#quick silver highway | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

boosoonhao · 5 months

Text

highways: in defiance

hoshi x reader 6.7k words dystopian au sexism and totalitarian regime warning

soonyoung figures out, quite early into your marriage, that you’re a pretty impressive actress. actress is not the world he should use, really; the female form of the masculine ‘actor’. one doesn’t use feminine forms of occupations anymore. but when he looks at you, at the massive shift in your attitude once the wedding is done and over with and you’re both situated in what used to be soonyoung’s home – it is still soonyoung’s, for all intents and purposes; you’re not allowed to own property, after all, but your presence is so huge, so imposing that it feels shared nonetheless – it’s the feminine form of the word ‘actor’ that comes to mind.

he’ll grant you that; that tiny, private nod of respect. illegal and dangerous as it might be, he can’t quite help it. in retrospect, that’s probably the first sign of what the high judges would call ‘suspicious influence’.

during the pre-marriage sessions; recorded meetings in dull, grey rooms at the center of the golden circle, you had seemed like the perfect picture of the kind of woman soonyoung’s supposed to be with. agreeable, pretty, good genes. demure, but not without personality; nothing of that dead, distasteful glare that seems a genetic trait of people from the middle districts.

where you’d been reserved but susceptible during the interviews, you are now cold; eyes shimmering with visible disdain as soonyoung comes in during the quiet, soft yellow hours of the morning. there’s a layer of sweat hidden beneath his trained exterior, a smell of gasoline sticking to his fingers. he glances at the clock right above the entrance to the living room. 5.15 in the morning. he hadn’t expected you awake already, had thought he’d be able to slip inside unnoticed and wash the evidence of his illicit nightly adventures off before falling under your scrutiny.

you’re observant, he’s noticed; quick to pick up on his habits and his preferences. you make him breakfast, cook him dinners; coffee ready on the table every morning, even though he can tell that you despise it. that your fingers twitch with the want to dunk the hot liquid that you’re not allowed to drink yourself right in his face.

he wonders if you think he’s cheating; that his nightly escapades are of the sexual nature. ‘men are creatures of the flesh’, soonyoung’s father used to say. ‘if denied their right in the home, who can blame them for seeking satisfaction somewhere else?’. soonyoung thinks this was meant as a jab towards his mother, who meant that women had one job, and one job only. in any case, the idea never sat right with him. not even now, not even when you sleep fully clothed at the very edge of your shared bed.

and if you do think that’s what he’s doing; do you care? does the slight downwards pull of your lips come from the idea of him entangled with someone else during secret meetings in the night, or does it come from the disdain of the walls that surround you on every side like a lavish, pretty jail cell?

soonyoung can’t tell which option he’d prefer.

(he can’t even tell if any of them are preferable at all.)

____________________

the scariest thing about you, soonyoung finds, is how outspoken you are. he’d heard about it, of course; about the silver tongued rebels of the middle districts. he’d always questioned it; like, would they not be easy to spot, easy to pluck from the normal people and place in their proper places of gallows and cells? evidently, such a line of thought was too simple, too idealistic; here you are, right in front of him, speaking in tones that could only be described as vulgar, illegal.

this thought, soonyoung admits with reluctance, is strangely exciting.

“you smell like whisky,” you murmur when soonyoung comes home from meeting his three closest friends. drinking alcohol is frowned upon, for sure, but not illegal. not for him. still, he feels a sort of guilt tug at his spine. a magical power of yours, that; making him squirm and question everything he’s been so sure of before. you divert your gaze, stare out the window. your voice is nothing but a murmur when you open your mouth again; “must be nice.”

bitterness does not make itself scarce in your expression, nor in your tone, and soonyoung’s jaw tightens. “do you want some?”

he surprises himself by being completely serious. you twist your head back to look at him, watches as he produces a half full bottle of burning, brown liquid from the bag slung over his shoulder. looking for the signs of a test, no doubt; for any traces of challenge. you blink, surprised to find none, soonyoung supposes. he steps quickly over to the cabinet, finds two glasses there and sits himself down on the chair left of yours. you do not take your eyes off of him, not as he shifts to make himself comfortable, not as he pours the liquid into the two glasses.

the only sound in the room is that of whisky being poured, the only smell the strong stench of liquor. he’ll break this one law, he thinks, without giving it too much of a thought. you’ve already presented your cards, already complained and opposed, already made yourself vulnerable. he hopes, with a thud of his heart, that you won’t make him regret this lapse of judgement.

you hum, reach for the glass, twirl the liquid around in the clear glass. “might as well,” you relent at last. “maybe alcohol is what it takes to make this district survivable.”

soonyoung chokes on whisky.

“you’re quite bold,” he murmurs, not without reluctant admiration in his voice. “what’s to stop me from reporting you to the enforcers?”

you tilt your head, watch him with dangerous eyes. “ah,” you breathe, lean your head against the knuckles of your hand. “to the rebellious future enforcer choi seungcheol?” you tap your fingers against your cheekbone, lip curling into something not quite – but close, very close – a smile. amber liquid swirls around the glass, splashes against the rims in something that soonyoung can’t describe as anything but a show of power. “or to boo seungkwan, future brainwasher in command?”

it could be a coincidence that those are the names you choose to mention, of course, but there’s cleverness visible in the arch of your brows, and when you sit back upright in the chair, it’s with the intimidating, powerful aura of any high judge soonyoung has ever met. people used to say – at least people say that people used to say – that men went for women who reminded them of their mothers. of course, people don’t say it anymore; men do not go for women at all, they let the soulmate system choose for them. but in that moment, soonyoung thinks he understands what people used to mean.

“leverage,” you tell him, chug down the last bit of whisky in your glass, looks very little like the image of a ‘proper lady’ that soonyoung has grown up with. you put the glass down on the flat surface of the table, bring your hands up in front of your face, curl your fingers into a fist and flick your wrists in a gesture that soonyoung recognizes only because he’s done it himself countless times. “vroom vroom,” you add, as if he needs the audio to understand what you’re implying. a shiver climb soonyoung’s spine, makes his head tingle. “that’s why you’re not going to report me to the enforcers.”

he stares, throat thick with something that feels a hell of a lot like fear. it’s not something soonyoung feels particularly often, not since he lived with his parents. not since they shut down his dance studio and interrogated him for suspicions of rebellion. he hadn’t been one, then. sometimes he wonders if that was what did it. maybe he’ll ask what you think; you seem to be an expert on the subject of resistance.

“don’t look so shocked,” you murmur, tone a hair’s breadth from mockery. “you always smell like gasoline.”

____________________

“my mother wants to have us over for dinner,” he tells you, watches as you try to keep your emotions under wraps. soonyoung might not have known you for very long, might not actually know you very well at all despite your name tattooed at the top of his wrist, but he recognizes your tells, by now. a twitch at the edge of your lips, a quick, tense rise of your shoulders. to your credit, you do not break eye contact.

things have been… different, since the evening he shared his whisky with you. for one, soonyoung can’t quite help looking over his back when he leaves to ride his bike, can’t help the feeling that you’re always watching. and second, you’ve been far less hostile, though still as loud and assertive in your trash talk. he wouldn’t call it friendly, would hesitate even over ‘amicable’. but he feels it is a win, nonetheless. third, it happens again. it becomes a pattern. for weeks, soonyoung shares his whisky with you, until the bottle is empty and the distance returns.

he knows this, though; there is no mistaking the wave of absolute disgust that paints your otherwise pretty face at the mention of his mother.

he imagines what she must represent to you; a woman born in freedom, who willingly, gladly traded her — and in some small part, every other woman in palatium’s — rights away for a place in the new elite. soonyoung’s father was a nobody before; barely even worthy of living in the high district. soonyoung’s mother, on the other hand, created the soulmate method of marriages. for that, she’s allowed some small, secret perks. books, food, alcohol. clearance to the golden circle. except, soonyoung suspects, it’s not as secret as the elite might think.

“why are you staring at me?” you question at last, defiance blatant and on display in both your tone and your expression. “surely i, the subservient wife, have no say in matters like these.”

“you’re anything but subservient,” soonyoung mutters, mostly to himself. the glare you shoot him is enough to make the hairs on the back of his neck stand. he clears his throat. “i can make up an excuse,” he tells you; the reason he brought it up in the first place. a choice. soonyoung is starting to realize that even in his perpetual state of nodding his head and playing along, he’s taken his freedom for granted. “if you don’t want to go.”

you inhale through your nose, stare at soonyoung from your position by the kitchen counter. in truth, soonyoung had considered not even bringing the invite up, had considered just politely declining the offer and continue putting the inevitable encounter off. but then he’d remembered the bitter commentary you’d made during one of your illicit evenings of soft buzzes and heated almost-arguments; the biting comments about your lack of choices.

he kinda wishes he could have presented you with a better one.

“no,” you tell him, quieter than he expects. he never seems to quite get used to the few and far between moments where you don’t seem to get sick at the mere sight of him. “no, it’s fine,” you sigh, drag a hand through your hair, can’t seem to settle on somewhere to look. “let’s just get it over with.”

____________________

he catches you eyeing the bookcase in the hallway of his mother’s home; something that looks like a cross between envy and resignation ghosting over your features. he wouldn’t even have noticed, had he not been looking for it.

he hopes no one else notices.

“soonyoung, darling,” soonyoung mother enthuses, brings her arms around his neck to envelop him in a bone crushing hug. to the uninitiated onlooker, it must seem like a heartwarming reunion; a mother and a son together again. soonyoung knows better, though, has been on the receiving end of his mother’s overbearing affection enough times to know the truth behind it. soonyoung’s mother might not have a whole lot of power, despite her innovative ideas and her rows and rows of books, but she sure knows how to assert it.

the word for it used to be ‘matriarch’, he knows. of course, that word has disappeared into the box of forgotten things, just like ‘actress’ and ‘queen’.

“it’s good to see you again, my boy,” she goes on, pats soonyoung’s shoulders with long fingers, their nails painted red. a bold move, that, considering nail polish is supposed to be outlawed. then again, rules never seemed to work the same way for the people residing in the golden circle. “and your wife is here as well,” she says at last, notes your presence as one would make note of a new haircut, a new pair of shoes. specifically, a less favorable haircut. soonyoung clears his throat uncomfortably. you refuse to respond.

(it’s the start of a very slow, very painful dinner.)

soonyoung’s mother, despite her active role in the marriage, seems adamant in her blatant ignoring of your presence.

“how’s everything going so far?” she asks, eyes trained right on her son. soonyoung feels the need to hide, to fill his mouth with potatoes and steak and hinder himself from being able to talk.

“it’s going fine, mother,” he replies vaguely, cowers from her inquisitive glare. he glances instead to his right, where you’re picking at your own food, eyes fixed on your maltreated potato. soonyoung’s mother hums, as if that answer has something secret hidden between the words that only she understands.

“it’s been three months,” she goes on, swirls a glass of something that looks like red wine between her fingers. “can i expect grandchildren soon?”

never one for small talk, that woman.

soonyoung hears, somehow, how you stiffen in your chair, the very mention of children a sore, taboo subject between the two of you. you’ll talk, at length, about the unfairness of society and your distaste for the inner circle, but you tastefully avoid subjects that pertain to your marriage, or the expectations that come with it. a part of your newfound almost-amicable relationship, soonyoung suspects.

“only time will tell,” he murmurs, feels two sets of intimidating female gazes heavy on him. he takes a large gulp of his whisky.

she hums again. “she’s not getting any younger, you know. the true purpose of the woman is to provide the man with a child.”

soonyoung doesn’t dare looking over at you. he’s sure the expression he’d find there would be enough to make him sweat. he’s always known that his mother was a bit of an extremist, even as far as the elite goes. he knows his mother is the very definition of a true believer. somehow, these things had been much easier to ignore before. he opens his mouth – to agree? to protest? he doesn’t know – but his mother chooses that moment to address you, finally, directly.

“isn’t that right, dear?” she asks sweetly. the following silence feels sort of like a death sentence. soonyoung wants to intervene. he doesn’t.

“of course,” you reply, voice flat and submissive in a whole nother way than how he’s used to. your subservience has been a mockery, before, a sort of inside joke on soonyoung’s expense, a proof of your opposition. there’s nothing of that present now, and when he finally manages to force his gaze over to your seat, your face is deathly pale. you still have not touched your food, but you still have the distinct expression of someone with a bad taste in their mouth.

you do not speak again the rest of the night.

____________________

after the dinner at soonyoung’s mother’s, there’s a tangible, heavy silence hanging over the kwon jr. household. you won’t speak to him, not when he buys a new bottle of whisky and tries to lure you into the sitting room to join him, not when he starts dropping small hints about his adventures during the night.

not even when he wakes up extra early to try – and horribly fail at – making you breakfast do you say a word to him, though you do push him aside to try and salvage the burnt eggs stuck to the dark pan on the stove. soonyoung feels helpless, in a completely unfamiliar, overwhelming sort of way. he’s always seen himself as a pretty empathetic person, even when being empathetic was not a good thing to be. he buried it when he had to, but it was always there, tucked inside his ribcage.

he’s not sure ‘empathy’ is enough to adequately describe how he feels as he watches you flitter around the house like a ghost.

it seems to boil over inside of you, five days after the dinner. he returns from watching mingyu fight in the underground, the smell of gasoline and of cigarettes sticking to his clothing and tugging at his skin. he loosens his tie and slinks up the stairs towards the bedroom. he doesn’t expect you to be awake.

you twist your head around when he enters, look at him with the same dead sort of gaze that has been haunting him for days and days now. the familiar feeling that’s not quite empathy, that tastes an awful lot like guilt, tugs on his chest. he used to think you were very loud. maybe that’s just another one of those things he took for granted.

you rise from your side of the bed, dressed only in your pale, white nightgown, and take a few determined steps towards him. you grasp at the front of his shirt, fingers doing quick work of his top buttons. soonyoung panics at your sudden aggression, takes a rushed, clumsy step back, but you only follow, wordlessly, keep working on the buttons of his clothes.

“hold– hold on,” he stutters, tries to grasp at your hands. you only press further, until he’s backed up against the door, eyes focused on the shirt and on the skin revealed by every button you undo. “what the hell are you doing?” your head snaps up at that, gaze hard and mouth set in a thin line. soonyoung feels exposed, vulnerable, his heart beating wildly in his chest.

“my job,” you reply, with a voice that sounds both eerily like your own and someone else’s entirely. you grip at the fabric of his shirt, try to pull it off of his shoulders. soonyoung’s own fly up to wrap around your elbows to stop you. “a woman’s only purpose is to provide her husband with children, and all that.”

“i don’t–” soonyoung starts, doesn’t quite know how to continue the sentence. i don’t think that. i don’t want that. somehow he doesn’t think any of the options would be particularly soothing, despite his efforts. your fingernails dig into his clothes, make crescent moons along the skin of his chest. it looks like you can’t decide whether to cry or to scream.

“do you know what happens to women who refuses to sleep with their husbands?” you ask, a sort of pathetic, fragile stuntedness to your voice. your fingers are still tightly clutched at the front of his unbuttoned shirt. they shiver; in fear or anger, soonyoung doesn’t know. “they get sent to the lower districts, branded for being ‘barren’.” soonyoung circles his hands around your wrists, tries to pull your hands away. your grip at his clothes tighten, and you stare him right in the eyes. “of course, most of the time it won’t come to that, because men have the habit of taking what they want whether the woman want it or not.”

there’s no word for it anymore, but the old one, the one that starts with an r, still echoes in the back of soonyoung’s head. he feels sick, feels the impulse to push you away from him and run away. his throat feels thick, mouth full of ashes.

“that won’t happen to you here,” he says, voice kept stable only by the conviction with which he says it. he presses his thumbs into your skin. your head is bowed; in shame or in disbelief, soonyoung can’t know. “nothing you don’t want will happen as long as i’m here.” he lets go of your wrists and they fall limply to your side. he takes hold of your face, feels ridiculously bold for doing so, guides your face up so you can see how much he means what he’s saying. somehow, he feels more honest than he’s done ever before. “i swear i’ll do anything to make you happy.”

in the old time, the time when you married someone you loved rather than someone whose genes matched your own, they used to have these beautiful ceremonies. soonyoung remembers overhearing talks about them during meetings when he was a child. something he always was especially entranced by was the concept of ‘vows’, of promises to keep and to honor. they got scrapped for something far more technical, of course, but the idea was especially appealing to soonyoung. this one will have to do, he thinks. there’s not a lot more he can promise, considering the circumstances. your eyes are wet. he finds that he wants to press his lips to your forehead.

he doesn’t. instead, he says, “i’ll sleep on the couch tonight. please get some rest.” and he leaves the room. he hears a sob through the door, and he swears something inside him cracks painfully.

and that is why he ends up in front of his mother’s bookcase once again a mere week later.

____________________

“what’s this?” you ask when he puts the book down in front of you on the table. soonyoung feels strangely disconnected to his own body; almost as if he’s standing in the corner of the room, watching himself present you with the book. people have gone to jail for less than this; people have been hanged.

but then, he participates in illegal races at night, attends betting matches in the underground once a month. he tells himself that’s why despite the rush of fear coursing through his veins, soonyoung does not hesitate once to give you the worn paperback. “it’s a book,” he replies lamely; knows it’s a mistake as soon as the words fall out of his mouth.

“obviously,” you bite back, the exclamation almost more a hiss than a word. soonyoung knows better than to talk down to you, by now, but he finds that old habits are hard to break. and you’ve been tense ever since visiting his mother, too, much easier to anger. he wonders if you still hear her words in your head when you close your eyes. the thought makes him nauseous. “what am i supposed to do with it? fold paper cranes?”

soonyoung blinks, gaze falling down to where your fingers lie curled and interlaced with each other on the surface of the table. you have pretty hands, he notice; prettier than he would have expected from the middle district. “can you?” he looks back up at your face, finds you squinting in his direction as if you’re loathe to even look at him. “i mean–” he amends, clears his throat. sits down on the chair on your left, folds his hands. he can’t quite look you in the eyes. “you want to learn to read, don’t you?”

you blink; scrunch up your nose as if in disbelief and mouth pulled down in a very distinct frown. soonyoung thinks you might be trying to play down how true his assumption is, but the light dust of red that appears at your cheekbones give you away. soonyoung feels awkward, as if his mouth is full of syrup. “i’ll teach you,” he tries, desperately needs for you to react in any way at all. when you don’t, he swallows, breathes out heavily. “if you want?”

it seems as if you’re silent for an eternity; trust still non-existent and doubt still lingering in every corner of your shared home and in every line of your face. hesitant fingers reach out to touch the front of the book, almost as if you’re afraid of breaking it. there a small twitch at the edges of your lips that might be a smile.

“thank you,” you whisper, and something in soonyoung’s chest seems to bloom.

(it becomes a routine. soonyoung points out letters, pronunciations, coaches you through the longer words and sentences. sometimes you’ll make attempts at reading entire pages out loud, eager to learn and thirsty for knowledge. sometimes he’ll read to you in bed, almost too distracted by the new sort of closeness and the way your eyes flit over the pages to even know what he’s reading.

it’s just a simple novel; a story he’d been obligated to read multiple times in school, but you eat it up, entranced by every word. one night you fall asleep with your head against his shoulder. that night, he’s supposed to meet up with seungcheol, mingyu and seungkwan for a race.

he finds that he can’t quite get himself to move.)

____________________

you’re a quick learner. much quicker than soonyoung was, much more proficient than he could ever hope to be. he tries to tell himself that the sense of pride that comes with your impressive learning curve is an innocent thing. tries to tell himself that the way he leans back and focuses fully on your voice, on the way your fingers clutch at the coarseness of paper doesn’t have anything to do with the soft tingle in the pit of his stomach.

“they work so hard to maintain this intellectual high ground over the lower regions,” you rattle on, uncaring for the fact that soonyoung can’t keep up even if he tried. probably you could make anything and everything into an hour long rant, he thinks, but not without affection. “‘the poor can’t be smart, they lack the education’, ‘women can’t be equal, can’t have any substantial thoughts; they can’t even read!’” you run a finger along the spine of the book. when soonyoung follows your finger, he notices that it’s shaking. your words sounds an awful lot like what he used to learn to be treason when he was a child; but then soonyoung is starting to realize that you commit treason with every intake of breath, every twitch of your brow.

then maybe he’s a traitor, too, for being so engulfed, so committed; for the way he hangs on to your every word as if they were holy. he’s surprisingly okay with that thought.

“but the elite are the ones keeping education away from us,” your finger stops moving, and soonyoung forces his gaze up to your face, pauses at the pinkness of your cupid’s bow, at the arch of your nose. every day, he’s finding details in your face that he wants to jot down in his journal, commit eternally to memory.

“honestly,” he murmurs. “even without the education, you’re probably ten times smarter than me.” it’s easier now, to spill sacrilege from his lips, to disregard his teachings for these secret truths between a man and his wife. sometimes he has to look over his shoulder before saying them, too scared of a housekeeper peeping or an enforcer storming the doors. it’s more worth it each time he does it; genuine smiles painted on your features as a reward for his morsels of genuiness.

you hum quietly, something dangerous flickering in your eyes. “that’s actually a pretty popular theory.”

“that women are smarter than men?” soonyoung finds the claim far less outrageous now than he would have six months ago. it’s impossible to be as staunch and sure as men are supposed to be in their own superiority, when he is so overexposed to your brilliance.

“no,” you reply with a laugh. “that i’m smarter than you. specifically.”

a joke, soonyoung registers. like the ones his father used to tell at dinners and during house parties. though, kwon sr. used to prefer the jokes about sex traitors, about women in high positions. soonyoung’s mother’s lip used to be very tight during these loud retellings. soonyoung finds that he prefers your joke; one that’s private and that puts you on a pedestal rather than pushes you down, that makes you refer to him as a friend rather than someone you’re stuck with.

he also finds that he wants to kiss you. that feeling he buries.

____________________

“soonyoung,” you murmur one night, quietly and carefully from your side of the bed. the divide has gotten smaller, for sure, but there’s still something invisible and terrible that seems to keep you sleeping with your back against him, that keeps him from daring to reach out and touch your hair while you sleep. he opens one eye, peers at you while you twist around in the bed to face him. he can barely make out your silhouette in the darkness, but he still knows exactly what you must look like.

“what is it?” he prompts when you seem to be hesitating. you exhale, and he feels the air on his face, resists the urge to shiver.

“you said–” you pause, shift slightly on the bed. he thinks you’re embarrassed, somehow. “you said you’d do anything,” you don’t finish the sentence, don’t need to. maybe the word ‘happy’ is too foreign on your tongue. soonyoung’s skin tingles. “did you mean it?”

“yes,” he replies, doesn’t even stop for a second to reconsider. truths never used to fall out of him so easily before. nothing is quite like before, he feels, with a sort of terrifying warmth at the pit of his stomach. you must be gathering up the courage to ask for something, he realizes. “is there?” he asks. “something i can do?”

silence. for one, two, three– “take me out,” you whisper, almost reluctantly; as if you have to force the request out of your mouth. “on your bike.”

soonyoung sits up, and you follow; the bed jiggling under the sudden movements. his first thought is to refuse, to protest. too daring, too dangerous, too many risks. but as his eyes adjust to the darkness and he’s able to see your face more clearly he sees the uncertain, bare expression that lingers there, and he finds that refusal is an impossibility. so instead, he whispers back, “okay. now?” watches with delight as the tension leaves your body and is replaced by relief.

“please.”

(he holds your hand as he drags you after him to the garage where soonyoung and his friend keeps their bikes, can’t help looking back every so often to remind himself how your fingers intertwined looks. something scary, something amazing sizzles underneath his skin. he knows what it is, but somehow he can’t quite remember the name.)

he doesn’t take you to the underground where the nightly fights are held, nor does he show you the streets everyone use for races. somehow, he doesn’t think that’s what you’re really interested in, even with how much you’ve probed him about it. instead, he takes you to a secluded hill, his private, secret little spot. it’s not much; nothing really is anymore, but it’s more than the house, more than the dull, brown walls you’re used to staring at.

your neck cranes backwards as you take in the sight; bends so far back that soonyoung has to instinctively put a hand at your back to make sure you don’t fall over. the stars are bright, here; twinkling and clear and alive in a way that soonyoung haven’t been able to spot anywhere else. sometimes you’ll gasp, or inhale as if you haven’t been able to breathe for months, and when you turn to thank him, the shimmer of your eyes seem to outshine every star in the night sky.

(love, he realizes, as you’re holding onto him, arms wrapped securely around his torso as you head back to the garage. the feeling is called love.)

“soonyoung,” you call after him when you’re back in the house, stopping in the middle of the hallway. soonyoung swears he’ll never get used to how his name sounds in your voice. he turns around, takes note of the uncertain look in your eyes. “i’m–” you frown, take a step towards him. for a moment, you seem to weigh your options, to ponder how to go about whatever it is you’re trying to express. an inhale, an exhale. “ah, fuck it.” and then–

then your lips are on his, his face pulled forcefully to meet yours. your fingertips claw at his face, body pressing itself against him, and for a second soonyoung thinks his brain might have exploded. you tug at his face again, urge him to either respond or pull away.

soonyoung chooses the first option. he grabs your hips, digs his fingers into the fabric of your clothes and pull at your body as if he’d die without the contact. your mouth opens, tongue slipping out to lick at his mouth, and soonyoung groans, feels the vibrations of it through his whole body. he takes a few steps, presses you against the wall, and you bite down on his bottom lip hard enough to draw blood. soonyoung can’t decide if the sensation is painful or pleasurable, he can’t remember his own last name. all he knows is that you rotate your hips, grinds against him in a way that makes him dizzy.

“upstairs,” you pant, and soonyoung takes the opportunity to explore your neck; bites and nibs at your skin and relishes in the reactions it gives him. your exhales are loud, shaky, and your fingers burrow into his shoulder in what seems more like a steadying action than anything else. “bed,” you add, as if you’ve forgotten how to construct proper sentences.

here, soonyoung falters. “you don’t have to–” he says, voice hoarse with something he can’t describe as anything but ‘lust’. another sin to add to the tally, he supposes. he pulls his head back, searching your face for anything to imply that you’re acting out of a sense of obligation. he finds your cheeks; reddened beyond anything he’s ever seen before. he finds your mouth; already swollen and hot pink against your skin. he finds your eyes; wild and alive and more than ever reminding him of the night full of stars.

he does not, however, see any doubt. still, he feels the need to reiterate; “i don’t expect anything.”

you laugh, at that, a breezy, easy thing that sounds almost like a symphony. you take his face between your hands, squish his cheeks and press a chaste, quick kiss to his lips.

“i know. i want to.”

and there’s something in the almost prideful way you say that, that you emphasize the word ‘want’, that makes soonyoung think he couldn’t ever deny you anything.

____________________

soonyoung stares. he leans on his arm, fingers splayed against soft linens and body cushioned by thick duvets. on the other side of the bed, you’re sleeping.

before – that is to say, before you realized that soonyoung was not your enemy, that he could even be your ally – you used to sleep with a body language so tight and rigid that soonyoung sometimes wondered if you ever actually slept at all. fully clothed in your heavy dresses and knotted corsets, arms stiff and legs curled at the very edge of the bed. it almost felt like sharing sleeping quarters with a heavy, big stone.

the sight that now greets him every morning before he has to leave to perform the mundane tasks that are expected of him, is something almost bizarrely opposite; something that makes his head spin even when he’s seen it time after time after time. your arms are stretched across the bed, reaching for the warmth of the space that soonyoung occupied mere minutes ago. sunlight puts an impossible sort of glow over your exposed skin and makes the back of soonyoung’s neck tingle. he reaches out, curls a lock of your hair around his finger.

a calculated mistake, so to speak. your eyes open. a slow, lazy action; even waking up has become a completely new, changed thing, unrecognizable in contrast to the eyes-wide-open, fully alerted way soonyoung has become accustomed to.

for a moment you just watch him, impassively; eyes barely open and fingers clutching at the white linens right by soonyoung’s thigh. you do not lean after his touch, nor away from it. this new, tentative closeness between you feels fragile at all times, and soonyoung worries, not for the first time, if he’s crossed a line.

“are you staring at me?” you ask, sleepiness tugging at your vocal chords. the sound makes soonyoung’s chest tighten with something he doesn’t quite recognize. it’s a warm, fuzzy feeling. the tip of soonyoung’s tongue tastes of the same illegal, dangerous thing that seems to surround everything involving you. soonyoung feels a surge of courage sizzling through his veins, lets his hand disappear fully into the mess of your hair. your eyes flutter close, a low rumble of a hum slipping past your lips.

“yes,” he admits, his thumb flitting along your cheekbone. your eyes open again, observe him carefully. soonyoung has known, probably ever since he started teaching you how to read, ever since you started letting your guard down and your mouth speak freely, that he is in love with you. he’d told you as much; that he’d do anything to ensure your happiness. he feels it now, though, harder and clearer than ever before in the pale sunlight and the soft glow that surrounds you both. it almost feels like peace, like freedom. “i love you.”

you inhale, raise your hand to glide along his thigh and reach for his burgunder tie. the silence feels overwhelming. and then you tug, almost forcefully enough to make soonyoung fall over you. he has to catch himself with his arms, cages you in between them, and your fingers reach, clutch at his face. he feels your breath over his mouth, and the anticipation is almost as deliriously wonderful as when your lips finally connect with his own.

the first kiss you shared, technically, was at your wedding. it was a standard procedure sort of thing; a nod back to other times where marriages were a free, voluntary thing. just the barest touch of lips against lips. you’d grimaced afterwards, and soonyoung had pretended not to noticed.

the second time– soonyoung can’t quite stop thinking about the second time. he finds that he struggles to put a name to it, to the rush of emotion and stress and confusion and relief, to the mess of it all. it had been a beginning, he now knows, though at the time he’d felt so overwhelmed that he’d thought it was an ending.

this; this lazy, casual press of lips, makes every nerve underneath soonyoung’s skin do somersaults. your arms wind around his neck, he lets himself fall against your body and against the softness of the bed, noses squished together and fingertips itching to touch. your own fingers move to ruffle his hair, to undo every attempt he’d made at making himself look presentable before leaving the house. he finds that he struggles to care.

“soonyoung,” you murmur, just a hair’s breadth away from him. he feels the vibrations of your voice through his entire body, shivers with the way his name sounds coming from your mouth. “i’m not–” here, you falter, and soonyoung’s throat feels constricted. you watch him, for a moment, fingers gliding along the skin of his face as if you’re trying to commit every line to memory. “i’m not bringing a child into this world.”

soonyoung’s breath stutters. even with the vagueness of the statement, the meaning is clear. he might have been the one to teach you how to read, but you’ve taught him how to read between the lines. hesitation twinkles in your eyes when soonyoung fails to immediately respond. he leans back in, presses his lips against yours; quickly, with an intake of breath. “i guess,” he murmurs, peppers your face with kisses. his hand clutches at the fabric of your shirt, right above your stomach.

“we have to make some changes to it, then.”

#svt imagines #svt fanfic #seventeen fanfic #seventeen x reader #svt x reader #seventeen imagines #svt scenarios #seventeen scenarios

110 notes · View notes

superblysubpar · 3 months

Text

Princesses Can Slay Dragons Too:

dad!eddie munson x mom!fem!reader

an Easy Like Sunday Morning story

summary: you're overworked and stressed, Eddie's an oblivious but well meaning husband & dad, and a trip to the cabin with familiar faces might be just what you all needed. | even if a fic is not marked 18+, my blog is

7.7k words (listen, I know it has no business being this long. I worked on it for a year. Idk what happened, okay?)

warnings: please read the new "general warnings" on the masterlist linked above - "reader" has a "name/nickname", mentions of Ronance, mentions of alcohol, mom stress and a little bit of description of some blood/injury and parental panic/ descriptions of shock about it. There is a twinge of "poetic", quick descriptions of smut as well as brief discussion of "unplanned" pregnancies.

This started from an ask last March, which I've since lost (so sorry anon if you're still out there), and it grew and sat and grew some more and then sat some more and now here it is. I've grown very, extremely, emotionally proud and fond of it. Hope ya like it! 💛

Summer, 2004

“Baby, volume,” your voice calls out over the faint music playing, the thrum of wheels against the highway and the wind. Eyes remain shut, but furrowed lines form above your brows when you hear the familiar ding of a coin being grabbed. A palm rests on your thigh, fingers squeeze gently around it as the music of the level starts its loop again.

You need a coffee. Or thirty. Yes, thirty is good.

“Squirt,” his tone full of warning, yet somehow still sounding sweeter than the syrup that clings to all of their fingers and the gray fabric of the old van’s seats.

Despite the early morning breakfast stop at McDonald’s being nearly twenty-four hours ago, and your insistence on packed sandwiches and veggies for lunch, and a stop for a sit down dinner - the stale scent of greasy food feels heavy in the air. Which has your brain cycling through the list that will rid your family of the trip when you reach your final destination - get out of the car, wrangle them into pajamas, teeth brushed, fight about sleeping when it’s already almost morning, clothes into washing machine, air out the car, make the grocery list for the week…

Screw coffee - you need a shower, you need a shot of alcohol, you already need a vacation from your vacation.

A particularly loud grunt and the sound of something hitting or fighting or shooting has you opening your eyes, blinking away the sleep in them to find the dark highway lit by two gold headlights, showing off the yellow lines flashing past the driver’s window. Your mouth parts, ready to be the one to tell them no, like you always are, when he stops you.

He grabs your hand, his thumb soothing over your knuckles as his voice drifts gently into the backseat, “Come on, I don’t wanna take it away…”

It’s endearing, the way he always tries, the way he gives them a couple of chances. Because at this point, you’re ready to take the damn game and chuck it out the window. This level is haunting you, all you’ve heard every second of every day, even when you’re peeing or trying to shower. You’re pretty sure you’re dreaming in the pixelated graphics, the sound effects now accompanying your daily tasks.

A loud sigh falls from the backseat and with it, you’re certain the console is nudged one level lower.

You hate that of all of your children, the one most like him is still awake.

Sure, they’re all little gremlins, heathens, as he likes to call them - little tenacious mini monster versions of him that drive you up the wall but somehow make your chest ache with too much love.

But this one, this one takes the cake every time.

Eddie beats you to it again, the silver of his rings glinting in the green light of the dashboard as he lets go of your hand to reach into the back without looking. Out of the corner of your eye you see his bicep flexing, gently shaking the tiny knee in his big hand as he talks to the road sternly, “Lace. Volume off completely until I say otherwise, or Mario and Luigi are my best friends the rest of the week, capisce?”

“Caposh,” she grumbles, big red chucks swinging up towards the console and back down, her little legs don’t quite touch the ground yet, much to her dismay.

You keep reminding her that she has lots of time to be as big as her siblings, that her ever growing shoe size and the jeans you bought for the upcoming school year (which she’s already complaining are too tight - remember, you need to ask Katie about hand me downs from Liv, or shit, maybe even Grace, this weekend) tell you she is going to keep growing - and fast. Part of you can’t wait, and the other part wishes she’d slow down.

The sound vanishes completely and Eddie’s hand finds its way to your thigh again when you sigh. The part that wishes she’d grow up faster stirs, lit by the flicker of resentment when she listens to him so easily and not you.

Eddie’s fingers run up your thigh, then back down, skin beneath the denim buzzing as he squeezes softly and clears his throat.

“I think someone deserves an apology though, don’t you? ‘Cause I believe I heard you were asked already…”

“I’m sorry,” she squeaks and you can’t help but look over your shoulder at her when she does.

For once, her eyes are on you and not the game, big and brown - just like his - and truly sorry. You smile softly as her brows furrow under bangs that just refuse to stay straight. She blows them away with a big huff as she whines, “It’s just so hard.”

Your head nods, temple resting on the seat as you murmur, “Yeah, I know. Thank you for turning the volume off when your dad asked though, I really appreciate it.”

Eddie swallows, his finger aimlessly circles over the skin above your knee as he blinks at the road.

He’s always amazed when you do that.

Far more patient than anyone deserves, far more understanding than any of them appreciate, and much too good to him. For him. Especially with how things have been lately.

Eddie knew it’d been a little rough, with him being gone so much and the kids’ schedules just growing more cramped as they got older - summer was no longer the lazy days of kids riding around on their bikes and doing squat. It was full of sports and clubs, friends, all requiring a constant need to be dropped off, picked up, carted too and fro on seemingly hellbent on never lining up schedules. He’d been trying, he really had, to help you balance it all, but he had tunnel vision for things at work, he was so focused on his own shit he didn’t realize how much everything was affecting you.

How much being alone with three kids, two goldfish (scratch that, one, but still), a dog, and a house that seemed to have endless tasks to keep it running was breaking you.

He finds your hand and pulls interlaced fingers to his lips, kissing your knuckles, your wrist, your palm, all while keeping his eyes on the road. You close yours again, trying to focus on the soft press of his lips to your skin and not the reason why he’s doing it.

You know he’s thinking about last weekend.

On Friday, Caroline had complained that you only sewed new straps on her ballet slippers instead of getting new ones altogether. She was practically in tears because all the other girls in class had new leotards, new skirts, and new shoes and you promised you’d figure something out. She retreated with red cheeks and a slam of the bedroom door, stereo blaring behind it, the cusp of terrible teenage years promising to be worse than the twos.

After that, Michael shoved you off when you tried to hug him as you dropped him at the school for a baseball practice with an exasperated, “God, mom, stop!” - nine was grown up and he was much too cool to be a momma’s boy anymore apparently.

And to top it all off, Lacey had been following you around the house, that stupid game dinging and singing everywhere you went, one of the fish died and Lacey asked when it was coming back, and you somehow burnt the hamburger helper for dinner.

When Eddie got home, he found you hunched over the coffee table next to a precariously placed glass of red wine, a sock in one hand and a shirt in the other, piles of laundry neatly folded around you and your favorite movie playing on the TV. If it weren’t for the position that was sure to have your back feeling rough tomorrow, your soft, even breathing revealed you were dead asleep.

He had tried to ease you up, move you to the bedroom while trying not to wake you like he used to when his body was much younger, but you had shot up at the touch of his hand, the lightest sleeper of a mother of three. You blinked heavy eyelids while mumbling through sleep thick words about lunches for the two eldest who would be gone all the next day. Eddie had assured you he’d make them, and you were fairly certain you were back to sleep before your head touched the pillow.

The next day though, something inside of you snapped.

It had been better than the one before, but not great. You hadn’t showered, there was a leak in the kitchen that hadn’t gotten any better all week. The only break you had all day was picking the kids up from their activities, and making them a snack as soon as they dropped gear in haphazard piles in the entryway.

After hours on hold, you just started clanging around with tools you didn’t know how to use, your head throbbing from the lack of coffee or water and the sound of Mario grabbing another coin somewhere to your right.

Where was the real plumber you had asked Eddie to call? Maybe, if you concentrated hard enough, Mario would leap out of Lacey’s console, climb down the drain, and fight off the little mushroom guy who was-

You smacked the wrench against the pipe, repeatedly, like it had personally threatened you.

“Woah, woah, woah. Sweetheart, stop! You’re gonna break it!”

Eddie grabbed your wrist, pulling you up to see him standing with pizza boxes and staring at you with wide, blinking eyes. For a second, the sight of short curls starting to gray on the ends and lines next to eyes that were constantly squinting because he was smiling or refusing to wear sunglasses, had you forgetting you were mad, or stressed or…maybe you were just tired?

He cocked his head, trying to catch the gaze you let fall to the floor quickly as the kids shrieked about him being home. Eddie didn’t even get his question of if you were okay out before arms were wrapped around his waist and legs, all vying for his attention.

You had swiped at your nose to ward off the familiar sting, pulled down plates and started filling glasses of milk and juice, before shoving the casserole you’d had prepped into the freezer.

Then he snapped his fingers, smoothing a hand over Caroline’s hair and said, “Oh, hold on. I think you’re gonna like what else I brought home a lot more than the pizza.”

He left for the hallway, returning quickly, holding something behind his back that she tried to peek at and he tsked, singing, “Uh-uh-uh. Hold on. Your mom told me you were upset about your ballet slippers…”

Your shoulders rose, the pour of apple juice freezing over the glass.

He didn’t.

He smiled at you, oblivious, then at Caroline’s squeal of excitement and he kept going, “These aren’t new, but my co-worker’s daughter barely used them and…Ta-da!”

Eddie held out a shoebox with essentially brand new shoes and your body felt numb as you listened to her scream how much she loved them and him, squeezing him in a fierce hug as he kissed her temple.

Caroline held them up to you, proudly, and you smiled, nodding, saying something, you don’t even remember what. You ushered everyone to the table.

Lacey stood next to her chair, eyes darting over the hand-held game clutched in her fingers.

“Lacey, put it away, time for dinner.”

Ding! Bloop, bloop, bloop blah-bloop-de-bloop.

Eddie slapped pizza onto plates, licking stray sauce from his thumb, “How was everyone’s day? What’d you do?”

“Lacey, I’m not telling you again. Put the game away.”

Her eyes flew up to yours, something fiery and far to recognizable behind them that made you blink as she just said, “No.”

“Oh!” Eddie passed you pizza, oblivious, “How was lunch? Did dad do as good as mom?” He ruffled Michael’s hair as your daughter and you glared at each other.

Caroline nodded her head enthusiastically around a too big bite and Michael turned to you, pizza in his mouth on display as he talked, “It was so good. Can dad make our lunches every day? His was way better.”

You stood up from the table, without warning and without a word, walked to your bedroom, and slammed the door.

Were you having an adult tantrum? Maybe. Were you proud of it? Absolutely not. But the rush of tears that fell down your cheeks and the sob that overtook you was the kind of angry crying you simply do in private and you had needed to get there quick.

Footsteps jogged down the hallway behind you, the sound causing you to turn the lock on your bedroom door through blurry vision and gasps around your tears. As the knob tried to turn, you moved away with a hand over your mouth until the back of your knees hit the bed.

“Babe, open the door.” Eddie’s voice was soft as the knob rattled again.

“Liv, what the hell, open the door.”

You choked on a sob, fingers still over your lips so you barely got out, “I’m fine, Eddie, just…have dinner without me. I’ll eat later.”

The handle spun back and forth again, the sound of his forehead hitting the wood and his pained tone slicing through you, “Olivia, please open the door.”

You curled yourself on top of the bed, watching the handle through blurry vision slowly stop moving. Closing your eyes as the tears fell swiftly, you prayed it was the kind of crying that would just knock you out and put you to sleep, because god, did you need to sleep.

Only a few minutes later, maybe not even, the door swung open to reveal Eddie on his knees with a flashlight between his lips and a screwdriver in his hands and you, sobbing on the bed.

He jumped up at the sight of you curling your arms around your waist harder, at the way you rolled away from him and pressed your wet cheek into the pillow. At the way your hoarse voice called out, “Please leave me alone Eddie.”

The door closed, the lock clicked, and there was a distinct sound of both items he held dropping to the carpet with thuds. The bed dipped and the heat of his body curled behind you, fingers gently brushed over the damp skin of your cheek and neck.

Your body shook with more tears, eyes squeezing closed tighter when he pressed his nose to the back of your head while his arm wrapped around your waist, and he waited.

The tears eventually slowed, your chest started to fall and rise more evenly, and the light filtering in through your curtains started to turn lavender, then blue. Eddie managed to remove your jeans without waking you, and he pulled the duvet up over your shoulder as he bit his lower lip raw. Your face still didn’t look relaxed, like it was crying and worrying even in your sleep.

He left the room with with his fingers rubbing at the back of his neck, walking past the bathroom where water sloshed over the counter and soap slid down the-

Taking several steps backwards, his mouth opened, then closed at the sight in front of him, before he finally found his words and quietly asked, “Whatcha doing?”

His three children stood in a line in the mirror, looking at him in the reflection. Lacey held a stack of plates and silverware on the left, on her toes, pink socks (that were supposed to be white, but there must have been a laundry incident he was unaware of) fully submerged in bubbles, her little arms hoisting them to rest on the counter halfway. Caroline stood in front of the overflowing, sudsy sink, her hands invisible inside it, and Michael next to her with a rag and plate.

“We’re washing the dishes,” Caroline shrugged, like it was obvious.

He leaned against the doorframe, rubbing at his jaw as he hummed, “I…see that. Why are you doing that in here?”

The three kids blinked at him, and he tried not to smile, because you weren’t kidding that they eerily looked like him when they did that. They were all clearly confused, and then Michael said, “The kitchen sink is broken. It has been all week.”

Eddie closed his eyes, your cursing under your breath and beating up of the pipes when he got home making much more sense now.

All week? Why hadn’t you told him?

Shit, had you told him?

He cleared his throat and he tapped on the frame. “Right. Well, thank you for doing them. Try to stay quiet, mom’s sleeping.”

His body had barely turned out the door before Caroline called out, nervously, “Is she okay?”

Eddie wasn’t a fan of lying, even if it was to protect feelings. But the sight of his three kids with concern evident on each of their faces told him they’d know if he did anyways. Something told him they already knew she wasn’t and it was him who didn’t know the answer.

He sighed, entered the room deeper and kissed the tops of each of their heads, before he threw some towels over the floor that had puddles of water accumulating.

“I think she really needs to sleep, and I’ll talk to her later. But I think you guys doing the dishes really helps. Thank you.”

So while his kids did the dishes in the bathroom sink and you slept, the dog and…one…? goldfish kept him company in the kitchen where he inspected the sink.

It was an easy fix, but he didn’t have the part, and his stomach tensed with guilt as he thought about how you probably, definitely, asked him to look at it or call someone right away and he forgot. A simple drive down the street to the hardware store tomorrow, he’d have it fixed in less than an hour.

He put the tools away in the garage, above the label for them that you must have made and he went into the small office space in search of a post-it to put on the sink. The office was intended for you, but years and kids and projects went by and soon it became a dumping ground of all things house.

When he reached the desk, he found what he was looking for. There were plenty of post-its, in a variety of colors, lined up in a neat row above a large, tightly and neatly filled calendar.

Eddie swallowed as his fingers brushed over the names of his kids, him, the fucking dog and fish - all with their own color. The house, the bills, the errands…all of it had colors, schedules, a science, a system.

But the thing was, you weren’t a part of the system - you were the system.

There was nowhere, in that entire calendar, that had anything remotely relaxing for you on it. No dinner or wine night with any of the girls. No book club with Nancy anymore, maybe because they moved, but he had a feeling it still wouldn’t be there if they hadn’t. No dates with him. He couldn’t remember the last time he took you out, or hell, made you dinner - when was the last time he even cooked dinner for the whole family?

He swallowed as he read over the entire month, and the next and the next. Anything that would have been considered free time, or your time was full of laundry, grocery shopping, dusting the fucking baseboards, because apparently you do everything?

And Eddie knew he had colosally, monumentally, brutally, fucked up.

So when the kids were in bed, and the kitchen was clean, and the lunches for the next day were packed, and the laundry was folded and put away, Eddie crawled back into bed behind you.

He didn’t think you were awake, carefully letting his arm curl around you and his lips brush your shoulder in a wordless goodnight, an apology, a promise to talk about it as soon as you woke up. But then your words floated out and hung in the dark room and a tear slipped down his cheek.

“I’m sorry.”

Eddie sniffled, trying to reign it in, he cleared his throat, but you were already rolling to face him and he had his palms pressed to his eyes as his words left him all scratchy and on the brink of a full blown sob.

“Sweetheart, don’t you dare fucking say it again.”

Your fingers had curled around his wrists and tugged gently, until watery eyes were blinking at your own and you shrugged and whispered, “But I am.”

His lips found yours in a bruising kiss, noses squished together and gasps of air between parting mouths, fingers clutching at hips and necks as your legs tangled.

When was the last time he fucking kissed you like he meant it? Like it wasn’t a quick goodbye, goodmorning, or a hey, doll, how was your day as he half listened?

He shook his head, mouth catching yours in quick kisses between each softly spoken word, “No, I am.”

Your palms pressed to his cheek as your leg hitched over his thigh, breathless as he traveled over your jaw and down your neck for the first time in what felt like months.

Maybe it had been.

“Can you,” you tugged on short curls behind his ears as his tongue traced your collarbone which made you both groan, “Jus-just let me apologize?”

Eddie practically growled out the word no before his lips were back on yours.

It was fast fingers pulling at clothing and sharp teeth nipping at lips and skin, no foreplay, ‘just fuck me’ quick, and quietly because of the kids, kind of sex, until it wasn’t.

It only took him three thrusts to realize it wasn’t what he wanted. Quickly becoming memorizing touches that glided over skin and held with care, it was lips that whispered apologies and all the things he loved about you into yours, quiet and passionate pushing and pulling with each other, and hands gripping the others as you came together and said everything you couldn’t with intense eye contact, fingers deep in the curls at the back of his head as his name left your mouth only to be swallowed by his.

His lips brushed down your shoulder and back up, over your collarbone and chest as your fingers scratched at his scalp gently.

He hummed against your throat before whispering, “I think we should go to the cabin next week.”

“Eddie…” you started softly, already panicking about the missed events the kids would have to make up, the packing, the-

“Stop,” he kissed your jaw, then hovered over your face so his big, brown, sweet eyes could look down at you, “I can hear the stress coming out of you, and I just got it all out.”

You laughed quietly, fingers pressing to your eyes as you shook your head. Unconvinced, and if you were tired before, he’d just made you even more so.

Eddie kissed at your fingers, your nose, your cheek until he was nudging at the fingers again with his nose.

“Baby, I promise, it’ll be a good vacation. I think we could all use it. And I swear, I’ll be the parent. You kick your heels up and get drunk on shitty wine with Katie, okay?”

And here you were, doing just that.

The late/early morning arrival was not the shit show you were sure it was going to be. The kids listened immediately about being quiet entering the cabin at the late hour, especially after Eddie said if everyone woke up, the entire day on the lake would be ruined.

You woke up, without an alarm, for the first time in…you didn’t know how long. Greeted in the kitchen by Steve’s wife, Katie, quietly squealing and grabbing you in a hug that seemed to melt the tension from your shoulders. Eddie handed you a steaming cup of a coffee accompanied with a kiss on your temple and a swat to Steve’s chest when he tried to do the same.

The kids were already showered, dressed, fed - fruit and waffles and minimal syrup thankfully - and outside playing. You had your suspicions this was all largely due to Steve and his wife’s doing. If you dwelled on it too long, the comparison to how much better they were at the whole parenting thing than you could drive you insane, so you tried to ignore it.

There was only one argument with Lacey about the Nintendo, and Eddie snatched it and pocketed it and simply shrugged at her scowl when he did and said, “Told ya, babe.” Michael complained about lunch, but only until Nora, Steve’s eldest and seventeen, said “Oh, I love chicken salad” with a wink in your direction. You’d never seen Michael eat so quickly before and he was a garbage disposal on a good day.

And now, your heels were “up” leaning against the deck’s railing from your spot on the floor, a wine glass was in your hand. Katie was telling you all about Nora’s new boyfriend, Charlie, who Steve positively hated, as Eddie and him stood nearby, with beers and watching meat on the grill or whatever men do.

“Charlie is the least of our worries though,” she waved her hand with an eye roll, sipping the pink wine with a grimace, “I mean, you know. They’re monsters. Why’d we have them again?”

You laughed, shaking your head, “If you think yours are monsters, mine might literally be the devil incarnate.”

She snorted into her glass and you laughed, swiping at your lips with a shrug, “Okay, too far. But god, they’re…I don’t know. But, seriously, you and Steve…”

Your voice fell as the boys yelled over the grill at two of the girls doing cartwheels dangerously close to the fire pit.

“You guys, you really know what you’re doing. You’re a good team.” You smiled sadly, looking at the back of Eddie’s head and then at her.

She was watching you closely, a tilt of her head like she was trying to figure you out, before she grabbed your hand and squeezed it and admitted, “I yelled at him about loading the dishwasher wrong last week. We didn’t talk for three days.” She frowned and shook her head and looked over at him and he flipped his spatula and winked at her and she smiled and turned back to you. “Things aren’t ever what they seem on the outside. We all have shit. It just matters if your shit is something you can trudge through together. If you can help clean it off each other.”

She frowned at the wine she started pouring. “I don’t think this wine is helping with my metaphors, but you get what I mean?”

You nodded, taking in Eddie’s profile as he talked with his hands and got louder as he told a story to Steve.

“Yeah, yeah I do.”

It was silent as you both stared at the guys, sipping your wine, until you whispered, “So he loaded it wrong, huh?”

“So wrong!” She exclaimed, grumbling, “Who puts plates all willy-nilly? They go in a straight, neat-”

“I said I was sorry!” Steve shouted from the grill, his hands on his hips as he glared at the two of you.

Katie stuck her tongue out at him and he shook his head with narrowed eyes and she grinned, a quiet and not as silent as they thought conversation about her paying for that later.

You looked away, smiling into your wine glass when you caught Eddie’s gaze. He looked a little shocked when you made eye-contact, his cheeks flushed pink and you cocked your head with bunched eyebrows at him.

An unanswered silent question though, because the kids all shouted as a black SUV pulled up the long, gravel driveway.

A tall, lanky body jumped out of the backseat of the car before it was even in park, a head full of bouncing red waves shooting across the grass towards the literal swarm of children screaming, “Aunt Robin!”

She was down, on the ground, in literal seconds, the children forming a nice heap on top of her that the four of you all yelled about getting off at the same time, sharing grins that only parents who grew up doing the same thing and feel wrong for telling them not to could.

Your eldest, was bounding over to the car, along with Olivia, ready for the third to round out the little trio of three musketeers - Zoey Wheeler.

As they hugged and squealed about being back together, you all started down the steps to greet the late arrivals.

You couldn’t help but notice Caroline standing a touch away from Olivia as the two other girls gossiped about something from school.

But then Nancy was enveloping her in a tight hug, “Hey kiddo, hear you’re gonna be in the windy city pretty soon.”

Too preoccupied with your own waving of arms to tell her to stop talking, you didn’t notice Eddie whip his head over at Steve, who blinked with his hands raised.

Your head fell as Caroline turned to you with curious eyes and a quiet, “What?”

Eddie opened his mouth to explain, but you were already talking, him blinking behind you.

“I…I haven’t even told your dad. It was supposed to be a surprise for your birthday. You and me, driving to Chicago to go to this dance store that Zoey and Olivia go to. It’s not new stuff, but their dance troop shops there and it’s all really nice stuff and - oof!”

Caroline’s arms were squeezing you harder than they ever had, face pressed against you as her words got lost and muffled, but didn’t lose their meaning when she said, “Thank you so much mom.”

Your fingers ran over her hair, lips pressed to the top of her head as you enjoyed the hug for as long as she’d let you. “Of course, honey. Happy early Birthday.”

The girls quickly started discussing what they’d do on the trip, and Nancy winced out an apology you told her was unnecessary as you hugged, all while Eddie gulped down his beer and Steve narrowed his eyes at him which made Eddie wave him off, grabbing another beer out of the cooler.

“I am in need of assistance,” Robin called weakly, from her spot on the ground, now abandoned by all the children who were quick to return to their activities.

Nancy sighed and drawled dramatically, “Coming, dear.”

Robin groaned from the ground, but giggled. “Thank you, sugar-pie.”

“Robs, I’ll leave you down there…” she warned.

“Fine,” Robin shrugged, blue eyes staring up at the matching sky, “Dingus will-”

He was already hoisting her up, and grabbing her in a big hug only the two of them could find comfortable from the amount of squeezing suffocation.

Nancy looked at you and Katie and sighed.

“Wine.”

You were both already handing your glasses over with smiles before she could finish the word.

She was thoroughly tipsy by her third glass, and the stress you could sense when she arrived - maybe it was a thing all you mom’s could sense, or maybe it was because of being old friends - was melted from her face as she called out, loudly, excitedly, “Robin!”

“Yes, my love?”

Robin’s legs swung as they dangled from her hoisted up spot on the railing by the men. A baseball hat turned backwards over waves tinted red and silver and a sly smirk resting on her lips as she looked at her wife with more love than should be possible in a human.

Nancy’s cheeks flushed and you all snickered into your glasses, because you all knew what was coming next.

“I, uh,” Nancy cleared her throat, as big, blue eyes tried to blink innocently, “I need to talk to you. Inside.”

Robin grinned and nodded, “Lead the way, Wheeler.”

Nancy frowned, but clumsily made her way inside with a giggle.

With a hop down, a salute, and a quiet, “Duty calls, boys,” Robin followed, all of your “boos” and “ow-ow-ow’s” slammed on by the door.

Katie pulled out a stack of cards, the boys finally came over and joined you, and your legs crossed over Eddie’s lap as you hid your deck from him with a terrible poker face.

He soothed his thumb over your ankle bone, wet his bottom lip before he grinned at you. “Baby, remind me to never take you to Vegas.”

“You have taken me to Vegas.” You touched your cards to your nose, hiding your grin.

Eddie sucked his teeth as he nodded, “Right, right, how could I forget.”

“Seriously dude,” Steve moaned at his cards, frowning, “Vegas was a mistake.”

Katie smacked the back of his head and he flinched, but with a glint in his gaze at her, “What the hell was that for.”

“They got Lacey because of Vegas,” she scolded, “It wasn’t a mistake.”

“Believe me, I remember. I don’t remember much, but that I do. It’s sort of hard to forget the results of that trip. What with the children who came out of it. Lacey, Annie and-”

“Luke is stupid!”

Steve sighed at the now sherbert colored sky. He groaned, “I knew it was too good to last.”

You rolled your eyes as you dropped your legs from Eddie’s lap as Lacey stomped up the stairs, huffing. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Eddie sit up, but you were already grabbing at your daughter’s crossed arms and pulling her towards you.

“Woah, super mean word, let’s think of a better one.”

“A buttface!” She frowned, but didn’t resist your embrace as she climbed onto your lap, a privilege that was fleeting.

“Nope, try again.” You shook your head, letting your chin rest on the top of her head as a hand soothed up her spine, while hers gestured wildly in search of the right word.

“He’s…he’s…impossible!”

You hummed, great word - especially for a seven year old.

“Why is he impossible?” You asked quietly, Katie taking the hint and getting Steve and Eddie to go back to a semi-normal conversation and their cards.

Lacey fiddled with your shirt collar, grumpy and big lips pouting just like her dad. “We were playing Dragons, and he said that I had to be the princess and stay in the tree house while he fought the dragon and saved me! I don’t want to just sit there!”

Steve smiled around the lip of his beer and Katie rolled her eyes, looking at you with a mouthed, “We’ll talk about that later.”

“Ah,” you adjusted in your seat, hugging her closer as her fingers roamed to the necklace around your throat. “I would be frustrated by that too. I like helping. I don’t want someone to come rescue me, either.”

You glanced up at Eddie who smiled softly at you, watching intently.

“Right. So I’m not playing. I don’t like him anymore,” she huffed, breath warm on your already sweaty skin and fingers leaving something sticky and smelling like pine trees all over you.

“You don’t, huh?”

“Nope,” she popped the ‘P’, but her gaze wandered over to the yard where the boy in question fought his sisters with sticks.

It took you a bit, and maybe you were just soaking up the smell of her strawberry shampoo, or the way she fit perfectly in your arms, but you finally asked softly, “Hey, you remember Dimitri and Anya?”

Lacey shifted with a dramatic sigh, but she nodded.

“I’m pretty sure they didn’t like each other either. But, then Anya showed him she could do anything he learned to do, right? And he listened to her? She helped save him in the end, remember?”

“Spoilers!” Steve grimaced and Lacey giggled which he smiled and booped her nose at.

“So,” you lifted your daughters chin, big eyes that reminded you of someone else peering at you unwaveringly as you continued, “You go tell that Harrington boy that Princesses can slay dragons too.”

“They can?” Lacey asked, unsure, unconfident, in a way that melted your heart, put it back together and melted it again.

You nodded and cleared your throat, trying not to cry. “Absolutely.”

She started to climb off of you, but you tugged at her waist, brushing a curl behind her ear as you smiled, “And baby?”

“Yeah?”

You kissed her forehead and whispered, “It’s okay to need some saving sometimes. If you want or need the help, kay?”

She nodded, kissed your cheek, and hopped off, bounding down the stairs with a sing-song call to her tone, “Ohhhh, Luuukkkee!”

Lifting the cards from the table, you smiled at the sound of your daughter antagonizing a Harrington and before you could make a jab at Steve, fingers were under your chin, and Eddie was tilting your head, lips on yours and stealing all of the air from your lungs.

His tongue swiped over your bottom lip and his hand cradled your jaw as you opened for him without thought, fingers curling into the fabric of his t-shirt until loud clearing of throats came from your right.

You broke away with a gasp, but Eddie pulled you back in for one more press of his lips and a whispered, “Sorry,” as he sat back down looking not sorry at all.

Steve tried to hide his grin as he threw a chip into the pile and Katie grinned at you as she quipped, “Wow, guys, you’re worse than the lovebirds inside.”

Eddie didn’t look up from his cards, but he raised his eyebrows. “I seem to recall an incident in my home on my kitchen counter on my daughter’s first birthday, Katherine.”

“Touche, Edward, touche,” she beamed as Steve choked on his beer.

He quickly changed the subject, swiping beer from his lips as he looked at you. “You’re gonna have to show me how you did that.”

Your wine glass froze halfway to your mouth and he laughed, coughed, covered his mouth with his fist. “I meant the talk with Lace. Not the kissing. Now that you guys’ll be closer we can…”

Eddie hung his head as Steve trailed off and you quirked an eyebrow. “Closer?”

Katie took a large gulp of her wine and Steve gestured to the grill with a hook of his thumb over his shoulder, “I’m gonna…”

“I’ll help!” Katie jumped up and followed.

“Eddie, what’s going on?”

He sighed, set his cards down, scooted his chair closer to you before his hands grabbed yours.

“I got a promotion, sort of.”

“Wh-what? Eddie, that's great!” You squeezed his hands, your heart hammering in your chest because he wasn’t looking at you still. The knowledge that there wasn’t really room for a teacher to get promoted stirring in your brain. “Wait, how…”

He grimaced, thumbs swiping over your knuckles as he nodded. “Right, yeah. So, it’s not so much a promotion, as it is a completely different job, at a completely different school. Or um, University.”

“In…in Chicago?” You were starting to piece it all together.

“Mhm,” he hummed, biting at his bottom lip that you instinctively reached up and pulled away from his teeth gently. He finally looked up at you, worried, and apologetic, but hopeful. “It’s, it’s a really great job. Tons of benefits. At the university. Way more pay. Flexible hours. I’d-I’d be home so much more. And I know, I know that moving is insane. But I just…”

He rambled, and you got lost, because you were thinking about telling the kids, about uprooting your entire life, about never seeing the patch of wall that the kids heights were on again. Your routine, your system, your grocery store, all pulled out from under you.

But then you then thought about how you’d only been on this vacation for a day and how much less stressed you were. How Steve and Katie and Robin and Nancy would be in the same city as you again. About how happy your kids were with all of them, how happy you were with them. The support you’d have. The promise of more time with Eddie. The adventure.

“Okay,” you said softly, interrupting whatever he was saying.

Eddie blinked at you, mouth parted in surprise.

“Okay? Okay what?”

You shrugged.

“Okay, let’s do it. Let’s move. Take the job.”

Eddie swallowed, he scooted closer and he cupped your jaw, thumbs grazing over your cheekbones as he murmured. “Okay, let’s do it, like you’re excited and want to, or okay let’s do it, like you don’t think you have a choice and you’re stressed and sad and I’m gonna have to unlock the door with the screwdriver again?”

“I mean,” you laughed, brushing over the worried lines of his forehead as you did, “Okay let’s do it. It’s gonna suck to move and tell the kids, but I think…”

They always tell you, you see stuff in slow motion in moments of panic, fear, but you never really believe it until it happens to you - seeing it all happen before it did.

“Oh my god!”

You were pushing back from Eddie, yelling your daughter’s name as she climbed up a tree, her foot about to step on a branch that looked dead and rotting even from this distance, and then she was falling.

There was a boy shouting beneath her, and his older sister’s shouting at him, screams of mom and dad that all four of you raced towards.

Everyone’s footsteps except Eddie’s slowed when you saw the eyelids fluttering over brown eyes pooling with big, crocodile tears and the leg already swelling with bright red trickling down from it.

Katie was shouting about grabbing the girl’s from inside, about ambulances and driving. Steve was pulling at all the other kids, reassuring them it was fine, and Eddie was focused on Lacey and Luke.

You don’t really remember what you did. You had arms around you and you spoke, but you don’t know what you said. Ushered into a car by big hands and a little one grasping yours tightly.

In the end, all it was, was a deep gash in her leg, nothing broken. Luke a little worse for wear with a fractured wrist, but he beamed when Lacey signed her name on the cast and asked you how to spell Princess before it, then kissed his cheek and told him thank you for saving her.

The rest of the week was the same as the first day after that, save for the two kids who huddled next to each other on the couch on the deck, their temples pressed together as they shouted at the screen of the Nintendo Eddie gave back almost immediately. Day three of watching his kid that close to a Harrington boy made him rethink the whole move and said it wasn’t happening anymore, which Steve promptly replied with, “Dude, they’re seven. Wait till she’s seventeen and dating a guy named Charlie.”

Nora’s head had perked up from coloring with the younger kids, an expression almost identical to her father’s as she scowled. “I thought you liked Charlie!”

“I do, I do sweetie.” Steve rubbed at his temple and gave Eddie and you a look that said he really did not like Charlie.

Time moved too quickly, and the light-hearted moments turned to memories, and soon bags were packed by the front door, and everyone was restlessly sleeping, not ready to say goodbye just yet.

Which is how you found yourself quietly making your way down the stairs to the kitchen, when you woke up to the empty bed and cold sheets.

You found him in the living room, eyes glued to the hand held device, his thumbs jabbing at it while he frowned.

“She wasn’t kidding,” he whispered, the girl in question tucked into his lap, her leg propped up on a pillow and drool spilling down his white shirt.

His arms flexed with each press, tattoos that were rarely on display anymore dancing under each movement. Short curls that the flecks of gray in stood out in the moonlight. Lines of worry and laughter all over his face, brown eyes gifted to all of your children because of the same ones maintaining their gaze on the console.

You slid onto the couch next to him, curling into his side with a yawn and a gentle rearrange of Lacey’s legs onto your lap. Fingers gesturing for him to give it to you.

Eddie handed it over, his arm scooping Lacey closer to his chest while his other wrapped around your shoulders.

You kept your eyes on the game as you whispered, “I’m sorry.”

The breath huffed out of his nose hit your jaw as he quietly laughed, “Babe, what?”

Mario leaped over blocks as you told him again, “I’m sorry. I froze, I don’t know what happened. Thank you for taking care of her, of all of them, I don’t-”

“We’re a team,” he kissed your cheek, his smile stayed pressed to your skin, “You know, a wise woman once said, ‘it’s okay to need some saving sometimes. If you want or need the help.’”.

A hum from your lips that fought a smile as his fingers squeezed your shoulder. You couldn’t help but grin at the screen though, when you pressed A for the final time.

“I think I know her. Same lady who said Princesses can slay dragons, too, right?”

The screen lit up with little fireballs, trills and chimes coming from the console signifying you beat Bowser - this time, all of which you quickly tried to cover up as Eddie shushed.

“Mommy,” her sleepy voice muffled in his chest.

“Yeah, sweetie?” You whispered, console silenced.

“Volume,” word almost lost to the yawn she gave before she was snuggling back into the crook of Eddie’s elbow and was out again.

Eddie tried not to snort or let his laughter shake her as your mouth fell open in shock and he took the Nintendo back, moving on to the next level.

You shook your head at your daughter, and glanced down at her wrapped and injured leg, at the peaceful features of her sleeping face.

“Man, you’re lucky you’re so cute,” you sighed.

It was silent for a while, and your eyelids started to flutter closed too, when Eddie spoke again.

“I totally thought Bowser was a turtle.”

#eddie munson #dad!eddie munson #stranger things fanfiction #superbly subpars writing #cw alcohol #cw injury #cw blood #easy like sunday morning universe #easy like sunday morning AU

145 notes · View notes

chocopuchino · 5 months

Text

cw: SFW, FLUFF

BOKUAKA. BOKKUN AND MSBY <3 I made this in 20 mins, idk shit about motorcycles and streets in english so don't come at me pls (ducati bike looks good) and yes this is the elaboration for my biker bokuto koutarou thought ᕙ⁠(⁠ ⁠ ⁠•⁠ ⁠‿⁠ ⁠•⁠ ⁠ ⁠)⁠ᕗ

MSBY BJ at their prime locker talks but they're flexing their rides. Someone has a Ferrari, someone a Porsche, someone a Lamborghini and the list goes on, until a very intrigued Bokuto chimes in with a smirk, talking over.

"oh, you guys have cars? that's cool! I don't have one, 'cause I ride a motorcycle. :D"

The team immediately whips their head in disbelief to look at Bokuto, who's currently topless and confused at the stares.

"You... you have a motorcycle?" Sakusa asks with uncertainty, pointing a finger at him.

"Seriously, Bokkun? I don't believe ya one bit. You, out of everyone? No way," Atsumu laughs, pulling over a t-shirt on top of him.

"Woah, seriously Bokuto-san? You have a motorcycle? How come? We've never seen it, and we haven't seen you on it!" Hinata questions, and the whole team agrees.

In the span of a moment, from his overly big and messy gym bag, he pulls out a car— no, a key. A black, motorcycle key. with a smidge of red shaped like a shield at the top, silver borders with a strike in between, and the word DUCATI written neatly.

And as much as the men don't want to believe it, they're now suddenly faced to.

"Tadaa! Isn't she just gorgeous?" Bokuto exclaims proudly.

"Isn't... Akaashi-san a boy though?" Hinata asks confusedly.

Practice is over and they're all in front of the gym, seeing how Akaashi parks the bike in front of them, dusting his coat off and fixing his glasses as he makes his way towards him. He politely bows to them.

"Akaashi Keiji, editor in shonen manga magazines in a major publishing company. Bokuto-san had asked me to bring his bike over, so here it is." Akaashi greets calmly, glancing at everyone's faces, smiling a little at seeing Hinata.

"I-I meant the bike. Not Akaashi, but even though it's still true! both things. they're both gorgeous." Bokuto exclaims, hiding his embarrassment and stuttering, his cheeks warming up. He gently pecks Akaashi on the cheek, quite literally shocking the whole team (he forgot to tell them he's dating keiji) and asks once again.

"So, who wants a ride first !!?"

——————

"w-woah!! Bokuto-san, so fast!!!" Shoyo yells, clutching onto Bokuto even tighter. Bokuto leans front, increasing speed, fully focused on the road, not a single sound coming out of him. Shoyo's eyes sparkle at his energetic, loud and owl-like senpai, currently very quiet, serious and very cool looking.

After a quick round around a nearby highway, they're back again In front of the gym, the volleyball team surprised at seeing Shoyo in one piece. (bokuto obliged them to wait, akaashi kept them entertained.)

Shoyo gets off the bike, taking off the helmet, wobbly making his way to the men staring at him, arms dangling off his shoulders, almost able to puke. His hair is a mess after wearing the helmet, while Bokkun's hair looks even spikier. He grips on Atsumu's sleeve and almost collapses, clearing his throat and looking up at him— big shiny stars in his eyes.

"that was super cool!! You have to get on, Bokuto-san is an amazing driver!!! You might not believe me, but he was insanely quiet, he looked so cool and serious too!! I really, really didn't expect him to drive like that!!" Shoyo exclaims, looking over at the other men staring at him in disbelief.

Atsumu's eyes widen and he scoffs, taking Shoyo's hands off his sleeve, making his way towards owl head. "No way, Shoyo can't be serious? You? Quiet? Yeahhhhhhh... Can't believe 'at. Give me a ride and we'll see, yeah?"

the whole of MSBY rode Bokuto's bike that evening, and, never underestimated or didn't believe him ever again.

#haikyuu!!#haikyuu fanfiction #haikyuu drabbles #bokuto koutaro #akaashi keiji #msby #msby jackals #msby black jackal #hinata shoyo #atsumu miya #bokuto koutarou #haikyuu #hq

20 notes · View notes

planetpiastri · 1 year

Text

[1] old flames

summary - when you and jake were growing up, everyone expected you to be the perfect small-town romance. but then you moved away, leaving jake heartbroken behind you. years have passed, and with a local wedding looming on the horizon, a reunion between two old lovers is inevitable. now both you and jake find yourselves confronted by feelings you thought were long buried.

warnings - small town/hometown au, farmhand!jake, gn!reader, no use of y/n, reader is nicknamed 'boots,' small town inaccuracies probably, typical ex-level angst, alcohol mention, takes place in a fake town in missouri so do with that what you will

word count - 2.5k

this blog is 18+, minors please don't interact

yours for the weekend masterlist

“Hey, Seresin! Good to see you.”

Jake grinned, setting the heavy bag of grain down on the counter. “Just like every other day, right, Mr. Cain?”

Mr. Cain shared an exasperated glance with the other old farmer standing beside him, shaking his head and tutting. “Check out the cheek on this kid.”

In reply, Mr. Metcalf held his hand over the counter and Jake shook it firmly. Mr. Metcalf gave him a nod and said with a teasing smile, “Maybe it’s good to see you every day, Jake.”

“Stop flirting, Mike,” replied Jake, quick as a whip. “You’re married.”

Both old men laughed, clapping each other on the back. Mr. Cain pulled out the cash he owed Jake for the delivery, and Jake shook both men’s hands one more time before tipping his hat and leaving the store, letting the screen door close on the old farmers’ amused chortles.

Just another day in Silver Springs, Missouri.

Jake loved his town. It was damn near impossible to find on a map unless you knew what you were looking for, and the only type of tourist they got were the ones who took the wrong highway exit on their way to St. Louis. Jake probably could name every single person who lived on Main Street, and he could definitely name everyone who lived out on the backroads. When he walked around town, folks called out his name and said ‘hello’—folks who had known him since he was a kid, and his parents before him.

Silver Springs was the definition of ‘smalltown,’ so every year it had a whole flock of folks eager to get out. But for all the reasons people were itching to leave, Jake was happy to stay.

Even on his short walk from the front door of Cain’s General Supply back to his pick-up truck parked on the curb, three different people called out to him with a friendly ‘hello,’ and he returned their greetings with a charming smile and an easy wave.

He kept his window rolled down as he drove slowly back towards the Farm’n’Feed, ready to go and spend his day making another round of deliveries. People walked up and down Main Street, taking care of chores. These were good, sturdy people. These were the people Jake loved.

He pulled into the lot next to the Farm’n’Feed and didn't bother to lock his truck door. Spinning his keys on his finger, he shouldered the front door open. It squeaked on its hinges, drowning out the jingle of the tiny bell he attached above the door nearly five years ago.

“Hey, Jake,” said his boss, Mr. Simpson, without even looking up. He was at the front counter, the ledger open in front of him, a pencil in hand. “How was Chester?”

“Friendly as always,” replied Jake, walking around the counter and into the back office to start grabbing his next delivery. “Mike Metcalf was with him.”

“Oh, really? How’s he doing?”

“Same old, same old.”

“Glad to hear it.”

Jake grabbed two bags of fertilizer, balancing them on one shoulder, and stepped right back outside. With only three trips, he’d loaded up his truck with everything he’d need to take on this delivery round. He stepped back inside to let Mr. Simpson know he was about to take off again, but at that moment an old silver Honda pulled up to the curb outside.

“Carole,” Jake and Mr. Simpson said in unison.

Sure enough, barely thirty seconds later a haggard-looking Carole Bradshaw pushed into the Farm’n’Feed, shoving a fistful of yellow curls out of her face as she did. She beamed when she saw Jake, throwing her arms out and wrapping him up in a warm, motherly hug.

“Good to see you, Jakey,” she said cheerfully. “How’s life treating you?”

“Can’t complain, Carole,” he hummed back, leaning against the counter and drumming his fingers on the wood. “What brings you in today?”

Carole puffed up her cheeks and sighed, immediately making a beeline for the bulk dog food. “Chicken’s tired of the old flavor, so Goose sent me to grab something new. Why he spoils that dog rotten, I’ll never know.” But even as she said it, her voice dripped with fondness for her husband and their old lab.

Mr. Simpson chuckled, shaking his head and marking something in the ledger. “What I don’t understand is why you still have a dog named after poultry.”

“Well, I can’t change it, can I, Beau?” cried Carole, scandalized. “Bradley’d be heartbroken! He loves that dog.”

At the mention of his old school buddy, Jake perked up. “Speaking of—heard from him lately, Carole? Bradley, I mean?”

“Oh, sure,” she sighed, scanning the dog food options. “He’s a good boy, he calls every week if he can. I’ll probably give him a ring later to let him know about the wedding. He’d love to come back for it, I’m sure, and we’d love to see him.”

Mr. Simpson exchanged a confused glance with Jake, who said, “What wedding?”

Carole spun around, her eyes wide. Her hands flew up to her face, barely covering the gasp she let out. Then she was rushing forward, grabbing Jake by the cheeks and crying out, “You haven’t heard? Oh, Jake! Pete finally did it—he asked Penny to marry him! They’re getting hitched, Jake!”

Mr. Simpson gave a low whistle. “Old Penny Benjamin is finally making an honest man out of Mav, huh? Never thought I’d see the day.”

“Ain’t that something,” mumbled Jake, laughing as Carole planted a kiss on his forehead before forcefully releasing him. She strode back over to the dog food, decisively grabbed a bulk bag, and slammed it down on the counter.

“Chicken for Chicken,” she said. “If he doesn’t like it… well… if he doesn’t like it, then I guess I’ll be back here tomorrow.”

Then she was hefting the impressive bag under her arm, kissing Jake on the cheek again, and vanishing through the front door with an excited whoop: “Pete and Penny Mitchell, coming soon to a Silver Springs near you!”

Jake and Mr. Simpson chuckled, pleasantly amused by Carole’s antics. It was impossible not to love Carole Bradshaw; she was the mother, or the sister, or the aunt, or the niece, that everyone in town wished they had. She’d been there for Jake countless times growing up, and she still invited him to dinner with her and her husband almost every time she saw him in town.

When he’d been at his lowest, the Bradshaws had been there for him. He would always be grateful for that.

“Penny Mitchell,” mused Mr. Simpson aloud, pulling Jake from his thoughts. Then he laughed, shaking his head. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

“More like Pete Benjamin,” said Jake.

Mr. Simpson laughed. “Go on, Jake, get outta here before Kazansky starts calling me asking where his delivery is. I’ll hold down the fort here.”

Jake nodded, swiping his keys off the counter and stepping back out into the warm, midday sunlight of Silver Springs. He inhaled the clear air and kicked at a pebble on the sidewalk, enjoying the way it clattered down the pavement. The gravel crunched under his boots as he approached his truck, yanking the door open and climbing in. He whistled along to a bluegrass song on the radio, waving ‘hello’ to everyone he passed on the road.

Just another day in Silver Springs.

Jake’s keys clattered onto the table in his foyer as he stumbled home, tired and worn-out from a hard day’s work. The sun hung low in the sky, turning his living room a beautiful orange color. He toed off his boots and kicked the front door shut behind him, stepping into the big, empty space he called home.

Years ago, when he’d bought this place, he’d dreamed of getting a dog, or some horses and sheep, if not a proper family. But it was like all the old ladies whispered when he passed them on their porches—he was married to his work. He just didn’t have the time for it.

So the three-bedroom fixer-upper on the edge of town had become the quietest bachelor pad in existence, and every time Jake came home, his footsteps echoed across the hardwood floors.

He sighed, remembering what Kazansky had said when Jake had dropped off his order of fertilizer.

“You heard about the wedding, I bet?” Kazansky mumbled, marking the delivery in his ledger before pulling out his checkbook.

“Yes, sir,” said Jake, his eyes scanning the decor in Kazansky’s old game supply store.

Kazansky grunted, scribbling his signature on a check. He tore it out with a clean r-r-r-rip and said, “Can't believe Mav beat you to the altar, Jake. What happened to that nice girl you were seeing? The one at the bank?”

Jake swallowed. “Haven’t talked to her for a while.”

Mrs. Kazansky poked her head out of the back office, tutting disapprovingly. “A boy like you, chronically single—it doesn’t make sense, Jake!”

“You’ve got the job, the house on the hill, but nothing else,” agreed Mr. Kazansky. “About time to start settling down, don’t you think?”

“Sure,” sighed Jake, determinedly not looking either Kazansky in the eye.

“Oh, I know!” cried Mrs. Kazansky, snapping her fingers. “What about that childhood sweetheart of yours? Heard anything lately? You two had the cutest nicknames for each other—what was it again? Boots?”

Jake’s heart thudded uncomfortably and he took the check from Mr. Kazansky, pocketing it and signing off his name in the ledger. “Radio silence,” he said gruffly. “I’ll see you around, Tom. Sarah.”

Then he left as quickly as he could, his stomach queasy.

Back in his house, he crossed into the kitchen and pulled open the refrigerator, in desperate need of a beer after the amount of wedding chit-chat he’d had to make that day. He uncapped it with the bottle opener attached to his counter and started to drink it right there in the kitchen, leaning his lower back against the island.

His fridge was covered in photographs and cards—the most recent of which being Pete and Penny’s save the date. But buried under a stack of postcards from Bradley was one he tried to ignore. And that was precisely the one he carefully removed from its place.

Jake wasn’t supposed to have it anymore. When you’d left, he’d shoved all the memories of you into a box and thrown it in the back of his childhood closet. But when he moved here, he’d been going through some old books, and one stray photograph had fallen out, like an abandoned makeshift bookmark.

When he realized what it was, he’d tried to throw it out. But then somehow it had ended up on his fridge, half-hidden by the other cards there. And now, a decade later, it was still there—frayed and fading, but there. A memory. Proof that it was real.

It was you and him, the summer after your senior year. Both of your faces were blurry and red from the flash of the camera. His haircut was terrible, but you were beautiful. Your lips were pressed clumsily to his cheek, one hand splayed across the side of his head, and you were both laughing. The orange glow of a bonfire burned behind the two of you.

As the sun set over Jake’s lonely farmhouse, he drank his beer in silence and gently held that old photograph. And when the light finally faded, he gingerly replaced it behind Bradley’s postcards and went to bed.

Your feet ached as your elevator slowly came to a stop on your floor, settling into place with an audible clunk. The doors slid open noisily and you stepped out, relishing the click of your work shoes on the wooden floor as you made your way to your apartment.

You fumbled for your keys, shoving your mail under your armpit and fighting back a yawn. You’d had to go in to work early that morning due to a payment emergency with one of your clients. All was well now, but it did mean you’d be taking less money for this particular case. Not that you minded; you worked with civilian cases because you cared about them, not because they paid well.

The door stuck in the frame, so you shoved it open with your shoulder. It shrieked as it swung open, then shrieked again as you kicked it closed.

“Shut up,” you mumbled, immediately pulling off your shoes and leaving them in the entryway. You tossed your keys down in the bowl you kept by the door and padded quietly across the floor, not even bothering to turn a light on despite the fact that the sun had set long ago.

You tossed the small stack of mail down on your kitchen counter and opened the fridge, pulling out a beer and a box of leftover Chinese food. Still in complete darkness, you put it in the microwave and punched a few numbers. Then you grabbed your bottle opener off its hook on the wall and uncapped your beer, taking a long swig before finally flicking on a light switch.

You carded idly through the stack of mail as your microwave hummed behind you. Same old, same old—bills and ads and notices that bored you out of your mind. But as you tossed them to the side, a manila card with navy blue lettering slid free

Curious, you lifted up the piece of cardstock, angling it in the light.

Save The Date! Penny Benjamin & Pete Mitchell July 19th Silver Springs, Missouri

Your heart leaped into your chest. “Holy shit,” you whispered, staring at the card. Your feet began to lead you down the hall towards your bedroom, ignoring the microwave beeping behind you. You flicked the light on, illuminating your unmade bed and messy floor, but you ignored it all. You set the card down gently on your desk and got down on your hands and knees, pulling the dusty old box out of its place under your bed.

You hadn’t touched it in months, and you hadn’t touched it sober in years. But now, with your beer in hand, you lifted the lid and let yourself get lost in a sharp haze of memories.

The boots were soft, brown leather. You knew they still fit; your foot size hadn’t changed since you were sixteen. But you pushed them aside and found the faded, sepia photograph that you tried to pretend didn’t exist. The only physical memory you had from those dreamy years with your first love.

You weren’t sure who had taken it; Bradley, maybe, or Natasha. It was at one of your late-summer bonfires. You and Jake were fast asleep, both curled up in the same hammock. Most of your bodies were impossible to make out. His arm was thrown over your waist, draping off the side of the hammock. Your hair covered most of his face. But the hammock was small, so both sets of your legs were hanging off the edge, intertwined and impossible to tell who started where.

And on the end of both sets of legs were matching cowboy boots.

The same boots sitting in the box in front of you now.

You sighed heavily and pinched the bridge of your nose. Throwing your head back, you drained half the beer in one long gulp. Then you flipped over Pete and Penny’s card, saw the website address there, and reached for your laptop in order to RSVP.

masterlist

@harringtonbf / @spideystevie / @almightyellie / @sunlitide / @holypowell

#jake seresin #jake hangman seresin #jake seresin fanfic #jake seresin fic #jake seresin series #jake hangman seresin fanfic #jake hangman seresin fic #jake hangman seresin series #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin x you #jake hangman seresin x reader #jake hangman seresin x you #yours for the weekend #the road back home #vinny fics

107 notes · View notes

rhaenyyras · 1 year

Text

another steddie snippet ~ steve helps eddie get ready for BATtle in the RV 🦇

It's a challenge not to stare too closely. Eddie looks up at the ceiling while Steve continues fidgeting with the clasp of the belt, his soft fingers brushing against the tight fabric of Eddie's jeans. The RV must hit a small bump in the road because the whole place jolts forward and Steve has to grab on to Eddie's thigh to steady himself. He waits for the RV to resumes its normal page and gets back to it.

Then in one swift movement, the belt is buckled up and it's done. Steve stands back, soft gaze glancing over the belt as it hangs loosely on Eddie's waist. He wants to joke that Steve take a picture but suddenly his throat is dry. Eddie spins around to get a look at himself in the mirror. The belt doesn't look half bad. Actually, it's pretty badass, except it could probably be a little tighter. Eddie also notices the silver chain that he usually loops on his pants is all tangled up on the belt so he needs to fix that up.

Eddie hops up onto the sink, apparently having not learnt his lesson to sit there while the RV is moving. He stretches back to unhook the silver chain from his belt loop and catches Steve in the mirror, staring very obviously as Eddie works on clasping his chain to the bullet belt. It kinda throws Eddie off, mostly because it's totally new to him that Steve is into dudes.

And of all the dudes, he's into Eddie?

It's going to take some getting used to. Steve looking at him like that. Eddie feels his cheeks burn red under Steve's gaze but he plays it cool. He flashes Steve a quick smile as he finally hooks up the chain to the bullet belt. Since he's already up there, Eddie decides to tighten his belt a loop or two. He unfastens it and glances up at Steve again.

"So, now that it's finally on..What are your thoughts on the belt?" Eddie arches an eyebrow. "Too much? Not enough? What do you rate it on a scale of one to total badass?"

Steve laughs. "Oh, total badass."

"Woah, total badass? Seriously, dude?"

Steve, in his best Eddie impression, smirks and says, "Seriously, dude."

Which makes Eddie roll his eyes and try not to smile.

Steve quickly adds, "Those bats will fly the other way when they see you in that."

Eddie snorts a laugh. "Pretty sure I'll be the one going the other way, but thanks. I appreciate your support."

Steve shrugs like it's no big deal. He watches quietly as Eddie readjusts the belt, looping it together and doing the clasp up all on his own. And under Steve's attentive gaze no less. Feeling pretty pleased with himself, Eddie grins and is about to start bragging when the RV hits another bump as it leaves the forest and moves towards the highway.

Only this time, it's a much bigger bump.

Eddie goes flying off the sink again. Luckily, Steve is there to catch him as he goes crashing to the floor. Where Eddie falls, Steve becomes solid and catches him. Somehow, Steve manages to keep his footing and holds them both upright, using a nearby wall for support to steady them.

The Winnebago resumes it usual pace and Nancy calls out a quick apology. Funnily enough, Eddie has zero complaints about the whole thing because it led to Steve catching him in his arms. And really, who could complain about that?

#steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #steddie fic

57 notes · View notes

witchofthesouls · 1 year

Note

Team Prime learns (and maybe meets) some cryptids/urban legends

(Heads up, the last one includes death. It starts with "A wolf sits at the side of the...")

The less Ratchet thinks about the rude, little shit of a jackalope, the better off he is. It dented the side of his alt-mode, gouging deep as it insulted his intelligence when he pulled off the road.

To be fair, it's even smaller than a typical human and highly drunk as it slurred a warning about "idiot tourists staying after the sun sets" and "stupid big folk" and "Great Hunting."

It doesn't help that no one else believes him. Oh, sure: ghostly apparitions are fine, but a talking, big-antlered rabbit isn't?

The kids would roll their eyes and think he's trying too hard.

Optimus enjoys people-watching. He enjoys being part of the crowd. None distinguishable from the rest of the men when he uses his holomatter. There’s an old man that’s always at the bar. Hair long since grey, skin full of liver spots and translucent, back stooped, and yet he can out-drink everyone in the vicinity. His body is old and creaky, but his mind is still sharp, his tongue silver, and his hands fast on a fiddle.

Jack is his name. He’s well-acquainted with Optimus, who goes by Leo Cullen, as they struck up an odd friendship at the bar counter. Both are familiar with surviving in the true wild lands, with getting out of sticky situations and too-powerful authority figures, and ruminating on Gone Things.

Old Man Jack with his quick tongue and tired eyes carries a lantern carved from a turnip, and whenever the man and holomatter walk out together, Jack lights it up before his feet touch the ground outside.

Eventually, Optimus will be able to see how the shadows play with its light, the swirling color and shifting patterns on the turnip’s face, and Jack asks him:

“Did you make a piss-poor deal with the devil, too?”

On the outskirts of Jasper at the abandoned roads, there’s a different kind of race for a different breed of thrill-seekers, adrenaline junkies, and lost souls.

When the wind blows right and the night is dark, people race against the coyotes of dust and sand. With eerie eyes and haunting voices, they group together to form sandstorms as they chase after tires and wipe away the roads.

To the winners, howls will crown their victory as Jasper is right in their line of sight. To the losers, a storm will sweep over the area and wash all traces of the racer. Howls will welcome the newest member of the pack.

Arcee goes out there without anyone else and races. The sand scrapes over her plates, ghostly jaws snap over her tires, and her spark thrums wild as she cannot see anything in front, nor behind her, as the storm swallows her whole.

She wins. She manages to overcome them and they howl at her victory.

Neither of them spoke of it, but when Bulkhead and Cliffjumper raced on an empty stretch of East coast highway under icy conditions, they saw a battle raging in the sea.

A massive serpentine shape with shades of onyx and midnight blues is wrapped around an equally massive squid-like form. Tentacles thrash, deadly hooks swirl within its suckers as it tries to puncture the serpent’s scales, and waves crash upon the rocky beach, the seawater rising high to meet the road. They see the foamy water pulling back and turning, turning, turning-

And then the serpent unhinges its jaw, wide enough to take a chunk out of the Ark, serrated and swordlike teeth gleam wickedly in the distance, and it sinks into the fat head and twists-

The squid turns a ghastly white and the water calms as the victor and its prey disappear into deeper waters, the sea rippling and distorting before evening out.

“This planet has giant Quintessons.” This planet has a bigger critter that eats the giant Quintesson.” “Primus save us…”

A wolf sits at the side of the road. It’s the same wolf at the same point of the road, all the time, rain and shine. Bumblebee pulls over during his free time, and he notices it bleeding from its mouth and collar on its neck before it darts into the woods behind it.

Bumblebee doesn’t go after it because his comm rings and it’s Decepticon activity. He leaves and feels its heavy gaze upon his bumper.

The next time he stops, it’s still bleeding from its mouth and it moves to the tree line. It stops and looks back, beckoning him and Bumblebee follows.

The terrain is rough and there’s no set pavement, but he can handle it. It moves like the wind, speeding fast as it darts and weaves between trees.

If Bumblebee wasn’t a Cybertronian and so intuitively in control of his alt-mode, he would have run over the wolf that now lies on its belly on the ground.

His holomatter approaches slowly and it paws the ground, whining, pushing away the dead leaves and muck.

Bumblebee digs deep and finds a familiar collar, he also finds bones and patches of faded cloth scraps.

He keeps tabs on the location’s local news when it finally breaks: an old couple gets their closure on their son and the family’s wolfdog that went missing decades ago. Fingers, adult ones, were stuck in the wolfdog's throat.

83 notes · View notes

three--rings · 10 months

Text

Car Accidents for Writers and/or The Curious

So two days ago (as of first writing it's now been two weeks) I was in a major car accident at highway speed. Luckily, I'm mostly okay, my car protected me and only my heel is broken. But going through that was an experience and a very weird and foreign one so I wanted to write it down, especially for any writers depicting car crashes.

So first of all I was driving a brand new 2023 Kia Forte. A car with lots of technical bells and whistles, full modern safety everything. Thank god, although it was only 3 months old, it probably saved me from further injury.

So what happened immediately before the crash is what I'm most hazy about in my mind. I remember seeing the car on the left, it was at a crossroads where my highway traffic doesn't stop, but the crossroad traffic does. So I THINK the other car was stopped at the intersection when I first saw him, but honestly I am not sure. I saw the car, it was heading for the space in front of me, and I had time to think "he's gonna see me and stop right...what the FUCK" --impact.

(Edit: Two weeks later - Upon thinking more about it, I think that I saw him start to move but thought he was surely turning right, because he wouldn't go straight when I was right there. It would have been perfectly legal for him to turn right then. But then by the time I realized he wasn't turning and was coming right for the space in front of me...it was too late to do anything.)

Rest of the post cut for EXTREME Length as well as accident details and medical details of the ER trip both of which could be triggering. Nothing bad or gory or anything, just, some people might not want to read them.

I think I may have actually been yelling WHAT THE FUCK as I hit him. It felt like I had a split second to hit the brake, which was not nearly enough time to accomplish something. In that I did hit the brake but it barely slowed me before I hit. I was traveling around 70 mph (which is the speed limit there).

So the impact. All I remember is sudden whiteness blocking my view, along with the force, something impacting me in the face. I had a split second where I thought "Okay this is it, this is real, I might be about to die." (Note: I was also able to accurately report where on the car I hit (rear passenger door) but not the type of car. I said sedan, but it was a minivan. I said white, it was silver.)

Oh and right as the impact happened, as I saw the door of the car I was about to hit, right before the airbag popped, I had the thought/sensation of "wait, no, do it again, wait rewind, wait, reload the game." It was the sensation that I, as a gamer, have when I fuck up in a video game. The instinct that has you reach for the pause button or the reload button or whatever. That's what I felt, except of course it was real life and I couldn't try that again.

So the air bag popped and blocked all of my view, so I suddenly had no idea where I was, which way I was headed, etc. Except the car was still moving, my foot was probably/possibly still on the brake and my hands were I think still on the wheel. (All of this, I don't really know for sure.) Probably not still steering, but I feel like I was? IDK.

The next thing I knew I felt a second impact as my car hit a metal pole with a highway sign on it, shearing it off entirely. I saw the sign fly past my car through whatever gap was visible to the upper left side past the airbag. So I knew what I had hit. After that I was on grass and the car came to a pretty quick stop. (note this car also has auto-braking when it senses something in front of you, but obviously it couldn't stop itself fast enough either. )

So the car stopped and I was sitting there and my first thought was "okay I have to get out of the car." I could smell smoke and oil/fluidy smells and my car was making a bunch of weird sounds so I was scared it might catch on fire or whatever. So I reached under the side airbag which was blocking the top half of the door and opened my car door, which opened fine. I undid my seatbelt and grabbed for my phone from it's place on the center console under the dash. I knew in my dazed brain that my phone was Important. I needed to Call Someone? Maybe 911? Maybe my husband?

So, clutching my phone in a death grip (not thinking about taking anything else) I crawled under the side airbag and basically fell out of the car onto the grass.

Immediately upon trying to get out I knew my right ankle was hurt. I've had a lot of ankle sprains in my life and I looked down and saw it starting to swell and knew I couldn't stand on it.

Pretty much immediately, or within seconds there were people there. There was a gas station on the corner so either they were there or they were stopped at the intersection waiting to turn going the opposite direction from me. (God I've just thought I could have easily hit them if I'd gone left instead of right. . . that was lucky.)

The two people who arrived, who had witnessed it were a black man and a white woman, I can vaguely picture them, though couldn't pick them out of a lineup fyi. They kept offering to help me up and I told them no, my ankle is hurt, I can't stand. They asked if anyone was in the car and needed help and I said no. As new people arrived I heard them tell new people that no one was trapped. I guess I was vaguely aware that there was a second car also stopped, but I filed that under Someone Else's Problem and focused on me.

Oh wait, I've just remembered I think I was standing on one foot, holding onto the door at first, when the woman came up and asked if I was hurt. Because I was brushing off my front...so here we get into weird details okay. So I was wearing a steel boned corset under my clothes that I always wear when I go out, for back support. It's custom made by me. And I noticed right away that the impact had bent the front busk of the corset. This is a heavy duty steel busk, extra wide, so it's almost 2.5" wide piece of heavy steel. And instead of my stomach impacting the steering wheel or WHATEVER, it bent it up to almost a 90 degree angle.

So I was noticing that, but also, I thought I might be on fire. I was very HOT. My clothes were hot to the touch, the front of my dress felt like it had almost been singed. I kept touching and checking myself to make sure I wasn't on fire anywhere because of how hot my clothes felt. I assume this is from the air bags and the force of the impact and the explosions that send them out...IDK. But yeah I was hot. So I kept touching my stomach and clothes and people kept asking if I was hurt and I said "No, I don't think so, just my ankle."

At first, though, I couldn't form words. People were asking if I was okay and I couldn't answer. I think maybe I nodded. So my responses were probably more like Yes and No and "Ankle" than I remember. I just remember some serious floaty, disconnected, stunned mindset where I couldn't make words right. Lasted maybe less than a minute or a minute or two, not sure.

Basically I laid on the ground and just breathed and tried to chill for a few minutes, responding as people came up and asked me things. I think I repeated a couple of times "he just drove right in front of me..." and witnesses backed me up, saying they were there and saw the whole thing and yeah he just drove right out in front of me.

Throughout this, the surreal thing was that my car was still running and still playing my music. So poppy Janelle Monae was playing from my car. I finally was able to coordinate enough to pause Spotify on my phone so it stopped. I asked one of the bystanders if he could turn my car off with the on/off button because I was worried about it.

A state trooper arrived fairly quickly and came over and asked me first if I was hurt and if anyone else was in the car. I told him about my ankle and no. He said "okay you just sit there [on the grass] that's probably the best place for you. EMS is on their way, should be a few minutes." To which I nodded. He then asked me for my ID. I told him it was in my purse which he fetched from inside the car and handed to me to find my wallet and pull out my ID. He asked me for my basic version of the accident, which I was pretty vague about "I was driving and he just pulled right in front of my car and I only had a split second to brake."

He asked which direction I was traveling, how fast I was going. When I hesitated over that answer he said "highway speed?" and I said "yeah, 70-75." I was slightly worried about admitting I was technically speeding to a cop, but he just nodded and was very chill about everything, so I wasn't TOO worried. He asked a little more after a couple minutes like which direction the other car was coming from and which lane I was in." Then he said he was going to talk to the other driver. At which point I remembered there was another human being involved and I asked if they were okay and he said yeah seems like it, they're just a little queasy from the seatbelt.

So from where I was on the grass and not moving, basically I was sitting in the V formed by my car and the open driver door, so I couldn't see the other car and had literally no idea about the other driver, couldn't have told you their gender or race or anything. I never saw them. (Later the police gave us their details and it seems to be a man, but their name and city is literally all I know.)

At this point I was starting to feel more together. I had been playing with my phone, trying to call my husband. But for a while I couldn't make my fingers find how to call him. And then I did it, but the call wouldn't go through. I was in a fairly isolated area with poor cell coverage, it's basically in the middle of a bunch of fields of corn and cotton and shit. So I was calling but not hearing anything on the line. And meanwhile people kept talking to me and the car was honking nonstop. Even after I got him to turn off the car, it was still making honking car alarm noises. Like yes car, I know you are in distress but please shut the fuck up.

I texted my husband instead. He was texting me by then because he could hear when I called him and he knew something was WRONG. So here are the texts. It's pretty funny.

Cat totaled. Of course I didn't have my glasses so I couldn't see anything very well. I had been wearing sunglasses with bifocal reading glasses in them but they were uh, removed by the airbag. No idea what happened to them. He called me thankfully and that call worked so I told him where I was and that I was okay except for my ankle, etc. Of course I'm like the car, the poor car our new car is totaled and he's like fuck the car are YOU okay, etc.

Also when I exited the car, the witnesses kept telling me I was bleeding on my lips. I touched them and could tell my bottom lip was split. So I was like, yeah it's okay just my lip. Presumably from the impact with the airbag. It's cut on the inside from my teeth and still very swollen and in my way.

So I pulled my backup sunglasses from my purse and put them on to block the sun and laid back in the grass to chill. What sucked was that this is Texas and the grass had ants and they were crawling on me, but what could I do. I looked behind me and there was only more grass with car shrapnel and the highway which didn't look more comfortable to sit on. I asked the officer to get my tote bag out of my car, the bag with my dnd stuff which had a water bottle and can of coke in it. He got it but the coke can was totally dented and I couldn't open it. So I drank the water very gratefully because I was super thirsty.

oh and about this time the cop gave me a long speech about "You should drink a lot of water tonight and try to do some moving around because you're going to be sore and being in a car accident releases a ton of lactic acid into your body like you did a very strenuous workout...etc. " I basically just nodded and was like yeah i'm gonna be really sore.

At this point I figured I just had a sprained ankle and I would go to the er and they would check me out and I'd get an ACE bandage and be fine basically. I realized that the injury was from me trying to brake, standing on the brake and when the impact happened all that force transferred directly into my almost straight leg.

So the ambulance arrived and they came and asked the same questions. They had a bunch of people come to help get me to the stretcher. Basically they grabbed my arms and shoulders and pulled me backwards, telling me to push myself with my good leg. So I did that with them holding me up until we got to the stretcher and I sat down and swung myself around and was strapped down and lifted into the ambulance. They asked me if I had a preference for hospitals to go to and I told them the name of the big hospital nearby which I know our insurance works with because one of my doctors is there.

Then they just started asking me a bunch of medical questions about medications and conditions which I basically had to simplify, leaving out some of the minor things I have going on. Like I didn't mention depression or the antidepressant I take. I only told him some of my meds for my back. Not sure why, it just seemed like I needed to get important things across only.

He asked about where I hurt and I at that point told him about my shoulder hurting in addition to my ankle. He also told me about how bad that intersection is for accidents and how he'd been out there about an hour before for another (more minor) one and we talked about whether they needed to install a light there.

He was really nice and I liked him. I sent a text to my dnd chat while riding that told them I wouldn't be at the game. In the ambulance they checked my vitals and also took my blood sugar which I thought was kinda weird. I guess it's just standard.

We got to the ER and as they wheeled me through I heard the people saying "trauma 2, trauma 2 in room whatever, the trauma is here." So I realized that was me and they were treating me like a Serious Patient and not just an ankle. As I was rolled into the room a veritable swarm of people came with me and pulled me from the stretcher to the bed, bringing a lot of grass and dirt with me, by the way, which no one but me seemed to notice (And the nurse later).

Then they were trying to get my clothes off and a young man approached me with surgical scissors and said "Okay we're just gonna cut this off you" and I was like "No, please, can you not, I just finished sewing this!" and thankfully they were like well let's try. I was already like, I can do this, and pulling up my dress and wiggling. They probably didn't want me moving myself that much, but fuckit, I spent months on that dress I didn't want it ruined. (It ended up torn about an inch down at the neckline and has a couple inch long tear in the skirt from either me crawling out of the car or them pulling me to the stretcher.)

Oh and I had to tell them "I'm wearing a back support corset under here so it will be weird" but they were like "that's no problem" and they just reached down and pried the busk apart, (with me sucking in to help them) and pulling it free. So that was one anxiety gone. So anyway, they finally got the dress and all my shirts off while they pulled my bra free also. It's definitely weird having a swarm of people you can't really see grab you and start tearing off your clothes. I wasn't feeling at all worried about being exposed or anything, my only concern was for my clothes. Finally I was naked except for my underwear and they put a gown over me.

And then hooked up a bunch of wires and stuff. The EMT had started an IV in my hand but not given me anything. They also didn't give me anything yet, though I THOUGHT they'd hooked me up to saline or something but turned out no.

Then I talked to the doctor and repeated all my pains. They were like okay we'll get xrays and check you out all over. So they did the xrays in the bed and I had a really hard time moving my foot/ankle the way they wanted because I was like "I can't move it" and they were like, but okay flex more and I'm like "I can't." And then turn it to the side and I'm like, uh, it's not moving. And finally I had to like turn my whole body to the side to get the position they wanted.

Then they took blood and mostly left and there was one nurse left. "Can I have some water?" I asked, my most pressing concern because I was DYING of thirst. She was like "uh we have to wait and ask the doctor." And then a little while later she was like "is there anything I can get you?" and I'm like "again, water?" and she's like okay lemme go check.

So I finally got water and I asked the lady taking my blood if she could hand me my phone from my purse. So I had my phone hurray although I still had no glasses and couldn't see. But my texts showed my husband was outside so I asked if he could come back and they said sure. It still took a little while but they finally came and asked me again if family could come back and I said yes and then there he was.

Obviously that was a huge relief because I could ask him for stuff from my purse like my glasses. And we mostly just talked and looked at stuff on our phones while waiting for results. So finally the doctor comes back and is like so okay actually you have a broken heel bone and we're going to put you in a splint for now and then you will follow up with an orthopedist. And he did that and that was pretty painful. By this point they'd given me something in my IV that was helping with the pain but still having them try to force my foot upright was super painful.

Then they said they needed a urine sample and the nurse was like do you want to try a bed pan or me to do a catheter. And I'm like I guess bed pan. Which, I didn't know, is basically just a hard plastic bowl that you sit on and the edges dig into your butt and thighs. And she tries to explain how to go and I'm like okay I'll try but I totally failed. Because I was still massively dehydrated. I'm like "if you'd given me more water like I asked, I might be doing better at this." Finally they started me on IV fluids and I got my husband to get me my water bottle. Then they did a catheter except they still couldn't get urine and they did it a second time with a better nurse and finally they made me laugh and that made some come out so they made me keep laughing until they got enough of a sample. So I'm definitely making the nurse stories for that one.

By the way, did the catheter hurt. Yeah, a little. It feels like what you'd expect. It's pokey and doesn't feel good, but once it's in you can't feel it. Also I was told my "anatomy" made it easy to see what they were doing which, I'm like is that a compliment on my pussy or what?

Anyway after that it was just waiting waiting waiting. They were checking for damage to my kidneys or I guess other indicators through blood tests because they came back to draw more blood twice.

Finally like five hours after the wreck they let me go. And gave me very little information about anything, actually I could complain a lot about the way the ER handled things but like that's not the point here.

We were both obviously starving because we hadn't eaten so we had to drive through the only thing open which was a 24 hour mcdonalds.

They didn't give us crutches, just told me to use them, so we had some from when my husband was in a car wreck and wheelchair bound for months. So he had to go in the house and find those and bring them out to me. Our door is very far from the driveway so I had a long way to go on crutches and it was very difficult given my pain situation and how my shoulder and ribs on the right side hurt. So once I finally got to the door he got a rolling chair that I sat on and he wheeled me to the bedroom.

That night once the meds they gave me in the ER wore out I was in terrible terrible pain. I'm a chronic pain patient on an opioid patch and it was insane. Ten on the pain scale. I wont go into too much detail but god I wanted to die or like, just cut my foot off. I took pretty much anything I could to try to help the pain, after some quick interactions googling. And took an edible we had and that was what finally let me get any sleep about 5 in the morning once it kicked in.

It's now two weeks later and...what is recovery from a crash like that like? Well it sucks honestly. I got very lucky in my injuries but the broken heel is way more painful that I would have imagined, sometimes radiating pain all the way up my leg to the crotch. And worse than that has been the rest of my body that didn't get diagnosed with any injuries but obviously went through major trauma.

My ribs have been very sore in a couple different places, making it difficult to move, sit up, lay on one side, reach for things, laugh or cough. And I pulled something in my right shoulder though they didn't see any damage on x-rays but it's taken two weeks to start to feel like I can use my right arm much or move it without terrible pain.

I've spent most of my time on pretty heavy meds, thanks to my pain doctor, but still all the time I've been massively uncomfortable. And trying to do anything is really difficult because I have to use weird muscles to pull myself up to standing or whatever without putting weight on my right foot, and then those muscles have gotten sore. It was about two days after the accident I reached peak Body Pain, after trying to get around on crutches with an injured/bruised ribs and messed up shoulder. I got to the point I couldn't get myself up to go to the bathroom on my own at all. Thankfully then I got a kneeling scooter thing which is an absolute requirement for getting around in this state.

So yeah today is two weeks and I feel like I'm just starting to get back to almost normal functioning, except for my broken foot. Taking meds less often, and then only because the foot starts throbbing. (Did you know heels are very painful things to break? Neither did I? I'm lucky I don't need surgery because frequently this injury can cripple you if you don't have surgery.)

Anyway, I don't know if anyone will have read all this, but I feel like it's worth documenting the experience. I was originally going to post this within the first few days of the accident but then the real bad effects started kicking in and then uh, there was the Lahaina thing. (My closest family lives there. They are safe along with their house but...my little tragedy didn't feel important in the face of that.)

At any rate, please drive safely, this experience sucks and I don't recommend it.

#tw: car accident #tw: car crash #tw: medical #personal #threerings' stories

28 notes · View notes

desert-bluffs-and-me · 5 months

Text

WTNV quick rundown - It Devours! - Joyous Congregation&members

Click here for the plot points! Click here for facts about Nilanjana! Click here for facts about Darryl! Click here for facts about Night Vale and it's citizens (including Cecil and Carlos) in It Devours! Click here for stuff about the other scientists! Click here for misc interesting facts I found!

Stephanie is a young woman who befriended Darryl when they were both children. She is studying for a degree in theology and wants to become a Church Elder (which she does in the end). She is good at volleyball and enjoys the academic side of her religion. She and Darryl end up dating.

Jamillah is a young woman who never lets go of her power drill and understands a lot about machines despite not being too interested in science. She does the illustrations for the churchs pamphlets.

Martin McCaffry is a church member who used to work for the TSA out at the NV airport. He was unhappy with his job and continuously made drawings of an elongated dark figure with no memory of making them. He tried setting traps, making sacrifices and even using a future predicting machine to try and catch it. Eventually, he met a church member called May who turned him onto the religion and a new (worse paying) job overseeing the summer camp counsellers. This doesn't help him either. He eventually becomes consumed with drawing the figure and spends all his time making them, but has never been happier.

The church urges all of it's members to present a happy face to the world with the intention of spreading joy but outside presentation is valued higher than actual feelings.

A religious gesture in the JC is to make a 'circling motion with an upright fist'. If returned, the participants than make eye contact and hum a single low note for ten seconds.

They believe the Smiling God has always been here even before the Big Bang. It lives beneath the earth but used to live with people except people 'weren't ready' and so it had to go away. The DOW is heaven.

The Smiling God uses exclusively it/it's pronouns and has a wide smile with a vast field of teeth.

Blood-letting is part of worshipping a Smiling God.

It is believed to devour your sins, unwanted desires, regrets and worst memories, things you wish you did and didn't and vice versa.

The Central Church of the JC in NV used to practice out of storefronts in half-empty strip malls but earlier 'this year' a proper church was constructed a few miles off of route 800. It's tall silver steeple is visible from the highway and it looks like a mix of a church and an office building. It has huge old looking doors with ringed knockers in the shape of centipedes. The real door to enter is a more office-building looking one around the side.

The JC believe in the '11 stages of human education' which are: birth, earthly nourishment, divine nourishment, friendship, love, awareness, family, enlightment, community and the Devouring. Depictions of these in the church often include foxes, for reasons not fully understood but a possible theory is just that Kevin (their prophet, who apparently brought them the Book of Devouring from 'heaven'/the DOW and would preach on his show) just really liked foxes.

There are classrooms in the church, full of toys like dolls and candles and cars with human faces painted on them. There's also books like 'Felicia finds an obelisk' and 'Smiley the centipede accidentally swallows the Earth'. There is a board with the question 'What is Divine Pain?' on it. The teacher is called Ms French (or was when Darryl was young).

The congregation religious outfits consist of long shapeless yellow robes and big square hats with mesh that covers the face.

Once a year the church holds a 'Youth Culling' where children can choose to become full members.

Before services, church members fast so their hunger will remind them of the Smiling God's hunger.

The Congregation has missionaries in Venezuela, Mexico and Double Mexico. Darryl teaches them Double Spanish.

Gordon hates and fears books.

The Book of Devouring is bound in centipede skin and has a pattern made of nails with wire strung between them on the cover, which makes the interlocking triangles of the centipedes hunting pattern. It is written on the yellow pages of a legal pad and contains diary-like entries of observations and many drawings of the triangular movement patterns. The invocation to summon a Smiling God involves wearing fox masks, jumping up and down and having a tray of milk and teeth.

#wtnv #welcome to night vale #wtnv quick rundown #wtnv it devours! rundown

8 notes · View notes

zirawrites · 1 year

Note

One day companions (Excluding Dogmeat and Codsworth) find a bottle that says, “Devil’s Kiss! Become Too Hot to Handle!”

And when they decide to drink it, they gain the ability to throw fire bombs, although they suffer for a brief moment

How would they react?

Cait: “Oh fuck yes!” Cait was so impressed with her own strength that any fears she had ingested something from the Institute were quickly replaced by how badass she felt burning the scrap around her. She immediately asked Sole if they could stop by a raider camp. Just for fun.

Curie: Curie was used to putting herself through physical alterations for science. Hell, she had transferred her consciousness into a synthetic body just to understand humanity a little better. But since she hadn’t expected the effects of the drink, her first reaction was to scream and turn away from Sole out of fear she’d burn her companion. When Curie realized she had gained -- for lack of a scientific term -- fire powers, she immediately wanted test the limitations of her new abilities under the guise of “fieldwork”.

Danse: Danse immediately told Sole he needed rushed to the Brotherhood clinic to undergo testing. He had no desire to try out his new fire abilities. The poor man just wanted a quick cure before other soldiers suspected him of being an Institute experiment.

Deacon: Deacon morphed into a superhero-esque stance; legs far apart, hands close to his body, knees bent. “Sole, hold still.” His partner did not, in fact, stay still at all. They ran straight to Tinker Tom and Carrington for some kind of antidote. And refused to call Deacon by his new preferred Railroad code name: Dragonlord.

Hancock: “I’m just glad I didn’t take this while tripping. I don’t think I’d have believed my own eyes.” Hancock is surprisingly chill about the whole ordeal. He’s seen weirder stuff ingested by stranger people in Goodneighbor alleys. He also refuses to find a cure, insisting he’s officially the hottest ghoul in the Commonwealth.

MacCready: While MacCready usually panicked at every sci-fi or horror element he encountered, he reminded himself of the kind of superheroes in his favorite comics. He immediately asked Sole if he could team up with them on the next mission they pretended to be the Silver Shroud. “I’m basically your sidekick already,” he said. “What’s adding a little flare going to hurt?”

Preston: “Shit. Do you think this is permanent?” Preston was so afraid he would accidentally burn Sole that he refused to take his hands out of his pockets.

Piper: Piper’s first reaction was to panic, but when she realized the drink wasn’t lethal and she could throw fire, the reporter instantly threw a few bombs up in the air. “Look how high I can get them! This is crazy, Blue!” Sole quickly reminded her the fire was going to come back down, and the companions ran like hell.

Nick: “I think this would have killed an ordinary man.” Nick shot another fire bomb at a crumbling wall and watched it explode with tentative awe. “Luckily I’m not flesh-and-blood.” He was unnerved by his own abilities, but not afraid. He knew he wouldn’t abuse the power.

X6-88: “The Institute could utilize this.” X6 acted stoic, but Sole noticed his slight grin whenever he lobbed another bomb down the highway. He was absolutely enjoying having fire powers.

#fallout 4 #fallout 4 reactions #did u omit dogmeat because u know he'd be too powerful????#fallout 4 cait #fallout 4 curie #fallout 4 danse #fallout 4 deacon #fallout 4 hancock #fallout 4 maccready #preston garvey #fallout 4 piper #nick valentine #x688 #vulcunniko

53 notes · View notes

peachonified · 1 year

Text

A hint of the next AoKi fic

It's AoKi day... and due to various reasons I only got a fic STARTED. and I have a new rule: no more WIPs on AO3 unless they are finished. (except for the ones I am finishing up...) but this isn't AO3, so I am going to share the opening.

Just a few short notes... when I asked for ideas, @formlesscopycat said prison au, and @slicesofapple said a dom Aomine.

So I smooshed them together and you can't tell where it is going yet, but I love the start!

(It was originally called 'where you belong' and I was thinking about jail, but I already have an AoKi fic called 'Where you belong(by my side)' so that doesn't work)

~o~

Kise has never been to jail before. And he can’t believe he’s going there now!

“I didn’t do i-“

“I don’t really care,” the officer escorting him to his new home informs him. “You have a problem, then get your lawyer to deal with it.”

And that, was that.

~o~

Okay not really. The trip to the prison is long and slow.

“Surely prison vans can go the speed limit?” he asks, entirely innocently, cos weren’t there rules about how slow you could go and the highway? “What happens if the driver is arrested? What if-“

“You really need to shut up before I do something about it.”

Mr Prison Guard was tetchy. Kise sniffs and and is silent for all of 84 seconds, until he can’t deal with it any more.

“I just think we should-“

The scream the prison guard gives is not quiet.

~o~

He happily drops him off at the gate.

“You’re leaving?” Kise asks, a little sad. “I felt like we were just getting to know each other, and-“

“He’s all yours. He’s all fucking yours,” Kasamatsu snarls. Kise feels inordinately proud that he got a name. But it was a four-hour drive, and Kasamatsu got sick of being called Mr Prison Guard about two and a half hours in. That was after establishing that he is a driver, but Kise thinks it’s still a job where he guards prisoners, so he’s a prison guard.

~o~

Intake is almost as slow as the drive him. Which Kise informs the new prison guard.

Who blinks at him from behind his glasses.

“You want this to be… quick?”

Kise nods, decisively. “Yeah, well, I’m innocent, so the sooner I get in, the sooner I get out right.”

Glasses kind of stares at him. He goes to speak twice, shaking his head each time, before he (slowly) pulls Kise’s paperwork. “Says here you were soliciting and then tried to bribe the police when they arrested you?”

Sighing, Kise flops back, placing his handcuffed wrists as attractively as possible. “I know what it says, but I never sleep with people for money. I only have sex with people I want to have sex with, because that is the point of sex. Not that I am anti sex work, by the way. But I make my money modelling. At least at the moment. I’ll be a pilot one day - I need to get my license while I still have 20-20 vision. I read that even if you need glasses, if you get them after you become a pilot it’s still okay. And don’t worry! I’ll still look fabulous. Not everyone can rock the megane look, it’s true, but I absolute-“

“So you weren’t soliciting?”

Kise sniffs. “It was bad timing. We’d been at a party, so I was in costume for that. And can I tell you, I looked good! It was a take on angels – normally angels are all icy silver and white, but I don’t look good in white, so I changed it up for ambers and golds and-“

“Why didn’t you go as a Greek or Roman God? Or acolyte, or whatever. More colour op-“

He’s interrupted by Kise’s wail. “Oh my god you are right! I could have had so much fun! I mean, I looked great as a golden angel, but I could have had options and I hate-“

The guard (who was probably Imoyoshi, given that is a name plate on the desk) stops him. “Well, innocent of the crime or not, you do seem pretty innocent.”

There's a double meaning there, and Kise can’t let that pass! “Look, I’m not saying I’m a slut or anything, which would still be okay by the way, but I’m not innocent-“

Kise continues to rant, until he notices that Imayoshi isn’t paying attention. In fact he looks a little worried. And that’s not great. Kise leans forward, an earnest expression in his face.

“I’ve been sitting here just talking about myself, and here are you needing some help. I’m a very good listener, and pretty good at advice too.”

Imayoshi looks at him, speechless. Kise nods encouragingly, but inside is a little worried. This is now two prison guards who could barely speak. Who were they hiring? Surely this was a job that needed good communication skills?

Letting out a breath, Imayoshi laughs. “Yeah I’m worried, but about you.

They’re at the door, when Imayoshi stops short. “Wait, I have to know. What was with the official corruption?”

“The what?”

“Bribing a police officer.”

Kise frowns, then his expression clears. “I wasn’t bribing anyone! I thought they were at the costume party too, and the police outfits didn’t match at all! So I offered to help them out of their uniforms, and then more turned up and I thought they might have been strippers and then they weren’t and-“

Someone weaker than Imayoshi would have laughed.

#AoKi #Kise Ryouta #fanfic #duck fic #snippet #KnB #kuroko no basket #Kise #AoKise

21 notes · View notes

memphisfaith · 1 year

Text

Chapter 1: The Elites

Paring: Jeon Jungkook x reader

Genre: Enemies to Lovers, Street Racer!AU, Smut

Word Count: 6.9K

Warning: Cursing, mentions of smut, smut, consumption of alcohol, mentions of violence, violence, mentions/hints of abuse, abuse, mentions of death, death, illegal activities.

Summary: You never know what cards your delt in life, not until you learn to use them. I never thought I'd be good a stealing, but there I was steal off the streets. I never thought I'd learn to drive a car, but here I am learning from The Dark God of Seoul. I never thought I'd have an actual family, but I will.

Korea Seoul. The place to be if you're a street racer looking for fame, glory, money, or all three. Lucky for me I’m not really the type, but somehow I always find a way to get mixed up with them.

I’m not a street racer by any means, just a bike rider. A Hawk RPS dirt bike to be more specific. It gets me from place to place and anywhere else I need to go. Not that I go many places anyway, I'm not a student so my bike usually just helps me with my job. My ‘Job’ just being a drive by mugger.

Which leads me back to why I find myself mixed up with street racers. It started as a normal job: wait at the bank, wait for someone easy to come out, snatch their bag, and drive off.

Usually I target women, women have bags making them easier to grab and go. But there was this man, he had silver hair and was dressed well. Branded clothes that I would only be able to see in windows.

I didn’t pay much attention to him going in, until I watched him walk out with a thick handbag. He looked so easy and the bag looked so thick I just couldn’t help myself. It only took me a quick few seconds to climb on my bike, deciding I was going to Rob him.

I had slipped on my helmet and started my bike, I revved it to give it some gas before I sped down the sidewalk and up behind him. He was walking the direction away from me so it made it easy to ride up behind him and snatch the bag from his lax grip.

I didn’t pay any more attention to him as I jumped from the sidewalk and into the street. It was only after I got onto the next major highway did I see a Black Challenger speeding up behind me, and it was only after it pulled up beside me did I see that very same man with the silver hair in the driver’s seat of the car.

He had his windows rolled down and sent me a smug smirk, I had felt a new sense of panic wash over me right then and for multiple reasons. The first reason was the fact I just realized I just robbed a street racer, just the way he drove proved it. The second was that this street racer is chasing me, the most anyone has done after I mug them is scream at me. The last had been that he is actually able to keep up with me on my bike.

Granted my bike isn’t as fast as his car but typically I should have been able to out maneuver him, and by trying to do so triggered the reasoning behind my to-be even bigger issue. For now I’m going to finish how the mess started in the first place.

So as I tried to move away, he always found a way to stay right beside me if not the right behind me. The few times I did manage to get it away it only took a few minutes to find me. In a moment of desperation I made a rookie mistake, a mistake I knew better to make, I turned down an alleyway.

It was an act of my terrible luck that made it so I just so happen to turn into a dead end alleyway, walled off by a ten-foot chain fence. The street racer who chased me blocked off the escape with his car.

He stepped out of his car and waltzed his way to me, seemingly unafraid of the fact I could easily run him over with my bike given the stretch of space between the end of the alleyway where I was at and the entrance where he was.

My heart had been pounding, my hand twitching and itching to gas my bike and pull off. When the man finally made it to me, he smiled. For some odd reason, this man had been crazy enough to smile at me. And it hadn’t been just any smile, but a full blown dimpled smile.

He looked at the bag then me, and then back at the bag then back at me. The look on his face seemed to be thoughtful for a while until he actually spoke, The crazed man offered me a deal. For what reason exactly? Upon being asked he simply smiled and shrugged his shoulders before going on to explain it's been a long while since he had that kind of fun and he’s in need of an apprentice.

And that short interaction is exactly how I was introduced to Kim Namjoon. After that interaction he offered me to take a ride with him in his car, now any normal person would have seen all kinds of red flags. And I did, but the deal he offered me was just too tempting. So, I took the keys from my bike and climbed into the passenger seat of his car.

Namjoon drove us all over Seoul that day, in that time he explained what he wanted and what he could offer me in return. In short he offered me all the money in the bag that I stole and then some if I agreed to be his apprentice.

But to be an apprentice of Kim Namjoon is a dangerous thing. He didn’t explain who he was or what he did when I first agreed. In time I learned who he is: Kim Namjoon the world renowned ex criminal heist driver, Kim Namjoon the founder and ringleader of the most exclusive street races in Korea, And Kim Namjoon The Dark God of the most elite street racing group in the world. I was the apprentice of THAT Kim Namjoon, and I only found out after I agreed. To his credit he didn't seem like the type, just a really rich car lover with too much time on his hands.

Either way, I didn’t know what I was getting into until the first lesson was scheduled. Which included an introduction to car mechanics. One of the first rules he gave me, If you plan to drive it you better know how it works first.

That one lesson started the months upon months of training, and during that time I got to know him more as Kim Namjoon rather than THE Kim Namjoon. The Kim Namjoon I grew to know is shy and easily excitable, even if it's over the smallest things. He has a hard habit of biting the inside of his cheek if he’s angry or frustrated, he rubs his fingers over his lip when he thinks, and he is incredibly unbelievably clumsy. He’s smart in ways a book can’t educate someone in but he’s also dumber than a brick when it comes to things like proper common sense.

I know Kim Namjoon better than THE Kim Namjoon, but that took time. Starting out THE Kim Namjoon is all I ever knew. The cold self preserving one, the one that’s escaped countless cops all over the world, the one that took over the Korean street racing scene in a mere few months, the one that gathers with the most talented and fearless drivers from all over the world. I met him on more than a few occasions, mostly when he had put me behind the wheel for my driving lessons.

He built me up from scratch, when he first put me behind the wheel he told me to take all I know about motorcycles and what I think I know about driving and to take it all and throw it out the window. And that's exactly what I did, although it was hard to get out of habits I’ve grown when driving my bike but I did it. I did because of one simple lesson he told me late one night out in a store parking lot when we took a break from driving.

He had been frustrated with me, I kept making simple mistakes and made calls that came from the instincts I used when I drove my bike. Needless to say he wasn’t all too happy with my mind set, so...he moved me into the passenger seat and took control of the wheel.

Then...He went rogue, going crazy speeds, pulling dangerous turns, and cutting it close with other cars. I was screaming harder than my lungs could take and I held on to his leather seats for dear life. When he finally stopped I remember my heart pumping wildly and my ears ringing, I remember him calling my name but I couldn’t bring myself to look at him, fear lacing every nerve I had.

I remember fear shooting up and washing over my body as he cupped my chin and pulled it up to look at him. He held my head up and forced me to have eye contact with him, and as clear as day I heard him say “When you drive it isn’t about winning or losing. It’s about survival, it’s about being able to get out even if you have to leave someone behind. Always. Always have an exit plan. Even if it's just for you, hell you should always have an exit plan for yourself.” he spoke sternly.

I remember his eyes, the way his warm colored brown eyes looked so cold, so heartless. “Because why?” He continued holding my face a little tighter, not enough to hurt me but enough to make me aware. “Because it's about survival.” I had whispered, after my answer he nodded “And how do we survive?” He continued.

“By Always having an escape plan.” I answered. Namjoon smirked at me before nodding. He let me go and got out of the car, he circled the hood and opened my door before pushing me over to the driver's seat. “Now...Let’s go again.” He ordered, and after that everything was wiped.

It was like he clicked a reset button in my head, and with that reset button the rest clicked into place. Every time he taught me something new I felt myself hang off every word and slowly his words forged themselves into my head like some kind of religious ideals. I was always strict with myself to follow his words, to follow his instructions, because I knew that he would be the one to help forge my escape plan.

I think Namjoon came to realize this too, because after some time he grew...softer, which is how I came to know simply Namjoon. The less stern and more concerned version of him. Back then when he normally trained me, It was always about getting ahead and sharpening my skill set. There was always a need to improve and learn, but then something changed, he started ask me about my day, asking if I was doing okay or if I needed something, he took me out to eat after training, and training started to consist of us simply sitting on the couch in his garage and watching a racing movie just so I could listen to him point out all the flaws, incorrectness, and false ideas in them.

I don’t know what caused the stir but it threw me for a loop, after months...almost half a year of him treating me harshly and bluntly, he just changed. It was odd, but the rest of that year was a lot more lax and more endearing, our lessons became less and less about survival and more and more about enjoying the ride. He became more like a guardian rather than my teacher.

And that's how he came here, a year after meeting him, a year after training. He finally made the call...the call to introduce me to the elites.

I swallow hard as I look over at Namjoon, he sat lax in the driver’s seat of his signature black 1970s Dodge challenger. The very car I met him with and the very car he trained me with. Namjoon who dressed a little more appropriately rather than his grease stained white beater and ripped jeans, he wears a white T-shirt with a jean jacket thrown over it and black jeans. His hair, once fully silver, now has darker roots and the color has been touched up just yesterday for the occasion. He spent an hour this morning slicking it back and styling it in place. To finish the look he wore a dark pair of squared sunglasses.

I was a little surprised when I showed up to find him so put together, after all I only wore dark ripped jeans, a T-shirt, and my worn leather jacket. Namjoon wasn’t all that impressed by my outfit and demanded I change, that demand started a thirty minute argument.

The argument being that I didn’t have clothes quite up to par. He was a little shocked to learn that I haven’t spent much of the money I’ve gotten from him. He had assumed I, being a girl, I would have spent a lot of it on clothes and makeup. Well, he was wrong. After the argument we had to make a quick stop at the nearest store, and by nearest store I mean nearest branded store, which just so happened to be chanel.

Namjoon parked in an illegal parking spot at the front of the store before pulling me inside. An attendant quickly helped him pull an outfit right off a mannequin before she pushed me into the dressing room while Namjoon paid.

The outfit was simple, much like his, but still had quite a bit of effort put into it. I ended up in a loose floral pattern shirt with a sky blue circle skirt. I don’t like loose fitting clothing and I don’t like driving in a skirt. The attendant tried to take my jacket but I refused not to wear it. It clashed with the whole outfit but it was the only part that was me.

After I came out Namjoon rushed us to the car so we wouldn’t be late, looking down at my clothes I feel like if I tried hard enough before I could have put something together out of my own clothes. Instead I’m stuck with whatever this is.

Namjoon looks over at me and before glancing back at the road. “You don’t like it?” He asked, I shook my head nervously. I didn’t want him to think I’m being ungrateful and get angry with me. I flinch as I hear him sigh, I glance up as I feel him pull the car in another direction away from where he was heading in the first place.

My eyes widen as I watch him pull down a street and into a parking spot in front of a thrift store. “Come on, we don’t have much time.” He called as he got out. I didn’t hesitate to follow after him as he walked to the front door, he held it open for me before following me in. The air in the store is cold but I follow his directions and hurry over to the clothes so we won’t be too late.

I shuffle through the pants first deciding that pants are much more needed than a different shirt if we ran out of time. I shuffle through them before reaching the shorts, I shift through them before settling on a black jean shorts that fray at the bottom hem. “Are you sure? They seem kinda short.” Namjoon spoke up behind me. I shot him a confused look before looking back down at my choice.

I swallow hard and don’t think too much about it as I put it back and went back to looking. “No, No, it's fine!” Namjoon panics as he pulls them back off the rack. “You sure?” I mumble, “Yes, it’s fine. Whatever makes you comfortable. I need you to dress in what makes you the most confident. The people you're about to meet are going to judge and pick on you quite a bit. Dressing confidently will make them take you more seriously.” He informed me.

I take his words to mind before quickly getting back to the search. It doesn’t take me long before I find a fitting white tank top and a pair of radiator sunglasses. On the way to check out I picked up some lipstick, eyeliner, and mascara. As Namjoon paid I put a pack of gum up and placed it in the pile.

As soon as Namjoon paid I rushed to the dressing room and changed. I felt myself relax a little more when I got into the much more comfortable clothes. I pull my hair up in a ponytail as I leave the room, Namjoon is already by the door and opens it for me before following me out.

Once back in the car Namjoon sets back on track, I put on my makeup in the car careful not to mess up with Namjoon driving. The ride is smooth thankfully, and by the time noon passes we’re leaving the city. In that time I think about the Elites that Namjoon is all too eager and nervous for me to meet.

Namjoon has told me about the elites; he knew them personally, some more than others, but he knew them. He’s told me who they are and a couple of stories about them, some more than others. He takes the time to explain why finding an apprentice is such a big deal. The concept is based on a tradition that the founders set up to insure a better chance of successful legacies. The Rule states elites are to take on an apprentice after seven years of being initiated into the group, They can pick and train as many as they like but they are all required at least one in their time as an Elite. However, being an apprentice of an elite does not guarantee them a spot in the group.

Apparently Namjoon has been on the hunt half a year before he met me, he was at risk of getting kicked out for it too. Everyone else in the society had already found and had been training their apprentice by the time we met. Needless to say he admitted to being hard on me because we had to catch up to the rest of them.

“We’re almost there, review time.” Namjoon spoke up, not taking his eyes off the road. “We don’t need you going in and getting bullied. I won’t stand for it, but I can’t be there to stop all of it. I need to know you’ll be able to stand your ground.” He continues, and as he does I notice a hard look spread across his face yet he still looks ahead to the road. “Yes sir,” I mumble slightly, “Speak louder, they’ll take advantage of your weak voice,” He grumbles.

Before I can respond he's already speaking up, “Who is Kim Seokjin?” Namjoon asks. “Kim Seokjin is a retired race car driver. He’s won countless races and titles before being forced to retire, however he started street racing because he didn’t feel his time as a driver was over. He is known as the stallion among the street racing communities because of his iconic pink mustang.” I answer. Namjoon nods in approval, “And his apprentice?” He questions, “Jeon Jungkook was an aspiring race car driver being mentored by Seokjin before he retired, Jeon Jungkook followed Seokjin into his retirement and into street racing. He’s been with him ever since, which is why he was named Legacy.” I answer.

“And who is Min Yoongi?” He continues, “Min Yoongi is a legendary mechanic known for his dangerous cars and powerful heist trucks. You have a history of working with him on occasion as well as collaborating for new heist truck designs. Min Yoongi has a sour and cold personality and is known as The Hell Cat among racing communities.” I continue to answer.

“Good, now who is Kim Taehyung?” He smirks, “Kim Taehyung is the apprentice of Min Yoongi. Kim Taehyung is a high stake street racer, who often wagers cars as prizes. Kim Taehyung became Yoongi’s apprentice by winning a one of a kind car made by Yoongi, which he wanted back after he found out the person he sold it to lost it to Taehyung. The two wagered a race and Yoongi came out on top, despite this Yoongi still offered him the opportunity to become his apprentice because of his skill. Because Of Kim Taehyung’s ability to coax and wager so many high stake street races people call him the hustler.” I answer.

“And who is Jung Hoseok?’ Namjoon chuckles, “Jung Hoseok is a notorious street racer in the Seoul district but is widely known all over the world for his expensive taste in exotic cars and ability to piss off any police officer in the area while not getting caught. Jung Hoseok is a global street criminal charged with violation of every kind of street traffic law in existence. Jung Hoseok is known for his hellish speed therefore he was dubbed the Street Demon.”

“And his Park Jimin?” Namjoon muses, “Park Jimin, is regularly known as a popular show boy. However, his ability to slip in, out, and through the police radar caught the attention of Jung Hoseok. Park Jimin has been to the police station more than his fair share of times but has yet to be charged with any crime to date. Not only that Park Jimin’s ability to avoid and slip by police is almost unheard of, the only other person known for doing such things is you, but because of this ability he earned the name jailbreak.” I finished.

Namjoon grins proudly, “good girl, I have a feeling they’re going to underestimate you and when they do. I want you to give them hell for it.” He laughs. I nod my head with a small smile and it wasn’t too long after that conversation did Namjoon pull into a farmhouse driveway with a large barn-ish looking garage off to the side.

In the driveway ahead of us sat six other cars, ranging from classics to luxury to speedway cars. I pop a stick of gum in my mouth before pushing up my sunglasses, Namjoon parks behind a 1970s silver Chevelle with two black racing stripes. Namjoon walks around the car and opens the door for me.

I step out and shoot him a small smile. As soon as I’m out of the way he closes the door and locks the car. He led me to the house where he stopped just before the door. “Are you ready (y/n)?” He questions softly. I nodded and stood straighter, Namjoon smiles at me softly before opening the front door.

Upon entering the house I’m met with six faces. I swallow hard and look at each and every one of them. I can only guess who is who, The one with the biggest shoulders I’ve ever seen is definitely Seokjin, the pissy one is definitely Yoongi, and the one glaring at me must be Jungkook. Namjoon mentioned Jungkook would most likely take my presence the worst. He mentioned before that Jungkook considered himself the unofficial apprentice of Namjoon, and Namjoon often mentored him when Seokjin didn’t. Needless to say Jungkook wasn’t too happy when Namjoon announced that he had found himself an official apprentice.

I scan the others unsure of who they are. There's one with pretty sheer blond hair and a slender body, he has full lips and big cheeks, all in all he's insanely attractive...Must be Jimin. There is a man with fire red hair and looks like he is physically glowing, he must be Hoseok. The last person stands on the other end of the room leaning against the wall, he has a stony face with long curly black hair. The only person that could be is Taehyung.

Despite all the pep talking Namjoon did I freeze when all six eyes locked onto me, I shrunk down but as soon as I did I felt Namjoon’s warm hand press to my lower back nudging me further into the room. It stays there as we walk further into the room.

“(y/n) I’m sure you know everyone, but everyone this is my apprentice (y/n).” Namjoon introduces. I see a few smiles and curious expressions, but I hear a very noticeable scoff from Jungkook’s direction. I look over just enough to see Seokjin give Jungkook a blunt love tap to his back.

I glance at Namjoon with masked worry, I feel his thumb circle my back comfortingly. “Hello (y/n), My name is Seokjin and this is my apprentice Jungkook as you know but it’s always polite to introduce yourself anyway.” the elder man smiles. I nod my head in greeting but Jungkook simply rolls his eyes. “Aish, brat. Say hello!” Seokjin demands over to the youngest.

Jungkook simply looks in my direction and gives a non committal nod. I look to the rest of the room and greet them nervously hoping it would distract me from Jungkook’s burning gaze. Jimin is the first to come up and physically greet me, his mentor right behind him.

As Jimin approaches his arms swing open, I don’t think twice before I flush myself into Namjoon’s side and tuck in at the quick motion. I watch carefully around the corner of his side as Jimin physically freezes in place. The room became tense, unbearably tense. I curl deeper into Namjoon’s side and block my vision from the room.

The room is quiet for a minute until laughter rings through the air, I feel my heart sink at the sound of, no doubt, Junkook’s laughter. “How do you expect her to race if she completely recoils by Jimin of all people?” He laughs. “Jungkook.” Namjoon rumbles, the room once again goes quiet at the sound of Namjoon’s voice. “Let’s talk outside.” He requests, but the tone he uses makes it clear he isn’t asking.

I feel Namjoon start to pull away from covering me so I grip the back of his jacket tightly. Namjoon turns to look at me and he gives me THE look. I instantly let go and duck my head. Namjoon pulls away and I’m fully brought back into view. I tuck into myself feeling completely naked.

“Yoongi,” Namjoon addressed, “Watch over her for me.” He asks politely unlike how he addressed Jungkook. Yoongi stood from his seat and slowly made his way over to me, as soon as he came within a foot of me he stopped and held out his hand. “Hello, I am Yoongi.” He spoke quietly. I lift my head up to look at the dark haired man.

Namjoon trusts Yoongi more than anyone else in the world, he’s the one person he trusts without question. So I should too, I looked at his hand as he patiently waited for me to take it. I take Yoongi’s hand with hesitation, but he squeezes it comfortingly before giving me a small pull in his direction.

He pulls me closer to him and wraps his arm around my body yet not touching it. He guides me back to his seat and lets me sit down. His apprentice slowly approaches from along the wall. “Hello (y/n)” Taehyung smiles, his face no longer stony and cold but boxy and warm.

“Hello,” I all but whisper, Taehyung suddenly drops into a squat in front of me startling me with the sudden movement. “Do you like cars (y/n)” he asks tilting his head curiously, I nod my head. “I like motorcycles better though.” I inform, doing my best to make an effort and adjust.

Taehyung’s eyes widen and he gasps a little. “Thats cool, I heard that Namjoon had to teach you from scratch.” He awes. “Something like that,” I murmur, “Do you like cars?” I question, yet already knowing the answer. Taehyung’s face lights up with a big smile, “I love cars!” he beams, but his face morphs into something a little more darker yet still holds the same excitement from before. That is a very dangerous look. “I have quite the collection.” He smirks, “Ah, I assume so. You know, given your reputation and being Yoongi’s apprentice.” I mumble with a small smile as I shift to loosen myself up from my tense position.

Taehyung smiles again, he opens his mouth to say something but the front door slams open to reveal a fuming Jungkook. I flinch and curl up again as I watch him stalk over to me. As he gets closer I sink myself further into the chair. Yoongi steps forward and holds out his arm keeping Jungkook from getting too close.

“I’m sorry,” He spoke bluntly, but it sounds forced and unmeaningful. Knowing he doesn’t mean it I don’t say anything to accept it. “Are you going to accept my apology or not?” He questions harshly after a moment of silence. “I don’t think she has to with that attitude of yours Jeon.” Yoongi chimes.

Jungkook scowls at his elder which causes Yoongi’s glare to sharpen. “I’d watch myself if I were you Jungkook.” Yoongi spoke lowly. “JUNGKOOK!” Seokjin snaps, “JUST BECAUSE YOU HAVE A PROBLEM WITH HER DOESN’T MEAN YOU CAN GO AROUND AND START MORE PROBLEMS WITH EVERYONE ELSE!” He scolds loudly. Namjoon walks in with knitted eyebrows, it only took him a few seconds for him to grasp the situation.

“Jungkook!” Namjoon growls darkly, “I thought I told you to apologize not to make it worse and start more problems!” Namjoon snarls. “She wouldn’t accept my apology!” Jungkook defends completely ignoring his mentor. “Can you blame her? You practically snarled it at her!” Seokjin chides.

“It’s not my fault! She probably can’t understand anyways! She hasn’t been going to school for over a year and a half!” Jungkook scoffs crossing his arms. My blood runs cold. My eyes widen and they immediately dart over to Namjoon. But Namjoon is already looking at me, silently asking if it was true, I couldn’t hold his gaze and I knew he got his answer just from that.

“And how exactly would you know that?” Namjoon asks carefully, in an eerie calm tone. One that unsettles me in an unmeasurable fashion. “We go to the same school in seoul. I hear her name in role call for at least one of my classes every year.” Jungkook grunted. Namjoon looks at me again and points one terrifying finger at me, “we’ll talk about this later.” He concludes before moving his finger over to Jungkook. “And you better be on your best behavior or there will be serious consequences.” He warns before lowering his hand.

“Yes sir,” I answer as soon as he finishes talking. “(y/n) are you okay?” He asks, his tone still slightly stern. I mutely nod my head, afraid my voice will give him any reason not to believe me. The look he gave me told me he didn’t believe me anyway but he’s willing to let it go until we get to a more private setting.

“Come on (y/n), I’ll show you the garage.” Taehyung spoke up. Taehyung's large hand is held out for me, I look at Taehyung for a moment and couldn’t help myself from playing with my hands to seem like they’re occupied.

Taehyung’s smile falls a little before he backs away, he waves for me to get up this time. I glance at Namjoon to see him talking to Seokjin and Yoongi off to the side. Namjoon seems to feel my gaze, he glances in my direction then Taehyung’s before nodding me over to him.

He watches as I stand up and doesn't look away until we walk out the front door. Taehyung leads us all the way to the large barn before pulling the giant doors open. I gasp as the entire space is open and filled with tools and cars. Unlike the wooden outside the barn inside has a layer of metal making up the walls. Tools of all types are hanging from them and in a far corner there are a few blueprints mounted on the wall.

There are car frames and engines elevated in the air from the chains that fall from the sealing and elevation racks as well. In the space that chains don’t hang, Industrial Lights hang there instead. There's a loft that I can’t see into at the back of the barn and below it are a few finished looking cars.

In short the entire area looks like a grease monkey’s playground. “Doesn’t the place look amazing! Me and Yoongi work here the most, sometimes we’ll have some of the guys test out some first models in the back field when we need it.” Taehyung informs. I nod along as he explains, but my eyes wander all over the place.

“Can you tell me how you met Namjoon?” He questions suddenly, I snap my head over his direction. “Did he not tell you?” I question in return, Taehyung shook his head with a thoughtful look. “No, when we asked, he had this smile smear across his face and it looked like he was laughing at something in his head. But he eventually just shook his head with that same stupid dopy smile.” he recalls.

I feel a sense of warmness swell in my chest upon hearing Taehyung’s explanation. “See! you’re making it too!” Taehyung wines, sticking a finger in my face, “Make-Making what?” I sputter. “That same dopey smile!” He sighs, “You really are the legacy of the dark god. I wonder what everyone will call you?” Taehyung continues with the same breathy sigh. “What do you mean call me?” I question raising an eyebrow, Taehyung raised one in return only a playful smirk is itched onto his face. “Oh you know, your little street name. You weren’t established before meeting Namjoon like Jimin and I, so people will most likely call you something relating to Namjoon like what happened with Jungkook. “ He muses.

I cringe at the sound of Jungkook’s name. “Oh,” I mumble, “It’s not a bad thing!” He quips looking panicked by my less than enthusiastic response. “I bet it’ll be cool! After all, Namjoon is known as ‘The Dark God’. I’m sure you have nothing to worry about being named something lame.” Taehyung soothes.

“Thanks,” I muse with a small smile. Taehyung seems to beam at my reaction. “Can I ask you a question?” I spoke softly, afraid he’ll say no. I tense up ready for the rejection. Instead I’m put off by the bright smile and over enthusiastic nod he shoots my way in response. “Oh, umm...Well, I was just. You know, kinda wondering if…” I stall, but by the way he’s looking at me I can tell he doesn’t mind at all.

“Iwasjustkindofwonderingifwecouldbefriendsafterthis?” I question quickly, and as soon as it leaves my mouth I duck my head unable to look at him. “It’s okay if you don’t want to! It’s just, I’m pretty sure I scared Jimin away earlier and I’m a hundred percent sure Jungkook hates me. I just don’t want to be by myself when things like this happen, because I’m sure Namjoon wouldn't want me sticking around him all the time when all the other mentors are around! And—” I rant, but I’m cut off by Taehyung’s hand gripping mine.

Instead of pulling away like I usually would, I grip them tightly hoping this could calm me down a little and show him I’m serious. I shake a little but Taehyung’s thumbs roll circles over the back of my palms.

I take a deep breath and push my head up to look at him. Upon meeting his face I’m greeted with an endearing ear to ear smile. “I think we can be friends, but…” He trails off, I feel my heart sink but Taehyung is quick to speak upon on seeing my sad expression. “ONLY IF YOU CALL ME TAE!” He yelps quickly, My mouth falls open and I let out a small giggle at his panicked face.

I see Tae’s face return to ear to ear smile at the sound. “Ah, it must have been fate Namjoon! Our two protégés getting along just like we do.” Someone sighs out in a blissful tone.

I almost snap my neck to look in the direction it came from. At the entrance to the garage is Yoongi and Namjoon both standing there with smirks smeared across their face. I feel the heat of embarrassment crawl its way over my body. I jerk my hands away from Taehyung’s and fold them into my body.

Namjoon lets out a sigh, “Come on Yoongi, you can’t tease her too much or she’ll never get out of her shell. Isn’t that right baby girl?” Namjoon calls over. I shrink further into myself at the pet name. He rarely calls me that, he only does it when he's feeling especially fond.

“Baby girl? Offly soft with her aren’t you Namjoon.” Yoongi calls out. I feel the heat of embarrassment grow in my face, I cover my face with my hands to cover my undoubtedly red face. “I was anything but soft on her when she started her training.” Namjoon defended.

Yoongi hums in dismissal, but I can tell by his tone he doesn’t believe him. “Come on (y/n), where are those pretty eyes of yours?” Namjoon's teasing voice rang out as I felt his hands try to gently pull my hands away from my face. I shook my head and bowed my head lower to keep his hands from pulling mine away.

He eventually pulls my hands away and I glare at the wide grinning dimpled man in front of me. “Come on baby girl, we gotta start heading home now.” He smiles softly wrapping an arm around my shoulder.

As we walk to the garage door, Taehyung comes running up from behind me. “Here! Call me! Or text me! Doesn’t matter!” He grins, handing me a crumpled piece of paper that looks like it's been flattened in order to write the digits written across the middle of it. I took it with a small smile, unable to tell him I don’t actually have a phone. I guess I’ll have to invest in one with the large sum of money I still have yet to spend.

I stuff the paper into my jacket pocket before Namjoon leads me to the car. Namjoon opens the passenger door, once I climb in he closes it before walking around to the driver’s side.

I watch out the front window as Taehyung waves from the barn door, Yoongi standing behind him. On the porch is Jin waving with Hoseok, with them is Jimin waving softly in my direction and off to the side is Jungkook not even bothering to look in our direction.

Namjoon lets us sit in silence for a while until he finally looks in my direction. “Are we going to talk about it?” He questions in a soft tone, “Do we have to?” I question in return unable to look in his direction. “We do.” He answers, “Look at me.” he demanded softly. Unable to do it I sink into my seat, “(y/n) I said look at me.” He repeats in a more stern tone.

I hesitantly look at him but not in the eye, knowing that's the best he’s probably going to get Namjoon sighs. “I’m not angry,” He starts, “I just want to know why?” He questions. I shrug and look back to the road briefly, “(y/n)” He warns. My chest sinks “I just, I just.” I huff, frustrated I can’t get it out. “Come on (y/n) out with it.” Namjoon urges, I feel my chest flare up in frustration. “I JUST DIDN’T HAVE ANYONE TO MAKE ME GO, SO I DIDN’T” I snap, hot angry tears falling down my cheeks. I bite my trembling lip so I won’t seem as pathetic as I’m actually feeling.

I jerk as Namjoon harshly pulls the car over to the side of the road. I don’t have time to process Namjoon unbuckling his seat belt and scooting over to my side of the seat. He pulls me flush against his chest and holds me there. My shaky hands grips the front of his jacket as I lean my forehead against his chest.

My hot angry tears continue to spring from my eyes and soon the hiccupping set in. One of Namjoon’s hands rubs in long smooth circles around my back. After the crying stops the heaviness of sleep sets in. Namjoon pulls me over to his side and leans me up against him before he starts the car again.

I fall asleep against him and he only wakes me up when we enter the city. “Give me your address, let me take you home.” He whispers, My eyes widen but I try not to show it. “No it's okay, just drop me off at the garage. I want to walk home.” I mumble. “No, I don’t think so. It’s late.” He disapproves. “It’s okay Namjoon. I need the air and I live in the safer part of town.” I sooth.

Namjoon is quiet for a minute before he sighs, “Okay, just make sure you get home okay.” He urges. I nodded my head with a small smile. Once Namjoon gets to the garage I climb out on the sidewalk. “Come in early tomorrow okay.” He spoke through the window. I nodded my head with a smile.

I watched him pull into the garage before making my way down the sidewalk to home. On the not so safe part of town, to the not safe home.

Masterlist // Next ---->

#Jeon Jungkook x reader #Jeon Jungkook x y/n #Jeon Jungkook x you #Jeon Jungkook #Jeon Jungkook smut #Street Spirits

38 notes · View notes

shimmershae · 2 years

Text

An Endless River of Stars (a Walking Dead story, Caryl.)

So. Here’s the deal. This story started off as a fun little Christmas distraction and ultimately I may leave it as that. But until I make up my mind, until I can figure out if my muse is going to stay cooperative, if inspiration is going to keep flowing, if you lovelies might be interested in reading more or not, I’m not going to mark it complete. Just a heads up.

Now that we got that established, a few quick words about this fic.

It’s a post finale fic. Kind of. What I mean by that is, should I continue it? It’s potentially going to expand beyond the nifty little unexplored year-long time jump Kang and Co. left us with as a parting gift, the same time jump I neatly slotted this story into. It may morph into a different animal altogether. Whatever does or doesn’t happen with this fic, I guarantee you I’m not gonna stomp on your hearts unless I kiss it better eventually. M’kay?

So. You got that? You still wanna read the story? Cool beans.

Without further ado----

“Shit, shit, shit.”

“Language!”

Judith’s pointed rebuke is quickly lost in the scramble of Daryl’s preoccupied thoughts as he bustles around the kitchen. The place looks like Ground Zero. Like a literal bomb of flour and sugar exploded in it and hell if he can find anything. Not the timer that’s buzzing insistently. Definitely not the silver wrapped package he’s safeguarded half the never-ending day only to misplace it sometime in the last ten, fifteen minutes. Daryl yanks open cupboards. He rifles through cutlery drawers and peeks beneath RJ’s abandoned comic book. He gives the Ass Kicker approved “decorating station” a brief once-over but the damn oven mitts seem to have vaporized along with the last shred of his good sense. Temporary insanity. That’s the only explanation for the fool thing he does next. “SONUVABITCH!!!” White hot, throbbing pain immediately has him clutching his hand to his chest, a litany of quieter expletives whistling through his clenched teeth like little aftershocks.

“Oh, Uncle Daryl.”

Judith’s face is pale and pinched with worry when it appears in his squinted line of vision. RJ hovers fuzzily nearby, slack jawed with horror. But it’s her, Carol, gently tsking at him as she reaches for his hand that Daryl hones in on. “When’d you get here?”

“Just in time for that impressive show. I thought you’d be happy to see me. Not literally tossing your cookies.”

Daryl huffs a would-be laugh. It’s tinged with pain, echoes with embarrassment as she peels back his sleeve, unfurling his fingers and frowning at the angry, inflamed skin of his palm. She inspects his wounds with tender efficiency, that old familiar concerned furrow drawing her brows together. He loves and hates that groove in equal measure so he touches his uninjured hand to her crimson sleeve. “Hey.” When her blue sky eyes light upon his face, he issues a gravel-laced reminder. “Tried to tell you I couldn’t bake.”

She smiles at him.

It’s just a tentative twitch of a thing at first. They’re still navigating the wreckage of too many harsh words delivered in festering hurt and anger, still tiptoeing their way through what feels like their last second chance, the one that sticks. Her smile’s barely even a flicker. But it’s enough to ease the ache that’s lived inside of him since that dusty Georgia highway. He smiles back. “I did.”

She ducks her head then and fusses with his sleeve. “You did,” she concedes softly. “Forgive me for thinking you knew the basics.”

“The basics?”

“The basics,” she reiterates as she peeks up at him with eyes that have started to dance just as merrily as the twinkle lights the kids outfitted their tree with, eyes that glow with soft affection as she teases him. “Hot things are hot, Daryl. Kinda thought you knew that.”

The infectious curl of her lips and the pink dimpling of her cheeks widen Daryl’s smile by degrees until his cheeks hurt and he laughs freely when his second-favorite little wiseass chimes in. Never has an implied Dumbass been delivered so fondly.

“Yeah, Uncle Daryl. Hot things are hot.”

“Ain’t fair, you two ganging up on me.” His protest is weak, even to his own ears, and goes ignored. He doesn’t bother to pretend he’s disappointed, just soaks all of it in. The world’s been trying to end on them since the day they met. It’s been unflinching and cruel, stealing so many they’ve loved. It almost wrenched the little girl they both love so dearly away from them. It almost took them away from each other a thousand times over, be it grief swallowing them whole, a hail of bullets striking them down, or walkers threatening to tear the flesh from their bones. He shakes the chilling thought off, bone weary of almosts and regrets, and makes a gruff plea. “Can somebody find that timer? Throw it out the window when you do.”

In a flurry of giggles, Judith and RJ leave to do just that.

Or at least, that’s what Daryl assumes they do because it’s mercifully quiet sometime later when Carol takes his hand in her own again and coaxes it open. The cloth she dabs his palm with is cool but doesn’t compare to her soothing touch and he barely breathes as she softly shushes him. His gaze lingers on the freckles that finely dust her skin. He finds himself entranced by the faint flutter of her eyelashes against her cheeks. When she nearly catches him in his act of admiration, he resolutely focuses on her hair instead and belatedly realizes she’s replaced the braid he’s come to expect with the short silver curls of yesteryear. Henry’s voice suddenly threads through his consciousness and a peculiar tightness seizes his throat as he meets the shimmery shine of her eyes. “You cut it.”

“Andrea always said you were observant.”

Her mouth twists into something aching and uncertain. Words meant to tease hang heavy between them like the glittering tears she stubbornly refuses to cry. He’s on the edge of a precipice here. He’s certain of it. As reckless as she’s ever been with her life, she’s been twice as stingy with her heart. Maybe, finally, she’s tired of playing it so safe. “It suits you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“I thought. I just. We get to start over. I want to. I want to try, Daryl. If that’s still something you want. Do you still—”

Her voice breaks painfully over the words he spoke to her so long ago. Unable to trust his own voice in that moment, Daryl nods. He reaches for her and the cloth falls away forgotten. She nuzzles her damp cheek into the palm of his hand and kisses the abused skin when his thumb collects the tears that have valiantly conceded defeat. He wants to tell her she’s the most beautiful being to walk this godforsaken earth. He doesn’t. Life’s too fucking short; doesn’t mean he wants to spill the contents of his heart all over the damn place like those misshapen lumps of dough with an audience and that’s what they have, a captive one. He cuts his eyes toward the two littlest Grimes hanging on their every word then back to Carol. He winks. “Think we can salvage some of them cookies?” It turns out the joke’s on him.

Carol bites back a giggle. “What Dog didn’t gulp down. Maybe.”

His head turns on a swivel with Judith’s and RJ’s to the mutt still licking his chops across the room. The opportunistic sonuvabitch sits up straight and smiles, smiles, showing them all his teeth, and the woman so close to being in Daryl’s arms loses it. The kids do, too. “Guess the damn things were a little on the done side.”

“A little?”

“Fuckers looked like hockey pucks,” he admits sheepishly.

“Language!”

Judith’s censure is sputtered this time, all but strangled by her giggles. For his part, for somebody sporting the oven mitts Daryl had searched for futilely on his hands like a goalie’s gloves, RJ just looks borderline bewildered.

Daryl catches Carol’s eyes again. They’re happy, bright, and soft all at once. “You brought backups didn’t you?”

“You know me, Pookie. What do you think?”

“Do, don’t I?”

She takes the hand he offers her and their fingers interlock like reunited halves of a whole.

The ache within Daryl intensifies but it’s the good kind of ache. The kind he didn’t know until he met her. The kind that comes from loving someone so damn much and hoping, believing, they just might love you back just as much. Even still, he won’t overwhelm her with the entire contents of his heart in one magical night. He’ll gift it to her one piece at a time, starting with the silver wrapped package he spies lying beneath the rubble of their cookie making. He’ll kiss her on the cheek underneath Ass Kicker’s strategically placed mistletoe, even if his lips long to meet her smile instead. He’ll ask her to stay here with them and leave that lonely apartment of hers behind once and for all. And one day? He’ll journey with her beneath an endless river of stars. He’ll do all those things. But first. “You ready to do this thing?”

Her fingers tighten around his own and she takes a steadying breath. “I’m ready.”

#The Walking Dead #Caryl fanfiction #Caryl #Carol x Daryl #Carol Peletier #Daryl Dixon #stuff that I write #Judith Grimes #RJ Grimes #some language #fluff #things that make me smile and cry #for reasons #my heart

29 notes · View notes