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frankenstein-ate-my-left-shoe · 10 months

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@steddiemas Day 7 - Mall and/or Job

pairing: steddie | word count: 1,884 | rated: G

“Munson Residence, wha'd’ya want?” Eddie groans into the receiver.

Whoever this is better be someone super fucking important to have woken him up with their damn ringing. He’s surprised Wayne didn’t wake up too, but it’d be kinda hard to hear the phone over those snores.

“Eddie! Thank god,”

Oh. Steve! Very important, actually.

“Oh, hey Steve, what’s up?”

“Eddie, can you do me a huge favor?”

“Yeah, of course, what’s wrong?” he immediately spirals into what all could have gone wrong, what could be going wrong. Everything dark blue and cold, vine-y and the flashing of red lightning—

“Nothing, nothing–well, something.. Can you please run to my place later today and grab my lunch? I forgot it this morning and I know I’m not going to be able to run back and get it and get back in time to eat it before my break is over.”

“Your lunch?” “Yeah, I packed one this morning but left it on the counter. There’s a key under the mat and everything.” Eddie barks out a laugh, “Tryin’ to get robbed, big guy?”

“I don’t care about any of the shit in that house.” Steve scoffs. He shrugs even though Steve can’t see him. “Fair enough. Sure Stevie, I’ll bring your lunch; when do you want me there?” “Dude, you’re the best; My lunch break is right at noon, can you be here just before then?”

“Got it. Five to noon at Family Video.” he drawls out as if he’s writing the information down.

“Uh, actually…not Family Video..”

A short two hours later, Eddie finds himself among a throng of people inside Melvald’s. He has to fight his way forward at first, but the crowd thins out as he gets closer to the registers.

Damn, he’s not even that far into the store and he feels like he’s ran a mile.

“Ms. Byers!”

“Oh! Hello Eddie, what brings you here?” “Steve called and asked if I could drop off his lunch to him. Do you know where he is? I didn’t even know he was working here.”

Joyce just grins at him. It’s weirdly mischievous. “Only temporarily, he’s near the back of the store. Just head back there and I’m sure you’ll find him.”

“Uh..thanks. See ya later Ms. B.”

He wanders toward the back of the store through the aisles, but stops up short when a fake white picket fence blocks his path.

The whole back corner of the store has been covered in fake felt snow, a couple of those fake plastic trees like Steve’s (though these are a normal size), a candy-striped ‘North Pole’, and dozens of paper snowflakes hang from the ceiling between what seems like hundreds of string lights.

And there, sitting in the middle of it on a throne that looks suspiciously like the one he used to use during Hellfire, is Steve. Dressed in a Santa suit. With long white beard, big ol’ belt and buckle, shiny black boots..

“Psst!”

He’s got something stuffed into his Santa jacket to give him the right shape, and even some small half-moon glasses, but those sparkling eyes, the freckles, that one swoop of brown hair stubbornly sticking out from under the fuzzy brim of his hat, that’s all Steve.

“Eddie!”

Santa Steve is fully enraptured by whatever story the kid on his knee is telling him, their hands waving every which way but somehow missing smacking Santa right in the face. Steve just continues to nod along, then gives them a hearty “Ho Ho Ho!” when they try to squeeze their tiny arms around his fake belly.

“Eddie!!”

He glances over at the sound of his name, and sees Robin waving frantically at him from her spot at old school music stand-turned-podium. She’s got on some sort of outfit that honestly looks like it was supposed to be a jester costume, where’d she even get that from?

His feet start toward her, but his eyes fall back on Steve Claus, now posing for a picture with the kid who’s smiling so wide it looks like his face will split in half.

Managing to take his eyes off Steve for a moment, he sees Jonathan behind the camera, and that Argyle kid is crouched in front of Robin, talking to the next kid in line to see Santa. All three of them are wearing matching jester costumes.

Eddie steps up to her podium after Argyle and the new kid pass in front of him to see Steve, “Family Video not paying enough, Birdie?”

She rolls her eyes, “Well, the extra cash doesn’t hurt. Joyce asked us to help out.”

He nods at her, and finds his eyes drifting back to Santa Steve.

This kid is much more shy than the last one, tilting her head down and taking short glances up at Steve’s face.

Steve is saying something to her, a low comforting sound that Eddie can only make out the tone of. His one hand covers the entirety of her upper back, and his thumb is moving up and down to try and soothe her nerves. His head is ducked down to be more level with her, looking at her over those half-moon glasses.

Suddenly, the girl’s head snaps up and Steve leans back a bit. “Yeah?” he hears him say.

The girl grins, nodding her head like crazy, then she too is squeezing Steve into a hug. It’s so unfairly endearing, he can actually feel his heart swelling in his chest.

Robin speaks up then, “So..?”

“So?” he repeats dumbly.

“So wha’d’ya think, Munson?”

“Does he need a Mr. Claus?”

He regrets the words as soon as they’re out of his mouth.

“Uh, wait, I mean Mrs.–Do you have— is someone going to—”

Eddie chances a look over at her…she’s wearing a smug, shit-eating grin. She leans toward him conspiratorially and mumbles out “I wouldn’t mind a Mrs. Claus myself.”

She leans back, still looking smug, but there’s a note of panic in her eyes.

He lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “So would he.” he mumbles out himself, jerking his chin towards Steve.

Robin only shrugs “You never know.”

“You never—what do you know, Buckley?” he asks, stepping closer and pointing an accusing finger into her still smug face.

“I know that there’s some mistletoe hanging above the breakroom door.”

He’s confused for just a moment, then understanding floods through him, “You little—”

A short whistle interrupts his incoming tirade, and Eddie can see Steve Claus moving out of the corner of his eye.

“Sorry folks, it’s time for Santa’s Cookie break!” Robin calls out over the long line of people. “He’ll be back in 30 minutes though, don’t you worry!” the smile falls off her face as soon as she turns her back to them.

Eddie follows her, Jonathan, and Argyle toward the back rooms, “I’m gonna take a nap.” She says, “Tell Santa to grab me before he goes back.” She waves toward a door as she passes it and from the sprig of greenery hanging above it, this must be the breakroom.

Robin takes a right down a turn in the hall, and Jon and Argyle push out the back door of the building.

He expects more of the same when he opens the door to the breakroom, for Steve to huff and grouse about the kids or the parents or something, but when he does, Steve is grinning ear to ear as he combs through his (now removed) fake beard.

“Hey Santa Stevie.”

“Eds!”

“I’ve got your lunch.” he holds up the brown paper bag for Steve to see. Steve nods, and lays the beard out on an empty chair, taking off his hat and glasses too and setting them both on top before stepping forward to grab the bag. “And you have hat hair.” Eddie laughs.

Steve’s free hand jumps to his head and scruffs up the long hairs, making them stick up every which way instead of just being plastered down on his forehead.

“Better?”

“Sure, big guy.” Eddie pokes Steve’s fake belly.

Steve chuckles, then heads to a table in the corner where he dumps out his lunch bag.

“So what’d Past Steve pack for Future Steve?” Eddie asks, plopping down in a chair kitty-corner from Steve’s. “Bologna and mustard sandwich, Doritos, and half of a leftover Hellfire cookie.”

“And a Coke,” Eddie says, taking a can out of his jacket pocket, “I grabbed one for you from your fridge.”

“Thanks, Eddie.” Steve smiles warmly at him. “You want some?”

“No way dude, you gotta get your energy back after dealing with all those kids, right?” Eddie says, waving him off.

“Eh, some of them are little assholes, but most of them are really well behaved.” he’s ripping his sandwich in half, “Gotta impress Santa, right?”

He offers him one half, and Eddie takes it.

“It’s really not a bad gig, though the beard is itchy as hell…”

Steve starts talking about some of the kids who have come by in the last couple days of them doing this, having started on that past Monday, the 1st.

There were the kids asking for baseball bats, Lincoln Logs, Malibu Barbie, Rockstar Barbie (“Barbie’s a rockstar now?”, “Barbie can be anything, I guess.”), all the usual things.

Then there were kids that asked for actual Santa stuff, “I don’t want my mom and dad to get a divorce.”, “I wish I had some friends.”, “I want my grandpa to get better.”

“Makes me wish I actually was Santa, y’know? Then maybe I could actually help them.”

Eddie’s heart is definitely getting way too fuckin’ big for his chest.

He puts his hand on Steve’s forearm where it’s resting on the table between them. “You are a good man, Steve Harrington.”

Steve’s face flushes nearly as red as his suit. “Thanks, Eddie.” he glances above Eddie’s head then, “I better go wake up Robin, if she naps too long on top of the potatoes, she gets cranky.”

Eddie snorts out a laugh, “Yeah, better get on that.”

Steve stands up and tugs on his hat, not bothering to put on the beard and glasses yet. The fuzzy white band smushes a lock of his hair onto his forehead.

“Hold on,” Eddie stands as well, reaching forward to tuck the hair under the bottom of Steve’s hat. “Now you’ll be ready to see your adoring public.”

“Thanks,” Steve laughs, walking with him toward the door.

And of course, Eddie forgot all about the damn mistletoe until Steve’s arm stops him in the doorway.

‘Jesus H. Christ…’

He glances over at Steve, then up at the offending plant..

Eddie looks back down, out toward the rest of the store where they’d be clearly visible in the doorway.

“I guess you owe me one, huh big boy?” Eddie chuckles, ‘Stupid plant, stupid Robin, stupid Ed–’

His thoughts are cut off when Steve tugs him back into the breakroom, moves him against the wall, and leans down to press a kiss to his cheek. The opposite to the kiss he’d given Steve three weeks ago.

Steve leans back, a smirk on his lips and a pink flush on his face. “Now we’re even.” he winks, then turns out the door to wake up Robin.

i may have actually kicked my feet and giggled about this one lmao

also, rockstar barbie mentioned here is from the 1986 Barbie and The Rockers set

also, also, i'm getting rid of the 'pre' before the steddie up top, you all know what's happening and where this is going lol - it's steddie.

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sukis2 · 2 years

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crybaby | pt. 1

"The more you care, the more you have to lose.”

The skies are painted orange as the sun disappears over the horizon, indicating that it’d be dinnertime soon, and you should be getting ready. But an unexpected visitor stands before you, silver hair falling haphazardly over half-lidded lilac — and you feel shy under his gaze as you remember how he’d stood up for you against those bullies, suddenly interested in the caterpillar that moved lazily across your doorstep.

ft. tokyo revengers | imaushi wakasa x f!reader note. another hashtag trauma copium. tags under the cut.

tags. slight au. ages, timeline is adjusted. shin’s alive ‘n waka has silver hair into adulthood bc i say so. merong

i. part 1

Big, glistening blobs of tears well up in the corner of your eyes.

"Aw, what's wrong, lil' crybaby? Just gon' cry again?"

Your tiny fists clutch the hem of your shirt at the pure mockery in their voices, rubbing salt in your already bleeding wound. Somewhere deep down, you'd known that these older kids were nothing but trouble — it's exactly what your neighbor had told you when they, out of the blue, asked you to play with them. But you were too kind, too trusting, too naive to understand just how cruel people could be, so you accepted their offer with wide, sparkling eyes at the prospect of making new, older, and cooler friends.

"No! I-I... I just..."

The bridge of your nose and your cheeks are burning in chagrin as you try to keep the hot tears from falling, but all that does is make them laugh even harder, and it rings loudly in your ears.

"You're totally right, she looks so ugly when she cries, like a pig!" One of the kids, a girl, shrieks in delight as you shrink smaller and smaller into yourself. "It's so funny!" The two other boys with her laugh along in agreement and you feel something like shame and embarassment bubble up in your stomach.

"I... I want to go h-home," you murmur, voice cracking as you rub a furious fist over your wet eyes. "Please... just, j-just give me back my rabbit. Then I'll leave..."

"Hah? You're still on about that dirty ol' stuffed toy?" A boy snorts.

"What's that? The rabbit? Ew," The girl's face twists into something like disgust. "That thing's gross, it smelled weird. Why would you want a stuffed animal like that?"

"Hey! Don't be mean... her parents probably found it for her out of a dumpster."

Your cheeks flame at their comments as they burst into another round of laughter. A new wave of hot, frustrated tears fall from your eyes as you wished desperately to be anywhere but here — all you wanted to do was get Bunny and go back home. You thought about Bunny, the used-to-be-white stuffed rabbit that you'd had since before you could even walk.

It was one of your most precious posessions, something that you don't think you could live without, even at such a young age. Bunny was there for you when you were scared of starting your first day at school, when you first learned how to ride a bike (without training wheels!), whenever it was that time of the year for you to go to the doctor's, was there for you whenever you were sad, scared, happy — Bunny was always there for the big moments in your life... but the most important thing about Bunny was that it'd been a gift, to you, from your mother.

So, you cherished it more than anything.

"Where'd you put it, anyway?" The girl asks, nudging the boy next to her.

You swallow hard, anticipating the worst.

"Oh, that thing? It fell in the ditch somewhere."

Your heart nearly stops. In... the ditch...?

"How c-could you do that?!" You found yourself yelling before you could stop yourself. Your little explosion even surprises the three of them as they recoil from the volume of your little voice. The ditch was known throughout the area as a bottomless pit — a long, dark, dirty trench at the corner of the neighborhood that was full of trash, debris, and who knows what else (rumors say that a slime monster even lived down there). Anything that was thrown in the ditch was most likely never to be seen again.

Which meant you'd never see Bunny ever again.

"You...! Y-you...!" At such an age, you couldn't find the right words to express yourself, so instead, the knot that'd formed in your throat caused you to break out into loud, teary wails. "B-bunny is...!" Your incoherent crying starts garnering the attention of bystanders now, making the kids glance at each other worriedly. And even though your lungs grew hoarse, the ache in your heart is almost unbearable — Bunny was gone, the one and only thing you had left of your mother...

"Can you get her to shut up?" The girl whispers furiously. "We'll get in trouble!"

One of the boys looked nervous. "Hey, kid, stop crying, will you? It's just a dumb stuffed rabbit—"

"Finish that sentence and I'll make sure you get turned into a dumb, stuffed rabbit."

You barely register the new voice that appears from behind you through your own crying and blubbering, unable to stop the onslaught of tears that stung in your eyes. All you can think about is Bunny and how disappointed your mother would be knowing you lost it — but as the three kids in front of you suddenly freeze, eyes wide like a trio of deers, your cries turn into confused hiccups.

They... aren't laughing anymore. What...?

Or rather, who. "Don't know what your shitty parents taught you, but it ain't nice picking on people."

When you slowly turn to take a look, your eyes widen slightly at the realization that it's your neighbor. A boy who says that he's only a year older than you (you still weren't sure whether to believe him or not, since he could easily pass for a middle-schooler at the least), with unkempt silver hair and a lilac gaze that always made you think he was sleepy. While you never actually hung out with him, he was always hanging out on his porch as you played in your front yard, so you saw him quite often.

But... why was he here?

"Oh shit, it's Imaushi-kun," you hear the kids whisper amongst themselves.

Imaushi? So that was his name.

You sniffle and, for a moment, he appraises you with his gaze before turning his attention back to the others — you notice that there's the stick of a lolly hanging from the corner of his mouth. "You should apologize," he says suddenly, though it sounds more like a command than a suggestion.

"...huh? Apologize?" One of the boys is courageous enough to speak up, though there's an obvious shakiness in his voice. You weren't aware of it then, but they were well aware of Imaushi Wakasa and his delinquent tendencies, even at such a young age. "Apologize for what? We didn't do anything."

"You just said it. You threw her toy into the ditch."

"I-I didn't!" He exclaims, though you all see straight through his lie. "It... it fell... it was an accident!"

"You sure about that?" Wakasa doesn't bat an eyelash. "You," he nods towards the girl, who jumps in surprise at being called out. "Tell me, was it an accident? And don't lie to me. I hate liars."

You can only watch, somewhat in awe, as your bullies turn into quivering little ants in the presence of your seemingly harmless, always-sleepy-looking neighbor. He's standing in front of you now so you can only see the back of his head, but from the way that the older girl visibly gulps and darts her eyes between him and her two friends, he must've looked scary.

"I..." She almost looks like she'll lie. But instead, she breaks. "No, it wasn't an accident..."

The boy besides her looks almost scandalized by her betrayal.

"That's what I thought," Wakasa hums, the lolly stick in his mouth moving slightly as he spoke. "Listen, let's make a deal. You three are going to go in the ditch and get her stuffed rabbit back, before sunset—"

"And why would we do that?" The other boy asks, crossing his arms over his chest.

"You see that kid?" He's pointing a thumb back at you, who'd been standing and watching the whole ordeal silently, with your face and eyes red from crying so much. You feel their eyes boring into you so, instinctively, you fold back into yourself in embarrassment. "I don't like how you made that cute little kid cry. Get the rabbit, and I'll make sure I won't make you cry as hard when I'm done with you."

The frightened look on their faces at his threat makes them look like cartoon characters, you think, as they scramble off into the distance.

And when you stand at your front door later that evening, you're clutching the hem of your shirt for an entirely different reason.

The skies are painted orange as the sun disappears over the horizon, indicating that it'd be dinnertime soon, and you should be getting ready. But an unexpected visitor stands before you, silver hair falling haphazardly over half-lidded lilac — and you feel shy under his gaze as you remember how he'd stood up for you against those bullies, suddenly interested in the caterpillar that moved lazily across your doorstep.

"Here." A simple word makes your head snap up instantly.

And you can't stop the way your eyes widen—

"Bunny!"

"Sorry for taking so long. Had my mom clean it."

You don't know how, but Bunny feels even fluffier and looks almost whiter than before as you bury your head into its fluff, inhaling the faint scent of lavender and soap. You keep your head there for a little bit, trying to hold in the tears forming in your eyes again (perhaps the older kids were right, you are a crybaby) — you sniffle slightly, still hiding your face.

"I... Th-thank you, Imaushi-kun."

"Don't sweat it," he says, and you attempt to peer at him over Bunny's fluff. But he's already making his way down the path, shoulders relaxed as a hand lays in his pocket. He turns his head slightly to look at you, and for some reason, your cheeks feel warm. "Just don't cry so much over kids like that, alright?"

You can only nod, watching as your mysterious neighbor heads back to his house.

You hug Bunny a little closer to your heart.

You're in high school when, for the first time, you think you're in love.

You don't have much experience with boys even up until then, and it's not because you don't want to or aren't interested — you just haven't had any proper opportunities (that, and you're still quite shy about any of that 'dating' business). You also can't recall boys ever showing a bit of interest in you, nor a single soul lined up to confess their undying love for you anytime soon.

In all honesty, Wakasa's the only guy friend you have.

Somewhere along the way, you'd become friends with your neighbor. It went from little play dates in front of your houses (which was usually just you begging him to play, while he pretended to sleep) to having him over for dinner sometimes, to realizing you both went to the same school, resulting in inadvertently taking the same road home together, to pretty much seeing each other whenever either of you went out — little by little, bit by bit, perhaps in large part due to mere vicinity, he became a close friend.

Still, you'd never thought of Wakasa in that kind of way.

Or at least, not how you saw it happen in the movies or dramas that your father secretly liked to watch. In those movies, being in love with always obvious; sweaty hands, a fluttering heart, eyes that turned into stars when that certain someone was around. Yet you can't recall ever experiencing any of those things before (and certainly not around Imaushi Wakasa, of all people).

You're certain that you've never experienced that kind of love, the only kind that you know, until him.

Him being the new kid in your class, Hiroshi.

Hiroshi had taken your entire class, your entire grade, by storm, and with good reason. Aside from moving back from living in the States for a few years, he was not only charming, good-looking and athletic, but he was incredibly smart. He earned the highest marks despite being new and always knew the answers whenever the teacher called on him — though, you think you fell in love with him the first time he smiled directly at you after being partnered up together for a project.

After just a day studying with him, you knew he was the type that any girl (or guy) would be lucky to be able to bring back home to meet their parents. He was damn near perfect.

"Somethin's off about him," Wakasa had told you, nonplussed, after you asked for his thoughts.

You'd tilted your head sideways, nose scrunching in confusion. "Huh? How so?"

But Wakasa had merely shrugged in that nonchalant way he always did, leaning against the stone wall with a popsicle in hand, his gaze not leaving the ocean in the distance. You'd been sitting sideways on his parked motorcycle, your legs swaying lightly. "Can just tell," he'd said, but as you wracked your brain, you couldn't come up with any justifiable examples from your own experience with Hiroshi.

"Is it because of the way he dresses?" It was an innocent enough question, a genuine touch of thoughtfulness in your tone, but it still made Wakasa snort. You supposed that was one downside he had as someone 'damn near' perfect — he dressed like a thirty-year-old college professor, hiked up khakis and all.

"Nah. Like I told you, I can just tell. Guys like that — they hide things. Not sure what, but I'd say it's not worth the trouble sticking around to find out."

And Wakasa had said it so surely, so plainly, like it was the most obvious thing in the world, that for a moment, you'd stopped to seriously consider his words. But you'd been so smitten with Hiroshi at that point that you couldn't (or didn't want to) see what was so bad about him. So you'd just sighed, letting the conversation end at that, and decided not to tell Wakasa about the date Hiroshi had asked you out on later that weekend.

If you had to do it again, you probably would've taken Wakasa's advice.

It all happened within a month. You'd fell, and you'd fell fast. Absolutely head over heels for the guy. The date with him ended up going great, and just a few days later, he'd asked you to officially be his girlfriend. You, of all the girls that were already throwing themselves at him — he was your first boyfriend, and you were on cloud nine. Sweaty palms, racing heart, starry eyes, you had it all, and you were sure you were in love. (Though you never told Wakasa that, because quite frankly, the dark aura that'd he'd suddenly emit whenever you so much as hinted at your newfound relationship, scared you.)

So in love you'd been, that you'd been blind to all the signs.

The way he'd smile so sweetly when he cancelled yet another date you'd carefully planned out with an excuse about a family emergency, how he'd pull you into a warm hug whenever you asked why he was on his phone so much — but you think what should've been the biggest sign of all was when, for the first time, he'd yelled at you for trying to hold is hand at school.

The perfect image you had of Hiroshi was broken then, but your mind was good at trying to cover that up. Because you were in love with the guy, one of the only boys who ever asked you out, who showed any kind of interest in you, who wanted to you date you over anyone else.

Or so you thought.

The blow that shattered it all was when you found him feeling up another girl in the same spot where he'd asked you out; the cherry blossom tree in front of the gym. And the worst part of it all? He didn't seem the least bit guilty when he saw your tear-stained face and a hand to your aching heart — instead, he gave you that smile, and simply broke up with you right then and there.

You really could've disappeared.

It was your first heartbreak, and it truly felt like your heart was breaking. For an entire week, you couldn't eat or sleep properly because you felt so sick (you didn't even go to school, since your father thought you actually were sick), and even refused Wakasa's visits because of how ashamed you were that you didn't listen to him. He'd been right the whole time, and while Wakasa wasn't the type to kick you while you were down, you couldn't bear to face him.

When you finally bring yourself to come back, though, you almost faint when the first person who approaches you at the school gate is your now ex-boyfriend. You really could've vomitted at how sick you were starting to feel again, until you notice that he's sporting the nastiest black eye you'd ever seen, paired with a split lip and cuts on his cheek.

What the hell happened to him?

"H-Hiroshi?"

And before you can process what's going on, he's kneeling on the ground in front of you, apologizing while crying profusely. Your entire face burned up at that point, from your neck all the way to the tips of your ears at his sudden, unwarranted grand gesture. What is going on?! Your fellow students are watching curiously, whispering amongst themselves, and you wonder if this is more embarrassing for him or for you.

"Wait a minute," You hissed, struggling to find the words, looking around nervously. "G-get up off the floor! Are you an idiot?! Why are you bowing and apologizing like that for?"

"Leave him."

You sputtered incoherently as Wakasa appeared next to you, seemingly out of thin air, and stuck a fresh red lolly into the corner of his mouth. He looked down at Hiroshi with hooded eyes, as if regarding him as the most pitiful being on the planet — and to be quite honest, he probably was, in that moment.

"Wakasa? D-do you know what's going on?"

"Huh. Didn't think he'd made such a big deal out of it like that. But I guess that's just how guys like him compensate for being absolute shitheads." Wakasa ran a hand through his hair, lilac flickering over to you for just a second. If you'd squinted, you think you could've seen something like concern hidden somewhere in there. "You good?"

Didn't think he'd make...— what?

Wakasa's insinuation went right over your head, however, as another realization hit you.

You froze, suddenly very interested in your fumbling hands.

"Waka... listen, I..." I'm sorry I didn't listen to you.

Your bottom lip trembled as you struggled to find the right words, tears pooling in your eyes and sticking heavy to your lashes. Your throat constricted as the emotions from your breakup, paired with the shame you felt from having been stupid enough to fall into such a trap, swelled up like a balloon about to burst in your chest — but Wakasa's expression didn't change, the look in his eyes never judging you. Instead, you watched as the corner of his lips pulled into a knowing smirk.

"Don't tell me you're gonna cry again," he breathed, and it sounded almost like a chuckle.

You sniffed as his thumb reached out to wipe away a few stray tears. "I-I'm sorry, Waka, I-I—!"

"Hey. What'd I tell you, hm? Don't cry over kids like that."

You still feel terrible, but as Wakasa slings an arm around your shoulder with a sigh and leads you away from the gathering crowd, muttering something along the lines of, "What am I gonna do with you? Always crying over dumb shit," with something akin to fondness in his eyes — you know that there was no need to apologize in the first place.

It's when you're a little older, a little wiser, and a little more experienced, that you realize the dangers of having a heart that loved, cared, and trusted too much.

You've always been someone who felt all of these things like a burning flame (and, you'd argue, why you were such a crybaby). If you cared, you did it whole-heartedly. If you trusted, you did it unconditionally. And if you loved, you did it with every fiber of your being. Passionate, some would call it; foolish, others would say. Because everytime you chose the power of unbridled emotion over anything else, life challenged you to make sure you knew exactly what that entailed.

Time and time again, you were met with the harsh reality that the things and people in your life that you held dear weren't magically protected by the mere sentiment you had for them.

You learned the hard way that life was full of continuously moving pieces — circumstances change, feelings fade, things that once were just ceasing to be (or, alternatively, things that weren't there before, suddenly appearing out of thin air). You know some people who would say that that was life's silver lining, that it was in these arbitrary changes that truly signified what it meant to be alive.

But that... to you, that was scary.

Because you found out that the more you tried to hold onto the pieces that you cared so deeply about, the more you had to lose.

And for someone like you, who felt with their entire being, when it hurt — it hurt. So, over time, you decided that each time you had to patch up a missing piece of your heart, you'd do whatever you could to protect it for the next time. You stopped loving and caring and trusting so easily, growing wary of anything and anyone who could potentially hurt you, even if it meant hurting yourself first.

Even when all you wanted to do was love, when it was transcribed in your very existence, you'd extinguish the flame before it could burn again, if only it meant you wouldn't get hurt.

You don't have big, fancy dreams of going to college like everyone else around you.

You already know that you'll be attending one of the smaller universities nearby — you don't really have the money for anything better, nor the grades for helpful enough scholarships, but you make the most of it anyway. You find a part-time job at a 24-hour bakery chain and move into an apartment closer to the city, rooming with one of your co-workers who just so happens to attend the same university.

Her name is Asahi and, a lot of times, you wonder how the two of you clicked so well when you were nearly exact opposites of one another. She was confrontational, blunt, and quick-witted (in many ways she reminded you of Wakasa, which might've been a big factor for your dynamic, but said childhood friend would simply glower anytime you made the comparison — the two of them tended to clash despite being so similar, but they were kind enough to at least try to be civil for your sake).

Parts of your life had changed, but if there was one constant, it was Imaushi Wakasa.

Even when you were certain that he'd leave at some point, like most of the people and things in life you'd held near and dear, he proved time and time again his willingness to stay. He was there at graduation, when you sent in your college application, when you finally moved into your first apartment, and even now, he'd often pick you up after shift in that motorcycle of his and take up all of your free time.

Wakasa was your comfort, and you wonder if even he knew how much that meant to you.

How much he meant to you.

"Were you waiting long?"

The wind caught your hair as you smiled brightly at the tall figure walking towards you. You shook your head, a baker's apron draped across your arm. "Nope, I only just got out. Someone was out sick at the last minute so I had to work the juice machine today..." There was a small pout in your voice that made him chuckle. "I swear I'm going to be smelling like carrots and orange juice for days."

"Mm, I'm just surprised they still trust you on that thing. Desperate times call for desperate measures, I suppose." There was a hint of teasing in his voice that you pointedly ignored, taking the helmet that he handed over to you with a little wrinkle of your nose — you'd always hated how the helmet made your hair stick flat. You used to question why you had to wear one and he didn't, but he never budged, and you knew better than to push Imaushi Wakasa when he was resolute about something.

"Hey, I'll have you know that I'm actually pretty good at using it now!" You huffed defensively, letting him take your uniform into the tailbag he'd gotten specifically for when you rode with him.

"I'll have to be the judge of that one," Wakasa hummed as you scowled only half-heartedly at him. "I'll visit next time. We'll see how much better you've actually gotten at making juice."

"Speaking of visiting..." You trailed off for a moment, only slightly distracting yourself as you finally started putting on the helmet. "You haven't come around as much. What've you been up to?"

You hoped that he didn't catch onto the disappointment that simmered somewhere under your words. You also hoped that it didn't seem too obvious that it'd been something lingering in your mind for the past few weeks — and whether he did or not you couldn't tell, since in true Wakasa fashion, he kept his face neutral as he leaned down to properly adjust the straps of your helmet.

"Hm? You know what I've been up to. We talk every day."

That was partially true.

You both did talk every day — even if you couldn't meet up that day, whether it be because you had an important exam to study for or he had personal matters to attend to, one of you would make the effort to call over the phone and just talk, even if just for a few minutes. But there was something different in the air that didn't go unnoticed by you; a shift, a change, that you couldn't put your finger on exactly. You'd barely noticed it yourself, until your roommate commented about not having seen him for a while.

And it got you thinking, which was never a good thing.

"...I guess," you mumbled, looking away. "You just haven't been around the bakery or stopped by my place in a while."

Wakasa paused, quiet for just a moment longer than normal (from your perspective, at least), before he let out an amused breath, knocking gently against your helmet with his knuckle. "You miss me that much?"

"Of course!" Your cheeks started to turn red as you crossed your arms over chest. "It's only natural to miss seeing your best friend after they're MIA for a couple of weeks, right?"

You couldn't bring yourself to look at him, but you could feel Wakasa's lingering gaze searching your face — you don't know why you're getting so flustered at admitting it, that you missed him and his presence. You want to blame it on that strange shift that you still couldn't pinpoint, but even then, you knew how silly that sounded in your own ears.

"Of course it is." It's when he finally speaks that you decide to look up; and without even knowing it, you hold in your breath when you find unwavering lilac staring back down at you. "Let's get katsu at that place you like and watch something tonight, yeah? Your pick."

Just like that, like clockwork, it was like the pieces were falling into their respective places again as you nestled behind him on his bike, wrapping your arms around his torso. The feel of the wind picking up and running through your hair was familiar — and in that moment, at least for a little bit, you unraveled at the little bit of comfort you hadn't even realized you'd been missing the last few weeks.

But life keeps moving, and the pieces are shuffled again.

In the blink of an eye, things get busier than ever. All of a sudden it seems like you barely have any free time in between the important exams you need to study for on top of a never-ending mountain of homework; and if that wasn't enough, you'd encountered a tiny miscalculation in your monthly budget that meant yo had to take up extra shifts that bakery to help cover your rent.

It was like a whirlwind was picking up momentum in your life, right when you thought everything was 'back to normal' — as if suddenly, in the middle of it all, you'd become very aware of the growing distance between you and your best friend.

Life happens. That's what they say, right?

So you didn't want to blame him when he suddenly couldn't pick up your calls anymore because he was busy or "Sorry, I'm in the middle of something so I'll call you back later, alright?" (because you were too), and you didn't want to jump to conclusions when the time in-between texts went from minutes to days (because he had his own life to live, you knew that) — but into the early hours of the morning when you could finally settle down for much-needed sleep and check your phone, only to be greeted with no sign of notifications (a message not even left on 'read'), you couldn't help how heavy your heart felt each time.

"Avoiding you? What'd make you think that?"

Asahi is a breath of fresh air when you finally tell her what's been on your mind; maybe you just needed an outside perspective. "I don't know," you say with a small shrug, trying not to sound like it was something that'd been eating away at you for the past few weeks. "It's just... I haven't heard from him in a while. We barely talk anymore."

"Still, avoiding you? That's a bit much. We both know that kid would attach himself to your hip if he could," Asahi sweeps some crumbs off the counter as you place freshly baked bread in the display window. "He's probably just been busy."

"That's what I thought too..." You idly adjust the angling of the bread, your mind wandering. "But I've asked him out a few times already. No luck. I mean — maybe I'm overthinking it. It just... I don't know, it just seems like he doesn't want to hang out with me."

"I dunno, it just doesn't seem like something Imaushi'd do. And it's not like you've done anything," Asahi says with a tiny shrug, finally taking the bread away from you to properly arrange them. "But if it's really bothering you so much, why don't you go and visit him or something?"

You pause.

"Hmm. You have a point, I suppose."

And you decide to do just that.

Maybe you just needed someone else's confirmation to garner conviction (because what if he actually was avoiding you and you showed up to his place out of the blue?), but with a lot of your homework also out of the way, you make the executive decision to just go out on a limb and visit him at the gym. To put out the little inklings of doubt that'd been running around in your mind.

You're in a slightly better, daresay brighter, mood when you leave the bakery after your shift with a slice of strawberry chiffon cake hidden in a tiny white box, with your best friend's name written on it with black ink and a smiley face. It was one of Wakasa's go-to orders whenever he stopped by, saying that the strawberries were always, without fail, sweet.

And Asahi had a point. It's not like the both of you got into an argument, or like you'd done anything to get him upset (at least, not that you could recall...), so maybe you were just overthinking it. In all the years you'd known Imaushi Wakasa, you don't remember him ever getting mad at you, or ignoring you out of spite. Disappointed? Frustrated? Sure. But it'd all blow over and life would return to normal.

What would make this time any different?

You're almost certain that it's all in your head.

Yet as you round the familiar corner of the gym, your mind completely blanks.

It takes a minute to process that it's really him at first, simply because it feels like forever since you'd last seen him. Dressed in casual athletic wear, hair tied up to keep the loose strands out of his eyes like he always did whenever he was working — but the red drop earrings were unmistakable in the light. His name doesn't even make it off your tongue, because in that instant, you're very much so aware of the girl that's pressed up against him, her arms wrapped around his neck.

And if that isn't enough, also painfully visible, is the arm encircled around her waist, and the way that they were not-so-discreetly speaking almost intimately into each other's ear. You duck your head and take a few steps backwards behind the wall, though it's almost like your senses have heightened from the way your heart was suddenly hammering against your chest.

H-huh...?

Slowly, you peek out again, if only to make sure you weren't seeing things.

"I'm really glad we got to train together again today, Wakasa-kun," Her voice is like honey to even your ears as she, almost shyly, tucks a strand of hair behind her ears. She looks up at him with wide, glistening eyes that you can see all the way from where you are — you only catch a glimpse of the side of Wakasa's face, but it's apparent that he's making no move to push her away. "I really enjoy spending time with you. D'you think we could go out again sometime?"

A strange chill runs down your spine at that. Who is this...?

"I'll be busy the next few days," Wakasa's voice that normally granted you comfort now made your chest feel unusually heavy. "Maybe Friday night? We'll figure something out."

Don't... don't tell me— has he been avoiding me because... because he has a...?

You can hear her giggle through the haze of your mind. "I'd like that. It's a date!"

"Here, let me walk you to the bus stop."

It's like your feet have been cemented to the ground as you watch them walk down the street, in the opposite direction of you. What... what did I just witness? You tried to process what you'd just seen, what you'd just learned, about your so-called best friend. When? How long? And why? Your thoughts are all jumbled up as the image of the two of them replay in your mind — the way they were holding onto each other, the look she gave him, the way he was so painfully casual about it all.

It was only when the laughter of a couple of gym patrons leaving broke the silence did you finally blink, coming back to reality, and realized that hot, silent tears were spilling from the corners of your eyes.

Taking one last look around, you placed the white box of strawberry chiffon at the doorway, and left.

There it was again.

You could feel it — that change, the sudden shift in paradigm that'd been haunting you for months now that you could never put words to. The only difference now, was that you could finally see it.

there’s a part two here

#tokyo revengers x you #imaushi wakasa x you #imaushi wakasa #tokyo revengers #tokrev

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kashimos-hajime · 4 years

Text

sawdust and plastic | g.t.

summary: you learn two things from your first real fight with goro. 1) he apologizes through cooking. 2) he hates it when they argue.

WARNINGS: spoilers for the gimme danger main job, swearing, slight angst, theye just communicating pairing: goro takemura x fem!street-kid!v word count: 2.2k

a/n: written with a fem!street-kid v who used to be a corpo kid. also dont yell at me but i rearranged v's apartment so the couch goes on all 3 sides bc comfortable :^) crossposted on ao3! enjoy :)

part of the tales of a two-bit thief series

Sitting down on the couch, you kick up your feet for the first time in what you feel like has been ages. From Jackson Plains to reconnaissance on the Arasaka warehouse, you haven’t eaten shit besides the yakitori Takemura had ordered at that booth which already felt like ages ago. It’d been good—better than the trash you’ve eaten as a kid so you don’t really get picky—but you can’t help but recall the disgust on Takemura’s face when he had taken a single bite.

“Sawdust and plastic.”

You snort, running hands over your face and tilting your head back. Stupid fucking Japanese man with an endearing sense of dry-humour and… zero tolerance for your cheeky smiles.

Then he had to go ahead and bring up Jack.

His words, cold, callous, echo in your skull like a goddamn radio and you squeeze your eyes tight, raking your hands down your face and melting into the couch. No matter how much you wanna stop it, you can’t help hearing it over and over and over.

Grabbing the remote, you’re about to switch on a channel in hopes you catch something that cna take your mind off everything when there’s a knock on your door.

For a moment, you truly debate telling them to fuck off but then, there is a pause.

“V.”

Eyes widening, your body goes rigid at the sound of his voice.

“V, let me in before I look anymore foolish.”

In the back of your head, you tempt the idea of just leaving him out there, pretending like you’ve fallen asleep, but then you get up anyway against your better judgement. You drag your feet over the floor, picking up old takeout boxes you haven’t had time to clean up and tossing clothes into a hamper to make your apartment look more like an organized mess than the dumpster fire you know Takemura will scold you for.

When you reach the door, you let him in without a word and you note the bags he holds on, hoisting them over to your living room counter.

“What’s this?” you question wearily. “Goro, I’m not hungry.”

“I realized I must apologize for my harsh words.” Beginning to pull out the groceries, you walk over and peer inside the bag, frowning. All the stuff inside is cheap synth shit, nothing you haven’t eaten before, but you’re still confused as to what’s going on since you don’t exactly have a kitchen in your place, but then out of one of the thicker bags, Takemura pulls out a big box.

“For saying them?”

“Yes." He sets the box down before continuing with groceries. “Earlier, I told you if I had time and resources, I would cook onigiri.”

“With cod, or grilled salmon. Or umeboshi plums, because they were Saburo’s favourite,” you finish and he sends you a look that could’ve been a smile if his lips had curved more and his eyes meant it. “I remember.” Helping him with the big box, you cut it open and find a rice cooker within. Eyeing the contraption with an arched eyebrow, you can’t help but ask: “Where’d you find this stuff?”

“It was difficult. I had to lower my standards.”

“Lowering standards,” you echo dryly, unable to help your empty smile. “Yeah. We do that a lot in grand ole NC.” He doesn’t seem amused by you even trying to help as you sit down on the couch, twist to watch him work. “Are you sure you don’t want me to help?”

“I am cooking to apologize. It would not be honourable for you to help me,” he replies shortly and you nod to yourself, turning back around to watch the news. Nothing about a break-in with the floats, nothing at all indicating… anything.

For some reason, it makes you uneasy. The last time you snuck into an Arasaka building, everything went to shit and it made its mark. The lack of visible ripples makes you feel like nothing’s happened at all. Like it’s all been a fever dream, and you and Takemura didn’t sit on that roof for hours, watching the cat, just… talking.

Jesus, you need to get laid.

“Still don’t know why you bother cooking,” you say. Takemura noticeably stiffens and even though you don’t see it, you can almost feel the way he manipulates the air he stands in. He has that power—pure corpo power—and you clench your jaw. “Why waste time on someone so lazy as me?”

“V—"

“Nah, my bad. Arrogant. Hell, you probably see all the takeout around here and think I’m taking some easy route to food.” The bitterness is enough to puncture holes in steel as you stare blankly at the screen. “After all, I dirty my hands for money,” you quote. Your chest tightens as you hear his voice echo in yours, the way he had said it so coldly. Stomach turning, you shake your head. “Not in the name of some fucking principles.”

There’s a silence on his end and you close your eyes, swallowing through the bruising in your throat, a telltale sign you’re holding back tears. Just the mention of Jackie makes you want to spiral and you take a deep breath, trying not to react.

For the first time, you think Johnny might be right.

“Damn right, I am,” a voice says and you open your eyes, gaze fluttering to the side to see Johnny lounging against your couch. You turn around to see Takemura’s moved to the bathroom, probably to clean rice… however the fuck you make onigiri. You don’t know. You’re too tired to care about food, or feelings, or anything. “Never can trust a corpo. They all want one thing.”

“I don’t need to remind you that I was a corpo kid, do I?”

“Not anymore. It’s about principles.” Johnny’s tone is wry and you scowl at him. “What? If there’s one thing you might be able to relate to is that you both have ‘em. His might be wrong as shit, but…”

“Yeah, whatever.”

“Oh, don’t tell me you’re gonna forgive him. This guy’s got you wrong, V. You don’t waste time on people like that.”

“I don’t have time to stay angry with him,” you argue. “The fact is, I’m dying and he’s gonna be the only one who can save me.” Johnny sits up straight, leaning on his knees and you sigh, shaking your head. Resting your arm along the back of the couch, you fit your hand to your face, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Fuck.”

“Stop. Don’t do it, V. It’s not worth it,” Johnny warns, standing up and you wrench your gaze up as you shift your feet on the floor and lean forward, burying your face in your hands. “I can feel everything you are feeling, and if I have to deal with your indecisive debates on whether or not it’s worth it to become attached to this corp piece of shit, I’ll kill myself.”

“You’re already dead, Johnny.”

“Let me live a little.” He stands and edges around you as if he were real and you rest your chin in your palms, watching as his holographic imagine crosses you before glitching back into view again across the table. He sits down. “The truth is, you’re gonna have a hell of a problem.”

“I know.”

“So, stop.” Johnny says it like it’s so easy and you chew on your cheek as the faucet turns off and you turn around to see Takemura begin to leave your bathroom. His pale eyes catch yours and you turn around only to see your brain tumour’s gone and left you alone. It’s eerily quiet in your head and you stand, clearing your throat.

Takemura slips the clean rice into the rice cooker before closing it and you cross your arms below your breasts, squeezing yourself tightly. You feel bare in your clothes despite wearing your scuffed jacket. He regards you warily, and then he sighs, gesturing to the couch—a silent ask.

You nod, stepping back and letting him take where you were sitting earlier. You retreat across from him, where Johnny was sitting and he glances around your apartment. You wonder if he’s judging even more of you, but then he looks into his hands, swallowing visibly.

“V—"

“You’re not the only one with principles. Just because I kill for money don't mean I'd do anything for it,” you begin coldly, leaning back and studying him. “And nothing about my life has been easy. When I said you did what you had to do to keep food on the table, that wasn’t me judging you. That was me getting it, alright, Goro?” His eyes meet yours and you arch an eyebrow, scoffing. “Not my problem if you don’t believe me. Yeah, I oppose corps, because they ruined my life, and so many other people’s lives no one can count 'em, but that doesn't mean you're any better than me. You don’t get to make assumptions about me. You never get to make assumptions about Jackie.That is all I have to say.”

He nods, accepting your harsh tone and you bite your tongue, trying not to burn down the bridge anymore than you need to as you prop a foot up against the table. Takemura doesn't say anything for a hot moment and you think you've wasted your time. Your knee jiggles. He doesn't even look at you.

Then: “I must again say that we are both still grieving. We ache to lash out. That is why I said what I said, and why, I presume, you say what you say.” He steeples his fingers and regards you with those eyes, gorgeous in their own right. “I understand what I said was callous. You have been nothing but understanding to my own loss.”

“No shit.”

“And I understand Mr. Welles was your friend.”

“He was like my brother,” you correct icily. “He’s been there for me since the beginning, I—I can’t forgive you saying something like that about him so easily, Goro.”

He dips his head. “I understand. It is why I cook for you. It is how I best express myself." The corner of his mouth tugs up faintly in a mirthless facsimile of a smile before he exhales sharply through his nose, looking at you again. "I confess I have not had time recently to cook, but I will do my best.” Johnny’s link comes to life at the mention and your own stomach squirms silently. “We are in this together, V. I do not wish for you to be angry at me.”

“Don’t do it, V. Don’t take it.”

“Fuck off, Johnny. I’m starving.” Aloud, you say: “I’ll be angry for a while. Just… let me sleep on it and we'll see from there.” He nods and you let your arms fall to your sides as you sit up. “It’s been a long few days, so I just… I just want to not think about anything for a while, you know?”

“I understand.”

He says that a lot, you notice.

“Thank you for apologizing, at least,” you continue grudgingly. “Thanks.” You stand and gesture vaguely around the place. “Make yourself at home. I’m… I’m going to shower and scrub this grime off.” Dried blood, sweat, dirt, et cetera. He nods and stands as well, returning to the tiny cooking station he’s made for himself. You head to your closet, managing to pick out a clean shirt that’s a bit big and a jacket you ripped off a 6th Street goon a few weeks back. You just picked it up from the cleaners.

Heading for the bathroom, you set your crap on the toilet cover before poking your head out. Spotting Takemura sitting in front of the table, carefully sharpening a knife, you wait until he’s noticed you staring and he prompts you silently to ask.

“How’d you even know where I live, anyway?”

He turns his gaze back on the blade.

“Ms. Olszewski marked it in my map, should the need arise.”

“This was a need?” you ask, curiously sardonic. Takemura doesn’t smile back and again, you get that impression he either doesn’t know how or he doesn’t do it often enough to remember. For some reason, that makes you sad. "Could've left it well enough alone. You know that."

“Oh, come on, V,” Johnny murmurs in your ear. “Don’t wax poetics on this guy.”

You ignore him.

“I do not enjoy the thought of a rift between you and I,” admits Takemura. He sets down the knife and sighs, eyes flitting to you briefly. Your hand wraps around the doorframe and you press your lips into a faint frown. "I... I have grown used to you."

You nod despite the words punching into your chest. “I don’t like it when we fight either.” At least, that you don’t have to fight twice to figure out. Your expression eases and your shoulders drop. “I’ll just hop in. Help yourself to whatever you can find. Really.” He accepts your offer with another nod and you close the door. It locks and you press your back against the metal, tipping your head back.

“For the love of—“

“Shut it, Johnny. Just… just give me a second.”

And on one of the rare occassions that he listens to you, Silverhand says nothing about how your heart doesn’t feel like wrought iron anymore.

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kumkaniudaku · 4 years

Text

Understanding

1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14. 15. 16. 17

Recommended Listening: Understanding x Xscape, Purple Emoji (ft. J. Cole) x Ty Dolla $ign, My World x Asian

Word Count: 2,137

If you were going to win an award that afternoon, it’d be for attire, not confidence. Your expertly crafted golf outfit was the only thing willing your feet forward once you parked your car in front of Senior’s golf course.

Black women and men dressed like modern Jet magazine ads waltzed in and out of the clubhouse while you scanned the area for your party. You’d been to your fair share of golf courses, but none as exquisite as The National. Marble accents complemented modern brass finishes and unbeatable views of the city. The desire to take photos for your father was almost too much to shake, but you managed to play it cool. Acting out of place was surely some type of faux pas for the wealthy.

Across the way, Senior sat at the bar sipping a glass of water while thumbing through a newspaper. His furrowed brow was identical to Yahya’s whenever he was knee-deep in work or a good book. The mental comparison made you smile before ushering in a tinge of sadness. For two people so undeniably similar, they were miles apart physically and mentally.

You navigated through groups of young and old alike on the way to the bar.

“You made it on time,” Senior spoke without looking up from a story on education budget cuts.

“I made it with time to spare.”

“You don’t get praise for doing what’s right.”

“Think of how much better things would be if we did.”

Senior paused his reading to take a deep breath and shake his head. You mentally berated yourself for overstepping so soon. Not even five minutes into the outing and you had already committed an avoidable infraction

Yahya I prolonged the unbearable silence as he continued to read through another article, reading each line painstakingly slow while you watched in agony.

“I apologize. That was unnecessary.”

“I’ll ask you again,” he spoke, finally looking away from the newspaper to study your face. “Let’s leave the character right here. We’re here for a purpose, so grab your clubs and follow me to the first hole. I hope your game is as good as you are at running your mouth.” Taking his retort in stride, you quickly grabbed your set of clubs and followed with no objections. “After you.”

Senior found himself immediately impressed though he wouldn’t verbalize his feelings. He watched you breeze through each hole with near expert precision, opening a series of questions at hole 5 during casual small talk.

“Where’d you say you were from again?”

“A tiny town in South Carolina that you probably wouldn’t know.”

“Try me,” he answered while taking stock of his position on the fairway.

“Anderson, South Carolina. Home of Larry Nance and the great Chadwick Boseman.”

“Can’t forget James Kennedy, Young Lady.”

You cocked your head back in surprise. “What you know about Radio? I mean outside of what the movie says?”

Senior remained quiet long enough to take a hard swing. The loud “whiff” of his driver slicing through crisp, clean air didn’t match the stroke’s output. Both of you watch the golf ball sail high into the air before making a landing well short of the intended destination. Senior shook his head at the miscalculation before turning to answer your question.

“Black folks from all over are connected, even without all that Snapgram and Facebook foolishness.”

“I could argue it’s helped, right? How else would you be able to share your granddaughter’s first steps with the whole family?”

“In photo albums. You might not remember those, but they did us just fine.”

“Yeah, but it’s instantaneous conversation and information. Who wouldn’t want that?”

“Maybe instantaneous conversation is the problem. We aren’t making enough time to stop and really think about what we’re saying to each other.”

“Mm.” You let the conversation naturally taper before following Senior to his golf cart. The rolling hills provided enough scenery to keep you interested while you sorted the words in your head.

“I think we may have started off on the wrong foot.” You spoke once the cart came to a full stop. Senior trailed behind in silence, gathering a new club while watching you examine the other golfers in the area.

“You’re rather observant.”

You chuckled and plucked a club from your bag. “I’ve been told. Yahya calls me Eagle Eye when I catch something he’s already talked about ten minutes ago.”

“It’s what his Big Mama used to call his Pop-Pop for the same thing. That man was notoriously late to the punchline.” The nostalgia in Yahya I’s voice caught you off guard though he didn’t see your minor fumble. Something in his retelling appealed to your sense of compassion in a way that you considered long gone when it came to him.

“Let’s not beat around the bush. You have an issue with my presence that we should discuss. Because I can assure you, I’m not going anywhere.”

“Bold,” Senior responded with a sarcastic laugh. He gestured to nothing in particular as you squared up to take a swing and nodded. “And direct. Continue.”

You took a moment to hit a line drive toward the green in the distance, using the movement as an outlet for the unexpected nerves churning your stomach. Both of you quietly watch the golf ball for its final resting place before you turned to speak.

“You are extremely hard to please, and it is literally ruining your family. Yahya does everything in his power, and, excuse my French, you don’t seem to give a fuck. Why is that?”

“What makes you think that my love isn’t what makes me push him to be the best that he can? It may not be the fluff and frills you’re used to in your home, but it’s what he needs to get him to his potential.”

“Did it help you?”

Senior mistakenly allowed a quick moment of confusion to take over his features. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

“You tell me. When’s the last time you enjoyed a laugh with your family or felt like you could just...be? You’re carrying a weight that is crushing the people around you, and you don’t even see it.”

“You don’t…” Senior caught his words and bottled them behind his lips. He took a deep breath as he approached his golf ball and took a half-hearted swing. Noticing his misstep, he shook his head. “I’m from Baton Rouge, Louisiana. My father, Yahya’s Pop-Pop, moved my mother and me to a shotgun shack to find work when things weren’t quite shaking out back home. He was in and out of trouble and such. Couldn’t get right, but he had a natural knack for building and design.”

A nearby group of golfers erupted into laughter, helping to break up some tension.

“So architecture’s been in the family for a while,” you asked. Yahya I curled the corner of his lips into a far-off smile.

“A long, long time. It got us out of that shack when my siblings came along and into a house with our own rooms and a backyard. But, my father was a hard man. Hard to please, you know,” he laughed, making a reference to your earlier words. “He wanted the best from me, and he made damn sure he got it. I needed that to get my head out of the clouds.”

“You also needed some reassurance.”

“Perhaps. But, what’s done is done. I look at what I’ve built with no complaints, especially when it comes to my boys. I couldn’t be more proud of the men they’ve become.”

Senior’s proud smile almost looked foreign on his face. You’d never seen more than an indifferent expression or the slight twinge of anger smoldering behind his eyes.

Leaning on your club, you kept your eyes forward to gaze out over the course.

“Yahya would love to hear that. I don’t know if you know this, but he is desperately searching for your approval. There is not enough praise from me or anyone else that could replace knowing that you’re proud of him. Yet, as much as he would like to tell you these things himself, he’s afraid that you’ll think less of him for being vulnerable.”

“I could never think less of the boy. Tough love is still love.”

“Maybe for you,” you added, shrugging. “But, what good is continuing this cycle if it’s hurting the children you claim to love and the grandchildren after them?”

Senior dropped his head in thought before looking up with an unreadable expression. “Deuce will be fine. He’s all the best parts of his mother. I...I’m confident he’ll figure out fatherhood on his own despite my shortcomings. We raised him well.”

“Forgive me if I’m overstepping -”

“That has never stopped you before, young lady.” His light-hearted chuckle invited you to follow suit.

“Fair point,” you laughed. “So, let me cut to the chase. Allowing Yahya to just ‘figure things out’ is a passive existence. Yahya says you’re constantly reminding him to take things into his own hands. Sounds like you should take your own advice. Be the parts of your father that you needed at 33.”

Instead of acknowledging your advice, Senior twirled his club in his hand on the way to the golf cart. He maintained an impenetrable poker face that even the most skilled readers couldn’t interpret. You silently hoped that at least some of your words had made it through his thick skull, but you chose to let the discussion meet a natural end.

As he started the cart, Senior turned to you and smiled. “How the hell you learn to swing like that? I know it wasn’t in Anderson.”

“Hey, we play a little golf here and there!”

“Where? Out in the woods?”

“No, out in the Bayou like you did.”

A small smirk crept across your face as Yahya I chuckled at your joke. He sounded identical to Yahya, full of mirth and beautiful melodies.

“The ole Bayou,” he repeated in a thick accent. “You ain’t seen a place more beautiful in your life.”

“Maybe Yahya and I could visit one day.”

He quickly looked over and shrugged. “Maybe. For now, you focus on defending this lead. I think I’m getting back into my rhythm.”

Senior couldn’t make a convincing comeback, but he did show glimpses of a softer, more personable disposition. He cracked jokes on occasion and asked questions that turned the conversation from a therapy session to banter between associates. Your mind traveled to the possibility of civil family dinners or vacations during the ride home. Though it seemed silly to create imaginary scenarios after one conversation, you couldn’t help the urge to see a better future.

Your happiness helped you float into your shared apartment, making Yahya smile when he caught a glimpse of your wide grin and short skirt.

“Damn, girl,” he hollered from the couch with Leche cradled in his arms. “If Tiger was out there cheeked up like that, I might’ve paid a little more attention to the golf network.”

“Oh, really?”

Your raised eyebrow made Yahya kiss his teeth once he caught on to the joke. “You know what I meant. Where you been anyway?”

“Oh, I was just out doing a little golfing...with your dad.”

“Right. That was today, huh?”

Even Yahya’s best attempt at feigning interest, his question came out in a flat drone typically used on annoying coworkers. You dropped your purse and keys against a nearby barstool on the way to his spot on the couch.

“It was today. I think we had a good time,” you answered as you slid your arms around his neck from behind, placing a gentle kiss behind his ear. “He didn’t yell at me.”

“You must’ve kissed his ass the entire time.”

“No. We talked about how great I am at golf. I mean, I kicked his ass.”

“Good on you, baby girl. Bring honor to our house.” In a surprise maneuver, Yahya pulled you over the couch and into the space beside him. “Is that all?”

Silence blanketed the room, allowing the college basketball game in the background to have center stage. You considered your options carefully, weighing the pros of a potential argument against a peaceful Saturday indoors. Yahya turned his attention back to the television as he waited for a response.

“Did you hear me, baby? He didn’t say anything rude to you, did he?”

“No!” You blurted. Taking a deep breath, you slowly slid the remote off the coffee table and pressed the power button. Yahya blinked twice at his reflection on the black television screen before turning to you for answers. Your fingers danced across his thighs to interlock with his long digits.

“I think...I think we need to have a real talk about your dad.”

----

A/N: I hope this is better late than never. Only two more chapters left! Really striving to have those to y’all by the end of the month.

Let me know if you want to be tagged or untagged!

@earthformelanin @mufasathatniggatho @hidden-treasures21@justanotherloveaffair @jozigrrl @essaysbyciara @chaneajoyyy@determinednot2fall @honey-lamb-k @scrumptiouslytenaciouscrusade @walkrightuptothesun @ghostfacekill-monger @trillistb@shaekingshitup @purplehairgawdess @xo-goldengirl@steampunkprincess147 @twistedcharismaaa @fandomfavesss@bugngiz @lifelover4u @ljstraightnochaser @l-auteuse @itsjustyazz@energy-innerg @lahuttor @sagittariusroyalty@chrisgalore @grandadchadwick @blowmymbackout@supersizemeplz @just-peachee @itskikilove @eyeknowmywrites @aanairb @blackburnbook @leahnicole1219 @lovedersha @cant-decide-at-this-moment @jasmindaughteroftheworld

#Yahya Abdul Mateen II #Yahya Abdul-Mateen II #yahya abdul mateen ii fan fiction #yahya abdul mateen ii fic

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mudhornchronicles · 4 years

Text

dreamboat | greaser!frankie morales | part one

pairing: francisco “catfish” morales x reader; greaser!frankie x reader

warnings: smoking, drinking, swearing, lewd comments, mentions of racism.

a/n: We got ourselves a series, ya’ll. I cannot wait until chapter 2. I present to you – Greaser!Frankie Morales

masterlist

You gently close the door as your mother leans over to wind down the passenger side window. “You will be fine, sweetheart. It is absolutely normal to feel nervous! It is your first day after all.”

You nod and feel your tied hair bound up and down. The white ribbon falls on your cheek and you push it back. “I understand, mother. It’s just different than my previous school, that’s all.”

“And they taught you how to be a lady, did they not? You are properly educated, unlike these individuals. Now smooth your skirt down before it wrinkles. First impression matter, correct? I will see you after school. I love you!”

You tell your mother you love her too as you smooth down your white full-circle skirt and adjust your two notebooks on your arm. You wave a goodbye to your mother and watch as she drives her 1953 pastel yellow Pontiac your father had gifted her for her birthday.

You turn and take a good look at your new school and you immediately feel out of place. The cream-colored cement building looks old, but the lawn looks taken care of. The sounds of revving engines and the smell of cigarette smoke abuse your ears and nose. You are most definitely not used to those aspects of the place. Your old school was strict about noises and smells. The only smell they wanted lingering the air was that of perfume and the sound of the girls talking about the school curriculum.

What you see here would give the mistresses a stroke. You see couples shoving their tongues down each other’s throats, students smoking on campus, hot rods racing up and down the streets, and the boys throwing such obscene comments. As you walk up the path towards the building’s entrance, your eyes fall upon a group of five boys whose comments make a chill run up your spine.

“Hey paper shakers,” one calls out. “Why don’t cha shake those pom poms over in this direction? I’ll give ya somethin’ good to cheer about!” The guys snicker to each-other as Benny jokingly thrusts at the cheerleaders. The group hollers at the cheerleaders as they shout insults at the boys and run into the school’s building. You notice that four of them continue to laugh and yell other comments at the athletes, but the fifth just looks around and appears to shy away from joining his friends.

Dressed in black jeans, a white tee, and a worn black leather jacket, Frankie tries to hide away from his brothers’ banter. He never understood why they talk to betties the way they do and then complain that they don’t have a doll around their arm. Pope seems to be the one who is a bit like him, but that’s only because he’s felt the uncomfortableness on the receiving of impudent comments. Being Latino in this town wasn’t the most welcoming while growing up. His family was always met with derogatory comments just because of their appearance. He never understood why people thought it was okay to jump his father every other night on his way back home from work. He never understood why his mother was always denied jobs because she had an accent. He never understood why he rarely had friendships that lasted because their parents said that they couldn’t hang out with the “brown boy.”

Once he grew up, he understood what the concept of racism was. When he met Santiago, or Pope as Frankie called him, he learned that Santiago’s family left his town because they were threatened and when they wouldn’t leave, their house was broken into. The pair soon became best friends and were able to fight off their bullies with each other’s help.

Frankie had never been one to initiate a fight, but he would be the one to end it. Benny was always the fighter. Whether it was his battle or not, he would always be up to throw the first punch. When they made it to freshman year, the boys decided it would be best to create a group of friends that they could lean on when times got tough and to their luck, they met the Miller brothers, Will and Benny, and Tom, also known as Redfly.

You took a deep breath and clutched your books to your chest. You slowly walked up the stairs and as you revert your eyes down to the floor as you tried not to bump into someone and walked past the group – that was until you heard “hey there doll face, where’d you come from?”

You look up to see a tall blonde, younger than the other blonde, snicker at himself and wink at you. You look around to make sure the comment was directed at you and the group laughs. “Yeah, I’m talkin’ to ya sweetheart. I’m guessin’ yousa newbie?” You widen your eyes and steadily nod.

One of the brunettes steps up to you, takes his toothpick out his mouth and replaces it with a cigarette. He takes a deep inhale and blows the smoke in your face. You wave you hand in front of your face and cough as he lets out a laugh. “You that chick that escaped Saint Catherine’s?”

You shrug and nod once more, but with a grimace etched on your face. He raises his cigarette back into his mouth and puts his hand out to you for a handshake – you reciprocate the handshake.

“The name’s Tom, but you, pretty lady, can call me Redfly. Those two over there is Benny and his brother Will. This one behind me,” he points towards one of the two other brunettes, “this one’s Santiago, but call him Pope. You’re familiar with those religious names, right?” This comment earns him an eye roll from you, but it also earns him a scoff from the final member of his little clique.

Tom turns around and looks at his friend. “You trynna say somethin’, ‘Fish?” The brunette smirks and shakes his head. Tom lets out a “hmph” and nods. “This one’s Frankie. We call him Catfish because he may seem like a kicked puppy dog, but the guy can fuck someone up if he really gotta.” You nod and look over to Frankie and find that he’s already looking at you.

You notice just how right Tom was when he described Frankie as a puppy dog. Frankie’s eyes are brown deep-set eyes are captivating. His lips are pink and plush – making you want to give him a big ol’ kiss. His rugged hair calls out to your hands to run your fingers through it. You suddenly lost the ability to speak, so you resulted in clumsily wave a hello, but resulting in your books falling to the ground.

You began to kneel over to pick them up, but a hand stopped you from doing so. Frankie bent over to pick up your things, dusted them off, and handed them to you. What you didn’t see was the boys smiling at seeing their brother be dumbstruck over a girl.

You took your books back with a shy thank you to Frankie and him saying “no problem.” He caught sight of your schedule you received in the mail the day prior and smiles to himself.

“I see you have World History first. Is it with Robinson? May I?” He puts his hand out for your schedule that is taped on the front of your notebook. You pass him your blue notebook and he starts to analyze your schedule. Once he’s satisfied, he gives you back your notebook. “I have classes near yours. I can walk you if you’d like?” Before you’re given the opportunity to answer, Frankie’s friends burst out into laughing fit so loud, the students passing by look over to see the cause of the sound – looking right back to where they were when they see who it was.

“Whatcha gonna do, ‘Fish?” Will teases, “gonna take the new girl on a grand tour of the school? She don’t look the type to give it up behind the bleachers, pal.” Frankie turns red and stutters his denial of the accusation. The boys laugh at him as he nervously tugs on his leather jacket.

“I’d love if you would, Frankie. I haven’t a clue where I’m going, and I really don’t want to get lost on my first day.”

“Yeah, sure. That’s cool.” Frankie nods and stuffs his hands in his pocket.

“Ya might wanna go now, ‘Fish. Princess here ain’t gonna wanna be late,” Tom teases. Tom nudges his head towards the other side of the building. “Let’s go Bandits. Teach’ aint gon’ misses us too much. We’ll see ya in a bit, Frankie.” The boys walk away with Pope and Will giving Frankie a pack on the back with a chuckle – leaving you and Frankie alone on the steps.

“Are they not going to class? It’s the first day and they’ll make a bad impression on their first period instructor.” You ask. You wonder why the boys wouldn’t go to their homeroom, especially being the first day of class.

“They’ll get there… eventually. We can go though. I don’t wanna make ya late or anythin’.” He gestures for you to start walking in front of him, but you won’t walk until knowing something first.

“Frankie, will you be going to homeroom? They said they would see you in bit. Are you just taking me to my classroom and skipping your first period?”

Frankie gets red and shakes his head furiously. “Nah, I ain’t those idiots. My parents would flip their shit if I had to retake a year.” You smile up at him and nod. You reach out to take his arm, as your old school taught you a gentleman should, and were shocked when Frankie pulled away as you touched his arm.

“Sorry, doll. Didn’t mean to scare ya.”

“I was just taking your arm, is all.” You cocked your head to the side. Every man you’d been escorted by has always given you their arm.

It was his turn to act confused. He knew exactly what you were doing and why, but he had a reputation to uphold and it wasn’t him being a gentleman. “What does that mean? Whatcha takin’ my arm for, doll?”

“Nevermind. Shall we?”

Frankie leads you into the crowded building. Students were running everywhere, and voices drowned the pair of you. He takes you to the second level of the building and leads you down the hall and taking a sharp left. You’re a bit lower than he is, but with each step, you start to really get a good luck at the back design on his jacket.

“What does Bandits mean?” Frankie turns around and by instinct, looks at the back of his jacket.

“It’s our group. Call ourselves The Bandits,” he says with “The Bandits” in air quotations.

You stifle a giggle, and he smiles showing of his dimple on his right cheek.

“Yeah, Pope came up with it. I just ran with it.”

“Do you steal?”

“Nah. Pope just thought it sounded cool. Redfly wanted the name “The Unarrestables,” but got arrested two weeks later for mailboxing 7 blocks.” You let out a loud laugh, covering your face with your notebooks, and Frankie looks over at you and smiles. He hasn’t been able to laugh the way he just did in a long time. As you share a funny story about your former mistress skirt being caught in a window, the two of share more laughs as you ultimately arrive at your homeroom’s door.

“Here we are. Room 249… World History with Lloyd Robinson. I’ll come back for you after class to take you to second period. That cool with ya?” You smile and nod. You’re a bit sad that you made it so soon, but quickly disappears when he mentions coming back for you.

“That sounds great, Catfish. Thank you very much.” He lets out a chuckle and nods at you.

“You can call me Frankie. I like the way you say it, doll.” Just as he starts to walk away, a voice makes him freeze in place and slowly turn back around.

“Mister Morales, will you not be joining us today or is your cigarette of much more importance?”

“Mister Robinson. How’s the new kid?” Frankie nervously scratches the back of his head.

“Frankie, get in this classroom or you’ll receive a failing grade starting now.” Mister Robinson gives you a warm smile in comparison to his frown towards Frankie and goes back into the classroom.

“Wait a minute. You have the same homeroom as I do? You said yours was near!”

He sighs and holds his hands up in surrender. “I guess I’ve been caught. We have the same classes, lucky you.”

“But this is AP World History.”

“Just because the guys I run with don’t give a shit, don’t mean I don’t either.”

You stand in front of him and cross your arms underneath your breasts – eyes narrowed and staring into his. “You are just full of surprises aren’t you, Frankie Morales.”

He looks deep into your eyes and smirks. He adjusts his jacket and runs a hand in his hair. He reaches for the handle and opens the door open for you.

“Ladies first, doll.”

#francisco morales #francisco catfish morales #frankie morales #frankie catfish morales #catfish morales #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x you #francisco morales x reader #francisco catfish morales x reader #francisco morales x you #francisco catfish morales x you #greaser!frankie #greaser!frankie x reader #greaser!frankie x you #catfish morales x reader #catfish morales x you #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #triple frontier

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unbridgeabledistances · 4 years

Note

Prompt: About the 87% scene. Could you write about Mickey lying about having a "boyfriend" when he was in Mexico. And telling Ian that afterall he didn't have his whole Heart because of that "boyfriend". Ian realizing that the way he said those things weren'te the best. Then the confrontation, they talk about it and are cute with one another

anon i am CRYING mickey would 1000% do this!!! why did the writers not make this happen

(actually i’m glad they didn’t, bc these boys don’t need any more drama)

here’s my take (since we all need a little gallavich before the next episode!), hope u enjoy<3

“I guess everyone I’ve been with gets a little piece of my heart”

Mickey froze where he was standing, by the toilet bowl and the dust-covered bathroom shelves, and felt his heart sink. The fuck is he talking about?

“Wait, everyone?”

“Yeah. Yup.” Ian froze for a moment, his toothbrush hanging out of the corner of his mouth. “Okay, maybe not everybody. You don’t feel the same way?”

Mickey could almost wince. Fucking Gallagher—didn’t Ian know he was the only guy Mickey had really been with, because Ian was the only one that mattered? Instantly, Mickey thought back to all of the sloppy and excruciatingly boring hookups he’d had with women—back before he came out and was constantly putting on a show, was burying who he really was deep beneath the ground.

Ian looked at him earnestly, toothbrush still half in his mouth, with those steady green eyes Mickey could always get lost in—the only thing keeping Mickey afloat during those darker days, when he felt like everything else was pulling him under. Ian was the only person who had ever made Mickey’s heart race or his palms sweaty, the only fucking person who made Mickey feel like he was here for a reason, no matter what bullshit life threw at him. Ian was the center of Mickey’s existence, and he always had been—how could that asshole not realize that no one else Mickey’d been with could ever compare to him?

“No, I don’t. Y’know what, fuck you” is what Micket wanted to say—he felt the words about to launch off the tip of his tongue. Instead, before he knew what he was doing, Mickey lied.

“Uhhhhh. I guess, man. Y’know, I had that thing down in Mexico with, uh, Julio.” Mickey looked down at his bare feet on the tiled bathroom floor, knowing that Ian would see right through him if he looked directly in his eyes.

Ian’s eyebrows raised in genuine confusion as he leaned over the sink. “Julio? Who the fuck is Julio?” Ian sputtered as he spit out a mouthful of foamy toothpaste.

“Were you not listening, smartass? He was my… my lover. I was in Mexico a long time before I snitched on the cartel and threw my life away for your ass.”

Ian stood up and placed his toothbrush in a cup on the shelf above the sink, turning to look at Mickey, who finally raised his gaze from the linoleum. Ian didn’t look hurt, which was what Mickey was aiming for— more than anything, Ian just looked thoroughly confused, and maybe a little bit amused.

“You’ve never mentioned anything about some dude named Julio, Mick. Where’d you meet him?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know, Gallagher.”

Mickey stormed out of the bathroom, and turned the corner into their bedroom. It was this fucking quarantine, that was the problem—the same way that they were down each other’s throats when they were cramped together in a tiny jail cell. They were so used to the lack of each other that being together always seemed to make a mess of things. Ian didn’t actually mean that he had been in love with other people— right?

People annoyed Mickey, mostly— sex was sex, just another bland part of his bland life of doing runs for his dad, living in his fucked-up household, getting drunk with his brothers. And then one day, Ian came bursting through his door. Mickey would never forget that first time that he and Ian were together— in his opinion, that day probably permanently altered his brain chemistry or some shit. The day that he was laying in bed, woken up by a pale-faced angel whose chest was just as smooth and beautifully pale and freckled as the skin on his face and hands. And Mickey was also covered with skin, that was apparently covered with super-powered nerve endings that hadn’t done a goddamn thing his whole life, but came alive like ice and fire and bee stings as soon as Ian touched him. Wherever Ian touched him.

Sex was just sex to Mickey, for so long—but sex with Ian was on an entirely different plane of existence.

And the thought of Ian being like that with someone else, especially during that time when Mickey was locked up and there was a wall of plexiglass between them, a wall Mickey had put there himself when all he was doing was trying to protect Ian from Sammi’s bullshit; well, it made Mickey’s stomach churn.

Ian followed Mickey out of the bathroom and leaned on the doorframe of their bedroom, like he knew Mickey needed some space. “You and this Julio guy, you were like, together?”

Mickey kept his gaze downward as he put on a wrinkled shirt. “Hell yeah, man. We lived in a shack by the beach, fucked all day long. You don’t know everything about me, Gallagher.”

“I guess not.” Ian mused, still looking like he half didn’t believe Mickey. “So, uh. This Julio guy. You’re saying he has a piece of your heart?”

“Oh yeah, a big ol’ chunk of it. You aren’t special, Gallagher. In fact, he might have a bigger piece than you do, with all the fucking bickering we’ve been doing lately,” Mickey spat out as he pulled on his shoes.

Ian rolled his eyes, but sensing Mickey’s tension, he kept talking. “Mick, you know I didn’t mean it. You have the majority of my heart. The vast majority.”

Mickey scoffed, feeling more pissed off than ever. “Oh, yeah? How much is that, exactly?”

“I don’t know… 87%?”

Mickey looked at Ian, charging up for a fight. “Fuck you. That’s not enough.”

“It is enough, Mick. I’ve been with so many people I can barely remember their names. You know what it was like at the club. That’s 87% for you, and 13% for every other meaningful connection I’ve ever had in the years we were apart—that seems pretty stacked to me.”

“Yeah, well, joke’s on you, motherfucker, because you don’t even have that much of my heart, anyways. In fact, maybe I’ll go back down to fucking Mexico and see if Julio’s still around.”

Ian rolled his eyes. “Mick, calm down. You don’t mean that.”

“I do, asshole. Excuse me for thinking I had your whole heart, instead of pissing away 13% of it while I was locked behind bars and tattooing your fucking name onto my chest.” Mickey turned to where Ian was blocking the doorway. “You gonna let me through?”

Ian sighed, gently putting a hand up to Mickey’s chest to stop him from barreling past into the hallway. “Okay, listen, all that shit came out wrong. You know you’re the only one that matters.”

Mickey looked at Ian’s hand on his chest, then looked up and to meet Ian’s gaze. “Do I?” he said, in a softer voice than he realized.

Ian smirked, and let his arms glide up Mickey’s chest and around his shoulders, locking him in close. “Hey. Of course you are. You’re the only one I ever wanted to be with forever.”

“Fuck you,” Mickey said earnestly, but he didn’t try to shake himself from Ian’s grasp.

Ian let his hands roam up to cradle the back of Mickey’s head in his hands, making sure he had Mickey’s undivided attention. “Listen. All those people, like Ned or Kash or whoever, they were all an important part of me becoming who I am, and nothing can change that. But they’re all a part of our love story, Mick. They’re all… minor characters, on the path of me getting to marry you.”

Now Mickey was the one rolling his eyes, his tough exterior finally starting to melt. “Yeah, okay softie.” His eyes flickered downward, in one last moment of vulnerability. “It’s just… it’s hard to forget all the stuff I missed out on, all the time we both coulda had. Time where you were with other people and not me.”

Ian pecked Mickey’s forehead, holding him in close. “Yeah, well, we have plenty of time now. Almost too much time. So much time that we’re ripping each other’s heads off.”

Mickey leaned back, and smirked. “Well, I’ve got a pretty good idea of what we can do with all that time on our hands, Mr. Milkovich.”

Ian leaned in closer, Mickey’s face millimeters from his. “Oh yeah?”

As Mickey leaned in to close the gap between their lips, he felt the nerve endings all over his body going fucking crazy again—maybe it had been a bumpy path for them both, and maybe he’d lost some of Ian along the way, but he couldn’t deny that this was worth the wait.

#ty for the prompt!<3 #gallavich #gallavich fic #shameless #ian x mickey #ian gallagher #mickey milkovich

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tocrackerboxpalace · 3 years

Text

Le Rêve - Part 4

Summary: George reflection chapter. What more is there to say?

Warning: R-rated

“Ringo, have you seen me favorite pair of socks? The black ones?”

George tore through his suitcase in agitation, carelessly tossing the clothing into a second-carpet on the hotel floor. He groaned in frustration when an uninterested “uh-uh” came from the other side of the room, where Ringo was changing into his pajamas.

“I can’t bloody find them anywhere.” George let out a defeated huff and sat back on his heels with a pout.

“Where’d you leave ‘em last?”

“If I knew that,” George tried, ever-so-patiently, “I wouldn’t be tearin’ the room apart, now, would I?”

“Did you leave ‘em in John and Paul’s this morning?” Ringo asked in a tone of voice that implied George absolutely did leave them in John and Paul’s that morning.

“I don’t know why you never get things for me when you find them,” George muttered, though the words were less pointed now. He threw his suitcase closed.

“I’ve told you a hundred times, Harrison. You’re a big lad now, you’ve got to be responsible for your own things.” Ringo shot him a grin. “Think of me as your personal… guide. I’ll give you hints and whatnot along the way, but I won’t do it for you.”

“Charming.” George rolled his eyes. He pushed himself to his feet, not bothering to gather up all of the other strewn-about items of clothing. “Well, I’m off to go get them. I can’t get sleep without them.”

Ringo cocked an amused eyebrow as he began to hang his suit. “You’re an odd fella, you know that, George?”

“Bah.” George swatted away the comment and pulled the door open. “Be back in a minute.”

John and Paul’s room was down the hall from theirs, though it was really only a few steps. The hotel was small, the rooms far from luxurious. The hall was a dull mess of gray and beige, the carpet a crisscross pattern and the wallpaper about a thousand years old. He scoffed in distaste of the place. They were the fucking Beatles now, for God’s sakes. You’d think they could afford some better living. George kicked at a spider on the water-stained trim as he approached his mates’ room.

He had just raised his arm to knock when a strange sound caused him to pause his movements. Intrigued, George inched forward and pressed an ear close to the frame. What was the harm in getting a little listen?

There was… moaning. And cursing. George nearly rolled his eyes. It sounded like Paul—richer than John’s voice, and clearer, too. He also ran with the hardly faint memory that Paul was quite vocal in bed. He should almost know the lad’s sounds by now. Part of him wondered where John had gotten side-tracked off to, because he could have sworn the three of them went up in the elevator together.

He half-laughed to himself. This guy was too good. George hadn’t even the slightest clue where Paul could’ve picked a bird up on his way from the lobby to the room. Gonna be sick, my arse, he thought to himself.

As George waited outside of the door, he pondered his options. He could wait until Paul’s little rendezvous was over (which, judging by the sounds, was not far off). He could knock and give them a second to dress or hide the bird. And finally: eh, what the hell. He’d seen worse before. If the door was unlocked, he could just slip in.

Besides, George really wanted those socks.

Ultimately, he decided that sneaking in was his best bet. He’d slip past the door and slither unnoticed to the bathroom, and go—yes! He remembered now!—behind the toilet. Pick up the socks and leave as quickly as he came. In and out in a jiffy.

George reached for the doorknob and gave it a slight twist when an expression from inside stopped him cold.

“Fucking hell, Paul.”

Paul was in there; he knew good and well. The question was what was… the other voice doing there? The boys’ closeness had never warranted anything more than an “Oh, shit, sorry,” when walking in on one another and leaving as swiftly as possible. Was the other voice… watching? Just hanging around in there?

George’s pulse quickened, his grip beginning to slip from the door as he desperately fought the pounding confusion in his head. He had to have misheard. It couldn’t have been that voice. He was delusional, imagining things, that’s all.

The voice called out again, breathless, grainy: “Christ.”

It was unmistakably John.

George remained frozen in front of the door, unable to tear himself away. Faintly, he registered Paul moaning John’s name. John was in there. And so was Paul. He had heard them call out to each other… for each other…

“John, I can’t—” Another pause, and bedsprings creaked incriminatingly. “John, stop, I-I’m gonna come—”

Before a second thought could cross his mind, George threw the door open and stood gaping at the scene in front of him.

The first thing he noticed was the sheer look of terror on Paul’s face. This was almost comical, considering the obvious next thing to notice was that Paul was stark naked, a furious burn in his cheeks as he scrambled to cover his intimacies. Intimacies that John was—was all over.

John had been touching him like a bird should. George’s eyes raked over John’s form. The man didn’t look nearly as terrified as Paul. In fact, he looked almost… smug. His cheeks were flushed pink, his eyes bright and teetering on wild. He laid propped up on one elbow, making the hard-on in his trousers conspicuously evident. Despite throwing himself off of his mate as fast as possible, he looked completely at ease, glaring at George almost daringly as a shadow of a smirk twitched at the corner of his lips.

George took this opportunity to switch stares back to Paul, sickened by whatever fucking game John thought he was playing. The ends of Paul’s hair were curled with the sweat that beaded on his neck and forehead. His hands trembled where they tugged at the bedsheet, which could have done more to hide him. There was something pleading in his eyes, something desperate. If only George knew what it was for.

There was nothing he could think of to say. Rather than waste time standing and waiting for someone to speak up, George turned on his heel and swiftly shut the door behind him.

—

George leaned with palms pressed against the door, chest heaving from exertion and overwhelming bewilderment. The scene had played over and over in his mind since the fervent escape. It was his fault, he knew—that was the worst part.

He had only been going to look for a pair of socks. And they were rather nice socks. His favorite, even. That’s all he had wanted. Socks.

George had heard about these kinds of people before. Seen some of them, even, in Hamburg. He was fairly certain that Brian was one. The ones in Germany always tried to make a move on him and the others, but he never saw why; he didn’t fancy any of them were that attractive, anyroad. George suddenly recalled a conversation, not so long ago, when John had gone on a slight rant about The Homosexuals in Hamburg, and Paul had nodded along disapprovingly. It was Ringo, eventually, who edged them out of the discussion: “Eh, come on lads. It’s none of our business what they do, anyway.”

What the hell just happened?

“Whasamatter, Georgie?” Ringo stepped out of the bathroom, words coming out garbled as a toothbrush dangled from his lips. He tossed it in the trash and turned to spit in the sink. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“J-John and Paul,” George stuttered, his mind working frantically to piece together what had just happened. It seemed to be the only coherent sentence he could form. “I saw—it was John… and Paul. With Paul.”

“No kidding,” Ringo gave him an understanding nod and a slight chuckle. “Intense fellas, they are. They give me a downright scare sometimes, too. Writing a song, then?”

“Ringo, you’re not hearing me,” George tried, his voice unsteady. “I saw them. Doing—together. It was both of them, with each other.”

Ringo’s brow knitted in confusion. George’s ramblings only seemed to perplex him more, draw him farther away from the conclusion. “I… Congratulations?”

George rubbed his forehead shakily. He wasn’t so much frustrated as just helplessly exasperated. There were no connections in his mind that made the situation make sense. He stifled a groan.

“I don’t know what you want me to say, mate.”

“They were shagging,” George blurted. On instinct, a hand flew to cover his mouth as soon as the words left his lips. The phrase sounded so bizarre, so wrong, and was yet the only thing he felt accurately characterized what he just saw. “Almost.”

Ringo blinked. “Shagging who?”

George began to pace back and forth across the small room. “John. Or-or Paul. Each other. They were almost-shagging one another.”

Ringo stared, looking just as baffled as George felt. “What do you mean?”

George continued slowly. “I went to go get my socks. I was gonna knock, but I heard something, and I didn’t know what it was. So I listened for a moment, and I just thought that Paul was in there with a bird. Y’know.”

Ringo nodded, no more convinced.

“But I heard another voice, and they were saying Paul’s name, and then Paul said it back, and it was John. I didn’t know what else to do.”

“You went in?” Ringo didn’t sound surprised, just curious.

“I wasn’t thinking. I couldn’t believe it. I s’pose I thought I had to see for myself. And-and then I did.” His voice broke a bit. “I don’t know what to do, Ringo. What the fuck?”

“Where are they now?”

“I don’t know. I just left.”

Ringo rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “We can’t tell anyone.”

“We can’t.”

“We have to talk to them.”

“About what? D’you want me to go in there again and say, ‘John, ol’ buddy, ol’ pal, what were ya doing in there, jerking Paul off? And Paul, ya bloody bastard, what were you doing enjoyin’ it?” George ran a hand through his hair. “Fuck. How are we supposed to talk about this? What about the band?”

“Hey.” Ringo’s voice was gentle as he took a step closer. “One thing at a time, mate. We’ll worry about the band when the band gives us something to worry about. Right now, we need to go promise them that we won’t tell a soul, and that we’re not judging them really, but that they need to be more careful, and—”

“Be more careful?” George was bewildered. “Ringo, they were in the privacy of their own room. How much more careful can you get?”

“Do you want to be the one to tell them to stop?” Ringo raised an eyebrow. “Because one, I don’t think we have the authority to do that. And two, if I know anything about John and Paul, it will only make them want to do it more.”

George pondered this for a second. “They’re going to kill me.”

“No, George, come on—”

“They are.” George began to panic. “I walked in on them. I never should have done it. I should have just left in the first place. I should’ve knocked before anything. Oh, Christ, Ringo. They’re gonna kill me!”

Ringo’s gaze was soft and sympathetic, but George could pick up on a hint of worry in the lines of his face. Not that he would blame him for it. It’d be one thing if George had walked in on Paul and the fantasy bird George had originally thought. It’d be one thing if George had walked in on Paul with a random guy, and it was decriminalized. It’d even be one thing if George had walked in on Paul with a random guy, period.

But none of that was the case.

“Look,” Ringo started, laying a hand on George’s shoulder to temporarily halt his pacing. “Let’s go back to the room. We’ll talk to them. I don’t know about what, yet, but they need to know that I know."

“Okay.” George sighed. “Yeah, okay.”

—

Paul was sitting up, staring off into the distance and frantically nibbling at his thumbnail. His expression was hard, the other hand drumming nervously on the bed beside him. He was almost dressed, but everything carried an air of distractedness: his fly was down, his shirt haphazardly buttoned, his tie draped across his shoulders. He barely acknowledged when George and Ringo entered, lazily casting his gaze in their direction.

“Paul,” George tried, attempting to take hold of the conversation early. Maybe, at least, if he was in control, it would be easier for both of them. No more surprises.

Paul blinked up at him, looking dazed. He didn’t speak.

“I’m not mad.” George spoke quickly: reparations for earlier. “I-I was just shocked. ‘M not angry at all. I didn’t know how to…” He cleared his throat. “Not make it… worse?”

“Hm,” Paul affirmed.

“Where’s John?” Ringo asked suddenly, tentatively, as if he were afraid to stir Paul.

“Fuck if I know,” Paul shot in response.

George and Ringo exchanged a look. This was certainly not the picture George had left only minutes earlier. The air itself was hostile, heaving with McCartney’s own breaths until the others swayed uneasily on their feet.

“We can talk about it,” George offered, despite every nerve screaming at him not to do so. It was the last thing in the world that he wanted to do, but he couldn’t conjure up any other consolation.

“What is there to talk about?” Paul’s voice was cold. He was refusing eye contact.

“Paul,” Ringo tried again, taking a step closer. “It’s all right. George and I, we don’t care if you guys…” He trailed off, looking at George pleadingly.

George filled in. “…Want to be together.” The end of his sentence unintentionally lilted up, posed as a question.

Paul had the audacity to look at them now as if they were mad. “What?”

George watched confusion wash over Ringo’s features, mirroring the perplexity he felt on his own face. He tore his gaze away and focused on Paul, who looked nothing short of furious. The two men stood awkwardly, neither making a move to speak, which George figured was a smart decision. Let McCartney talk his way out of this.

“What?” He said again. George shook his head.

Paul pushed himself to his feet, his eyes sparkling maliciously. “No, George, tell me. Just what do you think you’re implying?”

He began advancing towards them. Though part of him knew, deep down, that Paul would never actually get physical with him, George flinched back noticeably into Ringo, making the older lad stumble as well.

Something changed in Paul’s expression at the interaction. The fury melted into fear, and then, almost… despair. He reached out for George’s arm, then seemed to think better of the choice and pull his searching hand back.

“I’m sorry.” His voice cracked as he retreated. “I’m sorry.”

“Come now, Paul, it’s all right.” Ringo’s voice was unsteady, but his words were comforting and secure. He took a tentative step and placed his hand on their friend’s shoulder. “Just tell us what’s going on.”

“I don’t know, Ritchie,” He near-wailed. “That’s the problem. I don’t know what that was. What happened.” Paul raked a hand through his fringe. “I can’t tell you. And now John’s fucked off to God-knows-where, and he was already in a bad state. Oh, shit. This is bad.”

Again, George and Ringo exchanged a nervous glance. Paul could be moody, manic, bizarre. The lad could go seemingly weeks without expressing a single intimate thought or feeling. He could also have outbursts, usually at John, about the smallest of things. George had always believed it to be pent-up frustration and emotional suppression, but this? This was no typical McCartney venom. This seemed like something entirely different.

“I’m not queer,” Paul suddenly asserted, mostly to himself.

“I believe you,” Ringo lied through his teeth. When Paul’s gaze was cast downward again, Ringo gave George a helpless shrug. “But we can’t just sweep this under the rug if you want to move forward. We have to find John, too, and talk about it. A-and make sure it doesn’t get out, or that you’re caught again. Or—”

“I need a smoke,” Paul interrupted.

And with that, he pushed past the two and disappeared out of frame, leaving George and Ringo trembling in his wake.

#the beatles #beatles fanfiction #paul mccartney #john lennon #george harrison #ringo starr #mclennon #part 4 #chapter fic #ao3 #slight smut

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lemonysharkbait · 4 years

Text

Code of the Hills

Tianshan fanfic, au set in the Ozark region of the U.S.

“Where’s your partner Red?”Guan Shan reigned in his panic a second too late and Click ate it up with a shit eating grin. The pain when it came was delayed, one blessing of being too fucked to walk straight enough if he wanted to. Guan Shan spit a mouth full of blood straight into Click’s leering face. Guan Shan knew his eye would be swollen for a week. If he made it past tonight.

- Warnings: Drug use, violence, dirty cops, lots of cursing, angst -

Read on OA3 for more notes

Guan Shan lapped at the blood pouring from his nose. He couldn’t taste shit, not with his gums numb and Click telling him to take another bump.

“This is Grade A shit Red. Where’d you say you get it from ‘gain?”

Guan Shan took the offered bump – his third in the about fifteen minutes he had been with Click in this fucking dingy-ass laughable excuse for a backroom at the local watering hole. He hadn’t had this much coke in years and it was already fucking with him, just like Click wanted it to.

“Told you being a cop came with perks.” Guan Shan turned and hocked a wad of blood and snot onto the floor.

Click laughed and hit Guan Shan between the shoulder blades with an open-palmed slap that was just north of friendly. “Get this man a whiskey.”

“Did’n think you’d come back te this place Red.”

Guan Shan nodded to the women who proffered him a whiskey and took a gulp.

“Ever the polite man. Sam’s got tits from here to tomorrow and you’re on better behavior than the priest during Sunday service.” Click dropped his voice “Ne’ver believed ‘em but you don’t do yourself no favors Red.”

Guan Shan sucked at his teeth. “Saving myself for Jesus.”

Click burst out into a laughing fit. “Got’ damn Red. You haven’t changed a bit.” He played with the bag of coke idly. “So you got more of this shit?”

“More and then some.” Guan Shan nodded and pulled out a cigarette. He could feel his fingers going unsteady and his words slurring, tongue refusing to cooperate.

Click smiled and it was deadly. “Sure thing Red. Sounds like we have some stuff to talk about. Why don’t you come back with us? We’ll drive you.”

Guan Shan didn’t respond. Just lit his cigarette and let the group of good ‘ol boys half push, half pull him out of the backroom, bantering like old friends, smiling like sharks. He was manhandled out of the bar and into the dark parking lot, shoved into a truck and closed behind the thunk of American steel.

He Tian sat nursing his beer. A tittering group out on a girl’s night tried to grab his attention for a little while but his best sad and broken act had them off and dancing. He was alone with those words playing through his head.

They’re gonna take me to the back. They won’t do anything at the bar so just go in a little while after me. Keep your damn head down. I mean it. No flirting, no stories, no chatting up the locals. No one can remember you were there. You need to be forgettable. Just wait and blend in. They’ll take me to Click’s place.

Follow without them knowing. Shouldn’t be too hard, they’ll be fucked up and won’t be expecting you. Then it’s your call. I don’t know how many there will be. If you can get the situation under control, do it. But if not just leave me. Finding out where this guy is based is more important.

They did come out, just like Guan Shan said. He Tian shrunk as best he could into the corner. Guan Shan’s copper eyes were bloodshot and he was stumbling. The group was rowdy, shoving him with a little too much joy. A cajoling on the sharp edge of vicious. A smear of blood decorated Guan Shan’s upper lip and his pupils were pinpoints.

He Tian waited until they were through the door before slipping out. He caught sight of Guan Shan being shoved into a beater pickup with truck nuts. Gritting his teeth, he willed himself to wait. It wouldn’t do Guan Shan any good to tip them off.

The drive was easy, following the road as it dipped and rose, hemmed in by the thick woods broken only by sudden bursts of sheer white limestone breaking through at odd angles, ragged and proud.

The moon was out and bright enough that He Tian could keep his headlights off and follow at a distance. They drove fast so it was easy to see they were turning when they slowed in a sudden tire-squealing crawl. The sides of their cars brushed the undergrowth creeping over everything.

So this was it. Asscrack of nowhere. Cicadas called out in an unending whine.

Guan Shan didn’t even try to catalogue where they were. He was too fucked up and anyways, Click was twitchy in a way that didn’t bode well for Guan Shan’s health.

They turned onto some hidden road and crawled through a winding path before the trucks stopped outside a meth den. The house was probably nice enough at one point. Dogs barked from somewhere and someone was yanking Guan Shan out of his seat. He was manhandled inside past a living room with a flickering TV into the kitchen.

“Feel like home Red?”

Guan Shan grimaced. “Don’t see why you dragged me here for.”

Click laughed. “You can stop playing dumb boy. This is some goodass shit you brought me, so I’ll thank you for that little gift. But there’s no fucking way that’s what you came out here all the way into the goddamn boones for.”

Guan Shan let one of Click’s men pull his arms behind him and zip tie them together by the wrist. He was too tired and sideways feeling. If he was going to get the shit kicked out of him anyways he might as well cooperate enough to prolong the inevitable.

“See’in as you aren’t saying nothing I’m gonna go out on a big-ass limb and say you agree?” Click said.

Guan Shan didn’t respond.

Click grunted out a laugh and kicked a metal chair over to Guan Shan. “Take a seat Red.”

With a hard stare fixed on Click, Guan Shan set his jaw and sat slowly.

“That’s a good boy. I didn’t think you’d go so easy. You’re either a complete dumbass or you have a death wish.” Click turned to the one guy who had followed them in, a big motherfucker bulked up from beers and red meat. “Tape ‘im down.”

The brute grabbed a roll of duct tape off the gritty counter and dutifully taped each leg to a leg of the chair and ran a few around Guan Shan’s chest and the chair back for good measure. The rip of duct tape and a whining light filled a tense silence.

It had been too long since he’d said something, but it was so hard to form words. The world swam and Guan Shan’s heart beat uncomfortably hard in his chest, urged to flutter faster than hummingbird wings by uppers that felt worse than one too many cups of coffee.

Click walked forward and leaned in close, the smell of stale cigarettes hitting Guan Shan’s nostrils like a mule kick to the chest.

“Where’s your partner Red?”

Guan Shan reigned in his panic a second too late and Click ate it up with a shit eating grin.

The pain when it came was delayed, one blessing of being too fucked to walk straight enough if he wanted to. Guan Shan spit a mouth full of blood straight into Click’s learing face. Guan Shan knew his eye would be swollen for a week. If he made it past tonight.

“Oh there it is. There’s our red-headed devil.” Click hacked out a deep laugh that turned into a coughing fit as he wiped the blood off his face with a black paisley handkerchief. Guan Shan glared as best he could and Click just leaned against the counter and lit a cigarette. Silence settled in.

“Bum me a square.” The words came gravely out of Guan Shan’s mouth but he was satisfied that his voice didn’t waver.

Click just laughed again, “I ain’t sitt’en here holding a smoke for you.”

“Gimme another bump then.”

Click’s expression turned sour. “You wanna be high for this Red? You’re a little shit, you know that? ‘Course you know that.” Click leaned forward. “You didn’ think we’d figure out you was with the DEA because you’re,” Click punctuated his words with a well-placed kick, “a dumbass,” another heel kick, the leather of his boots catching the ridges of Guan Shan’s ribs, “‘lil shit.” There was a special type of venom in the last word and the final kick that punctuated it was straight to Guan Shan’s gut.

Whatever was left in Guan Shan’s stomach came up onto the yellowing linoleum floor. The metal chair squealed halfway across the kitchen with the kicks.

Click looked pissed. “You can sing now or later, I don’t give a fuck Red. But we’re gonna get every little bit of information out of your dumb ass about why the fuckin’ DEA is out in the fuckin’ boones bothern’ us good folk.” Click placed his lit cigarette between his lips, nubby yellow crack teeth showing for a moment before he folded his arms and grimaced. “But first we have some other business.”

Click’s gaze flicked up to the mountain of a man that had been idly standing by like he was at a particularly boring church service. Guan Shan’s heart sank.

“Go out there and find ‘im.”

Guan Shan was knee deep into his next lie before he could think about it too hard, stemming panic from working its way in.

“Fuck off Click. I knew you’d be cautious but this is fuck’in overkill. That coke’s real, how’d you think I get it? Ask the DEA all polite-like? Fuck-off man. It’s just you ‘in me and you’re sending Brick House here out there to crash around in the dark chasing after shadows. You’ve been hitt’in the pipe too hard. Melt’n you’re brain and shit.”

Click seemed to consider Guan Shan for a moment and his tall lackey hung between leaving and staying, waiting for the verdict.

“So you admittin’ you’re with the DEA Red?” He took a deep inhale of his cigarette, the cherry lighting up with an audible crackling sound.

“Yeah. How’d you think I get this stuff? We busted couple hundred pounds of the shit I brought you tonight. And no one checks on it after it’s been logged. Everyone in that department is dipp’in into the shit we grab. Usually just for recreational purposes. But I can get you set up with a ‘lil bit here and there. Weed. Crack. Coke. Party pills. We get the big hauls ‘cause we go after the distributors. And there’s extra in it for you if you can give me some tips every once ‘n awhile.”

Guan Shan wasn’t surprised by the fist that connected with his face. He was really gonna look like shit once all this was through.

“You got’ damn motherfucker!” Click fisted his shirt, dragging him and the metal chair forward with a horrendous squeal against the floor.

“Did you just ask me to become an informant for the fucking cops? After everything I’ve done for you Red? Gave you a fuck’in home? Took you in? Then you go dissapear’n and we think you’re dead.” Click was really yelling now, his spit spraying over Guan Shan’s face. “We spilled blood over you Red. And then you show up fifteen-fucking years later looking like the day you disappeared and you have the fuckin’ balls to just think you gonna be welcome back here? You’re dead to us, Red.”

Click turned to mountain man. “Find his fucking partner. He’s lurk’in out there somewhere in the woods.”

“Wait, no, Click I’ll tell you whatever the fuck you want but if he’s out there he’s just look’in for me. He don’ know nothin and it’s not gonna help you much to have to deal with two of us. You’re gon’ have a harder time covern’ up two miss’in people. He ain’t even from around here and you know who they’ll start com’in after first.”

“Oh I know alright,” Click growled and brought his knee up hard into Guan Shan “I know ‘cause you’re here and we seen you come into town.”

Guan Shan was spluttering for breath, gasping, winded as he remembered the fucking truck stop. He Tian kissing him in the beat up Toyota and Guan Shan unwilling to push him off. Static of a station on the radio going in and out and crumpled chip bags crunching as He Tian leaned over the armrest.

Click stilled and Guan Shan lost the thread. Click had flicked open a knife large enough to skin a deer but before Guan Shan could tense the knife was cutting him free from the chair and Click was hauling Guan Shan to his feet.

The knife was back into Click’s pocket before Guan Shan could process what the hell was happening and he shoved roughly out onto the front porch. Moths and June bugs flew through the muggy air outside, circling the porch light. Guan Shan heard the cold click of Click’s gun as he cocked it and pressed the cool metal to the side of Guan Shan’s head.

“Come on out ‘for I splatter your partner’s brains all over my porch.” Click yelled the words into the darkness beyond the porch.

Guan Shan squeezed his eyes shut and grit his teeth. Keep to the plan. Keep to the plan. Start your mother fucking car and get out of here. Get out of here.

His prayers were in vain though. He Tian emerged into the porch light silently, hands up.

–

It had been quiet, which was good. Most of the group had broken off to go party somewhere or pick up more beer and drugs, obviously bored by having their night of partying cut short. That left Click with another giant of a man inside. Easy. He just had to wait for the right moment to get Guan Shan the fuck out of there.

He Tian made a loop of the house, quietly checking if the back door was unlocked or if any windows were open. The house was locked up but again, it wouldn’t be a problem. He just had to wait for one of them to come out for a smoke or grab something from their car.

It was too risky to just break in. He Tian settled in and listened. His fingers itched for a cigarette. He could hear the muffled voice of Click talking. That was good too. Hopefully that’s all they were doing, talking.

He Tian’s first indication that things had gone south was the sound of metal squealing and Click yelling. Someone grunted and retched, a wet splattering sound punctuated by coughs and gasps. He Tian saw red. Breath. Breath. Stay calm and wait. You’ll put him in more danger if you break in now.

He Tian wanted to move, adrenaline beating a tattoo against his veins. He was shaking with it. He Tian dug his nails against his palm, trying to distract his body from the need to move. It was a beat too late when he noticed things had gone quiet.

The front door burst open and He Tian almost bolted for the assholes right then and there. Guan Shan was a bloody mess, barely able to stand up. His eyes were already swelling, purple bruises forming shapes Rorschach would be proud of. His dark shirt was wet with blood and the thin skin above his eyes was split and still flowing.

But despite how much he wanted to raise his own gun and fill these fuckers with enough lead to down an elephant, he couldn’t take the chance. Not with Click pressing the muzzle of agun into Guan Shan’s bloody temple.

“Come on out ‘for I splatter your partner’s brains all over my porch.”

He Tian walked out with his hands up. Guan Shan made a noise somewhere between anger and despair.

He had one chance at this. One chance before the mountain of a man next to Click got to He Tian, patted him down, took his gun and then hauled He Tian inside to share in a few miserable hours as a punching bag before becoming catfish food.

“There you are pretty boy.”

He Tian showed concern, fear, anxiety. Let them mask his face. Let them make Click think he was safe.

“Din’ think I would have such a fun night! Your partner here is a fuck’in dumbass. That’s it, nice and slow.”

He Tian kept eye contact and suddenly, with enough slipping to seem real, tripped. And there it was. With the sudden movement Click reacted before thinking, swinging his gun from Guan Shan to He Tian.

The rest was a blur of instinct and a prayer. He Tian rolled and pulled his gun, aimed and fired.

–

It was over fast. Guan Shan stood stock still, trying not to pull Click one way or the other. It was only after Click slumped down and the mountain man crumpled did Guan Shan realize he was splattered in blood that wasn’t his.

It didn’t matter though because He Tian was there, his hands all over Guan Shan. A quick flick of a knife and Guan Shans hands were free.

“You shouldn’t have done that.”

He Tian didn’t respond, simply went about checking Guan Shan over, pulling his shirt up and grimacing at the damage splayed across Guan Shan’s body, head bowed. Guan Shan could feel He Tian’s hands shaking where they balled up in his shirt.

“Hey, hey, come on. Let’s get out of here.”

He Tian’s jaw clenched. “You said they wouldn’t do anything.”

“Well I might have under calculated a few things.”

“A few–” He Tian shuddered, cutting himself off and Guan Shan’s world swooped for a second as He Tian swung him into a bridal carry headed for the car.

“I can carry myself, hey!” He Tian had Guan Shan in the car and was around and in the driver’s seat in one swift motion. It started up on the first try and He Tian was peeling out of the gravel lot and hurtling down the dirt road.

“Whoah, whoah, He Tian, where’s the fire? Slow the fuck down, we still gotta stay low.”

He Tian slammed the car to the stop. His knuckles were white around the steering wheel.

“Is it your first time? You know, doing that.” The words came out as a raspy wheeze and Guan Shan winced. He definitely had a cracked rib.

“Yes, sweetheart, it’s my first time dragging you as a bloody pulp out from a meth house where two motherfucking shit stains were ready to carve you up for entertainment.”

Guan Shan didn’t know why he suddenly felt like fighting but he dug his heels in. “It was our only way in, and now we know Click’s not the one who’s been mixing up the fake pain pills that have been killin’ people.”

A muscle jumped in He Tian’s jaw. The truck lurched forward. “We’re going to the hospital.”

“No we fuckin’ ain’t! Get your head on straight, He Tian, we’ve got a good half hour before the rest of Click’s ‘lil possy comes back from wherever they’ve been gettin fucked up, finds two cold bodies in the dirt and finds me not there and puts two an’ two together.” Guan Shan reached for the cigarettes He Tian kept in the cup holder. “What we’re doin’ is going back to our hotel, packin’ up our shit fast as we can, gettin’ back in this truck and driving as far away from this god forsaken place as we can.”

He Tian didn’t respond. Muggy summer air whipped around them through the open windows.

They rolled into town and Guan Shan relaxed when He Tian turned towards the motel.

“Stay here.” He Tian was out of the truck and headed into the motel before Guan Shan could say anything. He slumped into the seat and lit another cigarette.

Back on the road, orange street lights blurred by as He Tian pushed 100 down the highway. Guan Shan was crashing hard, his whole body ached and he knew tomorrow would be worse. He lit another cigarette, too tired to do anything else, too wired to sleep.

“You’re quitting this case.” He Tian’s voice barely rose above the hum of the car hurtling down the highway.

“I’m not talkin’ ‘bout this right now.”

“They could of killed you.”

“Yeah, and they coulda killed you too. I told you this isn’t like the city. The hills have their own code and these people live by it. Ain’t anyone coming to help hill folk.”

He Tian snagged the pack of cigarettes, depositing them out of reach in his car door. “So you’ve got to, is that it?”

Guan Shan grunted. “I don’t know He Tian. I just know people are dying and I have connections here and I’m gonna use them so we can stop the son of a bitch who’s been poisoning people.”

The cover of night slipped from around them, the first hints of dawn lightening the sky.

Guan Shan was somewhere between waking and fever dreams when He Tian spoke again.

“So what’s our next move.”

Guan Shan cracked his left eye open, the right one was too swollen to see out of.

“You’re sticking along with this thing? You ‘don seem like you like it much.”

He Tian snorted as though it was obvious. “I just killed two men, Guan Shan, I should think it’s obvious that I’m in this thing.”

Guan Shan closed his eye and hummed. “We’re headed in deep then, to a place where the rest of the world doesn’t exist. Where we’ll be alone. You ready for that?”

“Lead the way Red.”

I’d love to hear your thoughts, comments, questions- tell me what you think!

#19 days #19 days fanfic #dark themes #tianshan #he tian #mo guan shan #depictions of violence #midwestern gothic #set some time before cell phones #Code of the Hills #egregious use of apostrophes #the accent is a hick hill people twang #not a southern accent

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threeletterslife · 4 years

Text

01 | Illegirl

→ next chapter

→ summary: Excelling in every school subject, acing every math test and conquering the academic world is something you do as easily as breathing. As your residential social outcast nerd, you live rather as a recluse, talking to almost no one except for your dear ol’ cousin and that sweet boy in a few of your classes—Jungkook? was that his name? Befriending your ʰᵒᵗ AP stats teacher was the last thing on your high school senior agenda…

→ genre: 90% fluff, 8% crack, 2% angst | teacher!au & f2l!au

→ warnings: profanity (like y/n really needs to tone it down lmao) & kissing/making out

→ wordcount: 6.2k

With your head tucked under the pages of a textbook that's literally heavier than twice your weight, your hand furiously flies across the surface of your messy, but meticulous notes. At this point, you've been writing for so long that you don't feel the pain of hand cramps anymore.

Curse your fucking philosophy teacher for not succumbing to technology. Your notes would've taken you thirty minutes to complete instead of three hours had you been able to type them out.

But it's not like you're complaining about the workload. You lowkey like learning, therefore you like school. Besides, you're a diligent person. Once you start studying, there's really no turning back until you finish. In fact, nothing can distract you from your studies. Well maybe except—

"Hey, Y/N!" Seokjin screams from the kitchen.

Your head jerks up so fast hearing your cousin's voice that you wince from the neck strain. Cursing profanities under your breath, you shout back, "What?!"

"It's about dinner!" Seokjin yells.

You perk up. God, you weren't really the sporty type but Jin told you using your brain burns more calories than running a mile. But what can you expect from a theatre major? Still, you would use any excuse to eat as much as you do.

"I've invited a friend over to eat with us!" your cousin hollers.

Slightly frowning, you wonder since when Jin had friends that had come over. Your frown wavers away. Maybe you should be happy your cousin was socializing for once and not worry about the idea of some stranger coming to your house to eat.

You sigh as you push away from your desk, standing up to make your way to the kitchen for a more elaborate explanation.

"Who's the friend?" you ask, casually. "I mean, more importantly, what are you cooking?"

Jin's back was turned from you, his arms moving swiftly across the stove in a graceful manner you know you can never master. But you hear him chuckle at your priorities.

"Today's menu is steak," Jin says heartily.

Ah, steak. Why hadn't I been able to guess? The tender and cordial aroma should've pointed all fingers to your favorite meal.

"And the friend? Park Jimin," Jin answers dreamily and you can tell your cousin's just falling in love with his steak sizzling on the pan. He's always like that (dramatic and passionate).

"Park Jimin?" you repeat, sliding into a chair next to the kitchen island. "Doesn't ring a bell. So where'd you meet him?"

"Well, he's my co-worker." Jin shrugs nonchalantly as he places the sizzling steak on a platter, seasoning it passionately.

"Huh? Co-worker?" You frown. "Wait he's a teacher too?"

Jin was your school's arts and drama teacher, always staying out late for theater practice and unfortunately dragging you out with him because "you can't survive on your own."

"Yeah. Maybe Mr. Park might ring a bell?" Jin suggests.

Your eyes enlarge at the familiar name and the realization hits you like a big, fat freight train. "Mr. Park?!" you screech like a barn owl. "My math teacher?!"

Your cousin's head snaps up from smelling his precious steak. "Oh? He's your teacher?"

"Um, yes!" you yell, throwing your hands aggressively in the air. "Oh my GOD. This is gonna be so awkward! Jin! Just because you live a Hollywood life, doesn't mean you can drag me into that crazy shit too! Really? A student eating with her fucking teacher? What kind of fucked up fuckery is that?!"

"Language!" Jin warns. "You're just over-dramatizing things, baby cousin," he laughs. "I told you, you should pursue acting."

"I'm not joking!" you seethe, your face turning red as you imagine the future awkwardness that would ensue between you and Mr. Park. Not that you have anything against him.

Jin just rolls his eyes. "Then just stay in your room," he says. "Besides, you better get used to him being around. Jimin's a chill dude, I'll be hanging out with him a lot more. I'm sure he won't mind you."

You sigh. "Yeah, but I'd rather not take the chances... I mean, not when this man can change my grades with one button."

Jin chuckles. "And why would he do that? You're probably his best student. Isn't math that class you have over a hundred in, right now?"

"Well, yeah, but you never know," you protest.

"Wow, what a nerd."

"Um, not a nerd," you reply. "Just smarter than you."

Jin scoffs, placing a delicate hand to his chest as he mocks offense. "Excuse me, baby cousin, I happen to be almost a decade older than you."

You laugh out loud. "A decade doesn't seem like it helped you much," you tease, never losing an argument, no matter how small and pathetic. "But anyways. Are you sure Mr. Park will be chill? I'm that weird kid in his class that never socializes but sets the curve for every test, you know? I'm that nerd..."

Jin chuckles. "You worry too much. Don't you know teachers love students that excel in their class? Besides, Jimin knows you're my cousin. It'll be okay," Jin chirps as he grins at his piping hot steak. "It'll be fine..."

"It'll be okay, he said, it'll be fine, he said!" you grumble. "Fucking idiot!"

Normally, Jin would've yelled at you for your profanities, but at the moment, he was too wasted to give a fuck. "Maybe I shouldn't have drunk my stress," he giggles. "Jimin, your beer is delicious."

"Yee, boi," Jimin answers, waving his arms around drunkenly.

You can't believe your eyes, or ears for that matter. Your usually formal, sharp, calm and collected math teacher had first shown up wearing severely ripped jeans, a loose, black t-shirt and jewelry. And now he was drunk.

Originally, you had been stuck in your room, quietly and innocently, you might add, eating a piece of steak. Honestly, you were pretending like you didn't even exist. It was only when you heard the loud clinkings of those beer cans when you knew you would have to take action sometime. Your cousin was not a good drinker.

Your teacher, who usually looks like a Mr. Park for god's sake, with his ties and button-up collar shirts now looks like a Jimin with his choice of stylish garments and a pair of dangly earrings. Jimin runs his fingers through his messy black hair that's usually so well-combed and gelled. Then, his alluring chocolate eyes fixate on you.

"Baby girl, why don't you have a drink?" he asks you, waving his (empty) beer can at you.

You have a wordless reaction, staring at your teacher in absolute horror. You're 110% sure he doesn't remember you're his student.

Goddamn, he's so wasted.

"Jin, my man, she's hot. Who is she?" Jimin asks as he flashes a charming smile at you, throwing in a wink as well.

You have no idea why your stomach flips. But you're pretty sure it has something to do with the seductive way your teacher is looking at you. You would've never thought Jimin could have this sort of side to him.

"No touchy, touchy, my dude," Jin slurs. "She's my baby cousin."

Jimin winks at you again.

And of course, you feel at least a hundred butterflies fluttering around in your stomach. Had you known Jimin was this attractive? No. But did you know now? Hell yeah.

Still, he's your teacher... "I'm your student," you sigh, staring at the drunken man in pity.

"Ooh," Jimin grins flirtatiously. "Kinky."

Now it's your turn to run your fingers through your hair. "T-That..." you sigh. "That's borderline perverted," you murmur.

Jin giggles. "Y/N, you have no—" your cousin pauses his sentence, suddenly holding his stomach and frowning. "Ooh, I don't feel too good," he announces. Then, he curls up and with such obnoxious noise, wretches out the steak he'd consumed.

You instantly jerk your head away, afraid you'll vomit if you catch the sight of Jin's half-digested food. Yes, you like food, but not when it's in that kind of state.

"Oh my god, Jin!" you whine, annoyance and some form of anger coursing through your veins. "I told you not to drink, goddammit!"

Your cousin only grins, swaying his body back and forth to a song that's not even playing. Sighing, you hurriedly grab a wet rag, cursing profanities and saying 'ew' every three seconds as you attempt to clean up the vomit. You're literally forcing your stomach to stay calm at the disturbing sight and stench.

You're even more ticked off that your cousin is just smiling like a total buffoon right next to you. "I'M A FUCKING DECADE YOUNGER THAN YOU SO WHY AM I ACTING LIKE A FUCKING MOTHER RIGHT NOW?" you shriek as you throw the rag to the side to glare at Jin.

Except, he was passed out. You scoff. "Unbelievable!" You push Jin over with your hand. "Jin! Wake the fuck up!"

"Ooh, baby girl, I didn't know you had such a dirty mouth," Jimin purrs, taking hold of his can of beer and Jin's, clinking them together and laughing as if it were the funniest sight in the world.

You glare at your so-called teacher. "If you weren't in charge of my grades you'd be dead," you seethe.

"What's that, baby girl?" Jimin asks. "I think you might have to be closer for me to hear you." And with that, he grabs ahold of your hand and pulls you down into his lap.

Momentarily, you're too shocked to have any sort of reaction. It takes a while for you to even realize you're sitting on your teacher's lap. "Ji—I mean, Mr. Park!" you shriek, trying to scramble up.

But Jimin holds you firm, staring deeply into your eyes as if he could see your soul. And something about that stops your squirming. You are still.

"Beautiful," Jimin mumbles as he softly touches the side of your cheek.

Your heart is beating fast and you can feel your cheeks starting to heat up. Why was this making you feel so... weird?

"Beauty is from the outside," Jimin states, moving his head closer to yours. That surely ruined the moment.

You frown. "I think you mean beauty is from the inside," you correct.

"Whatever," Jimin mumbles, continuing to admire your face. "Who are you?" he asks. "Such a beauty..."

"Your fucking student," you reply smartly, scrunching your nose. You? A beauty? I don't fucking think so.

"Kinky," Jimin says again. He slowly intertwines his fingers with yours. "I like you."

What. The. Fuck.

Now you're just internally screaming. Yes, you admit your math teacher is rather... hot. Yes, you admit that he has some sort of magnetic field that attracts you. And yes, you admit you don't feel too bad sitting in his lap (oh boy). But you know, in the back of your head, this is somewhat illegal. After all, some internet research (a.k.a stalking) showed that Jimin was 24. You're 17. It just isn't going to happen.

"Cool," you respond. "Glad that I'm liked. Um... Imma get going now..." you try to smoothly escape from Jimin's lap. But it's just not your day.

Jimin tugs you back, his hand wrapped around your wrist tightly. "No." He grins. "You." His hand holds yours. "Will." His other hand cups your warm, flushed cheeks. "Stay." His lips meet yours.

He does it so quickly that you have little to no time to stop him. And once in the kiss, there was no turning back.

Your teacher tastes like beer as his tongue explores your lips, sucking and even biting softly. And as the love-deprived person as you are, you don't stop him. Instead, you respond by wrapping your arms around Jimin's neck. Then before you realize it, or even stop yourself, you're kissing him back. The heat of the moment thing, you guess.

Jimin pulls you closer to his face, the hand that had been holding yours is set on your waist, securing you.

That's when you realize this is not some random dude named Jimin. This is Park Jimin, your mathematics teacher.

"Fuck!" you shriek as you aggressively break the kiss—or more like make out session—your lips leaving your teacher's with a little 'pop.'

Jimin stares at you in confusion, his eyebrows scrunching over his wide, curious eyes. "Fuck already?"

You bury your face in your hands, then realize you're still sitting in your teacher's lap. "Fuck!" you repeat as you scramble away a good two feet.

"Already?" he asks once again.

"You... you.. pervert!" you scream, flapping your arms faster than a hummingbird. "I'm 17!"

Jimin cocks his head. "How old am I again?" He grins foolishly. But cutely. His black hair is messed up even more and his soft, plump lips are slightly wet. Oh boy. You don't even want to get started on his alluring eyes.

Fuck! You shake your head, panic taking over your whole body. Not the time, Y/N!

"You don't know my age either?" Jimin asks, staring at you with puppy dog eyes. You think you're going to faint.

Get it together Y/N!

"24," you grit out. "You're 24."

At that, Jimin frowns. "Shit. You weren't lying when you said you were my student," he slurs, squinting at you as if he were looking at the sun.

"You thought I was fucking lying?!" you shriek. "Snap out of it!"

"Shit," Jimin deadpans, his dark eyes flickering. "You're Yoon Y/N," he realizes. "I'm actually fucked."

Then, his eyes roll to the back of his head and he passes out on the floor, right next to your dumbass cousin.

You can't move. You just kissed your fucking teacher. No, you made out with him. But the worst part—you think you had enjoyed it.

You wake up in your bed with the biggest migraine you've had in a month. It's almost as if you were the one that had passed out drunk yesterday.

The morning rays are shining through your thin curtains and you sigh out, looking at the bright sight. Thank fucking god it's a Saturday. If only this migraine would go away.

Then, you realize something that makes the pain in your head amplify by ten-folds. Yesterday, you'd made out with your math teacher—in the same room as your overprotective cousin, mind you.

"Well fuck," you whisper, placing a cool finger to your lips. The very same lips that had kissed your teacher. "Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. FUCK!" you mutter aggressively.

You remember it all as if your brain had shot a movie on the spot—your teacher tugging you into his warm lap, making sexual comments, kissing you... Your face burns red. Not to mention you feel like some annoying garden gnome is hammering his huge mallet right in your head.

Fuck my migraine.

But your migraine wasn't the worst of your problems at this point. In fact, it seemed to be dwelling in your poor head because of your problems.

"How the fuck am I supposed to face him in school? Oh god, will he remember? Holy fuck—how will I cope if he doesn't recall?" you talk to yourself frantically, habitually flapping your arms around in panic.

You try to take a deep breath to calm yourself down but that doesn't work. Instead, you end up burying your face in your hands, crashing back down on your bed. "I actually don't want to go to school anymore," you say. But maybe a bit too loudly.

"Y/N, DID I HEAR YOU RIGHT?" a voice practically screams from the kitchen. "You LOVE learning!" Jin screeches. "Did something happen? Are you getting bullied?"

"What? No!" you yell, exasperated. It was always up to your cousin to make a mountain out of a molehill.

"THEN WHAT HAPPENED?" Jin shouts.

You sigh. From all the yelling going back and forth, it looked like by the end of the day, your throat would hurt as much as your head. Sitting up from your bed, you make your way to the kitchen to explain yourself without having to scream your lungs out.

"Y/N, honey, you look sick," Jin says as soon as turns around from the stove, catching sight of your messy hair and dead eyes.

"Migraine," you sigh.

"I've gotchu," your cousin declares dutifully as he places an orange pill and steaming hot rice porridge in front of you. He sits down in front of you, watching with his warm eyes as you dry swallow the pill and dig in to your breakfast. "So... what happened?" he asks as you finally pause from your eating to take a breath.

"Huh?"

"Why don't you want to go to school?" Jin repeats, taking a napkin and wiping your wet chin.

You shrug. "I dunno," you lie. "It's just one of those moods."

Jin lets out a sigh of relief. "Oh, just that? I thought it was something serious, Y/N! You had me worrying!"

You roll your eyes but smile. The warm and toasty porridge paired with the painkiller was really working miracles. You felt much better already.

"You always worry, Jin," you chuckle. "Shouldn't I be worried about you? You literally threw up last night."

"Yes, I know. You did a pretty bad job cleaning it up," Jin laughs. "Thanks for the attempt, though."

"Well, I was..." you attempt to explain yourself. "...Distracted."

Jin laughs, getting up to fetch your favorite dish of kimchi, placing it right in front of you. Once he sits down he watches you eat again.

"Sorry, Y/N," he apologizes suddenly, just as you shove a huge spoonful of rice and kimchi in your mouth.

"For what?" you sputter, bits of half-chewed food dribbling down your mouth. "Oops," you mutter, clumsily reaching for a napkin. But Jin was already ahead of you, dabbing at your chin once again.

"I don't know... I threw up, you tried to clean it up... You were probably annoyed that we were being so loud. Oh right, and we were both drunk..." Jin sighs.

You shake your head. "I'm not mad. You don't have to feel bad," you say.

If anything, I'm mad at myself for kissing my teacher.

Speaking of your teacher...

"So, where's Jimin?" you ask, blood immediately rushing to your cheeks just saying his name.

Oh god, why did I even ask? Now I'm going to sound suspicious.

"I'm the worst person to ask that. I don't remember much—everything's so hazy. I really shouldn't have drunk so much last night..." Jin sighs. "But why do you ask?"

"Oh, it's nothing," you respond quickly.

If Jin had no recollection of his drunk night, then that would mean your teacher wouldn't remember... right??

"Y/N, you responded too quickly, something's up," Jin laughs, stretching back in his seat. "What happened? Spill the tea."

Well, shit. Channel your inner actress, Y/N. You've got this.

"Oh, I don't know, it was nothing, really. It was just funny to see my math teacher get wasted and faint then disappear without a trace the next day, you know?" you say casually.

"Jimin probably ditched 'cause he got embarrassed," Jin chuckles, shaking his head.

Ohohoho, you have no idea.

"Yeah, well, thanks for the breakfast, Jin," you say, getting up from your seat. "I've got a quiz in his class on Monday. Gotta study."

"Wow, how diligent," your cousin teases lightly. "Have fun," he sarcastically calls as you walk towards your room.

You roll your eyes but smile. As dumb and dramatic and drunk he could get, you can't deny that you love your cousin.

As somewhat of a nerd, you had always passed school with flying colors—especially being gifted in mathematics. On the day of Jimin's math quiz, you finish thirty minutes early and take the leisure to stretch a bit and play around with your lucky pencil.

Normally, you'd look up to see if your teacher was grading quizzes from the previous period, but today, you were doing everything possible to avoid his eye contact. Maybe you were overreacting... but that kiss, er, make out was something you couldn't just forget so easily.

Are we just going to forget that shit even happened? Then, you realize, probably yeah. Jin didn't remember what happened when he got drunk—maybe Jimin would too.

Well, shit. That's just better for me. I made out with my fucking teacher and he doesn't even remember. God, I feel like I'm in a high school romance drama.

You cringe at your inner thoughts then force yourself to focus back on your quiz.

Time to check answers.

Thirty minutes later, as soon as the bell rings, you zip right up, about to bolt from the classroom when Jimin just:

"Everyone who hasn't finished the quiz, please turn it in now! Y/N, I'll see you after class."

Your blood runs cold and you freeze. Why? WHY? WHY?

"Probably for some nerdy math geek thing," students whisper. You pray that they're right.

God forbid he remembers what happened Saturday night.

Students file quickly out of the classroom—a little too quickly. All too soon, you and Jimin were the only ones in the room. You gulp.

Jimin stands up from his desk, his fingers racing up to habitually loosen his tight, black tie. He looks so different in his school clothes and when he's sober. Your teacher coughs lightly as he walks over to your desk awkwardly.

Or maybe the awkwardness was just your stupid imagination.

"Hey, Y/N," Jimin says. "How was the quiz?"

"Uh, good," you quickly respond, turning red just facing your teacher. Please don't come any closer.

You curse inside your head as Jimin literally crouches down to your eye-level, leaning in as you automatically lean back. Your heart beats in your head as you realize your hands are sweating. Yeah, no, you didn't want confrontation. Not today, at least.

"Um... Mr. Park, I have to get to lunch," you lie, abruptly pushing back your chair and springing up from your seat. "Er... Mr. Jung, my literature teacher wanted to talk to me."

Jimin looks at you with suspicion. "Hm... I was hoping to discuss something with you," he sighs.

Goosebumps blossom on your skin. "It's urgent," you fib. "He'll get really mad at me if I don't get there in the next minute."

Jimin frowns while glancing at the class clock and sighs again. "Well then, I guess our talk can wait."

You almost cheer out loud at your victory, but calmly start to walk away from your teacher. "Thank you, Mr. Park!" you call behind you as you practically bolt out of the classroom.

Your teacher stares at the door and cocks his head. "I've never seen Jung Hoseok get mad at his students in my entire life," he mutters under his breath while shaking his head.

You're at home, stretched out on your bed, your homework finished and your tests taken. But you're still worried.

"Goddammit," you cuss.

"Woah there," Jin calls from the kitchen, his second bedroom. "Did Y/N get her first B?"

You roll your eyes. "Not possible," you call back.

"Then do you have an excuse for your profanity?!"

"Nope, not really," you sigh. "Sorry, I'll watch my language!" you shout before Jin can remind you again. Then you groan as you bury your face into your plushy pillow.

You were dreading the next day. Although you weren't sure what Jimin wanted to discuss with you, you weren't going to take any chances.

It was Tuesday.

"Y/N, I have to talk to you," Jimin says as the math class is dismissed.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Park!" you say quickly. "Girl problems, I gotta get to the bathroom!" you lie.

It was Wednesday.

"Y/N, may I talk to you?" Jimin calls as soon as class is finished.

"Sorry, Mr. Park!" you say as you're already halfway out the door. "I have to see the nurse. Cramps, you know!"

"You don't seem like you're in pain!" Jimin calls as you run out.

It was Thursday.

"Y/N, we really need to talk," Jimin says as he blocks your way of the classroom.

You sigh. "I wish I could, but I need to turn in a philosophy project for Mr. Kim," you fib.

"During lunch?" Jimin sighs. You nod convincingly. "Alright, then," Jimin says. "We'll talk tomorrow."

"We'll see about that," you mumble under your breath.

It was Friday.

"Y/N. No excuses. You've been avoiding me for almost a week," Jimin says as he squats in front of your desk, literally compelling you to stay frozen in your seat.

"But Mr. Park, I kinda have to go... My cousin's taking me on a trip for this weekend and I have to leave right now."

You pat yourself on your back for this lie. Nice one, Y/N! Jin always pulls you out of school to take mini weekend trips so this was totally plausible.

Jimin laughs. "Oh, Y/N. I'm very close to Jin, you know," he says. "He can't be taking you on a trip now if I'm supposed to be going with you guys."

"What." You shake your head in disbelief, jaw practically dropping open. "No!" you deadpan.

"Yes," Jimin answers. "I've been trying to tell you this whole week, you know. Jin wasn't going to tell you until last minute because he knew you'd make some excuse not to go."

It was official. Jin had definitely lost his marbles. Trip and teacher did not go well together and you'd think someone as capable as Jin would know this. Besides, the last time you and Jimin had been together outside of school... You shudder. Nope!

"I'm going to kill my cousin!" you shriek, exasperated out of your mind.

"I mean, now it's a bit too late, don't you think?" Jimin chuckles. "We're leaving right after school."

The words hit you like a freight train. Why? Why the fuck? What the fuck? How? But most importantly, where? You swear to god if Jin had so very conveniently planned a beach trip you were actually going to murder him. Bikini and teacher are two words you don't want to see in the same sentence.

You take a deep breath, tilting your head back to pinch the bridge of your nose in an attempt to calm yourself down. When you feel like you're not going to drop f-bombs in a classroom setting anymore, you face your teacher: "So, uh, where are we going for the trip? I swear to god if it's at the beach—"

"Camping," Jimin answers quickly.

"Oh, whew!" you exclaim, placing a hand to your heart in all gladness. But apparently, you had been glad way too soon.

"Oh right, Y/N, I still need to talk to you about another thing," your teacher says, scratching his head rather awkwardly.

You freeze, your heart beating in your ears as suddenly your stomach feels like it shrunk twice its original size.

Jimin coughs awkwardly. "But, um... I think it can wait for later," he sighs. "It's not very... classroom appropriate," he whispers lowly.

Well fuck, he remembers. Fuck my life. At this point, you wonder if things can even end up worse than this. Sighing, you do the only thing that you do best: leaving.

"If it's not classroom appropriate, it's probably never appropriate," you quickly mutter as you swing your backpack over your shoulder. "Thanks for the heads up about the trip," you say. "Now, excuse me so I can go yell at my cousin."

Jimin chuckles. "Yeah, see you, Y/N. Best of luck with that."

You almost scoff. This was going to be one long weekend.

The moment you barge into familiar territory, otherwise known as Seokjin's drama classroom, you finally let your rage loose. "THE FUCKING HELL! JIN, I HATE YOU!"

Your raucous outburst startles your cousin who nearly drops a golden crown prop. You don't even give him time to react before you're ranting. "I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU WERE KEEPING THIS FUCKING CAMPING TRIP FROM ME!"

"Woah, there, Y/N. Slow down," Jin says in a soothing tone as if he were trying to calm a wild horse. "The camping trip?" he questions, cocking his head.

"YEAH! THE ONE WHERE YOU SO CONVENIENTLY INVITED JIMIN!"

Jin's confused face flashes with recognition as he nods. "Oh yeah, the camping trip. Sorry."

"Sorry won't fucking cut it!" you shriek. "And really? With Jimin too?!"

Jin sighs. "Well I'm sorry I didn't tell you earlier but I just wanted some bonding time with my best friend. You know that I've haven't had friends in years. And I would've just left you home, but you also know that I care too much about your meals to do that. You'd literally starve to death Y/N, you really can't cook!"

His words make you feel bad for your outburst. In a way, he's right. Jin literally doesn't have a social life because of you. When you're stuck studying your ass off every day, he's the one who makes sure you get your meals. When you're in a particularly bad mood due to fluctuating hormone levels (curse puberty), he's the one who can calm you down with a good joke and a bowl of ice cream. When you had thought no one in the whole world cared for you, he's the one who swooped in and gave you the love and reassurance you needed.

In other words, you owe Jin. Big time. You know full-heartedly that your cousin decided to take you on this trip so you wouldn't be crouched in your room 25/8, skipping meals and being dangerously alone. So the least you can do is to go on the trip without complaining like a little bitch.

It'll be awkward, yes, considering it's with your teacher that you've potentially done such illegal things with. But you do have a heart, and your heart tells you it's about time to owe up to all the good Jin has done for you. It's also telling you to bite down your pride and apologize to your dear cousin—but apologizing has never really been your thing.

You sigh, scratching your head awkwardly. "Um, I guess I'm... I'm... sorry then," you mutter, looking down at your feet. God, you really don't like to admit things when you're wrong.

Jin chuckles. "You should be. Your yelling made me age a decade!" he teasingly claims. "And besides, I'm pretty sure you woke up the dead with all that cussing," he says disapprovingly. "No profanity, Y/N! At least, not in school."

"Okay, okay, sorry," you say quickly, looking down with slight shame.

You feel Jin's warm hands pinching your cheek, making you look up at him. "Thanks for understanding so quickly, you're the best Y/N." He literally giggles as he pats your cheek.

Rolling your eyes, you lightly swat your cousin's hand away. "I guess I'm just happy you're finally attempting to be social," you respond.

Jin chuckles. "Yeah, I'm trying to be a role model for you, Y/N. But anyway, now that you're here, wanna eat lunch with me?"

You give him a weird look. "Why though?"

Your cousin raises his eyebrows. "I know you eat lunch alone all the time."

Now it's your turn to raise your eyebrows. "And what if I like to eat alone?" you say defiantly.

Jin shakes his head. "Y/N, you don't like to eat alone."

You sigh in defeat. Curse Jin for knowing me better than myself! "Fine. But just this once."

"Good," Jin smiles. "I'll just tell Jimin to eat with Hoseok or something."

"Hoseok? Mr. Jung? My literature teacher?"

"Yeah, he and Jimin are close too," Jin tells you. "Jimin's so close to everyone. I wish I were like him."

You laugh. "You're amazing just the way you are," you say as you sit down on a desk and pull out the lunch Jin had made you. "I still can't believe you're choosing to eat lunch with me and literally canceling on Jimin."

Jin shrugs. "You're my baby cousin."

You smile. "And you're like the good family I never had."

As soon as you get home, you try to find your suitcase to last minutely pack for a trip you'd just been told about. But you can't find your suitcase.

"Don't bother packing! I've done it for you!" Jin calls from the kitchen. You follow his voice out and watch him as he shoves in hoards of food into fifty different bags.

"Wow. You packed for me?" you ask. "So exactly how long were you planning on keeping this trip from me?"

"As long as I could," Jin replies as he starts to cut watermelon. "Get in the car, Y/N. Jimin's probably waiting already."

"Fine," you sigh as you drag your feet to the car. You really don't want to face your math teacher. The last time you two met outside of school... it had ended quite illegally.

"Hey, Y/N," Jimin says, tugging down his dark sunglasses to give you some cute eye smile.

"That should be fucking illegal," you murmur as you slide into the back seats, seeing that Jimin had taken shotgun. You can't dare to look at your teacher without remembering that hot night.

"What should be illegal?" Jin asks as he slides into the driver's seat. "School? Wait. You're a nerd. You love school."

You roll your eyes. "Drive, asshole."

"Yes ma'am!" Jin salutes, grinning at you foolishly.

"You two are hilarious," Jimin chuckles as he leans his chair back. "I can't believe I can actually witness this for three whole days."

"Yeah, lucky you," you mumble sarcastically. "Wait—Jin. Isn't the camping place over there?" you point to the spot that Jin had passed by.

"Uh..." Jin laughs. "Silly. We're trying a different camping spot this time."

"Okay," you chirp, stretching out in the backseat. "Wake me up when we're there then."

"Sure thing," Jin says. "Sleep well, baby cousin."

You roll your eyes but smile, then you fall into a deep, peaceful slumber.

You were supposed to wake up to see a cold, damp environment with towering trees surrounding the area. You know, the kind of environment you're supposed to see when you go camping. Instead, you get the bright, hot sun beating down on you. Oh, and also, sand.

"What the f—"

"Rise n' shine, sunshine," Jin sings. "Welcome to paradise."

You laugh, attempting to straighten out your disheveled hair and discreetly as possible wipe away the bit of dried drool on your face. "Ha. Haha. Very funny, Jin. Why are we stopping by the beach to have lunch? That's so fu—freaking extra."

"Stopping by?" Jimin says from the driver's seat. Oh, what the heck they must've switched seats when you were clonked out.

You see Jin and Jimin exchange some nervous looks.

"Wait a minute... No. No... NO!" you shout, hands grasping bits of your hair, almost as if you'd pull it out any second. "This is bad. This is so, so bad."

"We didn't even say anything yet!" Jin laughs at your reaction.

"I know what you're going to say! I know where this is going!" you shriek. "We're not going camping! We're going to stay at the beach! Motherfu—"

"Now, now, Y/N. Calm down. It's the beach. It's beautiful! You can swim, we'll have a barbecue, go to nice restaurants with nice views!"

"I can't do that!" you hiss angrily.

"Why is that?" Jin asks innocently.

You kinda wanna punch his innocent-looking face at the moment.

"Because," you say, pinching the bridge of your nose, "my fucking teacher will be here," you say slowly, enunciating every word to get through your cousin's thick head. "I can't wear some bathing suit in front of my teacher!" You point accusingly at Jimin, who raises up both hands innocently.

"BOTH HANDS ON THE WHEEL!" you shriek which sends Jin snorting in laughter.

"Y/N! Honey! For real, calm down! It doesn't matter. Just don't think of Jimin as your teacher, then you'll be fine," Jin says in his soothing voice.

"Yes, it does matter," you argue. "What if someone sees? What if someone reports?"

Jin rolls his eyes. "Relax, Y/N. We're at least six hours away from home. I highly doubt anyone we know will see us and report."

"Agreed," Jimin says. You feel slightly better that he has both of his hands on the wheel. "I promise, we won't even get drunk like last time. I didn't bring any alcohol."

"Oops," Jin giggles. "I did."

"Jin!!" you and Jimin both cry in unison.

"Your alcohol tolerance is actual shit!" you yell. "I swear to god if you get drunk again I'm gonna run you over with this car!"

"No, not my car!" Jimin shrieks, gripping his steering wheel harder.

Jin throws his head back and lets loose the largest laugh yet. "Bro, you're worried about your car but not me?"

Jimin shrugs. "Well, priorities."

You can't help but laugh as well.

So what if these two bimbleheads lied to you about this weekend vacation? You honestly hate to admit it, but having company was fun. Especially bickering company. Maybe, just maybe you'll enjoy the trip. (If you can survive the awkwardness that is.)

And maybe, just maybe, you'll be able to avoid your teacher's confrontation.

Maybe.

—next chapter

—masterlist

#jimin #park jimin #jimin fanfiction #jimin imagine #bts #bts fanfiction #jimin fluff #jimin crack #teacher au #jimin fanfic #illegirl

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aveys6 · 3 years

Text

little wip

how richie's health changes in relation to his relationship w eddie

* the dialogue is rough bc i intend on actually putting it into structured sentences in ao3, bare w me

age 13 - 1989

"sorry guys, cant hang today. i have a hot appointment scheduled with dr noelle" he lifted his eyebrows and shit to insuate prostitution

"so, what, you have a physical?" stan said unimpressed

"that's the techinical term, stanny, but we all know better. i cant wait to have her hot bod all over me on the examination table-"

a chorus of dismissal waves around him, and eddie elbows his upper arm. stan even mutters something about 'examination' being quite a big word for richie to use.

"i bet theyre gonna test you for HIV. or maybe you'll get diagnosed with lung cancer from all of those cigarettes you've been smoking. *insert fact about smoking here that was probably exaggerated*"

"oh yeah? and where'd you hear that? your mommy?" richie challenged, ignoring eddies mention of the 'queer disease'

"ill have you know, dipwad, that my mom is highly educated in the field of medicine. cigarettes are insanely addictive-"

rich cuts him off and mocks with a nasally voice

"according to my calculations, cigarettes have roughly 236 chemicals in them-"

"thats basically true!"

"you guys are infuriating, but im pretty sure eddie's right on this one"

"thank you stan!"

"my mom says its fine because im young"

"im pretty sure she said that in reference to your junk food intake which you should also cut back on-"

"anyway," rich cuts in "im 100% sure everything will go completely fine. my doctor will be swayed by my irresistible charm to which she will then add a couple inches to my heigh chart so i can officially be 5'4 and make fun of you all"

eddie was determined not to smile, his quivering lips miraculously staying straight and expressionless "thats not how it works and you know it"

"not with that attitude!" noogie on eds

"fuckin quit it!"

his heel was practically slapping the waiting room floor, eyes flittering over childish paintings of sea creatures on the walls.

eddies irrational-but-not-quite-irrational rants finally processed in his mind.

richie never liked worrying his friend. he knew the boy's mom was a nutjob and said as such often (as well as vocalized his extreme desire to 'love her up'). he knew eddie was basically brainwashed.

it was scary, having someone worry about you. it means they cared. richie never truly comprehended why they cared. why eddie specifically cared. but it also felt good to have someone worry about him, outside of his mother, who, speaking of, gently placed a hand on his knee to stop its incessant movement.

richie wasnt the prime of schoolgirl crushes. he looked a little buggish: big eyes, thin limbs- clumsy and annoying. he wondered why eddie of all people gave him the time of day, and sometimes even more than that.

"richie toe-zee-air?"

the pair stood up despite mispronunciation.

richie was more than delighted to announce that his appointment was flawlessly average. everyone knows the deal: lie about how many fruits and veggies you consume, exaggerate how early you go to bed, deflect when the doctor asks if you've experienced any romantic or sexual attraction, count the inches of a growth spurt- no biggie.

"im sorry for, like, berating you earlier. i dont like doctors."

"i would hardly call what you did berating eds. it was your normal amount of neuroticism. dont sweat it"

there was a pause

eddie breaks the silence "i just worry sometimes"

ah, so it was confirmed.

"i know you do, eds."

"how do you know the word neuroticism?"

"heard my dad say it."

--------

age 25 - 2001

richie was back to tapping his foot on the linoleum of a waiting room. this time, alone, with no one to calm his fire-y energy. its not like he wanted the tapping to stop anyway. the repetitive motion helped ease the anticipation of getting scolded for letting himself go. this time not by a boy he couldnt catch the name of, but by a licensed professional.

he reasoned that he would rather hear it from the boy. what the hell was that shit bag's name?

this was the first appointment he had attended and organized since his pediatrician refused another after his 22nd birthday. she was already stretching the age limit of which he could visit (said extension curtesy of his dad being friends with medicinal people).

he figured it was time to move on with his life once snotty kids started giving him weird looks for fidgeting with the baby toys displayed near check-in. what says being an adult more than scheduling your own health appointments? richie answers that question by saying 'having to pay for them'.

richie's silent complaints are interrupted by a soft knock. a very typical, white-haired, doctor you'd see in movie, type of dude sauntered in.

"mr tozier, im dr sigman, how're we doin'?" he said, pumping obscene amounts of hand sanitizer.

richie replied automatically, "i'm doing pretty well, doc', how are you?"

as one can tell by the excruciatingly boring small talk, richie seemed to have lost his most palatable edge: quirky socialization.

"eh, my condition is not what's important here. how about you sit up on this here table and we can listen to your heart and lungs."

richie followed the instruction, heart rate increasing accordingly. the paper on the bench-table-thing crinkled far too loudly to be acceptable. maybe he was hungover. it would explain the heightened senses.

"so, according to your medical records, tozier, you haven't had an annual physical since- uh..." the man scanned his clipboard, "1998, correct?"

"that is correct, sir" his ears were aflame.

"mkay. you eat healthy?"

okay, then, they were getting right into it

"as healthy as i can, sir" what kind of fuckin answer was that?

dr sigman grimaced a bit, clearly knowing richies response meant his patient ate an apple every month or so to throw his body for a loop or, rather, 'reset' the ol' immune system. a shallow try at 'taking back your life' like some tabloid bullshit.

"you have a stable sleep schedule?"

richie shrugged with an "i guess" that conveyed that his average hours of sleep per night were as dreadful as his attempt at a balanced food pyramid plate.

"smoke or drink?"

now thats the million dollar question

#richie tozier #it 2017 #it 2020 #eddie kaspbrak #reddie #yeah idk

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mercurryblack · 4 years

Text

Chapter 10: Hattie

The night is but young.

❃❃❃

“Are you done yet? Are you done yet?” Hattie asked, squirming as she repeated her question for what seemed like the thousandth time.

“For the thousandth time, no, I’m not done yet. Stupid three thousand word count.” Cait groaned, slouched over their desk. “I swear, the day I graduate, I’m gonna kick Professor Rook square in the junk… boring old bastard… ”

“Sorry, time’s getting away from me.” Hattie apologized. “You’re still using that trick I told you about?”

Cait shrugged. “Even if I don’t count it as I go, it still feels like I’m never gonna finish it.”

The two had been spending the entire evening in their dorm room; Cait had been working on their assignment since the moment the Armilde sisters had left, and Hattie had been trying to keep herself busy by dusting, staring outside, dusting again, and even going as far as to read a lesson they hadn’t yet covered in class.

Tossing the Modern Remnant History textbook to her side, Hattie fell back on her bed spread-eagled, disappointed at the evening so far. She regretted how she had never really fostered a social life outside of Haven Academy— or much less her team, for that matter.

She had grown up as a ward of the underground Sisterhood, mostly keeping to herself and her small collection of fairytale books back then. Having dwelled for so long down in the habitable mine tunnels that the Sisterhood called home, she had recently found herself wanting to explore the world outside more often, if only to make up for lost time.

Those extracurricular lessons with Professor Gormlaith don’t count, she mentally noted.

Hattie didn’t have many friends, either— ironically, the happy-go-lucky girl could be a lot more introverted than extroverted at times. She knew a few students in their year by name, but not enough to warrant anything closer than a “hello” in the hallways. Plus, she didn’t find it to be much fun going out without her friends, which essentially consisted of LLAC and pretty much nobody else.

Well, there is CMYK, she thought to herself, remembering the team of now-second-years that they had tutored in the previous semester. I bet ol’ Mallow or Kara would have been free at this hour… but they’re all over in Vale helping with the set-up for the Vytal Festival, lucky dogs.

And since Lillian and Amaryllis were out doing their own things, she was left cooped up with Cait, who had been taking their time in writing an essay she had already finished.

“…Don’t you have anywhere else to go, Hattie?” Cait asked, glancing over their shoulder.

Hattie turned, wilting slightly as she did. “Should I leave you alone?”

“Nah, it’s not that.” Cait replied. “I just don’t want you to feel stuck here with me, y’know? You could go if you wanted to.”

Hattie shrugged. “Yeah, but I don’t really wanna. I’d prefer to wait for you rather than leave by myself.”

“Fair. Are we going somewhere after I’m done, anyways?” Cait said, turning back to their writing.

“I don’t know. I mean, Ammy said we can come down to her boyfriend’s family’s charity event, but it sounds kinda formal.” Hattie said, then shook her head. “I’m not in the mood for formal tonight.”

“So you don’t have a plan for this evening?” Cait inquired.

“I was kinda hoping you had that part sorted out,” she said with a lopsided smile. Having hung out with them the most, Hattie had always left the ideas up to Cait— they did always know where to go for a fun time. Also, she tended to worry that she’d make a big plan and it would turn out to be a flop.

Lost for any follow-up, she wondered aloud, “What do you think Detective Yuen and the old guys are up to now?”

“Probably living their nice and worry-free adult life.” Cait said sarcastically.

“Do you think we should give them a call? You know, check up on them?”

“Nah. I’m sure they’re doing fine on their own for one night.”

Hattie grabbed her Scroll from the far edge of her bed and waved at Cait, sticking out her tongue. “I’m gonna do it anyways! What if they’ve finally found the bad guys or something?”

Cait rolled their eyes. “Whatever you say…”

***

Sardion paced back and forth in Yuen’s office, his gaze fixed on the vinyl floor. The day had been yet another bust— Rudyard had hung back at Yaara’s house, while Sardion and Yuen, with little else to do, had returned to the precinct.

“I’m just saying, don’t you think we should give LLAC a call?” Yuen suggested. “They’re part of this investigation too, and we could really use some help right now. Plus, they might see something we’ve overlooked.”

“They’re having a night off, Yuen. I’m sure they have better things to do.” Sardion replied. “You don’t want to tire the young’uns out before they even graduate, right?”

“Maybe.” Yuen sighed. “Hear anything from Rudyard?”

“Not yet, but he said he’d call if he found anything to go on.”

***

Rudyard stared up to the inky heavens, taking in the starry night sky from Yaara’s old lawn chair, a half-empty bottle of beer loosely grasped in his fingertips.

In the backyard of her humble home, the Huntress had cultivated a small flower garden. In the back of his mind, Rudyard reflected on the visits he had paid her, how she had meticulously tended to them every day; thoroughly watering them, rooting out any weeds, gently humming while she kept her garden impeccable.

Now, seeing as their owner had been dead for a week, the garden had slowly begun to die as well. The bright petals and leaves of the flowers had begun to fade and wilt from a lack of water, and weeds had taken over a small patch of dandelions.

Rudyard rose to pick up a rusty old watering can on the back veranda, then filled it up with a nearby hose. As he let the water trickle down onto the garden’s parched soil, he let out a long sigh— after all she had done for him, it was the least he could do. Eventually emptying the can, he opted to go back inside, as the night air started to grow colder.

Searching for a spot where the police hadn’t tagged or taped anything of interest, he made himself comfortable in a reclining chair in her personal study. Looking around, a single book lying on her desk caught his eye, the tip of a torn sheaf of paper stuck in the pages halfway through. The title on the cover read Eternal Blue Sky, luminescent gold font on a pastel blue background.

“Of course.” Rudyard chuckled to himself. “You would have hated this, Yaara, leaving a book unfinished.” Absentmindedly, he picked up the book and opened it up to the bookmarked page.

He paused.

Written on the scrap of paper in what was unmistakably Yaara’s handwriting was a short message; 1100 apr 23 for further details - stored on hosaki comm log 1138.

“April…?” Rudyard muttered, squinting at the writing. He remembered that April 21st had been the starting date of the last mission on her and Berilo’s record, and it had been marked as remaining within city limits.

He had never heard of a place called “Hosaki” anywhere in Mistral City.

Frowning, he tucked the sheaf of paper into his pocket and rose from the chair, reaching into his pocket. “Wonder what Yuen’ll make of this.”

He paused, fingers fumbling inside an empty pocket.

“…Where’d I put my Scroll?”

***

“Do you know of any other places they might have escaped to?” Sardion asked as he took a closer look at the map of Mistral spread over Yuen’s desk, doing his best to focus despite his inner restlessness slowly clouding his mind.

“Besides the forest, nothing, and if that’s the case then they’re likely long gone by now.” Yuen said, leaning back in her chair. “Maybe the Manju-Shage District, but I doubt it. The whole thing’s cordoned off by a tripwired security fence. There’s no way someone could’ve broken in without us knowing about it.” She continued, tapping her fingers against the armrests in mild frustration.

“Well, maybe they could’ve snuck in, if they had the right Semblance for the job. At this point, I’m ready to try anything if it means we might find a lead,” Sardion paused, sharply exhaling, “Any step we take, no matter how small, is at least a bit closer to the whoever’s behind this.”

“True.” Yuen said, glancing up at him. “After all, there’ve been times that thugs occasionally get the great idea to break in and squat there, to lay low or whatever… you want to check it out, just in case?”

“Might as well. I’ve already got my weapon on me.” Sardion shrugged. “I’ll call up Rudyard first, see if he’s up for it.” He pulled out his Scroll and sent a call to Rudyard’s contact.

Bzzzzz. Bzzzzz. A small buzzing hum came from beneath a stack of papers on the right of Yuen’s desk. The Huntsman and the detective exchanged confused looks, before realizing what was making the noise.

“Oh, for the love of…” Sardion muttered, sticking his hand underneath the stack and pulling out a Scroll— Rudyard’s own. “Perfect time to forget this, you freakin’ cueball…” He stuck his Scroll back in his jacket and tossed Rudyard’s onto Yuen’s desk.

“Okay, well, that’s a bust… like I said before, we could call up LLAC.” Yuen suggested.

Sardion was inclined to disagree with her, given that it had been the students’ night off— calling them in for duty at such an hour wouldn’t be the most gracious move. However, he figured that they’d best bring some backup, if only to cover more ground if nothing else.

“Alright, go for it.” he said.

Yuen took out her Scroll and pulled up Lillian’s contact. “Here goes. Hope for the best.”

***

“Why do I always have to be the one to make the food?” Rosario asked, swinging her now-empty basket from one hand as she walked alongside Lillian down the cliffside path.

“You’re a great cook, and I can’t even season my food correctly.” Lillian replied. “Do you remember the last time when I tried to make instant ramen unsupervised?”

“Point.” Rosario said. “You did literally set a pot of water on fire. I’m no scientist, but I’m pretty certain that violates every law of thermodynamics that there is.”

Lillian nodded. “See?”

“Riiiight.” Rosario drawled. “Imagine what adult life would be like. Every night, it’ll just be me greeting you, ‘Welcome home, mi amor! What do you want first? Dinner? A bath? Me?’ And then you’ll go, ‘I’ll have you for dinner in the bath!’”

“I know you’re trying to make fun of me, but you’re drooling, Rosario.” Lillian said, giving her girlfriend a flat stare.

Rosario flushed red, wiping the corner of her mouth. “I am not.”

Lillian snorted.

***

“Damnit, her Scroll’s turned off.” Yuen groaned. “Her sister’s offline as well.”

“Thought so. They have private lives too, you know.” Sardion shrugged, slinging his coat over his shoulders. “C’mon, might as well see if any airships are available and just get this over with.”

Yuen rose from her chair. “Fine. I’ll leave them a message if we do find anything.” Just as she was about to follow Sardion out, her Scroll suddenly vibrated in her coat.

The profile picture that displayed the caller wasn’t Lillian— rather, it was the Lazuli kid calling her.

It’s something, I guess. Yuen thought to herself, swiping to accept the call.

“…Hey, Detective Yuen.” Hattie chirped up on the other end.” How’s it going? It’s Hattie from, uh, Team LLAC. Uhm, we just wanted to check in, and—” She continued, stumbling slightly over her words.

“As a matter of fact, I’m glad you called.” Yuen replied. “Listen, Sardion and I are going to investigate a possible lead down in the old Manju-Shage District, and your help would be very much appreciated.” She hesitated before continuing. “That is, if you’re not already preoccupied.”

***

On the other end of the line, Hattie’s face lit up as she heard Yuen’s invitation. For the moment, she managed to suppress the urge to whoop and cheer out of deference to the still-working Cait. “Nononono, no problem. We’ll be there right away, Detective,” she said, struggling to contain her excitement as she ended the call.

It took her a few seconds before she was able to produce words, since all that was coming out of her mouth were muffled joyful squeaks. “…Cait?”

“Gimme a sec.” Cait replied, holding up a finger.

Hattie paused, her smile falling slightly.

“Cait.” she repeated, her tone becoming normal.

“Wait, I’m almost done.” Cait said, focused on their computer’s monitor.

“Cait!” Hattie repeated for a third time, her voice rising slightly as she grew irked by their dismissal.

“I said wait, Hattie.” Cait said, still not turning around. “…’Make sure to provide footnotes along with citations’? Aw, what the hell’s the point of that?” they muttered to themself as they reviewed their essay.

Hattie scowled darkly, thoroughly annoyed at the brush-off. After a moment, she tiptoed up next to her teammate’s shoulder and leaned in towards their ear as close as possible.

“CAAAAAAAAAAAIT!” she screamed.

“AUUUUUUUGH!” Cait screeched, jumping up from their seat in shock as they spun around to face her. Their brow contorted, startled and frustrated at the girl’s outburst.

“WHAT?!” they snapped.

Hattie’s expression morphed into a tooth-bared cheshire grin, her attempt at emulating Cait’s own habit.

“I know what we’re gonna do tonight~♪.”

#team llac #team llac fic #harriet lazuli #cait miya #team sybr #sardion sarikaya #agave yuen #rudyard millard #lillian armilde #rosario garland #fanfic #fan fiction #rwby fan fiction #rwby oc #rwbyoc #rwby

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weeklyfangirl · 5 years

Text

Frat Boy Pt. 18

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7 (1), part 7 (2), part 8, part 9, part 10, part 11, part 12, part 13 , part 14, part 15, part 16, part 17

NOT having to wait a year for another update?! WHO AM I?!?!! A new woman I tell you. Fortunately (or not) Frat Harry’s the same ‘ol Frat Harry. And this time you let him into your life a little more. But will he stay? Enjoy loves, lemme know what you think ;)

“So turns out Mike’s bottle of tequila was $350 and John and I had already dank all of it. When Mike told us how much it was, we just had to be the full dicks. You start apologizing at block parties and you lose your edge. Stuff is borderline evaporative!” Father looked around at our unimpressed faces and his red face grew darker, exploding from wheezing laughter. “Oh, come on! It’s funny!!” His wheezing subsided with a toss of his eyebrows. He shrugged dramatically. “Good thing I appreciate my humor.”

Paul sat at the head of the table, the top two buttons undone on his blue business button-down. He made eye contact with me, both of our eyes widening. I’d given him a quick side-hug, one of those awkward lean-down-because-the-other-person-is-too-lazy-to-stand-up hug. It’d almost been a year, but it was the same customary greeting we’d developed. Their plates were already stacked in the sink, but my mom had readied plates of mash potatoes, string beans, and steak for Harry and I.

They were sprawled out, tummies full, all of them looking like they’d had long days at the office. Father especially. His face was reddened like the whites of his eyes, his hair standing on end.

I poked at my steak.

“You missed it, Y/N. He’s already five glasses in,” Paul continued. Teasing father was the one thing we could connect on - but he enjoyed it a little more than I.

Mom leant over the table, rolling her eyes. “At least. This is his ‘not drinking during the week,’” There was a smile, though.

Dad held up his hands. “Hey! I haven’t had one sip of tequila. Wine is like water now.” He turned to Harry, as if his frat boy radar sensed a fellow drinker in his midst. “You have that problem…?” He fished for a name.

Harry’s shoulders straightened. “Harry.”

“Harry?” he asked.

Before Harry could answer, Paul’s eyes narrowed. “You look familiar.”

It was like somebody sprinkled coked-out fairy dust over Mother. She sat up straighter, eyes twinkling, and sprawled her hands on the table as if to reveal the grand hurrah that Harry was the heir to all the land. Which, in modern day Newport, perhaps he was. I tried to come up with something to rescue Harry, but she beat me to it.

“His dad’s a doctor here. Coast Shores Medicine. Mr. Styles runs his own practice.”

“He can speak for himself,” I grumbled, stuffing my mouth with mash.

My mom stirred, voice low, “Honey, I was just letting them know.”

My dad’s eyes bulged out of his head before erupting into laughter. “You- you’re-” He pointed his finger, looking between Harry and me. He laughed more.

“Dad,” I warned. It’d clicked in his mind. At the end of summer, before I’d even known the Styles legacy let alone seen Harry’s face, we’d walked past the Styles medical office and my dad absolutely BLASTED their ostentatious display. My dad’s boisterous - Can you believe this idiot??! MORON! DIPSHIT! - blared in my mind like a flare gun.

Father caught my daggers. “Oh, relax,” he wheezed, settling down. He wouldn’t say anything, for now. “I transferred more money into your account today by the way.” He winked, pointing to me. “I love you.”

“Love you too.” But I shrunk in my chair. I know Harry wasn’t one to talk about living off family money, but I didn’t want him getting the wrong idea either.

Completely oblivious, Harry smiled politely, answering Father’s previous question. “We all have our vices.”

“Speaking of addicts-” Paul started.

“Oh, God,” Dad huffed.

Paul put his hands up with a humorless laugh. “I wasn’t targeting you, but now that you mention it-”

“Paul.” I frowned.

My warning tone flipped a switch in him.

“What?!” It was sharp, full of irritation, and no matter how long it'd been since I’d heard it - I stilled. His eyes challenged me to press him further, but I didn’t. “Can I speak?”

“All right,” mom said. “Let’s settle down.”

“I’m calm,” Paul declared tersely. “I don’t know about your daughter.”

I scoffed, fighting the urge to bite back.

Harry tensed, and if I was an inch further I wouldn’t have heard his breath get a little deeper.

Without breaking his stare, Paul sat back in his chair, pushing up his sleeves. “Okay,” he started. “As I was saying. I don’t know if you guys saw on the news - probably not, but there was a scandal at the company last week.”

The company – AKA Rich Silvang Industries. Paul went straight from college and his internship to full-fledged Wall Street investment banking. He was only three years older than me, but he hadn’t lived at the house since he was eighteen. By 17 ½ all his things were in boxes. Meanwhile, I was almost twenty-one and still had half my things in my old room.

Mom practically gasped. “Really?” her voice swam with concern.

“I think I saw something about that,” Dad mentioned, putting on a serious tone.

“Maybe you did hear about it, then. It’s pretty big. The president was caught in his Vegas penthouse suite filled with drugs, and they arrested him for drug trafficking. They’re searching for someone to replace him right now.”

My mom’s hands dropped in her lap. “Wow.”

“Could you be the replacement?” I asked.

“Ha, yeah. I wish. I’m a few years off from that.” One thing you need to know about Paul - he has a plan for everything. If he wants something, he’ll buy every book to learn the ins and outs before making a move. His career was no different.

“What’d they find?” Harry asked, brows stitched in curiosity.

Paul puffed out a breath. “Everything. Heroine, cocaine, meth, ecstasy. It was just sitting there, in his suite. His girlfriend’s arrested, too.”

“God, what a dipshit,” Dad breathed, irritated disbelief. “This guy has all the money in the world-”

“Three thousand million dollars,” Paul corrected.

“Three tHOUSAND MILLION-!” Father squeaked. “God, if I had that money- GOD, why the hell would you piss it away like that.”

“Greed,” Mom said. “Is this the same president who donated all that money to helping foster children? The one invited you for a weekend in Aspen?”

“There’s only one president, mom.”

“Well I hope you didn’t USE anything.”

Father ran his hands through his hair, still distraught at the impotence of those with money to enjoy their money. “I mean, I’d be fishing on an island somewhere.”

“On YOUR island that you BOUGHT,” Paul pitched in.

“With three thousand million,” I breathed. “If someone has everything in the world…” my voice trailed. Human nature was a mystery to me. A complete and utter mystery sometimes. Why get involved in drug trading when you had more than you could possibly need. You could fish off your personal island and then declare that island it’s own country if you wanted to. You could give hundreds of thousands of people access to clean water! Education! Tampons!! Essential things!!!

Harry suddenly rested his hand on my thigh beneath the table, completely silent. My mom caught the action, a knowing smirk appearing on her lips.

“Money is wasted,” Father sighed dramatically, placing a hand on his belly. “Oh!! Speaking of, I have an important question for you.”

It took me a second to realize he was looking at me. “Yeah?” I asked, skeptical.

“Can you grab me another bottle of red?”

----

The hot water ran over dishes clattering in the sink, and I winced, but I didn’t pull away. I could still feel the crusted blood beneath my nails.

“Quick, somebody grab a camera.”

Father stood in the entranceway to the kitchen, hands up, mouth open in a ridiculous pressed circle like an orangutan. “Y/N’s doing the dishes!!”

“Haha. Very funny.”

Father sighed, running his hands over his face with a tired smile. “God that was a tiresome dinner, huh.” He tossed the empty wine bottle from hand to hand.

My eyes widened. “Yeahhhh.”

Harry, Paul, and Mother were still by the table, talking on some new financial law. I timed an escape perfectly. So had Father.

“Are you staying the night?”

“Hm.” I hadn’t thought about that. “Maybe.”

“Is he spending the night?”

I smiled, not sure what he was going to say to a boy spending the night. The situation certainly hadn’t come up before. “I don’t think so.”

“I mean, I don’t care. You’re an adult, you can do what you want. Mom might not like the idea.”

In any other case, I’d agree. But this was the Styles boy. I think she’d make an exception. As if knowing where my mind was heading, his blue eyes suddenly twinkled with something mischievous. He finished his thought out loud. “Styles, huh... Isn’t that funny. Where’d you meet this kid?”

“English class. Small world, huh?”

“For how small it is we don’t see Paul too much, do we?” he asked. It was a more serious question than I was used to. One that didn’t need to be answered.

My hand suddenly came too close to the metal faucet, burning it, and I quickly turned it off, moving the dishes to the drying rack. An old Patsy Cline song crackled through the old radio in the kitchen.

“I don’t see too much of-” you either. But the words died on my lips when I saw Father’s notoriously clear eyes, wet with springing tears. I stood, shocked, not quite knowing what to say. I couldn’t be mad at him. Not for money, not for drinking. Maybe it was the wine getting him emotional.

He gave me one of those dad smiles, patting my shoulder. He hugged me, a proper hug, and I stood, stiff, before relaxing, letting myself be held. I hugged him back, feeling like I was six and he’d just told me he was going away for business. “Let’s go to the shake shack soon,” he said, softly, the slight jokey tone trying to reappear. “S’been a while.”

Guilt pricked me. Guilt for growing up, guilt for leaving, guilt for something I couldn’t name. “Course, papa.”

Over his shoulder, I met Harry’s gaze from the kitchen table.

Later at the door, we stood telling Paul goodbye.

Harry stood behind me in a protective stance while Paul adjusted his briefcase. “So what are your plans for the rest of the year? Are you going to add that extra class next semester, finish early?” he asked, the business-technical tone coming back in his voice.

“I’m going to finish my internship at the practice.”

“Good. Good. Then what?” Only half-joking.

“I don’t know, I have another year to figure it out. Go to med school, probably.”

“Probably?!” He knocked on the door as he started to leave. “Time flies! Better figure it out, Y/N.”

I smiled, the only thing I could do.

“At least you’re going into something employable!” he called. The car beeped behind him, and he loaded his briefcase in the car.

I smiled tighter.

“She’ll be fine, Paul,” Mother waved behind me.

He waved back.

“Wait!” Mom called. “You’re not going to give us a hug goodbye?”

He jogged back up the side-yard to the door, giving them hugs. Harry a handshake. Me, a side-hug.

“Will we see you soon?” I asked.

“Why?”

“Thanksgiving.”

His brows rose. “Mom didn’t tell you?”

I shook my head.

“This was our Thanksgiving. I leave for Japan next Wednesday.”

“What?” I knew for a fact Thanksgiving was two weeks out.

“Honey..” she scolded. To Paul, “I told her we were going to do it early, she just doesn’t listen.”

“I’ll be back after Japan.” He exchanged a look with my father I couldn’t quite decipher.

Some vague memory of Mother telling me about an early Thanksgiving was there, buried beneath sororities, and gangs, and policemen questioning me. And beneath a thick layer of pig’s blood.

“Sorry, I forgot.”

But he was already in his car, closing the door behind him.

We stayed until the headlights disappeared, a sharp wind bellowing in and shaking the curtains. Harry didn’t stay to watch Paul leave. When my parents left for their room, I found him by the painted green wood table, picking at the edge.

“This is from my fourth birthday.” I pointed to a dark circle on the edge of the table. “I ate my cake so fast, the candles knocked over and almost put the whole house in flames.”

“You didn’t blow them out?”

“There was cake. I didn’t see the candles.”

He smiled. “You’ve lived here a long time?”

“Since I was born.”

“Not bad.”

I led him wordlessly through my past, going through the 70s living room over plush stained carpet, down the hallway past family photos. It was a wordless tour. He stopped in front of a gold frame. It was all of us, on the beach in white. Paul and I had our arms around each other, laughing with gaps where our baby teeth had fallen out and the new ones had yet to come in. Our parents stood behind us, trying to wrestle us in their own arms, wind-whipped hair covering half my mother’s face. Taken seconds before we all fell over and Paul kneed me in the jewels, Father liked to say.

Harry caught himself staring, easily catching up with me in the short distance to my room.

“The grand reveal,” he murmured.

I was suddenly nervous. He followed close behind, entering a space of Frank Sinatra and Elvis posters. My old white wire bed frame stood in the middle of the small space, Winnie the Pooh sheets and mismatched purple pillows on top. The rest was taken up by a large pink bean bag that touched the foot of my bed and the mirrored closet with a European travel collage I’d taped together in its bottom-right corner when I was sixteen.

He looked up at the glow-in-the-dark stars stuck to my ceiling, oddly reminiscent of his sister’s old nursery room. “It’s cute,” he finally said. And somehow when he said it, it didn’t sound condescending.

He approached the near-empty bookshelf against the wall, now holding my mom’s arts and crafts and random junk bins. Ever since I moved out, more of her had moved in. She still left the walls untouched, though. Harry plucked at a photo booth strip I’d taped to the walls when I was thirteen. The summer after middle school. Matt and I were smiling, tongues out, sticking up our noses, pretending to strangle each other…

He tried to tape it back, but the tape had lost its stick.

“It’s fine,” I said, taking the photo back. I propped it up against the bins.

“Do you have most of your books at the dorm?

“Yeah. The rest we sold a while back.”

“Spring cleaning?”

“Kind of??” I wrestled with whether to tell him the slightly more complicated truth. I’d hesitated too long though, and just came out with it. “Actually no, not really.”

He raised his brow, looking at my lips, waiting for me to digress. For some reason, I didn’t care if he knew. Maybe because I knew he had secrets, too. Even if he wouldn’t tell.

“When we were younger… about four years ago now? It was a really rough time, financially.”

Harry didn’t say anything, didn’t move. I continued, “We had to get rid of a lot of things to afford the lease.”

“You guys have been leasing this same house?”

I nodded. “It’s a lease-to-buy option. So maybe, one day…” I let my voice trail off. Maybe we’d own it. A potential dream, pretty impossible on paper. “It’s an old lady who owns this house, really sweet. She rents the house to us for a lot less than she could. I think it’s because she doesn’t want somebody else to buy it and tear it down, and she liked our family, too. She grew up here.”

He dusted the spine of Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice. “That’s one of the few I kept. Cliché, I know, but…” -I shrugged- “Who doesn’t love Mr. Darcy, right?”

He turned, a softness in his eyes.

“We had to sell a lot in the house to make the payment on-time. She’s sweet and has the final say-so, but her family essentially runs her finances. They’re not so sweet.”

“You had to sell your books?”

“They were nice. Rare. My Grandpa picked them up for me in antique bookshops he’d visit when he’d travel. People sell a lot more than that to make it… like their bodies, their souuulllll.”

“Y/N,” he scoffed.

“What?” I sat at the foot of my bed, watching a once-again awkward Harry not quite what to do with his body. “It’s better now! A lot better than what it was. We still live here,” I shrug.

“Why don’t you live somewhere else?”

He didn’t say what he was thinking. Some place we could afford.

“My dad needs to live by the water. It’s his lifeline.” I paused. “That, and wine. If he works this hard and dies tomorrow, he wants to at least enjoy it.”

“Your brother…-”

“Wasn’t always an ass.” I smiled.

“I wasn’t going to say that.”

“I know.” I lay down, closing my eyes. I sensed him move towards my feet. “I don’t think he’s ever forgiven my dad,” I admitted. I didn’t say what for, but as soon as the words were out of my mouth, the words I’d wondered about for years, I regretted it. That was too personal to share, even to Harry. With the tact of someone who learned not to speak about his past, he noticed. He didn’t bat an eye, didn’t press, just silently accepted. He moved his hands along the only other Austen cover I had. Sense and Sensibility.

“You know…” he started, voice delicate as silk. “Austen’s dad went to a publisher on her behalf without even telling her.”

“Really?”

He nodded. “He got declined, but- still. He did everything he could to help her succeed with her work, with her dreams.”

“Where are you going with this Shakespeare.”

“I can see that in your dad. He really loves you.”

I propped myself up on my elbows. “You know, for a boy who’s supposedly failing his classes, you’re pretty smart.”

“Y/N,” he laughed lightly, settling in a strong gaze. “I was never failing.”

The room stilled. “What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean.” He gently nudged my legs over, settling in beside me. I turned on my side, the Austen book cradled in the nicest hands I’d ever seen. “I didn’t know how else to get you alone,” he admitted, a quiet confession.

“Josiah de Saude didn’t know how to talk to a girl.”

“Oh, come off it,” he laughed, my favorite shiny laugh. And suddenly I was grinning, too. “I used to know what to say.” His eyes ran over my face, lingering on my mouth. “But then you came along, Y/N,” he admitted. His smile faded.

With a strong gust of wind, the brush outside thwacked against my window. I jumped. It was always eerie, no matter how old I got. Inside, we had blankets, childhood memorabilia plastered to my walls, the steady thrum of a heater that’d just come out of summer hibernation. The outside wasn’t as calm as it was here. Here, in this mix of childhood and whatever it was that made my heart beat wild, we were safe. If only for a little while.

I almost forgot Harry was next to me before the back of his hand brushed my leg. His fingers stroked my thigh, the skin beneath him tingling. A simple touch was all it took, and suddenly each cell of my body was on high alert, informing me, fairly quickly, that he didn’t let his hands wander. Did he want them to?

“They’re coming after me now,” I said, when it was clear he wasn’t trying anything. His eyes were closed, but his nostrils flared when I spoke. The hickey he’d given me was still there, carefully hidden by pounds of coverup. My fingers memorized its spot. It seemed to burn anew, reminding me of its place as its giver’s face shadowed.

It needed to be said.

Maybe my paranoia wasn’t just paranoia. Maybe it was my sixth sense. A warning. Maybe they really had been watching me. Maybe they’d memorized his mark, too. I remembered Harry shouting at me before disappearing on the field. If they fuck with you, they fuck with me. Was I just a walking target?

“They won’t get to you.”

“They could’ve.”

“They aren’t dumb enough to do something like that,” he glowered.

“Something like what?”

Words stalled at the curve of his lips.

“Something like what,” I repeated, slightly panicking. What had these people done before? Wouldn’t be dumb enough to rape me? Kill me? Hadn’t they come close enough?? His chest rose with a deep breath. “Tonight wasn’t a mistake,” I whispered.

“You’re right, it wasn’t.”

“Well then what do they want? Because if it’s money they’re barking up the wrong tree.” I propped myself on an elbow, silently begging him to open his eyes. He did, hand running gently up my spine. “Do you even know?” I asked, suddenly horrified that he might be as in the dark as me.

He swallowed, hooded eyes darkening.

“They want what I have,” he said. “And they’ll threaten me in any way they can until they get it. They’ll fish out any weakness. And then they’ll exploit it.” His voice softened at weakness.

Money, then. They wanted money. Unless… unless his weakness was me? I shook the thought away.

“Why can’t you tell the police? Why can’t you just… tell them what’s going on?” I was becoming the girl I hated in movies. The girl that as soon as something horrific happened, she made an awful decision to try and solve it herself instead of CALLING THE DAMN COPS. Which is what I yelled at the screen, every time. CALL THE DAMN COPS. Which is what my brain was yelling at me, every day. CALL THE DAMN COPS. Neither of us listened.

“It’s more complicated than that,” he brushed off.

“Does this have to do with your ‘association’ with them?”

His voice turned sharp. “That’s enough with the questions.” A horrific tremble rippled up my spine. The tone, so harsh and authoritative, just like my brother’s, made my skin crawl. He looked at me, sighing. “Please, just trust me on this. The less you know the better.”

“It’s a little hard to trust you when you’re the reason I’m a target.”

My words lingered for a horrible moment. A long, drawn-out silence. I could practically feel them dissolve into Harry’s skin before he sat up, leaping to his feet.

I panicked. “I mean, it’s just hard to trust anyone when there’s so much that could happen. Things I don’t even know that could happen to me. Or even my family.” He scratched his collar, looking at our reflection in the mirror. My body scrambled upright, tearing itself from the blankets. “I don’t know what these guys are capable of. If you could just tell me, maybe-”

“I should go.”

“No, Harry- wait!”

He stalled at the door. I met him there, tugging at his sweater sleeve. He’d looked so lovely in my room, in a different part of my life he’d only just entered. And now to see him leave my safe place so suddenly hurt me deeper than I thought it would. He turned, begrudgingly. The green ivy of his eyes had cooled, hardened, becoming impenetrable.

“Don’t leave. Please. You can’t keep coming and leaving, it’s more than confusing, it’s… it’s completely maddening!”

He leaned his head back against the door, practically groaning, but pinched the bridge of his nose instead. He took several levelled breaths. Finally, “You think I want this?”

I stilled. “Want what?”

The horrifying possibility that “this” referenced us, petrified me. But the insecurity that he didn’t want me vanished when he looked traitorously at my waist, strong hands following suit. They gripped my sides, tugging me lightly forward. Suddenly I was drunk off the thought of them pushing me further, enough to make me dizzy... but they didn’t push. Strong hands kept me a safe distance apart, at any second looking like they could pull me into him or push me away.

“I want so many things, Y/N,” he breathed. “But all of them seem to do with you. And I don’t-” He seemed frustrated with himself as his brows stitched, trying to find the words. “I don’t know how to handle this. Everything’s so entangled.”

A knock at my door made us both jump. It creaked open, Mother poking her head in with a wide smile.

“I heard it was a good game tonight,” she half-whispered.

Harry cocked a smile, and his hands fell from waist. “Yeah, it was.” Guarded eyes look to me. “Y/N went with my sister.”

So he had seen. I couldn't tell if there was irritation lacing his voice, but there certainly wasn’t joy. Entangled….

“Oh, that’s fun. We’ll have to go watch you sometime huh honey?”

I nodded slowly, eyes wide, silently asking what in the HECK are you doing in here??

She drummed her fingers along the door. “Are you staying the night? You’re more than welcome to sleep on the couch. I know it doesn’t look that big, but it’s actually quite comfortable with all the blankets...”

“You’re so sweet, really,” he started. And Mother believed it. I believed it. His entire look softened. “But I can’t, unfortunately. I have an early practice tomorrow. And I have to get gas on my way home.”

My heart sank. The car. He needed to move my car.

“Oh, really?” Mother opened the door wider. “It’s getting late, though. It started raining…”

“I’m used to a little rain,” he said, slipping past my mother. I remained behind her, arms crossed. “Thank you for having me. It was a lovely dinner.” He looked to me, betrayed and abandoned, something sad and regretful brimming in his eyes. He lifted a finger to his brow in salute, then turned on his heel, heading down the hall.

“Bye Harry!” She called. Then, to me, “Don’t you want to walk him out?”

I shook my head, fighting back a slew of angry words as I sulked to my window. I opened it, wide, letting the first sprinkles of rain hit my face.

“Oh honey, shut that, you’ll get the sill all wet.”

“I just want to feel it for a little while,” I said.

“You’ll catch cold!”

“Mom, please.”

She flinched. “Okay. Just a little, though. Want me to close your door?”

I nodded, a gust of wind blowing and almost slamming it shut itself.

“A storm’s coming, Y/N,” she shivered. “Don’t stand there too long.”

I wasn’t sure when she left my doorway, but I knew when he left the driveway. An engine roared to life and the rain surged with a frenzy. I listened as the grumbling faded away, down the street and off to somewhere unknown - but not out of my life. That part wasn’t in my control, but there were things that were. I couldn’t stand around and wait for him anymore. Mother was right.

I closed the window, walking to the foot of my bed. Alone, a soppy looking girl stared back at me from the mirror. She sat on a familiar bed, wet hair plastering her face, droplets hanging from her nose, from her lashes. She looked only partly relaxed, the rest of her poised, tensed, like she could either jump or sleep in any given second. She looked exhausted.

But there was something alive, still. Just beyond her eyes, a little ember catching spark.

I wasn’t going to stand around. The window had already opened. The rain had hit the fan and it’d soaked me through. Nothing was going to change unless I did. Unless I moved.

Waiting for a boy to verify my safety?

Yeah, no thanks. If Madame Bovary taught me anything,

I’d get that myself.

part 19

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euphoricethan · 4 years

Text

bee - an original

her first lover and her favorite lovey. (word count: 1.7k)

Margot had never fallen in love before.

She never thought she'd be capable of loving someone the way she loved him.

Him. Bubba. Bubbie. The one she told almost all her secrets to the summer of '16 when she was only 16.

She was fragile and scared and broken, and so was he, but with their crave and desperation for love and affection for each other, they managed to find a love in each other's comfort on those hot summer nights they spent hours just glaring into the sky feeling so alive.

It was magic. Really.

People always told them they were all they wanted in a relationship, and they never understood because to them it just felt like the most intense high either of them have felt.

And that's what it was. As high as they went and they way they felt so alive... it was only a matter of time before they both came crashing down into 6 feet of dirt right next to each other but still feeling their hearts beat like lighting speed.

But she doesn't think she'll ever love someone the same way she loved him. Ever.

It was the first time she had experienced being called beautiful and believing it, or not flinching when his hand scooted close to her and locking in place, or just being someone's other half and having them care about her the same way she did.

But like I said, they were broken.

Margot slid into the passenger seat of Andrew's beat up Mustang his Dad had given him in January for his birthday.

"You tryna make me look bad huh?" he asked, his eyes scanning Margot as she buckled her seatbelt and her cheeks bright red.

She still got so nervous around him and he thought it was just the cutest thing.

"What do you mean! What's wrong with this?!" she was frazzled, adjusting her skirt and pulling her small coverup closed.

"I'm just playin' witchu." his hand moved from the clutch to her thigh, gently patting it before they were driving down the road and Margot's head ran with a million thoughts.

He knew almost all her favorite songs, and when it came to the radio, it was the last thing she wanted to hear.

So every time they were in the car together, she'd bring a cd to play for the both of them. And they were together a lot, but still— so album has ever played twice in that car.

"What'd you bring me this time bub?" he asked glancing over at her quickly.

"Faces? By Mac?" Margot said as she reached for the cd in the glovebox.

He gave her a simple head nod, and she proceeded to place it in the player.

“Damn you rabbit, you smell like fuckin’ piss!”

The intro to Polo Jeans has started to play as Andrew took in a deep breath to start singing the lyrics.

“I give no fucks when I go nuts, ‘cause I smoke dust overdose on the sofa.”

Margot looked over at him, continuing to drive with his one hand on the steering wheel—tapping on the leather cover— and his other gently resting on her thigh staring ahead.

His eyes caught hers for a second, and his honey brown eyes made her stomach flutter and turn her head to her hands that were fidgeting with each other.

As the song closed out, she found herself reciting the lyrics too, quietly mouthing: “He smells like a bunch of bullshit, is he dead? I dunno but i’m finna make sure.”

And she even made finger guns and made little pouh sounds.

Margots eyes fell back onto Andrews hand, watching as he turned the wheel a hard left and doing that thing she loved so much.

His hand slid across the wheel and as it straightened back out, he extended his palm and let it do as it pleased.

“You excited?” he asked her, parking the park to smile at her a little.

“Scared.”

“Don’t be bub. We’re gonna have fun.” and he patted her thigh again. “Let’s go or else someone is finna get that big bee you wanted.”

Margot didn’t always love herself. She still doesn’t. But she’s doing better with Andrew in her life- feeding her complements left and right so she never forgets how he see’s her.

There was a time before they were together— a time where she was on the way to the hospital on a Tuesday night because she passed out in the shower after she had thrown up all her dinner.

She was more mortified that someone had seen her naked rather than having to stay three days in a mental hospital because of it.

There was a time where Andrew was using his step brothers Adderall for months at a time to feel something since his dad and stepmom had forgotten about him.

And then there was times like this— sitting together in one of the buckets of the ferris wheel watching the sun set and Margot bending this thumb back and forth gently.

“I’m hella hungry? You hungry?” he asked her, moving his head from atop of hers to watch her shrug.

“I’ll get you one of those cinnamon things. What is it? A croton? Croissant? Shit ion even know.”

Now she had started to laugh quietly to herself and covering her mouth with her hand.

“What?! What’s so funny huh? Why you laughin’ at me for?” Andrew looked at her again, taking his hand away from her grasp to scoot away.

“Nothing, I just—” and she couldn’t even finish her sentence without a stream of loud laughter escaped her lips and she was leaning forward.

“What is so funny!” he was genuinely confused now, his big ‘ol heart didn’t understand why she was laughing so hard.

“You just- It’s-” her laughs cut in again, this time more intense and a small wheeze approaching at the end.

“It’s a churro bubba. a Churro.” Her smile was wide now, watching him pout from the other side of the bucket.

“Oh come on! It was cute!”

“No. All you do is make funna me. I’m finna get that bee for myself! All for me! None for you! Ha- see how you like it.” and he crossed him arms and made his bottom lip stick out.

But as soon as they started to go down again, Margot scooted to the other side, slid her hands onto his cheeks and pulled his soft lips against her’s.

Every time it was magic. The way made her whole body flutter and erotic over and over again.

It was addictive too, because they were both so into it, by the time they were on the ground it was like no time had passed... the operator had to tell them to leave.

“Alright so where is this mutha’fuckin’ bee at!” he exclaimed with his hand in hers slightly swinging back and forth as they walked.

“There! I see it! I see it!” Margot let out, pointing ahead to a ring toss.”

“Where? I dont see nun.”

“Right there, the ring toss.” she looked at him with so much excitement in her eyes he didn’t have the heart to ask her again because he still didn’t see it.

She dragged him over to the game, squeezing harder on his hand out of habit while looking at the cute little bee like it was a gold ring.

“I wanna play.”

Margot held the tiny bee close to her heart, digging her nose into the soft fabric with one her hands being locked with Andrews and standing in front of his car with the high beems on.

“Where are we bub?” she asked, looking around only to be surrounded by tree’s and a sky full of stars.

“I used to come here a lot. When the thing with my dad was going on.”

He started walking a little, sitting down on a little edge looking ahead at the city below them.

“I’d sit here, for like- hours and just kinda stare.”

Margot fingers started to fidget with his.

“Yeah. I remember.” her soft voice came out like a whisper.

“Where’d you go? When you were like- sad?”

Sad.

Margot was always sad. Except for when she was with her bubba. He made her feel safe, secure, warm inside and out.

“My happy place.” she looked ahead now too, trying to find Cassiopeia in the sky.

“And where’s that?” his soft brown curly hair sat on top of his head sloppily, and she set the bee on her lap to pull one single curl away from his face just to cup it.

“Here. With you I guess.”

And that’s when it happened.

Margot was finally ready. Ready to let him in.

His lips had pressed against her’s, and his hands wrapped around her tiny waist until they were as close as they could be.

She never imagined herself here, especially with him, under these circumstances, under these stars.

Her head was gently against the small patch of grass and dirt, and she usually would have been freaked out by the thought of bugs getting in her ears, but she didn’t care now- she wanted this. She needed this.

Andrews lips were still on her’s, softly brushing against one another creating lightning between them.

Then, his hand creeped its way up her skirt, and she shot her leg a little to the right out of his reach.

He pulled away.

“I’m so sorry Mar, I should- that was such a dick move.”

She stared at him for a moment, trying to collect what to say before her brain refused her permission and spit out the words: “I want you.”

Andrew could see her glowing in the dark, her beautiful skin against the moon and the way the words made him feel like he was floating.

He’d drown her. He couldn’t take her innocence like this. He wasn’t that kinda dude.

But something about the way she grabbed his wrist and repeated the words- it made him feel something.

Like actually feel something the way it did when he was taking Adderall.

So when his hand crept up her skirt again, and she didn’t flinch, but he felt the deep lines on her skin, all he did was kiss her.

He kissed her in the hopes he knew just by the touch of his two lips she knew he loved her.

Because he did love her. And she loved him.

Loved.

Andrew moved away that summer shortly after, only to leave behind the love of his life and all the memories they shared in just three months.

And Margot still slept with that stupid little bee she won at the fair that smelt like cinnamon and grass.

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kaweeella · 4 years

Text

PersonA3!

Chapter 11- That’s Not What That Word Is

Word count- 1575

Description- Something constant about the theater was the random layouts of it.

Author note- Guess who learned a new theater word

Tsuzuru, Kazunari, Sakuya, and Kamakichi stand in front of the old theater.

“Are you sure nothing bad is going to happen?” Sakuya asks, not looking from the building.

“I am 78% certain it’ll be fine.” Kamakichi chirps.

“How reassuring…” Tsuzuru comments sarcastically.

“Alright! Let’s do it!” Kazunari exclames, grabbing Tsuzuru by the wrist and dragging him in.

“I’m going, I’m going!”

The four of them step into the theater. Well, three of them. Kamakichi is perched upon Tsuzuru’s shoulder and so he isn’t “stepping” anywhere, per se, but that’s besides the point.

They are engulfed by a bright light that, when it disappears as quickly as it came, their clothes were different.

Kazunari and Tsuzuru were kinda used to it, more so than when it first happened, but Sakuya was only just now able to get a good look at himself and his new clothes.

He’s wearing a blue tunic, black pants, and black fancy boots. Looking up he sees he also has a blue hat with a feather in it. The feather is smaller than the one his… what had Tsuzuru called it… persona had, not only because it doesn’t reach the floor, but also it is much taller than him so even if it reached the floor for him, it would be like, half of the length. It looks pretty neat, though.

“So where are we going?” Sakuya asks as he puts the hat back on his head, trying to straighten it.

“Well,” Tsuzuru starts, but then notices Sakuya messing with his hat, and without a second thought Tsuzuru fixes it for him. “We’re looking for anything that might help put this place back to normal.”

Sakuya notices that it looks different than before, but it isn’t the weirdest thing he’s seen in the theater.

This time there’s only one hallway to go down. There are posters on the walls.

“Were these always here?” Sakuya grabs one to give it a closer look. It was for a performance of Romeo and Juliet.

“No,” Tsuzuru says, “But there weren’t broom closets when we first got here either.”

Kamakichi stares intently at the posters, as if he’s trying to burn holes through them. None of them noticed, but Kamakichi flew up, looking over all of the posters.

Tsuzuru looks around at the posters, his eyes landing on one with someone oddly familiar on it; not in the center focus, but he does recognize him.

“Hey, Tsuzuroon, watcha looking at?”

“This man on the poster here. I feel like I’ve seen him before.”

Kazunari looks up at the poster and then back at Tsuzuru. He takes the poster down off the wall.

“What are you doing? We can’t just take things!”

“Why not? It’s not like anyone else is using it, plus if you recognize someone on it, it could help out. Yoink.” He grabs another poster off the wall.

“And what’s that one for?”

“It looks sick!”

“Alright.”

“Hey, guys? Where’s Kamakichi?”

“...Good question.”

Looking around, the bird is now where to be found. Tsuzuru did feel him get off of his shoulder a few minutes ago, but that’s where it ended with his knowledge of Kamakichi’s whereabouts.

“Kamakichi!” Sakuya yells out, running down the hall.

“Saku-Saku!”

“Guys…”

The three of them run down the hall, when the path forks.

“Come on, let’s think…”

As Tsuzuru speaks, Sakuya runs down the left hall with Kazunari trailing behind him.

“Guys… what the hell…” How can Sakuma even run that well in those boots? I guess they don’t have heels so it wouldn’t be too uncomfortable or painful to move in, but…

“Kamakichi!” He hears Sakuya shout.

Oh yeah.

Tsuzuru goes down the right path in order to cover more ground.

While searching, he finds the stage. No one’s up there, thankfully. Tsuzuru wouldn’t know what to do if someone had been there. It’s not like he’d be able to do much to help.

Then a thought comes to him. He couldn’t get up onto the stage when Kazunari was being… absorbed? Drained? Consumed? We need to get a word for that. Tsuzuru slowly and hesitantly approaches the stage. He reaches his hand up and finds no barrier this time.

Tsuzuru takes in a deep breath and climbs onto the stage. When he’s up there, he starts to hear some sort of… whispering.

“Where is he?”

“Where’d he go?”

“Why’d he leave?”

Tsuzuru listens, wondering who the disembodied voices are talking about.

“I wish he’d come back.”

The whispers start getting louder, the voice is still soft, but they’re still getting louder, over lapping each other, overwhelmingly so.

“Stop.” A powerful voice cut in, and the whispers obeyed. “Just… stop.”

Tsuzuru goes backstage to look around. It’s mostly empty, the only thing he finds in a magnifying glass on the ground. Looking closely at it, he sees it’s in basically prime condition, there’s hardly any dust.

He picks it up, noting it to be quite large. “It is a theater.” Tsuzuru muses. “It’s likely that it was a prop, and that’s why it has to be big; so the audience could see it.”

Gazing through it all but confirms his soliloquy, as it doesn’t enlarge anything. He looks around with it, and turning to his side, he sees someone standing there.

Tsuzuru doesn’t quite get a good look at him; hardly any look at all, really, as he runs from the backstage screaming. In the process not only does he just go through the curtains to get to the apron, as people normally go around them, but he also drops the magnifying glass.

He hopes it didn’t break, but that’s not really his biggest concern, so it’s not really at the forefront of his mind. Right now his biggest concern is whatever it is he just saw, and putting as much distance between him and it as possible.

He practically, and unnecessarily, throws himself at the doors to exit the room. Luckily- not really lucky, as it has been standard practice for some time now with large public buildings in order for people such as himself to quickly and frantically leave- the door has a push bar.

Running as fast as his not-well-rested body can go, he runs back down the hall to where he last saw Sakuya and Kazunari. Tsuzuru notices what appear to be the posters on the ground, a little further down the hall, likely disposed of to help him keep up with Sakuya.

“What’s got you so riled up?” Kamakichi perches back on his shoulder from behind, but the exact location of where he was is still unknown. Unimportant. He’s here now.

“Where’d you go?”

“I asked you first.”

“And we’ve all been running around this…” self restraint, Minagi. Don't say it. “...place...” he finishes with gritted teeth. “Looking for you.”

“Aw, shucks. For little ol’ me? I’m flattered. But seriously, what’s up with the screaming.”

“I found the stage, so I thought I’d take a look around. I didn’t find much. There was a magnifying glass backstage, and when I looked through it… I saw someone.”

“What did they look like?”

“I don’t know, I didn’t stick around long enough to really see the details. Mostly I was running from the unknown entity because everything in this building is malicious and are out for the demise of all who enter this place.”

“Hey! Are you okay?”

Sakuya runs down the hall, as if he hasn’t been running at all and still is full of energy. Kazunari, however, walked slowly behind him. Tsuzuru can clearly see his heavy breathing from where he’s standing.

“What happened? We heard you scream. Are you alright?”

“Yeah, I’m alright. I found Kamakichi.”

“That’s good. Are you sure you’re alright, though?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. I was just startled. That’s all.”

“What did you see that startled you so bad?” Kazunari asks from a little down the hall as he picks up the discarded posters.

“Well, I found this magnifying glass. But it didn’t really magnify. I was looking through it when I saw a person standing next to me. That’s when I ran.”

“Do you think it was someone else that was lured to the theater?” Sakuya asks, already getting ready to run again.

“No, it wasn’t. I found the stage and there wasn’t anyone up there. I even found the glass behind the curtain, which makes me pretty confident that no one was up there, because when Miyoshi-san was up there, I couldn’t get up onto the stage.”

“That’s good,” He lets out a sigh and untenses. “But then what was it you saw?”

“Do you still have the looking glass?” Kazunari asks.

“No, I… looking glass?”

“Yeah. You said it doesn’t magnify anything so calling it a magnifying glass would be pretty misleading, don’t you think?”

“I like the name!”

“See? Saku-Saku agrees.”

“That’s a term for mirrors but regardless, no. I don’t have it. I dropped it when I was running. It may have broke.” Tsuzuru pauses and watches their expressions fall a bit. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry ‘bout it! It’s not like we really know what it does, so there isn’t any real loss.”

“He’s right. I’m sure anyone in your position would have done the same!”

“Thanks, guys. We might want to get leaving here soon.”

“Aw, c’mon, Tsuzuroon. Can’t we look around for just a little longer?”

“You can, but I’m tired.”

“Alright. See you later!”

“I was kidding, get over here.”

#It was me #I learned the new theater word #a3!#a3! tsuzuru #a3! kazunari #a3! sakuya #a3! act! addict! actors!#a3! fanfic #act addict actors #act addict actors au #personA3!#:)

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winchesterbrotherstan · 4 years

Text

SPN- No Exit (2.06)

Pairing: N/A, Olive Winchester (OC)

Summary: Ellen forces Jo to hand a new case over to the Winchesters, Dean has to protect yet another person, the siblings find out bad news, and Olive stands up for her boys

Warnings: cursing, a serial killer, blood, ghosts and stuff

Word Count: 5241

“Los Angeles, California.” Dean wiggled his eyebrows.

“What’s in L.A.?” I asked, following him out of the car.

“Young girl’s been kidnapped by an evil cult.”

“Yeah?” Sam raised his eyebrows. “Girl got a name?”

“Yeah.” Dean grinned. “Katie Holmes.”

Sam snorted as Dean giggled. “That’s funny. And for you, so bitchy.”

The sound of breaking glass and shouts came from inside the Roadhouse. I flinched and shuffled closer to Dean. Sam scooped Jinx out of the car.

“On the other hand…” He shrugged. “Catfight.”

“Hell no, that’s scary! Let’s just go. We can come back later.” I begged, tugging at Dean’s sleeve.

“Nope. Come on.” Dean dragged me toward the door.

“Sams?” I looked over my shoulder as I was helplessly pulled along.

He shrugged.

“I am your mother, I don’t have to be reasonable!” Ellen shouted as we slowly walked in.

“You can’t keep me here!” Jo yelled.

“Oh, don’t you bet on that, sweetie.”

“What are you gonna do, ma? Chain me up in the basement?”

“You know what, you’ve had worse ideas than that recently! Hey, you don’t wanna stay, don’t stay. Go back to school.” Ellen snarled.

The three of us cringed. Hearing that was worse than hearing nails on a chalkboard.

“I didn’t belong there!” Jo screamed. “I was a freak with a knife collection!”

“Yeah, and getting yourself killed on some dusty back road, that’s where you belong?” Ellen turned and saw the three of us.

Jinx whined, I froze like a deer in headlights, Dean squared his shoulders and avoided eye contact, and Sam scratched the back of his neck.

“Kids, bad time.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Sorry.”

“Yeah, we barely drink before ten anyways.”

“Wait.” Jo snapped. “I wanna know what they think about this.”

A couple walked through the door with their two kids, who were still little toddlers. They were obviously tourists, and they looked between Jo and Ellen with wide eyes.

“I don’t care what they think!”

“Are you guys open?”

“No!”

“Yes!”

The dad backed away. “We’ll just… check out the Arby’s down the road.”

The family left quickly, and the phone went off. Jo glared at it, and Ellen stalked over to answer. She snatched the phone up with a scowl. We sat down at the bar with heavy sighs from each.

“Harvelle’s. Yeah, Preacher.”

Jo shoved a manilla folder Dean’s way, and he backed up in his seat. “Three weeks ago a young girl disappears from a Philadelphia apartment.”

Dean only looked at the folder with wide eyes.

“Take it, it won’t bite.”

“No, but your mom might.” Dean whispered.

I took the folder from her and opened it up. “What else ya got, Jo?”

“This girl wasn't the first. Over the past eighty years six women have vanished. All from the same building, all young blondes. Only happens every decade or two so cops never eyeball the pattern. So we're either dealing with one very old serial killer, or…”

“Who put this together?” Dean looked over my shoulder. “Ash?”

“I did it myself.” Jo snapped.

I hummed. “Nice.”

“I mean, we have hit the road for a lot less.”

“Good.” Ellen hissed. “You like the case so much, you take it!”

“Mom!” Jo whined.

“Joanna Beth, this family has lost enough! I won’t lose you too… I just won’t.”

***

“I feel kind of bad…” Sam sighed. “Snaking Jo’s case.”

“Yeah, maybe she put together a good file. But could you see her out here actually working a case?” Dean raised an eyebrow.

Sam and I shrugged. Jinx tugged at the leash, and I pulled back. She wanted Dean, but Dean didn’t wanna hold the leash.

“Yeah, I don’t think so.”

Sam and Dean pulled out EMF readers and I looked high and low, my new glasses on.

“You getting anything?”

“No. Not yet.” Sam shook his head.

“Ol?”

“Nothing.”

Sam ran his EMF over a light switch, and it went off. He leaned over and squinted, looking disgusted.

“What’s that?”

“What’s what?” Dean and I crowded him.

Sam touched a black goo oozing from the switch, and I groaned. He huffed. Jinx jumped at our feet, snorting and sniffing. I touched the goo and groaned. I put my fingers down to let Jinx smell it. She pulled away with a loud whine. She dropped onto her stomach and ran her paws over her face.

“Holy crap.”

Dean reached over my head and touched it, rubbing his fingers together.

“That’s ectoplasm. Guys, I think I know what we’re dealing with here.” Dean got serious, then turned to us with a grin. “It’s the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man.”

Sam rolled his eyes and I giggled.

“Dean, I’ve only seen this stuff like… twice. I mean, to make this shit, you’ve gotta be one majorly pissed off spirit.”

Dean sighed. “Alright, let’s find this badass before he snags any more girls.”

***

We rounded the corner and continued down the hallway. We heard two voices, and Dean reacted quickest, pulling us both to hide in a corner. Sam snatched Jinx off the floor and held her against his chest. She had gotten big, and Sam was the only one who could carry her without much of a struggle.

“It is so spacious! You know, my friend told me I absolutely have to come check it out, and I have to admit, she was right. You did a really good job with this place.”

I tilted my head and looked at Dean. He looked angry.

That’s Jo.

I nodded.

Definitely.

Dean stepped out first, catching them as they turned the corner.

“What the hell are you doing here?” He hissed in a low voice.

“There you are, honey.” Jo didn’t skip a beat, and she settled into Dean’s side with an arm around his waist.

Sam and I stood back, a bit confused. Jinx let out a whine as Sam put her down.

“This is my boyfriend Dean, his little sister Olive, and their buddy, Sam. This is our doggy! I’m so glad this place is pet friendly.” She grinned.

“Good to meet ya. Quite a gal you’ve got here.”

Dean slapped her ass and I cringed. I couldn’t exactly duck into Sam’s side, since I wasn’t his sister.

“Oh, yeah.” Dean smiled. “She’s a pistol.”

Sam flinched, and I stifled a snort. He was beyond pissed, the irritation dancing over his face was proof enough.

“So, did you already check out that apartment? The one for rent?” Jo smiled at me over her shoulder.

“Yeah. Yes, loved it.” Dean hummed.

“It’s got great flow.” I added.

“How’d you get in?” The landlord squinted at us.

“Oh, it was open.”

“Now, Ed, um, when did the last tenant move out?”

“Oh, about a month ago. Cut and run, too. Stiffed me for the rent.” He sighed.

“Well. Her loss, our gain! Cause if Deano loves it, it’s good enough for me!”

Sam and I shared a look, and Dean slapped Jo’s ass again. I shuddered. I caught the minuscule anger flashing behind his expression, but it was still gross to watch. I felt like I was gonna puke. Sam gave me a sympathetic smile.

Jo pulled out a wad of cash. “We’ll take it.”

***

“I’ll flip you for the sofa.” Jo turned to Dean as he finished cleaning his gun.

“Does your mother even know you’re here?” Dean spat back.

“Told her I was going to Vegas.” Jo grabbed the folder off the table.

Sam was sitting at the end, cleaning his shotgun. Dean was sitting on the table, his back to Jo. I was sitting on the table, opposite of Sam. I had my legs crossed and my new gun in my lap.

“You think she’s gonna buy that?”

“I’m not an idiot.” Jo spat. “I got Ash to lay a credit card trail all the way to the casinos.”

Sam and I shared a look over Dean’s shoulder.

“You know, you shouldn’t lie to your mom.” Dean chastised. “Shouldn’t be here either.”

Jo looked to Sam, expecting support. Sam met her eyes and said nothing as he continued to work on his shotgun. She huffed and turned to me. I shrugged, holding the gun in my hands and slowly flipping it over and over.

“Well, I am.” She snapped. “So untwist your boxers and deal with it.”

“Where’d you get all that money from, anyways?” Sam spoke.

“Working at the Roadhouse.”

“Hunters don’t tip well.” I got the courage to speak, too.

“Well, they aren’t that good at poker, either.” She smiled.

Dean’s phone went off and he climbed off the table so he could fish it out of his pocket. He flipped it open and put it up to his ear.

“Yeah?”

His face drained of color and he looked straight up at Jo. Jinx let out a howl, sensing his panic.

“Oh, hi, Ellen.” He walked around to my end of the table, lips curled up.

Jo went right at him as he held the phone to his shoulder. “I’m telling her.”

Jo hissed something back, and he looked ready to jump. Sam shot up, and I put the gun aside and swung my legs over the edge of the table, facing Dean and Jo.

“Don’t you fucking dare.” Jo glared.

Dean put the phone back to his ear. “I haven’t seen her. Yeah, I-I’m sure.” A beat. “Absolutely.”

Jo shot Dean a cute little smile as he shut the phone, and he had murder in his eyes as he stared her down. Sam glanced over at me, and I shrugged.

***

“This place was built in 1924. It was originally a warehouse, converted to apartments a few months ago.” Jo had the blueprints open in front of her, and she was flipping a pocket knife around.

“Yeah? What was here before 1924?” Dean was pacing.

“Nothing.” She shook her head. “Empty field.”

“So, most likely scenario, someone died bloody in the building, and now he’s back and raising hell.” Sam didn’t look up from his own papers.

“I already checked. In the past eighty two years, zero violent deaths.” She shrugged. “Unless you count a janitor who slipped on a wet floor.” She turned and glared at Dean. “Would you sit down, please?”

Dean pulled out the chair next to me and sat on it, backwards. “So, have you checked police reports, county death records-”

“Obituaries, mortuary reports, and seven other sources. I know what I’m doing.”

I frowned.

Seven other sources? Where’d she get those?

“I think the jury’s still out on that one.”

Sam bit back a smile and I had to scratch my nose to hold myself together.

“Could you put the knife down?”

She did as he asked, and the tension, along with the bickering, was becoming unbearable.

“Okay!” Sam cleared his throat. “So, uh, it’s something else then. Maybe some kind of cursed object that brought a spirit with it.”

“Well, we’ve gotta scan the whole building then. Everywhere we can get to, right?” Jo looked between the three of us.

“Right. So. You and me, we’ll take the top two floors. Sam, get the first, Olive take the second.” Dean stood.

Sam and I nodded, and Jo scoffed.

“We’d move faster if we split up.” She got up and got in Dean’s face.

“Oh, this isn’t negotiable.” Dean had an irritated smile on his face.

“You know, I’ve had it up to here with your crap.” Jo spat.

I looked down at the floor, then up at Sam.

What do we do?

He gave me a small shrug.

I don’t know.

“Excuse me?”

“Your chauvinist crap. You think women can’t do the job!” She accused.

A snort escaped my nose, and she side-eyed me. Sam scratched his cheek, looking away. Dean gave his annoyed smile again.

“Sweetheart, this ain’t gender studies.” He shook his head. “Women can do the job fine.” He looked my way and shrugged. “Hell, I trust Olive with my life. She can do the job, I know she can. But amateurs can’t. You have no experience.”

She rolled her eyes, and I cleared my throat. I got up and pulled an EMF meter from the duffel on the table and called Jinx over.

“I’ll take her.”

Dean nodded, and I pressed a quick kiss to the side of Sam’s head.

“See you guys soon.”

***

The door busted open, and I rolled over, now fully awake. Jinx barked, and I realized she was curled up next to me. Dean had taken the couch, and I had fallen asleep on the floor, leaning next to him. Sam must’ve moved me to the bed.

“Where’s the coffee?” Dean grumbled.

“There are cops outside.” Sam’s voice rang out, and his panic was clear.

I sat up and rubbed my eyes. “What?”

“Another girl disappeared.”

“Shit.” Jo hissed.

“Alright, let’s move.” Dean clapped his hands.

“Wait, I’m not dressed.” I complained.

“You’re staying.”

“What? Why?” I stumbled out of the bed, socks sliding on the clean floor.

Dean caught me by the elbows and steadied me. “Get dressed. Take Jinx for a walk. Go get some coffee.” He pulled his wallet out of his pocket and handed me a twenty. “Be safe, okay? Love you.”

I blinked, trying to get my eyes clear. “Love you too.”

He kissed my head and gathered his things. Sam pressed a kiss to my forehead, and Jo gave me a soft smile.

“Be careful, guys!” I called as they walked out the door.

***

Sam and Jo were looking over the notes, and I was digging into the history of this part of Philadelphia, which was proving more work than I had anticipated. Dean slid back into the room and shut the door behind himself. Jinx jumped up and ran to greet him.

“Teresa Ellis. Apartment 2F. Boyfriend reported her missing around dawn.” He spoke as he bent down to pet Jinx.

“What about her apartment?” Jo looked up.

“Cracks all over the plaster, wall, ceiling. Ectoplasm, too.”

“Well, between that and the hair you guys found in the vent, I’d say this fucker’s coming from the walls.” Sam sighed.

“Yeah, but who is it?” Dean began to pace. “Building’s history is totally clean.”

I huffed as I stumbled upon something. “We’re looking in the wrong place.”

The three of them turned to squint at me.

“What?”

“We’re next door to a prison. Moyamensing prison. Built in 1835, torn down about forty years ago. They used to execute people by hanging them in the empty field.”

“Which is where this building was built.” Jo put it together.

I nodded. “Well, then, we’ll need a list. All the people executed here.”

“I’ll see what I can dig up.” I turned my focus back to the laptop.

“I’ll call Ash, see what he can get.”

***

“A hundred and fifty seven names?” Sam groaned as we scrolled down the list.

“We’ve gotta narrow this down, or we’ll be digging up graves for the next month.” I pinched the bridge of my nose.

“Yeah.” Sam sighed.

Sam noticed something on the list and tapped my hand. I stopped scrolling and looked up at him.

“What is it, Sams?”

“Herman Webster Mudgett…” He clicked on the name with a frown.

“Yeah?” Jo asked.

“Oh, shit…”

“Wasn’t that H.H. Holmes’s real name?”

“You’ve gotta be fucking me.” Dean came and sat next to us, eyes on the screen.

“Oh my god.” I breathed out as I pulled up a search on him. “He was executed at Moyamensing. May seventh, 1896.”

“H. H. Holmes himself…” Sam sighed. “Come on, I mean… what are the odds?”

“Wait, who is this guy?” Jo’s eyebrows were furrowed.

“The term multi-murderer.” Dean sighed. “They coined it to describe Holmes.”

“He was America’s first serial killer. Before anybody even knew what a serial killer was.”

“Yeah. He confessed to twenty seven murders. They could only confirm nine, some of the people he claimed to have killed were still alive, and the police put the death toll at over two hundred.”

“Oh, and his victim flavor of choice? Pretty petite blondes.” Dean grunted. “He used chloroform to kill em.” He squinted as he began to think. “Which is what I smelled in the hallway last night. At his place, police found human remains, bone fragments, and long locks of bloody blonde hair.”

“Well, Jo.” I hummed. “You sure know how to pick em.”

“We just find the bones, salt them, and burn them. Right?”

I shook my head as I scrolled through the article. “Not that easy. His body is buried across town, but it’s encased in a couple tons of concrete.”

“What? Why?”

“Story goes that he didn’t want anybody mutilating his corpse. Cause… ya know… that’s what he used to do.”

“Guys, we might have an even bigger problem.” Sam noted.

“How does this get bigger?”

“Holmes built an apartment building in Chicago. He called it the Murder Castle. The whole place was a death factory. Trap doors, acid vats, quicklime pits. He built secret chambers inside the walls. He’d lock his victims in, keep them alive for days. Some would suffocate, others would starve to death.”

“Fuck. That means Teresa could be alive.”

Dean sat up straight. “Alright, we need sledgehammers, crowbars. We’ve gotta smash these walls, anywhere thick enough to hide a girl.”

“Okay. How are we doing this?”

“Jo and I will take the top two floors. Olive, I want you with Sam. You two check the bottom floors.”

I sighed. “It’ll be faster if we split up like we did last time. I’m not blonde, chances are he won’t come after me.”

Dean shook his head. “Not taking any chances.” He turned and shared a look with Sam.

Neither said a word, but I knew what was going on.

We protect them, no matter what.

Sam gave the slightly nod.

Of course.

***

“Okay. Call us after you finish checking out the southeast wall.”

“Will do, Jo. Be careful.” I hung the phone up and turned to Sam with a heavy sigh. “They haven’t found shit either.”

He sighed and swept the EMF meter over my head. “What if we’re wrong? What if he doesn’t hide his victims in the walls?”

I shrugged. “I dunno, Sams. We’ve only got a little left. If nobody finds anything, we’ll reassess.”

He nodded. “Alright. Come on.”

***

I heard the sound of hurried footsteps before I saw anything, and I squared my shoulders, ready to take somebody on. Dean rounded the corner and slammed into my shoulder, sending me stumbling backward into Sam.

“Hey!”

“De?”

He turned back to us, face pale. “He’s got Jo.”

“What?”

“I wasn’t with her.” Dean began to panic. “I left her alone. Damn it!”

“Hey, hey, hey.” Sam tried to calm him. “We’ll find her, alright?”

“Where?” Dean growled.

“Inside the walls, Dean.”

“We’ve been inside the walls all night! None of the other girls were there, she won’t be either!”

“Okay. Come on.” I grabbed his hand and began to tug him toward the stairs.

“What are you doing, Olive? We’ve gotta-”

“Right now, we’ve gotta calm down and reassess the whole situation. Maybe we got something wrong, maybe we missed something. Either way, we won’t find Jo right now, not like this. We need to calm down first. Okay? Let’s go.”

***

“Maybe we got Holmes’ MO wrong.” Sam spoke calmly. “We just have to take a beat and think about this.”

Dean was pacing. “Yeah, well, we’d better think fucking fast.”

I sighed. Dean was totally freaked, because he thought this was his fault. No matter how this ended, he was going to blame himself. His phone rang, and he flipped it open.

“Yeah.”

He stopped cold and looked ready to burst into tears. I squinted at him. He put the phone on speaker and set it down on the table.

“You lied to me. She’s there.”

“Ellen-” Dean tried.

“No! Ash told me everything. Man’s a genius, but he folds like a cheap suit. Now you put my damn daughter on the phone.”

“She’s gonna have to call you back, she uh… she’s taking care of some lady business.” Dean gritted his teeth.

“Yeah, right. Where is she?”

The three of us stared at each other, each calculating.

“Where is she!”

“Look, we’ll get her back.” Dean blurted.

Sam and I glared with wide eyes, shocked.

“Get her back? Back from what?”

“Ellen, the spirit we’re hunting, it took her.” He explained.

“Oh my god.”

“She’ll be okay. I promise.” Dean spoke, and it was more than a promise.

This was an oath. He was swearing right now.

“You promise.” She growled. “That is not the first time I’ve heard that from a Winchester.”

“What?” I spoke up, now confused, and angry with her accusatory tone.

Sam knocked my arm and shook his head. I sighed and he nodded me over, pushing his laptop my way. I squinted at the blueprints of the murder castle and sighed.

“If anything happens to her…”

“It won’t. I won’t let it. Ellen, I’m sorry, I really am.”

“I’m taking the first flight out. I’ll be there in a few hours.”

The line cut off, and Dean let out a small string of curses. He turned to us with gleaming eyes.

“Hey.” I caught his attention. “This isn’t on you.”

“There’s nothing you could’ve done, don’t beat yourself up.” Sam spoke softly.

“Please tell me you’ve got something.”

“Look, you look at the layout of the Holmes murder castle, there’s all the torture chambers inside the walls, right?”

“Right.”

“But there’s one we haven’t considered yet. The basement.”

What Sam had shown me now clicked.

“This place doesn’t have a basement.”

“No, but there’s an old sewer system that looks like it hasn’t been touched-”

“Let’s go.” Dean cut me off and picked up his car keys.

***

Sam swept a metal detector over the street as we walked. Dean had the shovel in his hand, and I had the backpack with our weapons on. Jinx tugged on her leash. If we died down there, she was safer above ground than in a haunted apartment. Sam caught something and looked, beckoning for us to follow. I hooked a finger on Dean’s belt loop as we followed the trail through an alley, and into an empty field. Sam stopped, and the metal detector let out a steady squeal.

“Here.”

Dean went to work, digging faster than I had ever seen. I shared a look with Sam. It took Dean four minutes before he hit metal and dropped to his knees. Sam dug with his good hand, and I went at it with both, feeling dirt crunch its way under my fingernails.

“Come help, girl.” Dean whistled.

Jinx made her way next to Sam and went wild, dirt flying behind her.

“Alright, here.” Dean stopped us and pushed at Jinx once we hit a metal trap door.

I dug through the backpack and handed Sam a shotgun first. He cocked it, and I handed another one to Dean. Sam looked around, making sure there was nobody watching. Dean tied Jinx’s leash to the bar of the door and patted her head. Sam planted a kiss on Jinx’s head before heading down.

“We’ll be back, girl.” I whispered as I fished out the last shotgun.

She whined, and I checked the flashlight before following after the boys.

***

I heard Jo, clear as day, trying to scream. I pushed Sam’s foot, and he grunted, getting the message. Dean reached the clearing first and got to his feet, followed by Sam.

“Hey!”

Dean’s voice, and then a gunshot. Another girl screamed.

“Jo!”

“I’m here!”

Dean looked around, scrambling to find something. I spotted a bar of rebar and snatched it up. My teeth cracked in my jaw, and I groaned as I pushed Dean aside. I wedged the bar into the opening of Jo’s compartment with a deep breath.

“Ol-”

“Go help Sam.”

“Are-”

“Go help Sam.” I closed my eyes and took another deep breath.

The boys became background noise, and a low growl resonated in my throat. I balanced myself before turning and gripping the bar. I pulled as hard and fast as I could, and another growl ripped its way past my mouth. Jo squealed as the door popped off.

“Boys!” I shouted, getting their attention so I could hand the bar off.

I helped Jo scramble to her feet with a heavy sigh.

“Okay, are you alright?”

“Been better.” She eyed my fangs, but said nothing about them. “Let’s get out of here before he comes back.”

“Actually, I uh…” Dean turned with a huff as Sam helped Teresa get free. “I don’t think you’re leaving here just yet.”

“What?” Jo’s eyes went wide.

“Remember when we said you being bait was a stupid plan?” I asked, scratching the back of my neck. “Well, right now it’s kinda the only one we’ve got.”

The three of us turned to Sam. He had Teresa in a hug. She was shaking. He gave a pout and a bitchface, and I sighed. Dean shrugged.

Jo sighed. “Fine.”

***

Jo sat in the middle of the chamber. She was silent, but she was trembling. She had her arms wrapped around her knees, but was taking deep and steady breaths. I didn’t see Holmes until he materialized behind her. I made a mental note to not rely on these glasses.

Holmes got closer, and closer, until he was standing right behind her.

“Now!” Dean shouted.

I lunged forward to tug Jo to safety as Sam and Dean shot at the walls. Bags of salt unfurled, trapping Holmes in a perfect circle. Jo shook in my arms as Holmes began to pace, screaming in terror and mumbling gibberish.

“Scream all you want, you dick! There’s no way you’re stepping over that salt!” Jo turned and howled.

“Alright. Come on. Let’s go, we’ve gotta get Teresa out of here.” Sam whispered, guiding us out.

***

I sat in the grass and scratched Jinx’s chest. She was sitting between me and Sam. He was standing with Jo at the entrance of the sewer, looking down into the darkness.

“So. This job as glamorous as you thought it would be?” Sam teased.

“Well, except for all the pee-your-pants terror, yeah. But the girl’s gonna live a life because of us. It’s worth it.”

“Yeah.” Sam and I agreed. “It is.”

“Hey, what if somebody finds that sewer down there? Or a storm washes the salt away?” Jo pointed out.

Sam grinned. “Both very fine points. Which is why we’re waiting here.”

“For what?”

The beeping of a truck backing up went off, and Sam broke into a smile. I got to my feet and slid into his side as we watched a cement mixer back into the field. Jinx barked, and I handed her off to Sam as I guided Dean.

“For that.”

I beckoned with my hand, and then made a fist. He stopped right over the sewer entrance. Dean hopped out of the cab with a proud smile on his face. He and Sam set up the mixer right over the entrance.

“You ripped off a cement truck?” Jo was astonished.

“We’ll give it back.” I grinned as the cement began to pour.

Dean threw an arm over my shoulders and sighed. “Well, that oughta keep him down there til hell freezes over.”

***

I shifted, uncomfortable. Jinx was sprawled over my lap and Sam’s. Her haunches were pressing on my bladder, and I felt like I was gonna pee myself. Dean was in the driver’s seat, and Ellen was next to him, in the passenger seat. Jo was to my left, behind Dean, and Sam was on my other side, behind Ellen. She was staring straight ahead, jaw set. Dean kept glancing her way, looking horrified.

“Boy, you… you really weren’t kidding about flying out, were you?” He chuckled nervously.

She said absolutely nothing, and Dean glanced at me in the rearview. I looked up at Sam, who was also uncomfortable.

“How about we listen to some music?” Dean tried, and flicked the radio on.

Before the first string of lyrics could come on, Ellen turned it back off. Sam and I looked at each other again, and Dean did the same, begging for help. I shrugged, and he sighed.

“This is gonna be a long drive.”

***

Ellen had Jo by the shoulder, and the three of us scrambled to follow.

“Ellen? This is my fault. Okay? I lied to you, and I’m sorry. But Jo did good out there, I think her dad would be really proud.”

Ellen turned around with a snarl, and the three of us skidded to a stop.

“Don’t you dare say that. Not you. I need a moment with my daughter. Alone.” She snapped.

I gulped as Sam and Dean exchanged a look over my head. Sam pulled me along as they trailed out of the Roadhouse. We leaned against the car and said nothing. We couldn’t hear them fighting, but we knew it was going to be bad. There was a strangled cry, and the four of us, including Jinx, perked up. Jo stormed out of the Roadhouse, shot Dean a glare, and kept walking.

“That bad, huh?”

“Not right now.” Jo snapped.

“What happened?” Dean tried. “Hey, talk to me.” He reached for her arm.

“Get off me!”

He backed up. “Sorry. I’ll see you around.” He turned back to us with a confused look on his face.

“Dean!” Jo called. “It turns out my dad had a partner on his last hunt. Funny, he usually worked alone… this guy did too, but… I guess my dad trusted him. Mistake. Guy screwed up, got my dad killed.”

“What does this have to do-’

“It was your father, Dean.” Jo hissed.

“What?”

I felt my heart drop, and Sam gasped.

“John got my dad killed.”

Dean talked again, but I couldn’t hear it. I squirmed away from Sam and stormed into the building. I ignored him as he called after me. I slammed a hand down on the bar and leaned forward, catching Ellen’s attention.

“Look.” I started, tears already forming in my eyes, throat aching. “I am so sorry that my father cost your husband his life. I really am. John was everything I never want to be. But my brothers?”

The tears became too many, and they began to stream down my cheeks.

“My brothers are a completely different story. Those boys are nothing like John. Those boys would do anything for anybody. The second time the three of us hunted together, Sam put himself between a wendigo and three innocent people, even though he knew it would only buy them seconds. Dean ran through the tunnels…” My voice broke. “Defenseless. Just to get them out alive.If saving Jo meant putting their own lives down, they would do it. Without hesitation. So I’m really sorry about what my father did. But don’t you ever think, not even for a second, that my boys wouldn’t die to save someone else.”

Ellen blinked, staring at me. I sniffled, wiped my tears, and backed up.

“That’s all I needed you to hear.”

I stumbled out of the building. Sam and Dean were on the porch. Jo was nowhere to be seen. I fell into the boys, shaking. Neither said anything as they held me.

“Let’s go home.”

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