous smile lighting up her heart-shaped face. “Look at his friend though. Did someone order tall, dark and mysterious?”

“Not me,” Rey added sharply, leaning back against the counter with arms folded.

“You can’t tell me you wouldn’t want to wake up to next to that in the morning. I mean, look at the size of him. I can only imagine how big his—”

“Oh God, don’t even say it,” Rey cried, the blush on her face blotching all over again. “Trust me when I tell you that guy needs a complete personality reversal and possibly many years of therapy before he is anything close to passable.”

“And he’s hot as—why are you bailing?”

Rey bit her lip, shoulders slumping at the question. That was one story she was not prepared to share, even with her closest girlfriend. “ Please Jess, I’m begging you. I’ll give you my tips for the day.”

Jess clicked her tongue, pulling the clipboard of table bookings towards her from the counter. “Alastair Snoke. Table for two.”

Rey’s heart plunge into the cold tiled floor.

“What did you say?”

“The guy you were serving, Alastair Snoke. Do you know him?”

“No,” Rey breathed, clutching her stomach as a wave of nausea radiated through her body. “Please Jess, I can’t—”

Jess put a hand on Rey’s shoulder. “Listen, if you can take their order while I settle up some accounts, I will take it from there.”

“Thank you! I owe you, Jess.”

“You owe me an explanation!” Jess said a little too loudly. “Now get over there. Tall, dark and mysterious has been staring at you this whole time.”

Rey’s feet shuffled along burnt orange tiles as she slowly made her way to table 20. Snoke and Kylo were deep in conversation, they hadn’t even noticed her coming towards them.

Snoke leaned across the table like a hook-necked vulture leering towards its prey. Rey shuddered as she came closer to him, his bald head scabbed with skin cancers, crusted and corroded. Her throat closed at the way his yellow-stained fingers scratched along the table towards Kylo.

There was something too unsettling about the image before her, it almost felt … violating in some way. Even more so, when she noticed how Kylo leaned away from him, his face surly and his stormy eyes glued to the floor.

Mr Snoke will want to try her out, Phasma’s words banged in her head. The reality of that statement sent a visceral fear down Rey’s spine. It wasn’t even Snoke’s looks that bothered her so much, or his tall, spindly body draped in a sleazy gold-satin shirt. No, there was something far more menacing beneath the surface. An unspoken thing. Invisible but ever present and unnatural

Not safe. The words spiralled in her mind over and over again. Years surviving alone, having no-one to watch out for her or keep her safe mean she had recognised it almost instantly. Snoke was a predator.

Had Kylo Ren tried to protect her that night? Was he protecting her still?

She came up to the table and cleared her throat. “Are you ready to order?”

Snoke beamed at her with a crooked smile, carefully watching the reactions of his companion. “I think we both know what we want, don’t we?”

Kylo dragged his head up, right eye twitching as he looked between them. If rage was a tactile thing, she was sure she could have felt it all around him.

“Let me see, I think I’ll have the enchiladas, with extra chilli,” Snoke said.

“Sure,” Rey repeated the order back to him until a rogue yawn escaped her once more. She smiled awkwardly, covering her mouth and apologising.

“Young Rey, late night was it?” Snoke asked.

“You could say that.” Rey jotted down his order, holding her pen so tightly the words came out in a messy scribble. “And you?”

Kylo snapped the menu shut with a loud slap, and this time he looked up at her with resolve. A look exchanged between the two men as Kylo gave his order with a tenuous sneer. “I’ll have a stuffed taco.”

Rey stiffened at the private joke and Snoke chortled. With lips pursed she read back his order, venom lacing every word. “And what kind of meat would you like in your stuffed taco?”

“Ladies choice,” he said lazily, eyes meeting hers again, unblinking.

She met his gaze, head keening to the side as she stared daggers at him. “For you, I’d recommend the crab.”

Snoke laughed out loud, while Kylo simpered in her direction. She felt her face glowing, at their attention, hot tears razored the corners of her eyes. “Is that everything?”

Kylo nodded, but as she turned to leave Snoke’s voice arrested her again.

“Wait, come back here child,” the old man cooed at her, hooking his finger as though to lure her in. Rey hesitated,

“Come here, I said,” his voice was flatter this time, and far deeper. Rey took a slow step closer to Snoke, her shoulder curving forward protectively.

“I’ve changed my mind. I like the idea of that stuffed taco too.”

Rey felt her body shaking, she clasped her hand upon her elbow anchoring it. “Fine, I’ll change your order.”

“Extra hot, remember?”

She nodded slightly and turned away as she felt long fingers sweep across her arse.

“Don’t you touch me again,” she hissed at him, head pounding as blood rushed through her body.

Snoke laughed. “Don’t be angry with me, Rey. You had something there. I was merely trying to clean you up. You want to look pretty for your next customer, don’t you?”

The table moved, a shuddering scrape as though it had been kicked and Rey finally breathed again. She snatched the menu from Snoke, her chin creasing and her breath coming in uneven waves. And then she turned to Kylo, reaching for his menu but it wouldn’t move, his fingers locked around it in a steel grip.

“I’ll take that for you,” she said quietly, but he wasn’t listening. Head bowed, dark curtains of hair falling across his temple and cheeks, and then she noticed his eyes, they had almost changed colour, they were so black and focused. She pulled it away again, and he released it suddenly, causing her to stumble backwards. It was the only thing to break him from his concentration.

She turned away from them and didn’t look back. Throwing the order into the kitchen on the way before bolting out the back doors before anyone could call her back.

Behind the restaurant, in a gloomy alley bound by faded graffiti-lined walls, Rey sat crouched in a sitting fetal position. She had backed into an alcove, curling her body to fit in the small space, just as she had done as a child on the street.

Her fingers madly tapped onto her phone, searching for any kind of distraction that might stop her head from exploding. She rubbed her eyes, roughly wiping away the hot tears threatening to spill over.

But she wasn’t going to cry, not over them. She wasn’t going to cry over anyone.

The smell of rotting food wafted through the laneway, radiating from the steel bins lining the backside of the restaurant. Rey wrinkled her nose as she continued playing with her phone until the screen went blank.

Damn! Rey rubbed her eyes harder this time. She certainly wasn't going back in there to get her charger, not while he was--

Rey jumped as a loud crash bellowed through the narrow alleyway like the sound of metal smashing into the wall.

She sat bolt upright, just in time to see another metal bin fly past her, spewing its contents all over the street. She jumped out, just as a lid flew past her like a frisbee, narrowly missing her shoulder.

“What the hell are you doing?” she shrieked.

Kylo Ren froze, body trembling, muscles twitching, wide-eyed and wild.

Their gaze met in the gloomy shadows and Rey stopped herself from looking away. There was so much intensity in the way he looked at her. She took a step back, shrinking away from him.

“What are you doing back here?” he demanded.

She gaped at the sharp tone in his words. “You better clean that up!” She shouted, pointing to the rubbish spread all over the alleyway.

He glanced at the mess around him, his lips puckering as he considered his answer. Which of course was silence.

“You worked last night?” He changed the subject.

“Phasma wants me to earn my keep.” Rey leaned against the wall, rolling her eyes. “Apparently, there’s plenty of other work to be done that doesn’t involve ... penetration. ”

Kylo stiffened, his hands clenched into fists at the base of his sleeves. “I’ll fucking kill that bitch.”

“Right,” Rey stretched the word, feeling like she had found some exposed wound that she could irritate. “Let me guess … psychotic tendencies?”

“Anger issues.” Kylo smiled sardonically as he took a step closer, edging on the boundary of her personal space. “No one else was supposed to touch you.”

“I don’t need your protection,” Rey hissed.

“I’m not protecting you. I’m keeping what belongs to me.”

“You’re a monster! Both you and your fucking boss."

Kylo stared at her, lips parting softly as he took another step closer, forcing her to crane her neck to look at him. His eye twitched again, lips tightening into a thin line.

Bring it on, she thought. “How dare you both come down here and—“

“I didn’t know you worked here,” he snapped at her.

“Well don’t you dare come back here again, ever!” she cried, her voice shrill and unsteady.

Kylo turned away from her robotically, making his way back to the restaurant as though her emotions were nothing. But she wasn’t done yet.

“And another thing. You don’t own me. You don’t own any part of me. If you ever—“

“You’re right!” he spat. “I don’t own you. Snoke does. And once you finish spying for him you can crawl right back to him.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“You told him what happened between us the other night,” he hissed, pointing his finger to her chest menacingly. “I know, Rey. I know about the whole fucking thing.”

She gaped, completely blindsided. She had never seen or spoken to Snoke in her life, where was he even getting—

“And you’re wrong about one thing.” He towered over her even closer now, squaring his shoulders and straightening his back so she could take in his full height and mass.

“I own your nights.” He lifted his hand to her face, gently brushing his thumb across her lower lip. “Every fucking one of them.”

She bit him on the thumb, hard enough that he pulled it away with an audible curse. Then she pulled her hand back, torpedoing it to slap him hard across the face but he grabbed her wrist yanking it away from him, leaving himself vulnerable. Suddenly, her knee shot up, sharply hitting him in the groin. Kylo stiffened, a muffled groan come out of his mouth and his eyes watered, but that was all, no buckling over or howling in pain. He only released her, rubbing his hand along his jaw.

Rey braced herself for the repercussions, but she was startled to see him smiling at her.

“What’s so amusing?” she demanded.

“You learned to fight after all,” he said, face blank of expressions. “I wasn’t sure you would.”

Rey looked confused. “What are you talking about?”

“Forget it, I’ll see you tonight, Rey.” Kylo turned to walk away from her, picking up a garbage lid as he went.

“I thought you weren’t coming in until Friday,” she called out after him, voice shaking much more than she wanted it to do.

“Change of plans,” he said, barely turning back to her as he replaced the lid. “And I'm planning on getting my fucking money’s worth this time.”

#crimson lane #reylo #reylo au #reylo fanfic #reylo fanfic rec #reylo fanfiction #reylo fanfiction rec

4 notes · View notes