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argylemikewheeler · 3 years

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July 1st, 1985

what the first ep of (my) s3 would look like if the main concept was: both Steve and Will are gay in 1985’s Summer of Love and the town’s enemy is a little more human; loving friendships, very confused adults, and Will Byers Actually Getting Help

“Harrington!”

“Yes, sir.” Steve looked up from his desk. He dropped his crossword and looked to be at attention; the police station’s phone wasn’t ringing, though, so there wasn’t really anything he should have been doing. Hopper stepped out of his office, angling himself toward the door rather than Steve’s desk island.

“Do you think you’ll be able to-- Harrington, what are you doing?” Hopper caught sight of the pocket thesaurus sitting on his desk (the last name written on the inside cover not belonging to Steve, of course). Hopper fixed his sunglasses on the edge of his nose, looking over them and down at Steve.

“I’m just, uh, working on my vocabulary.” Steve said. Hopper blinked twice, waiting. Steve wasn’t going to say the truth: he was dating-- well seeing someone-- way smarter than him. This wasn’t for joy or boredom. He was studying to impress. “It’s college prep, sir.”

“The crossword?” The chief evened his stare. “This your old man’s suggestion?” Of all the things Steve’s father was telling him to do with himself, he wished some of it was simply pecking at a crossword over a twelve hour shift. Fucking off and being a better piece of shit son just wasn’t feasible to accomplish in one summer.

“He swears by it.”

“Okay, well. Uh, moving on from that,” Hopper grabbed his hat from the coat rack. The topic of Steve’s father always made Hopper stiffen up; it was definitely the main reason Hopper gave Steve his job at the station, but it still created more questions. Steve knew Hopper and his father went to high school together, but he never asked his father about those years-- beyond his baseball glory stories. “I’ve got plans tonight and I need to head out early. Can you handle things on your own for a while. At least until the night shift comes in?”

“I’ll be fine.” Steve made sure not to acknowledge the crossword on his desk as he nodded. He was really good at his job, he was. He was also just, unfortunately, still a pretty shitty boyfriend and needed all the vocab help he could get. “What’s the pressing story?”

“I have dinner.” Hopper was already trying to walk out the door. “So don’t call me. For the love of God.”

“Oh, don’t worry, Chief. I--” Steve was sure it was the cool July wind that slammed the door on the last half of his sentence. Not Hopper. “won’t... Have a good time, I guess.”

The police station was empty: it was another boring and wonderfully quiet Monday in Hawkins. There’d been some calls to break up disturbances at city hall in the past few days, but somehow everyone just seemed to agree that Mondays-- the longest shift of Steve's whole week-- was the day everyone went about their quietest day.

There were a few officers milling in and out of the back lounge and front door, casting a quick glance to Steve as he muttered and threatened fourteen down and six across. Nancy had been helping close the gaps of his post-high school education-- without knowing just what for-- but had been picking up most hours at the Post to try and elbow her way into their good graces; it put his tutoring on hold. So here he was, groaning at some clues about classical artists he’d never heard of.

There were other reasons Steve was sure the other officers thought he was odd-- things he was sure his father had passed along in spitting rants-- but Steve didn’t mind. No one said anything to his face.

“Hey Flo! Is, uh, is Steve here?” The question was asked with the answer already in mind.

Steve sat up in his chair, twisting around to see down the hall to the back entrance to the station. There weren’t many parking spots to fill, but he knew a certain someone who preferred it to street parking.

“Jonathan?”

“Oh, I hear him. Thanks-- hey!” Jonathan hurried out from the hall, his camera bumping against his stomach and bag slapping against his leg in the same rhythm. He’d gotten a new haircut recently: semi-wonky bangs and a closer cut in the back. All thanks to Steve’s peer pressure and Mrs. Byers’s kitchen shears.

“What are you doing here?”

“Sorry to stop by your work like this--” he lowered his voice as he stopped at the corner of Steve’s desk. “I know we said we wouldn’t do that, but we got an extra muffin in the lunch order and I know you’re always starving after a Monday shift so.” Jonathan produced a folded brown paper bag from his satchel. “Here.”

“Oh, thanks.” Steve wanted to say so much more, but had to settle. No more. None of what they’d decided they wouldn’t say. Not until the summer had ended. They wanted to see if they lasted longer than the convenience of loose summer schedules.

“Won’t I see you, uh, later, though?” At eight, when Steve got sent home he always drove straight to Jonathan’s. Jonathan started late on Tuesdays and Steve had off; they had the time to waste. “Or is this your way of telling me to stay home?”

“No! No we’re still... hanging out.” Jonathan had gotten really good at cooking and treated Steve to weekly dinner. It was a nice gesture at first, but Steve started growing fond of the company. They both did around mid-June. “But, I think Mike’s going to be over so. Be cool , alright? Keep it cool.”

“Cool, got it.” Steve leaned back in his chair. He moved his papers to leave a corner of his desk for Jonathan to sit on. No one was in the main office; it was a harmless invitation.

“I have to get going...” It sounded like an excuse, a dive for safety. “And I’m sure you have, um, puzzles to do?” Jonathan pretended not to be endeared. He tried, he really did. He failed , but Steve pretended he didn’t notice.

“Don’t want to sit and help me figure out the title of Mozart’s last opera?” He patted the desk, daring to be more direct.

“I really have to go.” Jonathan was genuine, looking at his watch. “The Post only let me out early today because I have to go pick up Will from his doctor’s appointment.”

“Wait.” Steve put the cap back on his pen. “Isn’t Will’s therapy on Wednesday?”

“Yeah, but with Mom’s schedule and the store being all weird-- we had to move it to today. And you know we typically have a family night after-- so he feels okay, you know-- but we can’t . So, that’s why Mike’s coming over. Hopefully they’ll be idiots and tire Will out and he’ll sleep okay.” Tension rose in Jonathan’s voice quickly, explaining his day as if going over a laundry list; never rehearsing it but having it memorized.

“I can stay home if you need time, Jonathan.”

“No, really. I want you to come over.” Jonathan sighed and placed his hand on the emptied spot on Steve’s desk. “Besides, you can’t break tradition after a little over one month , then it was just a weird habit.”

Steve Harrington did not consider his summer fling a w eird habit . If anything, it was the most sensical thing he’d done in a very long time. Even after getting rejected from all his colleges, and never hearing the end of his father’s lectures, 1985 had been very kind to him. And that was mostly due to Jonathan’s inherent nature to be the same.

“I’ll see you after eight.” Steve smiled and reached for his hand-- but averted to grab a piece of memo paper by the phone.

“I’m sorry to leave in a rush.” Jonathan hitched his bag up, checking his watch again. “I just, I really need to get going.”

“Don’t worry. The muffin is more than enough.” Steve said. “And seeing you wasn’t too bad either.”

“Slow day, huh?” Jonathan said. The corner of his mouth quirked with a flattered, embarrassed smile. Steve tried to act nonchalant, like he wasn’t so goddamn relieved to see a familiar and happy face. Especially his familiar and happy face. “Well, good thing I have another surprise for you.”

“You can barely fit your camera in that bag, what could you possibly-- hey!” Steve missed grabbing Jonathan’s arm as he walked away, heading for the front door. “Where are you going?” Jonathan kept walking, checking his watch the whole way. “Hello?”

“Delivered right on time.” Jonathan pushed the front door open to the station-- but was nearly knocked over as a green dash barreled through it.

"Steve! Steve! Steve!” The dash was suddenly grabbing him by the shoulders. “You got the job!”

“Henderson! Oh my god! You’re back!” In an unlikely impulse, Steve grabbed Dustin in a hug, taking advantage of the change of height. “Holy shit, I nearly forgot! First of the month!”

“See you, Steve.” Jonathan walked across the room to the back entrance again. His hand braced the back of Steve’s chair, brushing across his shoulders.

“O-Okay! Yeah, see you!” Steve sputtered, losing his reminded cool in an instant. “Bye.”

Dustin pulled away slowly. “What was that?” It looked like everyone was too smart for Steve.

“Nothing. He brought me a surprise lunch-- which was an obvious decoy to the main event! You! How are you, buddy? How was camp?”

“Oh, it was fantastic. Steve, I have to show you all my inventions! Camp was the best four weeks of my life .” Dustin hopped up onto the corner of his desk. His heels tapped against the empty metal drawers. He was jittery, nearly uncontainable, but still so composed-- if only to be focused all on Steve.

Steve held his hands out, letting him start. “Lay it on me, Henderson! I want to hear everything. I missed you like crazy.”

“Well, first, obviously. I have to tell you about my girlfriend--”

“Whoa! Whoa! Girlfriend ? That fast?” Steve hadn’t been expecting any of his dating advice to work. It had been coming from such a poor and confused part of himself, Steve figured it was destined to fail. Apparently, it was just Steve that was-- when flirting with women at least. “Damn, there’s something in you after all!”

“She’s super smart, Steve. I’ve never met any girl like her. She’s a genius and she’s so pretty. God, I miss her already-- and I just saw her.”

Steve looked over his shoulder. He knew the feeling. “That’s great, man. I mean, I’m super happy for you. Like, that’s crazy . That’s freaking awesome.”

“So what about you? How are the ladies? I mean, you work for the Chief now. All the ladies you could need and more, am I right?”

Steve used to be really good at this part of the lie, but with Dustin it felt cheap. He didn’t need to lie to him, but that was the deal; no matter how much that person was Steve’s best and most beloved friend, their secret was a dead-bolt, vaulted secret.

“Eh, not too great. Only girl my own age I see-- besides Nancy, really-- is the night-shift girl, Robin. But she’s not really-- we’re just friends. She’s alright. Leaves me weird drawings in the memo pad.”

“Ooo, she sounds cool.” Dustin raised his eyebrows. “Do you know her from school?”

“Yeah, we didn’t really run in the same crowds but-- it’s not like that, man. It’s really not.” Steve started unwrapping his lunch. “It’s so not like that with Robin.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means I’m not... looking at the moment.”

Steve had originally decided to not go looking for trouble. After he and Nancy split in the beginning of his senior year, he didn’t start looking for an immediate replacement. The illusion of thinking he was in love with Nancy-- capable of being in love with Nancy-- was a hard thing to have come crumbling down. Steve needed time to get his own bearings, to put his feet firmly on the ground, and have them lifted off when his father grabbed him by the lapels and--

Steve hadn’t gone looking for trouble. Hadn’t gone looking for love either. But somehow, both seemed to find him.

Jonathan was late. He usually wasn’t but Will was trying not to be worried. It was a different day than usual and he knew how awful Jonathan’s boss and co-workers were. Will tried not to be worried-- he wasn't. It was just that he had spent an hour talking about the night his father left their family; standing outside the doctor’s office was a bit nerve-wracking. It felt too familiar, even with all the talking and note-scribbling.

Finally, Jonathan’s car pulled into the lot. He was speeding, as much as his car could speed: he knew he was late, which made Will feel a little bit better. No one had forgotten him. It was just traffic or his bosses or maybe just hitting all the red lights. As Jonathan stopped in front of the curb and waved Will in, Will could see he was jittery-- he was upset that he was late. Will felt bad for counting the minutes.

Not that he did it out of impatience or anything. Will just formed the habit after getting his new watch. It matched Mike’s. Completely on accident, of course.

“Hey, buddy! Sorry I’m late. I was-- I had to run an errand really fast. How long were you waiting.” He moved his bag and threw it onto the backseat. Will would’ve held it on his lap.

“I wasn’t keeping track.” Will said, climbing into the passenger seat. Will wanted to ask if his bag had Jonathan’s camera in it. If everything was okay. He didn’t. It seemed like Jonathan had been in his therapy with Will, just as shaken up. “It’s okay. Thanks for getting me.”

Jonathan waited until Will put on his seat belt. “Of course. We’re always here to pick you up. Therapy is important; you have to go.”

Will laughed before he could stop himself. “You sound like Mom.” Why?

“Because she’s right.” Therapy was still kind of weird to Will-- since no one else in his grade had to do it-- but he humored his family. It was helping, if he had to admit it. But it was still embarrassing sometimes.

His therapist, Dr. Bright-- Rose Marie, as she insisted on being called-- was a send-out from the Lab, but disguised within a private practice just outside of town. She was able to listen to Will talk about what he saw and felt during his time with the Mind Flayer without trying to commit him. Almost nothing was off limits. Almost nothing.

Will checked his watch again.

“Are you excited to see Mike tonight?” The question was pointed, but Will wasn’t sure why it made him nervous. “I mean, I feel like I haven’t seen him in a bit.”

“Oh, yeah. He’s always with El.”

Will was sure they weren’t dating. El was just on a year-long stint of self-discovery and, besides Max, Mike was the person she trusted the most to help make as many helpful mistakes as possible. He bought her books to read and new music to try. It was really sweet, seeing Mike take such big strides toward helping their friend. But there was also a part of Will that felt dejected: his sort of help had to be prescribed and couldn’t be replaced with a warm laugh from one Mike Wheeler.

Will was sick while his friends were growing.

“Is there something wrong?” Jonathan used to ask the question like Will was one trembling lip away from crying-- but this time, he asked it like Will had his hand on the door, seconds from jumping out. “Will, are you okay?”

“Yeah.” Will nodded. “I’m fine. Just-- I talked a lot today and I’m tired.”

“Do you want to cancel with Mike--”

“No.” Will had been looking forward to having time with Mike-- just Mike-- for a whole week. He wanted to sit on his floor with his best friend and be a kid again. Just for the night-- maybe draw some of Mike’s old campaigns or sketch out an idea for his own. He just wanted to remember something good about the past four years. After his hour with Dr. Bright, it all felt painful. Like his childhood naivety had been broken and every conversation he overheard in his house dripped with venom and disdain.

Will didn’t like picturing his house that way. It was a place that loved and raised him, a place he felt safe. He didn’t like thinking the conversations he heard being screamed through the walls were trapped in the drywall.

His arms felt heavy and his chest felt like it was made of metal-- he kept tasting it in his mouth. Will leaned back against the seat and reached for the radio. Jonathan turned it down before Will had even changed the station.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I just want to see Mike.” Will said, his mouth too honest and his mind shrouded in guilt. “I just want to see my friend.”

“Okay. Okay.” Jonathan nodded somewhat somberly. “I understand. Let’s go pick him up. He’s at his house right? Not El’s-- o-or The Sinclair’s or anything?”

“No. He’s at his.” Will crossed his arms and tried to find the loose string-- the thing that could uncoil Jonathan’s still-tightening anxiety. “Are you still dating Nancy?”

Jonathan turned to look at Will, nearly crashing the car. That was the wrong string. “What?”

“Nancy? Are you still dating her?”

“I was never dating Nancy.” Jonathan laughed, shaking his head. “I’m not dating Mike’s sister, don’t worry.” The clarification was strange and felt off-topic. Like Jonathan was trying to talk about something else.

“I thought you were. You guys hung out a lot during school.” Will heard her voice through the walls too. Always gentle, never yelling. Except when she was losing at playing cards. Then she shouted.

“She was helping me pass chemistry. That’s all.” Jonathan turned the radio up a little. Will checked his watch. “And then she helped me apply to the Post internship-- she’s great at writing papers, did you know that? A real wordsmith. Is Mike a writer too?”

He was, he really was. Grammatically, Will ran out of red pens trying to help, but creatively? Will envied Mike’s ability. “I don’t know. We don’t really talk about that kind of stuff like you two do… Since you two are dating.”

“We’re not .” Jonathan laughed. Will took advantage of an upcoming stop sign to lean forward and look at his brother’s crimson face. “We’re not, Will, okay? We’re really not. I’d tell you.”

“You’d tell me?”

“Of course! I’d tell you if I… I had a girlfriend. Which I don’t!” He stayed at the stop sign for a bit too long. “Do you?”

There was an option to play dumb, to make Jonathan ask more directly: do you have a girlfriend, Will ? but it sounded far more painful than being honest, than being as lonely as he was.

“No. I don’t.”

“And you’d tell me. If you were dating someone?” Jonathan looked at Will, hopeful but scarcely so. “You’ll tell me if anything big happens in your life?”

“Yeah.” There wouldn’t be anything happening at all that summer, that was for damn sure . “Absolutely.”

Steve had about seventy percent of his puzzle done-- fifty of which was because Dustin was an unstoppable genius with no tolerance for Steve’s careful pace. It was just about quarter past seven, and Steve’s back was getting sore from sitting in his chair all day. He only liked sitting when it was in his car, on his way to the Byers's House, careful, of course, to obey all traffic laws.

Steve was packing his crosswords and pens up in the top drawer of his desk when something clattered the back door open. Steve grabbed a pen and whipped around in his seat, as if to wield it like a weapon.

“Hello? Who’s there?”

“Hey dingus.” Luckily, Steve couldn’t even see Robin yet-- or rather, she couldn’t see him or his emphasized eye roll. She could hear him groan though. “Hey, shut up and quit whining. I’m sending you home early.”

Her head popped out from the hallway. Robin’s ponytail was high on her head, the hair flopping over and getting caught in her stringy bangs. She flung her backpack out from behind her and tossed it toward Steve. She wasn’t in her uniform yet, only wearing the buttoned up shirt-- unbuttoned and showing her torn and dyed shirt underneath. She was wearing jogging shorts, her knees torn up and covered with Band-Aids. They reminded Steve of the ones taped to his face after getting a plate smashed into his forehead. Deceivingly cheerful.

“What are you doing here early?” Steve stood and followed her, holding her backpack awkwardly in his hands. “You’re never early.” Eight on the dot. Every time.

“I figure you want to get out of here tonight.” She didn’t even stop to look at Steve as they walked into the back room. “Probably want to see your boyfriend.”

Her words weren’t sharp, but Steve still recoiled. He let his arms, and her bag, hang by his sides.

“Who? Jonathan?” The only way Jonathan and Robin had ever met was in the hallways of Hawkins High. She definitely never saw them interact at the station-- or on any of their nights together: they were always indoors. “He’s not my boyfriend.”

“First off, I didn't even say a name." Shit. "Second, he came in the other day looking for you.” Robin started buttoning her shirt up, fixing the collar as she finally turned to see Steve. “He was really upset-- didn’t even know what time it was to know you weren’t working.”

“Upset?” Technically, it wasn’t Steve’s problem. It was the deal; they didn’t have to care about each other’s lives. It was just summer. It was just like any other summer.

“Yeah. Crying, sniffling, snot-- the whole nine, man.” Robin sounded extremely sympathetic despite beginning to change her pants. Steve whipped around, covering his face. “You should go see him. Make sure he’s okay. Be a good boyfriend... shithead.”

“He’s not--”

“Steve, I’m the last person you should be arguing with.” Robin laughed-- and it was only momentarily threatening. Until, of course, Steve realized what she meant.

Like all good secrets kept at Hawkins PD, Steve kept his mouth shut and nodded even if she wasn’t looking.

“Yes, sir--ma'am-- Robin.”

“So, are you going to go or what, dingus?” She tapped him on the shoulder. “Get out of here-- and tell me all about it Wednesday.”

Steve blinked at her, holding out her bag. As if it was enough thanks to give her back her own property. “Are we… friends, or something?”

“No, of course not.” She winked, slapping his arm. “Just looking out for one of my own.”

After picking Mike up from his house, they drove home in uncharacteristic chatter. Jonathan was the only one speaking, humming along to the radio. Will was exhausted beyond performative small talk; the type that had to be done between two best friends when a third party was present. Mike was great at just sitting with Will in silence, but Jonathan didn’t know that. Instead, the three of them passed around quiet jokes and laughter, answering questions about their friends for Jonathan’s upkeep of information.

Once they got in the house, Jonathan let them wander off into Will’s room as he started pulling pots out of the kitchen cabinets. He wouldn’t bother or pester them about any summer work, either. They would be left alone in their own coupled silence.

Mike was sitting cross-legged on Will’s floor, twisting one of Will's crayons between his fingers. Will needed new ones but he felt funny asking for them as a near-freshman in high school. He liked the glide of wax on paper compared to the scrape of colored pencils. Well, that and the fact he ruined half of his crayons the year prior making a full map of Hawkins in a fugue state and only had two crayons able to be used normally.

“You had doctor stuff today, right?”

Will was digging under his bed for his emptier sketch book. “Yeah. Therapy. Doctor doctor stuff was two weeks ago.”

“How was it?” Mike let his hand still and rest in his lap. “Like, what do you do in therapy? Just start talking?”

“Yeah, but it’s more than that. You have to think about stuff too. Doctors ask you questions, sometimes.” Will pulled back and drug his old drawing supplies along the carpet. He sat back on his heels and was able to see Mike over the top of the bed. He didn’t know Will was looking. “You have to have answers.”

“What do they ask about?” Mike kept looking at his hands, unaware of Will. “Upside down stuff?”

“Sometimes.” Will shuffled back around to Mike's side of the bed. He could feel the tiniest bit of rug burn starting. “She asked me about my dad today.”

Mike looked up, almost immediately. “Can she do that?”

“Why can’t she?” Will popped the lid on the retired Tupperware, now his art bin. “I talked about it.”

“I thought you didn’t like to.” Will had never said those words which meant Mike had gathered it from just observing him. “Did you… like talking about it?”

“Not really.” Will laughed. He found a few extra crayons, but of all the wrong colors. “She had this big speech afterward about learned helplessness that I… really didn’t like.” Will tried to keep laughing.

Mike put the crayon back in the bin. “Are you okay, Will?”

“Yeah. It’s just… the same old stuff.” Will shrugged. “Sometimes it just bothers me more than other days.”

Mike bit the inside of his cheek, picking at his words carefully. “You never talk about your dad, Will.”

“Why would I?”

“Because it bothers you. You can talk about anything you want-- I… I would listen.”

“You don’t have to listen to it just because it happened to me, you know. My therapist says you don’t have to experience things with me for them to be real.”

“But I want to know.” Mike looked insulted, almost crushed and collapsed as he sat back on his hands. “That’s your dad,” he said. “And you’re my friend.”

They sat in silence for a while. Mike went back to studying a new crayon, picking at the wrapper. Will felt something forming in his throat. A bubble that was hot, thick and sticky. Not vomit, but not impending tears either.

“I don’t get why he left.” Will said. “I don’t know what happened to our family.”

“Nothing happened. Maybe he just… wasn’t good at being your dad anymore.”

“But then why? What did I do?” Will didn’t want to ask Mike, make him feel responsible for answering, but Will was desperate to ask the universe again.

“Nothing.” Mike said. “I just think he…”

“He what? My dad got tired of me? Didn’t want to raise me?”

“Maybe he actually learned how to take a hint and knew he wasn’t good enough for you and Jonathan-- or your mom.” Mike wanted to be hopeful, to be positive, so badly. He ached, his smile tight and weak. He didn't have the answers, and who was Will to put him in the position to come up with them.

“So he gave up.” Will said.

“That’s not what I meant--”

“I know. I know… That’s just how it feels.” Will shrugged. He smiled at Mike, accepting his help and his warmth. It hurt knowing that Mike was wrong, but still. Will could always pretend a little longer. Anything for Mike.

“Hey! You monsters hungry?” Steve clapped his hands together before gently tapping the door. “Jonathan’s got dinner on the table.”

The door was open. Steve didn’t have to knock. He wanted to, just to prove he wasn’t too comfortable, but he also knew Mike was over. And knocking would announce his entrance rather than letting it just be something that just was . Rather than being cool .

Awkwardly and with a lot of weird, throat-clearing fanfare, Steve opened the Byers’s front door and poked his head inside. Jonathan called him in from the kitchen without even needing to say hello, or being surprised by his walking in: In here, Steve! Dinner’s almost done .

Steve walked through the living room carefully, as if he’d disturb it. There was a tape playing softly-- some band Steve’s never heard of, but didn’t hate. He’d grown to like the way that every song played in the Byers house was always moody and melancholy. The music was always the opposite of how he felt stepping into the kitchen.

Jonathan was at the stove, stirring a pot of something that smelled delicious. He had what looked to be tomato sauce stains on the front of his shirt-- where he wrapped his hand up to open the sauce jar. Steve was able to hide his smile as he shouldered off his uniform jacket and toed off his shoes, claiming a chair at the kitchen table.

“How was work?” Jonathan didn’t stop stirring. He moved like the stove was turned all the way up and he was afraid of burning the food. He spoke that way too.

“It was fine. Not a whole lot.” Steve didn’t want to have anything seem bigger than whatever upset Jonathan-- and seemed to still be upsetting him now. “How was your day?”

“Fine. Will and Mike are in the other room.” He was checking things off his list. Steve stepped up to Jonathan and stood even with him at the stove. He was making one-pot pasta. It really did smell fantastic. Steve was so hungry, even after his lunch.

“How was… the other things in your day? Develop any good pictures?” Steve covered how stupid he sounded by placing his hand on Jonathan’s lower back.

Jonathan stopped stirring and looked at him. Steve tried to keep cool, tried not to show his motives-- his attempt to calm something he couldn’t believe he’d missed spinning out of control, even if he didn’t know what it was. “Nancy walked into the dark room today-- she’s actually the one who gave me the muffin-- and she exposed the photos to light too early. So no, actually.”

Steve really was a bad boyfriend. Even when he wasn’t one yet-- or at all.

“Okay… how was. Everything else?”

“You don’t have to ask about my day, Steve. It’s okay.” Jonathan sighed and spoke evenly. “I’m just a little tired. Really. We don’t have to do the whole… thing .”

The whole thing where Steve was explicit about how much he really cared about Jonathan and admitted he was sincerely and terrifyingly in love with Jonathan.

“I was asking because I was curious. Not out of obligation.” Steve clarified. His hand slid to rest on Jonathan’s hip. He moved closer, lips aiming to place a commitment-less kiss on his cheek.

“Steve! I said to keep it cool .” Jonathan ducked back, placing a hand on Steve’s chest. “I don’t want Will to see us.”

“Your brother?” Steve was surprised; of all people Jonathan explicitly wanted to hide from Will seemed kind and forgiving-- not that there was anything to forgive, but it was something Steve often checked for. Steve was sure that one of Dustin’s friends would be… like Steve. Or like Jonathan-- maybe. All of them seemed prepared to deal with any of their friends suddenly being different. Far more prepared than Steve ever was.

“Yes. My brother.” Jonathan snapped, banging the spoon against the edge of the pot. “I don’t want him to learn I’m not dating Nancy but instead seeing her ex-boyfriend in the same day.” he whispered.

“Wait, what? He thinks you’re with Nancy?” Steve wasn’t sure where they went wrong. They were trying to obscure the truth, not lead everyone to a different reality. “D-Do you think Mike does too?”

“I don’t know! I didn’t want to ask and seem weird.” Jonathan sighed again. He sounded tense again. “I told Will I’d tell him if I was seeing anyone… And he promised me the same.”

Steve knew not to press the obvious question-- well are you seeing someone, Jonathan? -- but also didn’t want to touch the obvious implication that Will needed to share a secret with Jonathan. Instead, he placed his hands into his pockets and turned to lean against the counter.

“Dinner smells really good, Byers.” There was another name that began with “B” that Steve wasn’t allowed to use, but always wanted to. Byers Byers Byers. Baby baby baby. “Thank you, again, for cooking for me-- for us.”

“You think I’m going to let you starve?” His stirring slowed; the stove cooled down. He nudged Steve’s arm with the spoon. “You coming home late and trying to cook? You mean half-drinking a beer and falling asleep face down on your bed in your uniform, half unbuttoned.”

“You picture that often, Byers?” Steve lifted an eyebrow. “Hm?”

“Don’t flatter yourself.” Jonathan’s lips quirked into a smile again. “But, if you’d like a beer, I think there’s one in the fridge. No one in the house is going to touch it.”

“I can go ask Will if he wants it.”

“Shut up-- do you want it or not?”

“No.” Steve didn’t like drinking when they were together. He’d never really heard the full story about where Mr. Byers went, but he had a father of his own to make those blank spaces fill pretty fast. “But thanks. Don’t want the habit of needing a beer to forget how boring my job is.”

“I thought you liked your job?” Jonathan took a piece of pasta out of the pot and held it out for Steve to test.

He chewed and answered. “I do! It’s nice to have normal hours-- and I’m happy to help have replacements as Flo gets ready to retire but… I don’t know. Sometimes it feels boring .”

“Would you rather be chasing down a four-legged monster without a face?” Jonathan let out a bubble of genuine laughter, playfully glaring at Steve.

“Frankly, yes! At least we’d all have something to do. I feel like I don’t see everyone anymore.”

“Then throw a party. Don’t wish for anything bad to happen.” Jonathan said firmly. “Let the record show my brother is a very strange magnet for all this… weird shit.”

“You’re right, I’m sorry.” Steve said solemnly. He put his hand on Jonathan’s forearm. “I wish we were all safely doing something exciting. It felt nice to be needed, even if no one knew it was us.”

Jonathan put the spoon down on the counter and pivoted to be looking only at Steve. There was something resting just on the tip of his tongue, just under the surface of their conversation. It would’ve been a digression-- Steve could tell by Jonathan’s tense and furrowed brow-- but he would’ve listened.

“Jonathan?” Steve squeezed his arm, lifting his eyebrows. “What is it?”

“I--” He clenched his jaw, trying to swallow his words. “I think--” Steve knew there was no end to Jonathan’s sentence; merely starting it meant there was trust between them. A careful admission through omission. Steve knew Jonathan was looking at his shoes and wouldn’t be seen as he took in the secret flinches of Jonathan’s face. The crinkle by his left eye, the twitch of his mouth, double blinking--

They both jumped apart as the phone started ringing, practically shaking on the wall. Jonathan stepped away from Steve and left everything unsaid. Again.

Jonathan tucked the phone between his ear and shoulder as he turned to lean against the wall.

“Hello? This is--” His face changed sharply, his eyebrows furrowing. “I told you to stop bothering us. You’re lucky she’s not here to pick up the phone-- I don’t care !” Jonathan cleared his throat and looked at Steve in a flash of uncertainty and anxiety. “I have the police here right now and if you don’t stop calling me I will send them to your house-- it’s not a threat if you’re the one bothering us. Stop. Calling.” He slammed the phone down and braced his weight against the wall with his other hand.

“Am I considered ‘the police’ now?” Steve said lightly. It was his way of letting Jonathan know he was listening, but not asking direct questions. “I’m not even allowed to have a badge.”

“It counts.” Jonathan said, letting his arms fall down by his sides. Steve stepped over and kept stirring dinner.

“Who was that?”

“No one. Can you go get the boys in the other room? Dinner’s ready.” Jonathan pushed Steve aside to hunch over the stove again.

“Sure.” Steve nodded, knowing he wasn’t seen. “Hey! You monsters hungry? Jonathan’s got dinner on the table.”

Dinner felt weird.

Will couldn’t help but feel like he and Mike had gotten into a fight. Talking about his dad made anything feel sticky, feel like it was violent or volatile. A second from snapping or tearing off, bouncing around the walls and echoing in Will's body. A small conversation between friends-- actually a little understanding between best friends-- felt like it had been a screaming match, all because it was cut off. There was no apology from Will. He didn't have the chance to tie it all up with an I’m sorry, I’m really sorry, forget I said anything.

His plea sat heavy on his tongue as he talked to Steve-- who had arrived without notice-- and let Mike make him laugh so hard he nearly shot water out his nose. Will let it all happen under the tremor, the ache, of an apology. And maybe, if he was the best brother and friend he should’ve been, no problems or therapy, it would be enough of an apology.

He wasn't hungry and only ate half his serving of pasta, even though it was usually his favorite of Jonathan's recipes. He did apologize for that though, and it felt right to say aloud. Even if it was misdirected and no one heard it.

I'm sorry. I'm sorry I'm so so sorry. Please come back--

Mike wasn’t tired, Will knew, but he still wanted to go to bed right after their horror movie ended. It was clear Mike hadn't been paying attention to the movie; the entire plot was that dreams were a new horror-scape for monsters to get teenagers. It wasn't too scary to Will; it just felt familiar. The villain looked different, more human, but Will knew what it felt like to dream while wide awake. To watch and be unable to do anything but scratch at the surface--

Convincing Will to get ready for bed, Mike said they’d have all day in the morning. He said that maybe he could convince his mom to let him stay over again if they don’t get all their fun in. Will knew Mike's mom probably would, if only because she felt bad for Will. But he would take the pity. A sleepover wasn't the worst thing to get from pity.

Will could still hear Mike fidgeting in his sleeping bag. He was rubbing his feet together like a cricket and twisting his wristwatch. The plastic scratched the sheer material of his sleeping bag rhythmically: back and forth. back and forth. backandforthbackandforth. It was like Mike was counting the ticks of his silent digital watch. Will began to play with his own watch, keeping it on in bed only because he'd noticed Mike hadn't removed it when they were brushing their teeth that night; apparently the watch was too good to part with.

Time though, was something Will wished he could separate himself from. He could hear the seconds scraping by now. Every moment he kept his friend awake and bored because Will was too weak or (rather and) too everything to stay up late again.

Therapy hadn’t even been that bad. Not really. Maybe it could be exhausting but it didn’t count because Will sat in the same spot for an hour. It wasn’t real work. It shouldn’t have counted. Will should’ve been able to hang out with his friend until sunrise, getting in trouble with his mom for being up so late. He should’ve still been a stupid, carefree kid, not a by-gone troubled teenager.

Maybe his dad had seen that from the beginning. Will's dad was always gambling, betting on baseball games he had these incredible "feelings" on. Sometimes he was wrong, but when he was right it was an amazing prediction; having the foresight no one else had. And maybe that was what it was, leaving them when he did. Maybe he saw Will wouldn’t be the second son he wanted after all. Maybe he knew of all the damage that would be done to him, the damage he would cause. Probably saw it from miles-- years-- away. And he left without a single warning to any of it.

What if his father had known? Could've known where he was when he came back into town two years ago? Not gone forever just in the lights. Just out of reach, just through the wall, Dad. What if he had known, been able to see, able to know, but wanted to leave Will Down there being possessed and enveloped and consumed and--

Will felt a chill scurry down his back. The feeling almost had legs. Too many. He felt ice cold, his body going blank-- not numb, but blank -- for a second. He couldn’t feel his fingers, but could still feel every inch of his body, suddenly pulsing and seizing.

"Will?" Mike asked, sitting up. He gripped the end of the bed and pulled his face closer to Will's. He squinted in the darkness, feeling for Will’s hand. Will couldn’t answer, his jaw tense and breath rattling out of him. "Will, what’s wrong?"

After a (thankfully) non-awkward dinner, Steve and Jonathan washed all the dishes and let the boys watch whatever movie they wanted. Steve didn’t pay attention to what tape he put in the VRC. He was too busy thinking about the hands hidden in the warm soapy water in the kitchen sink. Neither Mike nor Will seemed too bothered by the disgusting amount of blood or the scary blade man on the TV. He felt no regret letting them go to bed right after the credits rolled. Jonathan had looked exhausted after putting the last dish away, and dozed off during the climax of the movie-- even slept through the high-pitched screaming.

They waited for the sound of Will’s door closing over before they got into bed.

Jonathan flopped onto his back, a pillow resting between his chest and crossed arms. Steve laid on his side, bracing his weight on his elbow. He poked at Jonathan's furrowed eyebrow lightly.

"What's the problem, Byers?"

"Nothing."

"You are not a really great liar, you do know that right?" That and Steve could still hear Robin's blasé recounting of Jonathan's distress. Yeah. Crying, sniffling, snot-- the whole nine, man.

Jonathan sighed and turned to look at Steve. He hated being called out. "It's about Will."

"What's wrong with Will? He seemed alright at dinner."

"Yeah, but," Another sigh. "Steve, I think my brother’s gay."

Steve's first response was swallowed and he nodded. "Okay. Okay. And, um, what's the issue with that?" He adjusted himself on the bed, hoping there was more subtlety in that.

"I can't talk to him about it. I mean," Jonathan smiled and reached to touch his face. "This is a very different thing than being fourteen and confused."

"Who says he's confused?"

"I don't mean with himself-- the rest of the world is so confusing, Steve. You see the news... I can't talk to him. I didn't grow up like that. And being with you is... Different. We dated girls before. Will... I don't know. I think he knows already."

"You think he's got feelings for--"

"Oh absolutely." Jonathan nodded, closing his eyes. "Oh, I'm so glad it's not just me who sees it."

"Hopefully Wheeler does too."

"Hey, keep your voice down, he's only a few rooms over ."

"Sorry. Sorry. Me and my big mouth " Steve rested his head on Jonathan's shoulder. "Shut me up, maybe."

"Not until my mom gets back." Jonathan said, rolling up onto his side too. "If I catch her when she comes in the door, she won't come into my room to say good night. I can't have you distracting me until then."

"Your mom is on a date. She's an adult and so are you." Steve kissed Jonathan's shoulder. "You are a working man who just finished a long day at work-- I think you can cuddle up with your boyf--" Steve choked on his own stupidity, feeling his face go red and charisma die on impact. "With me."

"I will. Once my mom is back." Jonathan kissed Steve, as if a parting promise. Only to backtrack on his words immediately. He tucked Steve’s hair back behind his ear, his hands trying not to hold his face. “No-- no . Steve, not until my mom gets back.”

“I can keep an ear out--” As Steve spoke, the power in his bedside lamp dimmed. The power hummed quietly before flickering back up. Jonathan tensed and pushed himself up in bed.

“Did you see that?”

“Yeah, it was just the light, Byers. It’s windy out tonight, maybe a tree brushed a powerline.” Steve pushed Jonathan back down to his pillow-- and back into his own skin again. “It’s nothing . What if I turn out the light? Your mom won’t even see us in here.”

“No. No, I have to wait for her.”

“What if she doesn’t come back?”

“What!” Jonathan jerked upright again.

“I meant what if she’s at Hopper’s or something?” Steve shrugged. “She’s an adult.”

“Steve, that’s my mom .” Jonathan hissed, swatting at the hand resting on his shoulder.

“I meant because she drove there on her own. If she had some wine, maybe she stayed somewhere and is being a smart, responsible parent.” Steve soothed. “Something you don’t have to be right now. You’re not Will’s parent and you aren’t your own. Lay down, will you?”

Jonathan was reluctant, but let Steve ease him back down again. He pulled the pillow tighter to his chest and sighed, his crossed arms sinking deeper. Steve laid down beside him, nose gently touching the end of his shoulder. As he breathed, his short exhales tickled Jonathan’s skin and got him giggling. It was Steve’s secret trick; something that always worked because Jonathan didn’t know it was a pattern-- didn’t know he was ticklish.

“Sorry I was weird today.” Jonathan said suddenly. He wasn’t even grinning.

“What?” They didn’t apologize. There was no need. “You’re worried about stuff-- it’s okay.”

“No, I like our dinners. And I was so uptight. I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

“Okay.” Steve didn’t know what to do with the sentiment. “Apology accepted?”

Jonathan sighed again, blowing it out slowly between his pressed lips. “Lonnie called today.”

“L- your dad ? Is that who was on the phone?” Steve wasn’t sure what came over him-- or his body-- as he placed an arm over Jonathan’s waist and pulled them together. There was something unspokenly intimate talking about abusive fathers while being nearly sutured together in bed, but Steve pretended he was just having problems hearing Jonathan correctly.

“Yeah.” Jonathan turned, his nose brushing Steve’s. “Said he wants custody of Will. He doesn’t trust Mom, he said.”

“How is he-- He can’t do that.”

“He’s going to try. I don't know where it came from. He still thinks he can win a case because the news says Will just disappeared into the woods . Like he ran away from us or something.”

“Everyone knows that’s not true.”

“A court might not.” Jonathan sighed, ducking his head down. Steve resisted lifting his chin to hook it over Jonathan’s head, nestling him into his neck. He laid still, listening to his breathing and the gentle creaking of the house--

Jonathan's door was thrown open, both men sitting up quickly, ready to defend themselves and their actions. It was Mike, in his pajamas with his hair sticking out in wild curls. Will stood just behind him in the hallway looking far more awake. Stilted and untousled.

"Mike?"

"Jonathan, quick!"

"What is it?" Jonathan swung his legs around and motioned both boys to come in. "Will?" Mike pushed him into the center of the door frame, although he remained in the hallway, in the light. Will’s hand grabbed at the back of his neck. His face was blank and his eyes were distant.

"Something's wrong." Will said slowly, blinking to focus. "I feel him."

"Feel who?" Jonathan kneeled in front of Will, holding his shoulders. "Feel who, Will?"

"Dad."

#stonathan #jonathan byers x steve harrington #byeler #will byers x mike wheeler #byler #finally reposting in a way that isn't a random post with a link alksdja #prompts #my fics

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datawyrms · 3 years

Text

Half a Decade Late

Valerie was finally promoted to the main headquarters of the Guys in White. There she finally comes face to face with Phantom, who disappeared five years ago, locked in a cell. For Phic Phight 2021, @lexosaurus' prompt!

Nothing proved ’harder workers get ahead’ was only a capitalist lie than the absolute hassle getting promotions within the GIW. Of course she’d gone right to them for employment, it was the only organization large enough to actually pay people that took her resume of ghost hunting seriously. She had experience, actual knowledge and even her own gear but had still spent years getting jerked around to various small operations, basically just using her to train all their useless recruits while still just considering her a ‘fellow’ field agent. It wasn’t like she had the option to quit in protest, no one else was in the market for ghost hunters. As far as most people knew ‘ghost intelligence’ was just a joke cover story that the agents were very attached to. They didn’t want any more Amity Parks, so if she wanted to live somewhere new and still do her job...these guys were it. She’d been very clear, she wanted to be in the main office, where everything happened. That didn’t stop them from constantly assigning her literally anywhere but the actual headquarters. Maybe they finally ran out of other places, she still half expected to get stopped at the door and be told about a new field mission they absolutely needed her on immediately. It didn’t happen. Valerie Grey finally got to clock in as an Ecto Containment Officer at the main branch. Where they kept the strongest creatures, developed the new anti-ghost equipment and did more than just splattering a ghost down to nothing. Sure, she liked a good ghost obliterating, but it got boring after a while. There were only so many ways a ghost could beg for it’s useless afterlife before it became white noise. It didn’t stop any new ones from showing up, or tell her anything new. Just got rid of one pest, permanently. That wouldn’t help explain some ghosts, the powerful ones that showed up again and again. It wouldn’t explain the one that stopped showing up either. There was no way that life ruining ghost just got ‘bored’ and vanished without notice. It was still out there, plotting something. She just knew it in her bones. She had to be ready for it. There were traces of that ghost, hints of his ectosignature that she came across in the field, he was still out there. The GIW was just a means to an end, she didn’t trust them to be ready alone.

Sterile corridors and simplistic signs were expected, but even the break area was doing its best impression of a frozen tundra. Fantastic for morale? Probably not. Made the coffee pot easy to spot, at least. Even if she preferred to avoid the stuff in uniform. It stained too easily, and just made her wish for her red battle suit. She took a cup to at least have an excuse for her scoping out the place, she could pass it off to someone once she got to the containment area. A quick double check that everything was in place at the mirror before heading right back out to the winding halls. She wasn’t going to be late, she didn’t have time for that. Maybe a red tie was against protocol, but no one had been stupid enough to bother her about it yet. Judging from the deferential nods from her latest coworkers, that wouldn’t be changing. No one who worked here couldn’t know who she was. The only Ghost Hunter who got out of Amity Park without getting corrupted by the ectoplasmic monsters. It was a shame, Jack and Maddie Fenton used to be a serious force for humanity. Five years ago they suddenly flipped the script, denouncing their work and calling for peace with unreasonable fiends. Their daughter Jazz likely had something to do with it, but Valerie had her own theories. Danny, her friend and once boyfriend had gone missing around that time. Leverage to ensure the Fenton’s ‘good behaviour?’ The whole thing reeked of ghosts. To think she might have gone the same way. Back then she was actually listening to the pest, starting to really consider them a ‘good’ ghost. Like that was actually possible, when he’d just been playing to emotion and her own desire to give up in fighting a dangerous foe over and over. So much for that. That monster showed it’s true colours, sure enough. Something the GIW never bothered to look into, even as she wrote report after report about the incident, how unlikely it was for the Fentons of all people to change that drastically without constant possession. Not worth the resources, even when it was easy to see what tech was built on the foundations the couple had laid. They were throwing away so much to focus on little outbreaks of ghosts instead of making more of a lasting change. Stupid. That was what the funding was ‘meant’ to go towards, as if helping the Fentons would be less productive than making a slightly different ectogun.

She almost hoped there would be a problem, just to prove this is where she should have always been.Even if it seemed distinctly unlikely. She had to swipe to get into the lab, then yet again to actually get to the cells. Or the ‘vault’, as if the higher ups wanted to pretend the creatures in there were inert materials instead of cunning and dangerous beings. Even though they had someone posted at each door, and someone on guard inside as well, herself today. To get acquainted with the place mostly, she had more than enough training on ‘proper handling’ procedures.

“Hey, you can swap with me today, if you want.”

Valerie blinked, eyebrow already raised at the posted guard’s suggestion. “I can handle watching caged ghosts.”

They had the sense to look embarrassed, taking their hand away from the oversized ectogun to loosen their tie- which was tied rather poorly now that she got a better look at it. “I’m sure you can, it’s just, well.” They wouldn’t stop fidgeting with their tie now, eyes checking that no one was really paying attention to the guards. “H0G02 is awake today. No one likes those days.”

“Then all the more reason to get used to it early.” She didn’t give them time to sputter another excuse, swiping her card and striding past without another look. As if people should be worried about a captive ghost being awake. Maybe some of the people here never got a spine before joining up.

It wasn’t as cold as she expected it to be. Or as dark. It was actually brighter, thanks to the extra row of fluorescent lights. On some level she expected the room to reflect the monsters kept here, a shadowy icebox of a space. Of course it wasn’t. These were defeated creatures under human control, of course their cages would be bright and clean, the air warmed for human comfort. The ghosts might not like it, but why care what they wanted? It wasn’t like there were many to begin with, mostly green oversized vermin with blank red eyes. Most had the sense to cower back as she walked past, but a fair few didn’t even twitch. Calling a ghost of all things lifeless was foolish, but it was the only word coming to mind...she had to focus. She didn’t pity these things. Why so many creatures though? The real dangerous ones, the most monstrous ones were the ones that could play human, the ones that had conniving minds that only worked to cause destruction and terror. These were just feral things, annoying but hardly more impressive than a coyote when you knew what to do. Half of them she’d barely rate above ‘feral cat’. A light near the back flickered. Strange. When it flickered a second time she was already releasing her helmet to pull it on. Not nearly as easy as just willing it on, but at least she could carry it in a pocket without needing to rely on some ghost’s power. Three steps and her gun was ready, not that she expected to need it. Really, she worked on autopilot, legs still moving as she stared at the largest glass cage at the back of the room. Or more accurately, at what was in it.

“Oh, newbie. ‘Sup.” The ghost rasped out, blank green eyes watching the ghost hunter. A teenaged boy with a shock of white hair, a black jumpsuit, but the voice of a seventy year old chain smoker. Just sitting in a painfully bright cell, watching. Not exactly as she remembered him, but close enough.

“You.” The disgust was easy to voice, even as her brain struggled to catch up. He was here? Looking practically exactly as he had when she was still a soft hearted freelancer?

He only gave a sputtering laugh at the aggression. “Me? You’re not that mad about the light, are you? I’m bored, Tie.”

“What are you doing here?” That wasn’t the important question really, she should be more concerned that he apparently was able to manipulate light fixtures from his cell...but she’d been hunting after this ghost for five years. Protocol could go shove itself up the director’s ass.

“Same thing I do every day Tie, being some government property!” His laugh was wrong, not from amusement like she remembered. A desperate cackle that didn’t fool anyone. “You new enough to still have your soul in there?”

“Answer the question, Phantom.”

The smirk slid off the ghost’s face. “Wh’ad you call me? Like I’m only calling you Tie cus the red sticks out, I can call you Shooty if you don’t like it, newbie.”

The response made her insides run cold. It had to be Phantom, and the terrible sense of humour was just like him- but the ghost wasn’t quite right. What was this? It couldn’t be some copy of the ghost kid, could it? “I called you by your name, ghost.”

“Never heard of em.” The ghost crossed his legs and looked away, apparently bored of the person holding a weapon. “What day is it?”

Surely he was playing around. “What do you think your name is, then?”

He didn’t take his attention off the ceiling, looking more bored than anything.“Day first, Tie. Gotta know how much of a head start I’ve got.”

“Like you’re in any position to bargain.”

“Hm? Whatcha gonna do Tie? Let me be unconscious for a few hours? Scary. Day first.”

There was the Phantom she knew, snide and sarcastic when he really had no business being so. “I could do worse than that.”

“Doubt it. You gun grunts gotta listen to the freaks out there, remember?” His shoulders shook with a silent laughter, but it looked more like spasms. “No more mishandling the goods, yeah? Day Tie, comeonnnnnn”

Since when was he so interested in the calendar? Not to mention how weird it was how he kept referring to himself...and pretending he didn’t know his name. “It’s Monday.”

That got his attention, the casual rocking halting as he looked at her again, disturbingly still. “Monday, really?”

“Lying is your thing, not mine.”

He grinned. “I like you Tie, so you’ll probably be fired in like a week. Maybe it’s the red.” The tension left the ghost completely, she hadn’t even noticed how stiffly he’d been sitting until his spine relaxed as his elbows rested on his legs. “Pretty sure I’m H0G02. Least that’s what all your creeps call me.”

There was no way Phantom of all ghosts would call himself ‘H0G02’. He had to be a mimic of some sort, a ghost that modelled himself on the once well known Amity Park menace. “You like me because I told you it was Monday? Seriously?”

“I like the Mondays more than you, if that helps.”

“Not particularly.”

“Sounds like a you problem.” He was watching her again, more curious than anything. She shouldn’t be glad to see a spark of something in those eyes, but he was far less creepy this way.

“What’s so great about Monday? You’re a ghost.” She didn’t really care. She should be asking important questions. She was just...playing along to see if it really was Phantom. That didn’t stop her for being grateful for the helmet.

“Monday is the farthest day away from Friday.”

“Wouldn’t that be Saturday?”

“It hasn’t been Saturday or Sunday for...like four years? Those days don’t exist, I think you humans made ‘em up to prank me.” Phantom shrugged, sounding completely serious. Not even a hint of amusement or a grin. “Pretty good one, all you new guys keep it up.”

He was going to be completely useless if he kept saying nonsense. How could he be useful in finding out what happened to the Fenton’s son if he couldn’t even talk about the days of the week sensibly? “Fine, what’s so bad about Friday then.”

“Ohhhhh, you’re really new, Tie.” the ghost flopped onto his side, bored of sitting up apparently. “You know, the day they keep me around for? That day.” He wasn’t quite still, his right shoulder moving very, very carefully. Hiding something.

She didn’t have the patience for this.“What are you hiding there.”

“Tie has good eyes. Gotta remember that.” Phantom muttered, getting onto his back, a blue shard of ice melting off his arm.

“You don’t really think that some ice would help you out of there?”

“Out?” He looked mystified by the suggestion, but that could more be seeing his face upside down. “That glass doesn’t break for anything, I should know.”

Which didn’t explain why he’d been trying to hide the fact he’d made ice at all. He knew it too, but apparently playing stupid was still one of his favourite tactics. “Knock it off and just answer me.”

Phantom’s frown didn’t change, green eyes staring intently at her helmet as if hoping to see through it. “I could show you why?”

It didn’t sound like a threat. “Sure, why not. It’s gonna be a long day.” If it was? Then she’d show him that she wasn’t someone he could mess with.

Ice wrapped itself around the ghost’s lower arm alarmingly quick, a wickedly sharp blade of ice with serrated teeth jutting from the scrawny arm at an awkward angle. It was practised, something this ghost must have done often in all the time he’d been gone from her life. Yet it was so different from how Phantom usually chose to fight. That was a weapon to tear and maim, not to shock, stun or bruise. It looked wrong on him. The idea that this ghost wasn’t Phantom at all only grew more credible with that thing on his arm, even if ice powers were to be expected. His eyes flicked back to green, still fixated on her as he lifted the arm and stabbed down hard. Right into his other arm. Didn’t even blink.

“What are you doing!” She couldn’t remember the last time Phantom had ever been frightening on some primal level. This- with the disturbing snap of bone as the edges of the blade caught and tore made her hair stand on end. “Stop that, Phantom. What’s wrong with you!?”

“Cancelling Friday.” Phantom was laughing as the blade melted away into the pool of green rapidly spreading from his self inflicted wound. “I said you’d probably get fired Tie.”

“Forget Friday you idiot, cover the wound so you stop splattering everywhere!” He was just a ghost-a ghost messing with her. A ghost she’d fought with and had heard scream in pain. This...thing wasn’t him. Her heart didn’t care what her mind thought, insisting he needed help.

The ghost sat up, his left arm holding on by a shred of his suit before splattering into the puddle, but the left behind stump stopped dripping almost as quickly as he’d lost the limb. “Aw. Maybe Tie does have some soul left. You actually sound worried.”

“Of course I am! You slashed your arm off!”

“So?”

He didn’t seem to be in pain. If it wasn’t for the mess of green and the lack of a limb, she’d almost say she imagined it. Why did she care? “You wouldn’t do this sort of thing.”

“Uh. Yes I would? You just saw me do it. I’m down for an encore.”

The idea just made her feel ill. “Don’t.” Did she want this to be Phantom or not? “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Well I’m down an arm. So the coats are going to be very whiny about how much ectoplasm they can get out of me.”

“You must have felt that.”

“Sure. Isn’t nearly as bad as when they start ripping as much ectoplasm as they can out of you. Every single Friday.” He actually rolled his eyes, like she should just know this.

Why did they bother keeping Phantom around if they just wanted ectoplasm? He might be strong, but no ghost had limitless amounts. They’d just fall apart and stop existing. That’s why the weakest ones never even left the Ghost Zone, they couldn’t survive without constantly being around the stuff! “What makes you so special then? Not your attitude.”

“I’m just lucky enough to make my own ectoplasm. Who knew food was easier to get then high grade ectoplasm? Not me.” His remaining arm pointed to her weapon, his smile stretching. “Bet ya your weapon’s fully powered from Fridays. Yours and every other thing they use in this hellhole.”

“Ghosts can’t do that.” The lie was absurd. It went against everything they knew about ghosts, even before food entered the equation.

“Y’know, Tie. I think I knew a ghost hunter that wore red once.” the ghost’s eyes went unfocused, unmoving as he looked listlessly into space. “It’s a good colour.”

“You knew me. Quit fooling around with this not remembering crap.” Valerie threw her helmet aside, no longer caring. She had to know who this ghost really was. She had to know if everything he was blathering about was a lie. So what if it wasn’t ‘safe’.

His eyes didn’t change. “Y’know how hard it is to remake a brain? Cut me some slack Tie…”

“I mean it. Look at me Phantom. If you’re the ghost I know, you can stop pretending to be something else.”

“You lose the details. Arms and legs are easy. The brain though? Way too hard.” He kept rambling to himself, not reacting even as she put a hand to the glass to get his attention. “Y’know how many times they’ve cut it open? I don’t. I lose track after like. Eleven. Maybe. Pointy Shoe said my best was fifteen but I sure don’t remember that.”

She wanted him to just stop talking. She wanted this ghost to be some strange creature she didn’t know. To not have the only possible link to someone long lost a shattered husk. “Phantom. Do you remember the hunter in red’s name?”

He finally blinked. “I’m not this Phantom guy, Tie.”

“Okay, whatever, forget that part. The ghost hunter in red, what do you remember?” She insisted, knocking again in hopes it would keep the ghost’s focus.

“Wish I’d told em something.” he held up his gloved hand as she opened her mouth to speak. “Don’t remember what that something was, don’t ask.”

So he was Phantom? He couldn’t be. That was so non-specific it could be anything. “You never explained how you’re the only ghost that can make their own ectoplasm.”

“It’s in my name Tie! Come on. Thought you guys were smart or whatever.” He did a very awkward one armed attempt at crossing it, eyebrow raised. “The H? The feeding a ghost food thing?”

She didn’t really get the whole naming scheme they used here. The fact it mattered wasn’t making her gut unclench either. “What about the H?

“Hybrid? Might have been Human. That might have been a joke.”

Valarie’s mouth was drier than any desert when he said it that easily, that casualty while kicking his own arm aside. “You’re saying you aren’t all ghost.”

“Yup. Not yet! Trust me, I’ve tried,” the bubbly high pitched laugher clawed out of the ghost at that. “I tried so much. Guess it’s another thing I’m a failure at, eh Tie?”

Something told her not to ask. She had to know. Five years she waited, five years apparently knocked Phantom clear from reality.“Does Danny Fenton mean anything to you?”

He just laughed harder at the question. “Really Tie?”

“Yes, really.”

“That’s the name I scream at em. Don’t know why. Feels good though.”

“Is it your name?” Had he had contact with Danny? Been part of whatever made him go missing from everyone’s lives? He couldn’t be, there was no way.

“They get reallllll angry when I say it is.”

There was no way the GIW had a human captive for five years. There was no way Phantom could be the Danny she knew. The ghost was just lying. He had to be, she desperately needed him to be. “Were you fused with a human or something? Got stuck when possessing someone?”

“Nah. Been like this before I got here, pretty sure. You can check your fancy gear though. There’s some non-ghost DNA in it. Lucky lucky me,” he lay back down in the mess of ectoplasm, ignoring how it clung to his hair. “Thanks for the Friday off! I hate those.”

There was no reason to need air. Talking to a ghost she didn’t even like shouldn’t make her feel like she was being crushed under a boulder. Panting for air, outside the room would make her look pathetic and weak, but she needed the space, needed to be away from that...mockery of a ghost.

“He does that to everyone. He’ll repeat the whole thing in a week or so, but he’s a really good copy the first time you see it.” The guard gave a comforting word, apparently unsurprised by her sudden unscheduled departure.

Oh, there would be no ‘next time.’ Not if he was right about her weapon. But she nodded instead, letting her ‘coworker’ think she was just overwhelmed. Even if all she could think of was how many ways this place would burn if that ghost- that thing had been a human once. She was good at telling when ghosts lied. Phantom didn’t sound like he had. No matter how much she tried to convince herself he did.

#Danny Phantom #phic phight #phic fight 2021 #valerie gray #how obvious is the angst #100%#but maybe in a different way then usual?#the comfort is only the FLAMES OF POSSIBLE REVENGE

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avengerscompound · 3 years

Text

Small Gods: Patience - 2

Patience: A Black Widow Fanfic

Patience Masterlist | More Small Gods PREVIOUS //

Buy me a ☕ Character Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x F!Reader

Rating: E

Word Count: 1885

Warnings: Language

Synopsis: Every day Natasha prays for more patience to deal with a litany of things from waiting for her target to make a move - to not yelling at Clint for putting empty milk containers back in the fridge.

When her prayers are answered, Natasha finds that having patience is easy, holding on to it is a little harder.

Chapter 2

Natasha sat in the dark and noisy bar waiting for you to show up. She’d chosen a booth up the back and she’d been trying to not attract any unwanted attention. You were late. She should have expected that given who you were. Still, as she sat waiting, she started to wonder what the hell she was doing. It was bad enough that she had to sit patiently waiting for criminals to reveal themselves for her job, did she really want to intentionally cause herself this kind of irritation?

She finished her beer and looked over to the bar, debating with herself whether she should get up and get another drink. You were leaning on a bar stool, one foot propped up on the crossbar, and leaning forward as you spoke to the bartender. He went to fix your drink, a flirtatious smile on his face, and you turned to Natasha and winked at her.

The frustration Natasha felt was almost overwhelming. In just about any other circumstance she’d storm off. She was not one to be kept waiting, and she definitely wasn’t one for playing these kinds of games. Well, at least not from the position she was in now - she’d certainly been the one flirting with the bartender while her date waited for her before. The question of who or what you were was too great though, so she stayed put - waiting for an answer.

When the bartender served you your drinks you brought them over with a number for the table and slid into the booth beside Natasha. “Waiting long?” You asked as you pushed one of the drinks over to her. She knew what it was even before she smelt the coffee liqueur and she rolled her eyes.

“You know I have,” she said. “And I don’t appreciate it when people order my drinks without checking with me first.”

“Oh come on,” you teased. “It’s a Black Russian. At least appreciate the pun.”

She shook her head and lifted the glass, taking a sip. It was annoying that she didn’t actually hate the cocktail because it was a joke she’d had repeated on her more times than she could count. “You’re really…” She started and cut herself off.

“What?” You laughed. “Am I testing your patience?”

Natasha gave you a look that would normally level a man, but it just made you laugh harder. The knife she kept tucked in her boot was becoming very tempting.

“I ordered some starters. Just one of those sample plates. I wasn’t sure if we were eating, or going somewhere else to eat. Or just drinking. Or you just wanted to give me the third degree,” you babbled. “I’m hungry though. So I needed the starters.”

“Who are you?” Natasha snapped, cutting you off.

“I already told you,” you said, taking a sip of your cocktail.

“But what does that mean exactly?” Natasha asked. “How can you be patience?”

“Yeah, I suppose that’s not fair. I’m not actually patience. I just wield it. Just as Thor wields a storm,” you explained.

“Then why do I want to strangle you so badly right now?” Natasha asked.

You laughed again, this time nearly spitting your drink out on her. “I like it better when people beg me,” you said, sitting forward in your seat a little. “Besides - you’re still here aren’t you?”

“Barely,” Natasha snarked.

You laughed and held out your hand, palm up to her. “Oh, you want the part where you don’t feel annoyed, huh?”

Natasha looked at your hand for a moment, debating with herself whether she should take it. Slowly she lifted her hand and placed it in yours. You closed your fingers and pressed down softly on the back of her hand. “Close your eyes,” you said. Natasha narrowed her eyes at you before closing them. “Deep breath in, and then out again.”

Natasha did as she was instructed, first taking a deep breath in, and slowly releasing it. It was something people always told her to do, and while it often helped to focus her mind and still her nerves, it had never quite relaxed her the way it did right now. It was like all the anger and annoyance she had about having to wait and not knowing what was going on, just melted away.

Her fingers linked with yours reflexively and she opened her eyes. “So you’re a god?” She asked.

You shrugged. “I guess that’s what you’d call me. But I was never really worshipped like a lot of the others. People always took me for granted.”

“How old are you?” Natasha asked. It was hard to believe you were a god, not looking the way you did. Yes, she knew her very own deities who could pass for men in their thirties, and yes, she looked a lot younger than her actual years - you were different. You fit into the world in the way Thor or Steve struggled with. You drew just enough attention to be considered cool, but not enough to be considered out of place.

You shrugged. “I don’t really know.” You took a sip of your drink while you considered the question. “Time is tricky. The further you are from when something started the harder it is to hold on to. Sometimes I feel like I remember a time before man, but then… that … consciousness doesn’t feel familiar.”

Natasha blinked at you in disbelief. Thor had an age. He claimed it was fifteen hundred years old, which didn’t make a lot of sense as the stories that featured him predated that, but at least it gave a wheelhouse for the length of time he’d existed. Maybe three thousand and fifteen hundred just felt the same when you were that old, or perhaps an Asgardian year just lasted twice as long as an Earth one. You on the other hand were talking about true immortality. A being that predated human evolution.

“How… how… how?” Natasha stammered, gesturing to you. “How do you look like that and speak like you do when Thor speaks like he just stepped out of ye olde England. And … how do you look like us if you were here before us?”

You downed the last of your drink. “Asgardians live in a bubble world of their own. Their technology is stuck in a point that is both somehow advanced to ours and behind ours all at once. I change because I live here, where everyone’s life spans are tiny and if I don’t keep up people accuse me of witchcraft and try to burn me at the stake. I can’t answer the other part. I don’t remember not existing, but I don’t remember when I started existing either. I just… am. I know I’ve changed over time. But I don’t know how or why. All I know for sure is that I can patiently wait it out and that if I want, I can grant that ability to other people too.”

The waiter came over, put your appetizers on your table, and took the empty bottle and glasses away. Natasha looked at the bar longingly. “I think I need another drink.”

“Go on,” you said. “I can wait.”

“Can I get you something?” She asked.

You took a jalapeño popper and turned it around in your hand. “Yes, please. An orgasm.” Natasha looked at you deadpan and you bit back a laugh. “Over ice please.”

Natasha shook her head and approached the bar. She ordered herself another beer and gave the bartender a look that dared him to make any kind of remark about the cocktail you’d asked for. As he poured the drinks, she looked over the food menu, trying to decide what she was actually doing here. She wished Thor was on Earth so she could run things by him. She was interested in this whole god thing, but she was more interested in why you’d come to her.

You had been flirting. Natasha could pick up even the most subtle of flirtations, it was what she’d been trained for, and the cocktail order had been as far from subtle as you could get. You weren’t only flirting though, and that was where Natasha was getting stuck. You didn’t seem to want help with anything, and if you did, you were living up to your powers by dragging it out. What had attracted you to her?

The bartender put the drinks in front of her as a couple of people at the other end of the bar started yelling to get his attention. “Did you want to order food?” he asked in a flustered tone.

Natasha shook her head and put some cash on the bar in front of him. “Keep the change,” she said, and head back to you.

“Can I ask you a question?” She said.

“That’s why I’m here,” you answered, taking your drink from her.

“If you can grant patience to people, why don’t you?” Natasha asked. “I mean, look around, there are people at the bar yelling to get served. The women in the line to the bathroom look like they’re going to explode, and those men at that table are one more disagreement away from starting a bar fight.”

You let out a huff. “Whatever it is I am, I need people to pray to me - I guess that’s right. There have been times where I’ve thought I’d be infinitely kind and allow everyone who had required patience to have it, but then they stop sending out to the universe that they need it, and I start to fade. It’s a bit of a weird loop though because then they need it again, and I come back.”

Natasha blinked at you as she absorbed what you said. “That’s…”

“Weird,” you agreed. “Yeah. So… it suits me best to just let people be. Let them have their feelings. That’s why I’m here. New York is fantastic for people wishing for the patience to get through their day.”

“And that’s why you came to me? Because I’m always praying for patience?” Natasha asked.

“It’s what made me notice you,” you said with a smirk.

“So… what then?” Natasha asked. “Why are we here?”

“Well,” you said. “Here I am, older than I even know. Existing in a world of temporary things that do not understand me if I reveal myself to them. And then things start getting weird. People show up who can’t seem to die with superhuman abilities. The Norse gods return. People start accepting stranger and stranger things. And there is this one person who just runs with whatever is being thrown at her. Never questioning - just accepting. And she calls out to me.”

Natasha tilted her head and a smile slowly crossed her lips. “You were lonely?”

You shrugged and curled in on yourself, and for the first time since she met you, you looked scared. Natasha downed the last of her drink quickly and stood up. “Do you want to get out of here?”

You smiled up at her and nodded. “I really would.”

Natasha took your hand and led you out of the bar. She might not understand patience, but she knew how it felt to be lonely. Maybe you could teach each other something new after all.

// NEXT

#natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #black widow #black widow fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #reader insert #small gods #patience

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sanchosammy · 3 years

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miss gaga can I request a drabble with the prompts, “Did you know that you’re broken?” & “It’s not the first time I’ve been stood up.” okay bye i love youuuu

I love you too miss girl @warrentrash, and OF COURSE YOU CANNNNN. (Please go check out @warrentrash because she also does fantastic prompts).

Prompts chosen: “Did you know that you’re broken?” and “It’s not the first time I’ve been stood up.”

You looked at the small watch on your wrist. A beautiful silver watch, it was your grandmother’s and you would only wear it for special occasions. That detail only made you more upset as you looked at the time filled with disappointment. 10:45. He was late... No, at this point, he was far past the term late. He simply stood you up.

What an asshole.

You have been partnered with Javier Peña for well over a year now. Murphy, Peña, and yourself were quite the team. However, in recent months, Javier was hellbent on taking you out on a date. You both had a thing for each other and it was beyond obvious.

And though he asked you several times with that charm you were so fond of... That didn’t stop you from continuously denying him the opportunity. You wanted so badly to accept because you found yourself drawn to Javier like a moth to light, but he was known for being nothing short of a ladies man in the past. And so you remained flirting with him at an emotional distance.

Which is why this moment hurt twice as bad. You finally accepted his offer after he saved your life on the job. One of Pablo’s men attempted to pull a hit and run on you as the two of you investigated a crime scene. Javier practically tackled you out of the way of the speeding vehicle, saving both of your lives in the process. The rush of emotions that night made you finally move past your fears and provide Javi a chance to take you out properly.

He said to meet him at La Rosa at 8:30. A little more high-class restaurant with a bar. A beautiful selection you would’ve given him props for. That was if he had shown up. You didn’t even know why you were still here at this point. False hope that he would show up and explain that this was all a huge misunderstanding? You laughed bitterly before you downed the rest of your drink.

You weren’t sure how many of these you had, but at this point you were nowhere near sober. You slapped money down for the drink before pulling yourself off the stool. You were embarrassed as you climbed into the taxi-cab trying to give him your address in Spanish while being your tipsy. A few attempts before he understood what you were trying to say, but thankfully he worked with you and so you were sure to tip him for the inconvenience.

Heels were not the best choice to drink in and by the time you were stepping out of the cab, they were in your hands instead. You didn’t care about the dirty sidewalk. You just wanted to go home and drown in self pity. The fact that you’d have to face Javier the next day at work was beyond humiliating.

You tried to keep quiet as you walked towards the stairway. Javier’s door caught you by surprise as it opened and his eyes found yours, you could see the panic rush through him.

“Wait, wait, (Y/N). I can explain everything.” He rushed forward from the doorway as if you would disappear into thin air in front of you.

You looked at him with such a sourness behind your stare. “Leave me alone, Javi.”

Your eyes trailed past him. The door was not shut behind him. A woman sitting on his couch caught your attention and apparently you had caught hers as well. The awkward pause from you made Javier follow your direct line of sight and you heard the fuck under his breath.

“No. No, listen to me cariño. I promise it’s not-.”

“Fuck you Peña.” You could hardly get the words out. The anger inside had your blood boiling. He didn’t expect your next move and you had hardly thought it through, but you found yourself throwing the heels in your hands at him.

“Baby, please listen to me.” He called out behind you as you rushed towards the stairway wanting to never see his face again. Though that was impossible because you worked together, you refused to look at him in this moment. He not only missed your date but for another woman? The man practically pleaded for the chance to take you out for months and this was how he repaid you?

His footsteps weren’t immediate to follow you to the top of the stairway. The sound of him closing his door echoed off the walls instead. However, you couldn’t have been that lucky because the sound of his footsteps were now rushing up the stairs that led to your apartment. You just almost made it in time to close the door on him, but he threw his body into the doorway stopping you in your tracks.

“Get away from me.” You called out pushing the door against his body. You didn’t care if it hurt him in the process. He pushed against your strength, which wasn’t hard considering your tipsy state. “You’re a piece of shit, Javier!”

“Cariño,” He kept his voice calm, he understood how it looked and he knew how badly it had to hurt. He was a piece of shit. Even if it wasn’t for the reason you thought, he still shouldn’t have done things this way.

“No, don’t you fucking cariño me. Just because you’re broken inside doesn’t mean you have to drag me down with you,” You replied with venom in your words. You stopped pushing the door against him causing Javier to almost fall in from the lack of pressure to fight against. You didn’t skip a beat as you continued, your voice now much lower but your drunken bitterness continued “Did you know you’re broken, Javi? Drowning your sorrows into women, that isn’t healthy. I thought you wanted to change… I thought you wanted me.”

He didn’t miss how your voice broke at the end. And it hurt him more than he could’ve thought. You turned around shaking your head, a sob breaking out as you tried to keep it together in front of him.

The words had hurt him. It cut a little too deep, and if he wasn’t in the wrong his pride would’ve turned him right out the door. You were right. He was a broken man in many ways, and he had spent most of his time trying to find the answers in anywhere else but himself. That changed with you though, he hadn’t slept with an informant in months after he realized how badly he wanted to be with you.

You brought in a hope and peace that he hadn’t felt in many years.

His arms wrapped around you before you could escape into your bedroom door, which wasn’t hard because at this point the fight in you had left. You were drunk and emotional, and worst of all, you were beyond hurt.

“Please, let me explain,” He whispered out. His hand softly brushing against your hair in an attempt to soothe your heartache. You were so tired you allowed him to pull you towards the couch and sit you down. He didn't sit beside you though, he was on his knees looking up at you.

“I swear. I know how it looks, (Y/N). I promise on everything I have ever loved, it is not what it looks like.” His voice was soft as he reassured you. His thumbs wiping away the tears on your face in the process.

You let out a sigh and shook your head. “It’s fine, Peña. It’s not the first time I’ve been stood up. If you didn’t want to go out to dinner, you should have just told me instead.”

His heart broke into pieces at the confession, and the fact you thought he didn’t want to be at the dinner with you. He lifted your chin so your eyes would meet his. You could be put in a trance with those deep brown eyes of his.

“I wanted to be at dinner, hermosa. I was about to leave when an old informant came in, Pablo has a hit on her because she witnessed one of his meetings. I knocked on your door, I called the phone, but I couldn’t get in contact with you… I know I am a piece of shit because I put work first, but I couldn’t leave her to die. The three of us need this to catch Escobar.”

He gathered your hands together in his and stared at you. He was quite literally on his knees begging at this point. “You have every right not to… but please, (Y/N). Forgive me for this.”

You looked at him for a moment. Your voice came out quiet like a child who was scared to ask a simple question, but truthfully you were scared you wouldn’t like the answer. “You didn’t sleep with her, right?”

“No.” He kissed your hands and looked back up at you “Nothing happened, I’ve been waiting for you to get home.”

With a long exhale you nodded. “Okay, I forgive you Javi… I’m sorry for what I said.” Embarrassment was stuck with you with all this new information, the scene downstairs looked so stupid now.

“Don’t worry about it.” He offered a soft smile and you returned it. His hands softly rubbed yours as silence filled the room for a second. The both of you calming down from the dramatic episode that just played out.

“You look beautiful by the way.” Your cheeks became warm at the sudden compliment. You leaned forward resting your forehead against his shoulder in an attempt to hide your blush. He didn’t attempt to hide his chuckle in response.

“Thank you.” You finally force out. “I’m not going to lie, Javi... I’m drunk.

“Yeah, I know.” He laughed before standing up, softly pulling you with him. He didn’t hesitate to pick you up bridal style. He carried you to your bedroom as he teased, “Drinking without me, that’s cruel Y/L/N.”

“I’m just surprised I made it home. Turns out Spanish with a few drinks in is a challenge.” You joked as he sat you on the bed. You noticed the disapproving look he gave in response, more out of concern than anything. He didn’t mention how he almost called Murphy to drop his position in a mission to go looking for you instead. He looked through your dresser and found some baggy shirt that would do for the night.

His fingers unzipped the back of your dress before he kissed the top of head. “Get dressed, I’ll be right back.”

He left the room while you attempted to change for the night. It had only been hardly two minutes, but by the time he had come back you found yourself under the covers barely awake. He placed a glass of water on the nightstand and kissed your head once again.

“Listen, I fucked up tonight.” His voice was quiet as he sat beside you on the edge of the bed. His thumb gently stroking your cheek as he watched your sleepiness start to take over. “You don’t have to decide now but I want to make it up to you. Whenever you’re ready, if you are ever ready, just let me know.”

He cleared his throat. Emotions weren’t his thing, he’d consider them something new he was exploring again after many years of pushing them down. But he was willing to try again, that was if you were involved.

It was small, but a smile formed on your face. He hardly caught your reply, “Next Thursday, asshole.”

He bit his lip trying to contain his own satisfaction. He had pulled a lot of deals with people all over. People on the street and people in the government, some of them being literally his job on the line. However, this was a different kind of fulfillment. He wanted nothing more than a chance with you and he just got it.

“Goodnight, mi amor.” You could feel his grin as he kissed your hand. The sound of the door closing this time was a lot more peaceful and satisfying to hear.

You knew he couldn’t hear you, but in your sleepy love-drunken state you mumbled it out anyway. “Goodnight Javier.”

#javier peña x reader #Javier Peña #Javier peña x you #Javier peña fluff #Javier peña fanfic #narcos fanfic

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thishintoflove · 3 years

Text

A Sweet Package - BobaDin Week Day 5: AU

Pairing: Din Djarin / Boba Fett

Rating: General (no warnings aside from mild swearing)

Summary: Boba has to deal with an unwanted package at his front door. Luckily, the hassle turns out to be worth it when he meets the package's true owner.

A/N: Here, have some tooth-rotting fluff because these boys deserve it! (ﾉ☉ヮ⚆)ﾉ ⌒*:･ﾟ✧

Also available on AO3

“Ouch, shit, god dammit,” Boba swore as he stubbed his toe.

He shifted his keys to his other hand and leaned against his apartment door as he bent down to rub his toe, glaring at the offending object.

The damn package was in the wrong place. The worst part? He hadn’t even ordered anything recently.

It had been a long day, he was tired, and he didn’t have the time or patience to deal with unwanted shit outside his door.

Boba was inclined to just let it sit there, but he had to move it out of the way if he didn’t want to repeat this stubbed-toe incident tomorrow. As he glanced down again to shove it away with his foot, he noticed that the package had actually come to the correct place, but it had come to the wrong person.

It was his address, but he was certainly not the “Grogu Djarin” to whom it had been addressed.

He’d been living here for almost three months and he hadn’t received any other pieces of mail. Surely there was a forwarding address set up for this Grogu Djarin? The outside label had a personalized message that read, “To Grogu. I love you to the stars and back, little one. Happy Birthday! Love, Dad.”

Ah shit. He was going to have to do something with it.

Boba did not want to be responsible for a kid missing out on his birthday present. Grogu Djarin would probably be expecting his package-- what if this was his only birthday gift? Another closer look at the box revealed a “Perishable: refrigerate after opening” label. Damn, he certainly couldn’t just keep the package and hope that the father in question would come by and collect it. Given its size, weight, and postage markings on it, whoever had ordered it had spent quite a lot on getting it sent.

Boba sighed and bent down to carry the package inside. As he set it down on the kitchen table, he saw that there was no return address, just the information from the company that had sent it. A bakery. A well-known, quite expensive bakery.

He had a very clear picture of what was going on now, but he didn’t know what he could do about it. Boba’s brow furrowed. It wasn’t his responsibility, technically… But the thought of a little boy not receiving his birthday treat, from his father no less, was enough to soften his heart.

He couldn’t get the vision of this unknown man telling his sad child that he wasn’t getting a birthday cake this year out of his head. It was terribly sad...

Oh great. He was on a mission now.

Boba had to get the cake to this child. He needed a plan. Returning to sender would be useless at this point, so he had to find out the current address of Grogu Djarin’s father.

He grabbed his phone and typed up a quick message to his landlord and leasing agency.

"This is Boba Fett from apartment fifteen. Do you have a forwarding address for the previous tenants? I’ve received a time-sensitive package for them."

After sending the message, Boba ambled around his apartment and tried to find something to take his mind off the Problem sitting on his table. He took some cold noodles out of the fridge for dinner and listened to a voicemail from Fennec that mostly involved her complaining about a recent customer.

Right when he was about to dive into invoices from work, his phone buzzed with a message from his landlord. It contained the former tenant’s email address.

He scratched the back of his head as he considered how to compose the email. He figured keeping it formal was a safer bet. He didn’t want this guy thinking he was some kind of creep. Boba hummed to himself as he typed out a message.

"Hello. I’m the current tenant of your previous apartment and I’ve received a package addressed to you. It says “perishable” on it so I figured it was important. Let me know how you’d like to proceed."

He leaned back in his chair, assuming that it would take a while for Grogu Djarin’s father to respond. But it didn’t. Within five minutes, his phone chirped with a response.

"Thank you! I was wondering what happened when it didn’t arrive today like it was scheduled to. It was my own fault for forgetting to update my address when I ordered online. I’m terribly sorry for the inconvenience. Thanks for letting me know what happened."

Boba frowned as he read the response. The man obviously wasn’t expecting anything from him. That was a good thing, but Boba still felt guilty. Perhaps the man was too polite to ask anything of him? He decided to dig a little deeper.

"The package is a birthday cake, right? I recognize the bakery on the label. Do you still need it?"

"Yes, it’s a cake. It’s my son’s birthday tomorrow. All the kids in his class are obsessed with this bakery but we’ve never been, so I decided to order from them as a surprise. I’d offer to come pick it up but my son’s already in bed and I can’t leave him alone. Thanks for letting me know what happened to it. You can get rid of it, or enjoy it yourself if you want."

Boba sucked in a breath and considered his options.

"Are you still in the city? I could bring it to you."

"I couldn’t ask you to do that."

"It’s no trouble."

"Okay, then yes, thank you! I can’t tell you how much that means to me. My address is ---"

Luckily it wasn’t too far from Boba’s apartment. No more than twenty minutes. He could handle that.

He sent back one more message affirming that he was on his way, and then he gathered up the package and his keys. So much for a relaxing night. He had to be up early as usual, but the warmth in his chest almost made up for it. Hell, he felt like some kind of personal Santa Claus. Fennec would say that his actions were “good karma”, but deep down Boba knew he was doing it for the little boy on the label. He knew what it was like to have a disappointing birthday as a child. Boba wouldn’t allow another child to experience that if there was something he could do about it.

Twenty minutes later he was standing in front of an unfamiliar apartment door, double-checking his email to make sure he was at the correct address. He knocked gently, since it was late and the kid inside was likely asleep.

After a brief moment, the door opened to reveal a tall, disheveled man. He was fit and looked only slightly younger than Boba, but his hair was a mess and there was... flour? Yes, flour, spilled across his shirt and sleeves. His brown eyes immediately widened in recognition and gratitude when he realized who was at the door.

“Hey,” Boba said awkwardly, hefting the package in his arms, “I believe this belongs to you.”

“Yes, thank you!” the man exclaimed, opening the door wider and stepping into the threshold, “You really have no idea how much this means to me. My son’s going to be very happy tomorrow.”

“I figured,” Boba replied, handing over the package. He allowed his eyes to run over the man’s features again. He was a mess, but cute. Very cute. And he was clearly a caring father. It made Boba want to be nicer than usual.

“You didn’t have to come all this way. Can I pay you, or give you something to thank you-”

Boba just held up his hand and shook his head.

“It’s no problem, really. I wanted to. As soon as I saw the ‘happy birthday’ message, I thought oh shit, I gotta get this to them. I hope your son enjoys it.”

“I’m sure he will. You really did me a huge favor. We moved a few weeks ago and my head’s still all over the place. Finally got a two-bedroom,” the man said, then quickly shut his mouth when he realized this might be unnecessary information.

“Congratulations,” Boba replied, giving him a wry smile. The man blushed and shifted the package under one arm so he could reach out and shake Boba’s hand.

“I’m Din by the way.”

“Boba. Nice to meet you.”

He knew he could walk away right now, but something about the man in front of him was magnetic. Boba was jaded enough at this point in life to not believe in stupid romantic fantasies like love at first sight, but there was something about this man that seemed special. His eyes captivated Boba’s attention, and he found that he wasn’t ready to end their conversation just yet.

“Were you trying to whip up a last-minute backup cake?” Boba asked, gesturing to the flour he spotted on Din’s collar and neck.

Din gave a humorless chuckle and shook his head.

“Just cupcakes. And it was going terribly. I uh, can’t bake to save my life,” he said, his hand rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.

Boba hummed and tilted his head. Should he…? Yeah, he was going to be honest with Din.

“Well, I can.”

Din’s brow furrowed and he gave Boba the most adorable confused look. “Huh?”

“I can bake. Actually, I bake quite a lot.”

“You do?”

“Couldn’t tell just by looking at me?” Boba tossed back sarcastically, but he grinned to show the man he wasn’t truly offended, “Yes, it’s my job. I own a bakery.”

“Oh! That’s amazing! And you… came all this way to deliver a cake from a rival bakery?”

“I’ll be honest, when I first saw the package at my door I was ready to dump it in the trash, but your note changed my mind. They’re overrated, but they’re still pretty good. I’m sure your son and his friends will love the cake.”

“I’m inclined to believe you, seeing as you’re an expert and all.”

“But now you’ll have to allow me to get some free advertising out of this deal,” Boba replied, his grin widening, “If you’re interested in trying some real delicious, authentic stuff, come by my place with your son sometime. It’s over on the West Side. I promise I’ll make something that’ll blow this cake out of the water.”

Din’s eyes sparkled as he nodded, “I think that’s a fair deal. It won’t take much to convince my son, he has a massive sweet tooth.”

“Fantastic. It’ll be worth the trip, just wait and see.”

They smiled at each other like they were in some kind of damn rom-com. Boba knew that he was probably wearing the same goofy-grin as Din but it didn’t bother him. So what if he appeared soft? It was near-midnight on Wednesday, there was no one else in the apartment hallway to see them anyway. Even if there was, Boba couldn’t bring himself to care.

“Well… have a good rest of your night,” he said to Din, taking a step back. He had to leave before he did something really stupid, like lean in for a kiss with this overly attractive stranger. This wasn’t actually a movie- it wasn’t like there was a soft-rock ballad swelling in the background.

“Thank you again, Boba,” Din replied, his voice brimming with sincerity. He gave Boba one last soft smile as the man started to step away, “And I’ll see you soon. I promise.”

“I look forward to it.”

As Boba walked back down the stairs, he couldn’t get the stupid smile off his face. Fennec would laugh at him tomorrow when he recounted the story, but he didn’t care. Sure, real-life wasn’t a movie. But this was as close to it as he’d ever come, and you could be damn sure that he was going to savor it.

#bobadin #bobadinweek2021 #my fanfic #fanfiction tag

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ohheyitsokay · 3 years

Text

just us

Pairing: Jack Daniels (Agent Whiskey) x (f) reader

Wordcount: 1.9k

Warnings: discussion of not wanting children, brief mention of trauma (the accident), brief mentions of sex, generally sweet and cozy

Summary: Jack and you both grow into what you want (and don’t want?) for the future

Notes: Okay so this WILL NOT be everyone’s cup of tea - that’s fine. There’s enough breeding kink in this fandom for everyone else, I just wanted to explore... not wanting kids, definitively, and one way that journey could look. Obviously, this is an incredibly personal topic, and there’s no way this one snapshot could possibly be perfect, so please just keep that in mind!

Years ago, you met Jack volunteering with low-income students after school. Your friend, who was running the program, roped you in, and you were glad to have other helpers.

He was surprisingly good with the kids. They loved his accent and his hat and the silly expressions he made. Still, in-between his ridiculous stories, he always pushed them to do their best and was persistent in pursuing their success. Unlike some of the other volunteers, he didn’t seem to have any agenda and his selflessness was contagious, and you told him so. The bus had just left, and you finally had the chance to talk to him- you couldn’t help but be honest.

He shrugged his broad shoulders, watching the kids wave through the windows, even down the road.

“I just want them to get their chance to succeed, ya know?”

You did. Gently, you reached up and squeezed his shoulder, and his brown eyes met yours for the first time.

“Thank you,” you said before leaving to go clean up. You hoped he could hear the sincerity in your voice.

The next time you volunteered at the same time, he stayed back to help you clean. He was silent at first, but then he began to talk to you, asking real questions and giving you real answers.

The friendship grew fast, one of the ones where you could feel in your bones how close you’d be. You moved from laughing with the kids as you gave him the tiniest portion of snack, to him driving you home sometimes.

And for the first few years, the two of you really were the best of friends. Lemonade and long drives together became game nights and movies with groups. You’d help him text when he got too flustered, he reminded you that all men were giant boys sometimes. He told you about his past, about the accident and wanting to heal from that, and what he was working on. You shared the skeletons in your closet, you fears and hopes and dreams. You became each other’s constant, as you grew, always cheering the other one on and sharing just the right words at the right time.

Then, after a long, terrible day, he drove over to your house with pure, kind-hearted intentions and ended up kissing you.

“The rest, as they say, is history,” you finished.

Jack’s boss was grinning, along with his wife.

“How adorable!” she cooed, squeezing her husband’s hand.

You and Jack had been together for years now, and recently moved to a small town so he could be closer to his mama. This branch of the statesman was a lot more casual, so you were over at their house with some other couples, barbequing in the backyard. In many ways, you loved the little southern community but it was times like these that you felt like you were pulling teeth.

Jack was so high-profile, and bless his heart, he loved to show you off. It was sweet that his boss let him off early sometimes and the local florist knew your date night, but honestly, people in this town were so invested in your relationship it gave you anxiety. Everyone wanted to hear your story, to be in the know, worst of all: ask about it. So it was unpleasant, but not a surprise when the lady continued, asking, “So how many kids are the two of you going to have?”

Her eyes glimmered with expectation, completely unaware at how you were fighting not to grimace at her intrusion.

Jack looked at you, his hand instinctively finding yours. His thumb rubbed your skin softly, as if he was trying to press his support into you. It worked, in it’s own way, and you collected yourself, smiling because you knew she meant well, and because you had practiced.

When you were younger, if and when it came up, you hadn’t been attracted to the idea of children like some others were. You had thought, or maybe trained yourself to say, maybe someday, but not right now. Because for most people, that was enough. You knew logically, that some did change their minds or grow into it. Sometimes you had hoped that would be you.

Now, you didn’t even offer that, just making a joke and guiding the conversation in a different direction. You played your part well, continuing to chat as you ate, being as delightful and adorable as you always were.

Jack knew, of course he did. After that very first night, when he had kissed you, you had been honest with him. motherhood was not your purpose, passion, or dream. He loved you then, and he loved you now, you reminded yourself. He had loved you through the time you’d talked about it again, when he told you that you were his soulmate. Still, before, you had always left it on the table. Maybe someday, in the future.

He watched you closely, watched your eyes when you laughed at the questions, felt you hand in his when you were in the spotlight.

Jack adored you with every fiber of his being. He loved waking up with you in his arms, and falling asleep to the rhythm of your heart. He liked the way your eyes met his and spoke volumes, and how you knew what he was going to say and let him say it anyway. Sometimes he thought he would stop time itself if it would keep you from being hurt.

So now, he shifted closer and closer to you, invading your space until he could share his warmth with you. Your hands left each others so he could wrap his arm around you, and he tried his best to use himself to make a little safe haven for you. He would do anything to create a bubble so you could breathe.

Your eyes found his, and you leaned into his warmth. No words were offered but he knew he had done a good job when he could feel some tension slide off your shoulders.

Still, over the next few days, the conversation haunted you. It felt like a pin, pricking your mind and heart in quiet moments. You ignored it, what else could you do? It was a familiar feeling, and you knew sooner or later, it would go away. After all this time, hadn’t you made your peace with it?

It was almost completely gone, one night, as you lay with Jack, skin to skin under the sheets. He’d be silent for awhile, in what you could only assume was one of his rare, post-sex dazes. He murmured again and again how much he loved you before it faded off and he had settled for holding you close.

“Sweetheart?” he said suddenly, pulling your attention back to him.

“Yeah, Jack?”

“One of our friends from home is pregnant, I forgot to tell you she called yesterday.”

You felt liked the world was spinning. Why was be bring this up right now?

Somewhere far away, you heard yourself make a happy noise and say that was exciting for them.

Your lover’s warm arm pulled you closer, back onto his chest.

“That’s gonna be one helluva cute baby,” he added. You agreed, but had no idea what to do or say.

Was he trying to tell you he was thinking about kids? About babies?! You were full on panicking now.

Had this, plus the questions from before finally pushed him to reconsider?

“I’ve… darlin’, I’ve been thinking a lot about kids lately,” he whispered into your hair. There was something about his tone you didn’t recognize. You were tense, unable to move away, respond, be normal at all. Of course, he noticed.

Jack half sat up, moving you so he could face you, his arms still holding onto you with purpose.

“Wait- shoot, dang it, I should’ve said that differently,” his eyes were boring into yours. The whole time you’d known him, you hadn’t been able to look away from him when he was baring his heart for you like this. This was Jack. He has never, would never hurt you. You trusted him with your whole life.

Several deep breathes and a quick kiss allowed your heart to calm, and you eyes told him it was okay for him to go on.

“I have been, sweetheart, but not like… that, I – well, I,” he seemed to be struggling, the tiny lines between his eyebrows deepening. You waited, hands finding his skin and mimicking the comforting movements he always did on you. All the while you were reminding yourself that listening to him would always be better than interrupting or assuming.

“I just wanted to tell you, the longer we’re together, how much I like it,” he said, finally, words rushing out of him, “How the more I think about it, how much I sort of want it to just stay like that.”

Your heart was racing now for a whole new reason.

“When I think about other people’s kids, they’re cute but… I don’t need one,” he said, and you noticed the more he talked, the more he relaxed, too. “You could be a fantastic mother, I know you could, if you ever want that,” he added, and you smiled, shaking your head just slightly.

“I guess I’m just selfish, love,” he finally seemed to conclude, having pushed and been fully vulnerable with you. He sank down next to you again, saying, “I want you all to myself. I want to take you on adventures and change the world with you and just have you be all mine, all the time.”

You still couldn’t speak. The world wasn’t spinning anymore but it might as well have been upside down. All your fears - that he was hoping you’d just change your mind, that you were holding him back – were wrong. On his own terms, in his own way, and in his own heart Jack Daniels had flipped to the same page as you.

Never in your life had you expected this, even considered this a possible outcome. It was almost too good to be true.

You had to ask, just one more thing.

“Jack, what about…” you swallowed, clinging to him. “What about… before?” You didn’t need to explain. What about her, and his son? Before the accident? What about the time you’d met, and he was pouring into the futures of children?

Jack was still for one heartbeat, two, and three. Then his hand moved from your waist to touch your cheek, his large palm enveloping it. You hadn’t realized there was a tear until he brushed it away with his thumb. There was tenderness in his eyes as he held you.

“Just us,” he whispered, before kissing you, “that’s all I need.” His eyes were honest, and for the first time in your life, you felt fully seen.

“Just us,” you said back, as vulnerable as he was.

The two of you held each other then, basking in the moment of pure, raw love. You allowed yourself to sink fully into the mattress, pressing together like you were just falling for each other for the first time. In some ways, you were. Everyone has a different story, and you two had just written another chapter in yours. Jack laughed then, a beautiful, free, almost giddy sound.

Relief had sunk into your bones, the two of you finding something in each other that you’d never had before. The feeling you’d had when you first met - the one that sunk into your bones - promising you two would be close, came into your mind. You considered it, realizing it was more than right, knowing you both before you even knew yourselves.

Jack kissed your hairline, still letting out small burst of quiet laughter. His voice was filled with joy as he asked, “Can we get a dog, though?” and you laughed too.

“Yeah,” you said, and he was kissing you, smile almost too big.

taglist:

@fangirl-316 @scribbledghost @0celestialbitch0

#agent whiskey x reader #agent whiskey x you #jack daniels x you #jack daniels x reader #kingsman #maybe i don't know people #Also i wrote this pretty quickly in comparison to some other works so sorry about the writing. hopefully ill rewrite it at some point #alternative title:#pouring one out for the girls with a different happily ever after

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justreadingfics · 4 years

Text

It’s a Deal (Chapter 2)

Chapter Summary: You did make a deal.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Words: 5.5k

Warnings:+18 only, smut, sex deprived reader, boytoy!Bucky, mention to break ups, mention to bad sexual experiences, casual sex, opened relationship.

A/N: You guys and all the feedback you’re giving to this story are just my everything. Thank you for your patience, if you follow my stories for a while you all know I’m a slow writer and not even social distancing seems to be changing that. The link to my masterlist, where you can find the other chapters, is on my description. Feedback is highly appreciated. I was going to close the tag list for this series at 70, but you’ve been really amazing, so I’m extending it to 80 spots for now. All I ask of you is, if you’re tagged and liked what you read, please leave me a nice little comment. Thank you, @lesqui

Saturday mornings have always been like any other morning to you. Waking up early, making some black coffee and fixing up something quick to eat . Then checking up on your schedule for the day, which more times than you dare to count consisted of working from home and that’s it. Nothing special.

But this Saturday morning is nothing like the other ones, this morning has actually already passed since you wake up past noon, a lot later than you’re used to, take a long bath with all the pampering accessories you found in your bathroom - something you hadn’t done in a very long time- plaster your face with a moisturizing mask you’ve bought on a late night online shopping spree and has never used, wrap your body in a robe, your hair in a towel and go to the kitchen to make your usual black coffee but also a few chocolate pancakes as a treat to the atypical hunger making your stomach groan loudly.

ThisSaturday is nothing like the other ones because you have the memory, on your mind and your whole body, of three fantastic orgasms you were gifted with the night before. If it was up to you, Bucky Barnes and his sinful tongue would get all the awards in the world.

While you hum a soft tune and flip your pancakes, the night before replays like a movie on your mind, taking small giggles out of you and causing a warm rush to creep up your neck. The man sure knows his game, touching all the right places, playing with your body just perfectly, luring you into a very much needed and longed ecstasy. On top of that, he was nothing but generous and seemed to get himself off by getting you off and, now that you’re thinking about it, a man acting that way in bed is something entirely new to you.

You have to send Natasha a present, maybe that expensive vodka she’s always drinking…

The memory of your friend quickly fades and the sinful picture of Bucky Barnes’s face between your legs pops back into your mind as you drop the pancakes on a plate and sit by the counter to devour them with your coffee. What a night you had. The whole no strings attached situation makes it even more… enjoyable, you dare say, much more than you thought it would be. There is no dwelling on whether you should text him to say hello, or call him, no need to hold back who you really are or what you really want in favor to make a good impression, nor to think about meeting friends, family, no fear of disappointments from both sides… it was just plain good old sex, which you’ve realized it’s all you need and are looking for.

You hum at the sweet taste of the pancake and take a sip from your coffee. There’s no worries in your mind, no regrets, nothing like that. Except for one thought: the fact you didn’t even get to see his cock. The bulge alone grinding against you was already impressive enough to make your mouth water… Everything was amazing, more than perfect, actually, and left you completely spent and utterly satisfied, more than you’ve been in a long time, if you’re going to be honest with yourself. But now you only get to imagine how it would be if you two had gotten to the whole package, the real deal…

Unless…

You had thought about that night as a one-time occurrence, something to take your edge off and move on, but... He did propose a deal… And you did take said deal… to call him if you needed anything… You stare dreamily ahead as you take a fork filled with pancake to your mouth and flashes of the feeling of his bulge pressed against your back, grinding on your core take over your senses… it took your breath away then and just the memory is making a number on your lungs.

You sure have a need now.

Glimpsing your phone over the balcony, you reach for it, loving you don’t have to care whether it is too soon or not to do what you’re about to do…but a new message pops up on the screen as soon as you unlock it. Natasha letting you know she was sent away for a mission with Steve Rogers but should go back in a week and wanted to schedule dinner for you to tell her everything… You type her a quick answer, agreeing on dinner, before tapping on the brand new contact of your list, added by Natasha Romanoff herself.

Bucky “Soft Tongue” Barnes.

You’ll change it. Eventually…

~~~

“So… my place this time, huh?”

The smirk on Bucky’s lips is cocksure enough to make you take a long sip of the beer he offered you, while he lazily leans his elbow on the backrest of his sofa, supporting his head on his hand. You're thankful for the alcohol and for the fact that, this time, he hasn’t gone straight to business. Yes, you’ve been feeling bold and excited in having those kinds of encounters with a - hot as fuck - guy you barely knew. But this is new, and you know you must be careful and gentle to yourself, so it doesn’t blow up in your face eventually. Thankfully, Bucky seems to read the situation just fine since he’s been in cue with your rhythm from the very first moment.

“Did you have any other plans?” you ask, biting your lower lip and hoping your presence isn’t actually a bother.

“I was happy to see your text.” Even if his answer is kind of vague considering your question, it eases the tension on your shoulders at his wide and comforting smile, “We did make a deal…” His voice is a tone lower as he peeks at you from under his lashes, taking his beer to his lips.

You take in a deep breath as your gaze drops to his lips, “Yes, we did.” You gulp, as your body tightens, feeling the rise of the tension in the air, enhanced by flashes of last night when you two settled said deal.

His chuckle is a tad dark and laced with mischief and oh, man it makes your skin tingles when he drags his body just an inch closer, his beautiful blue eyes fastened on you.

“Ahm, Bucky… can I ask you something?” You try not to let your voice come out too small, as the heat of his body rolls off to yours and makes your core flutter.

“Sure.”

“How does this work?”

He frowns as his head tilts a bit sideward, “This what?”

“This… ahm,” you clear your throat, “Deal… I mean, I’m pretty interested, pretty, pretty interested.” You stress the word and your eyes widen a bit at the honesty slipping out of your lips, but you realize that’s actually how being around Bucky has made you feel, giving his own honesty behavior with you, just like now when he expresses no kind of reaction that would make you feel embarrassed or anything of that nature, so you let yourself continue, “But you must know I’ve got out of a relationship recently. It was really serious …10 years.” You chuckle when he huffs and takes a sip of his beer, “Anyway, I’m not really sure how to handle this.” You gesture between you two, “Should we establish any sort of rules, or something?” You shrug questioningly. Every single movie you saw or book you read where the characters had a deal like that they ended up establishing some rules, you’re not sure if that’s what you’re supposed to do here, but…

“Rules?” His whole face scrunches up, “Let me tell you something, sweetheart,” he lets out a long exhale, “My entire life, all I did was to follow damn rules. Even to this day, I have to follow them all the time in my job, whether is from the fucking government, the pain in my ass which is Stark or Fury and, believe me, even from the giant asshole of my best friend who’s pretty jacked up now but was nothing than a skinny angry ass, like, yesterday… Yeah, you know the punk, don’t you?” He smiles when you hold back a laugh, “It’s all about rules, rules, rules… I have to endure them when it comes to work, but I don’t like them in my personal life.”

He smiles that dazzling smile and you can’t help to offer him a small one, too. You see where he’s coming from. Given what you know of his life, he lived a very strict, military life ever since an early age in the 30’s. You don’t even have to elaborate on what happened next and everything he endured… now he’s part of the damn Avengers… Just like that, you start to get a bit more of Bucky Barnes and why he seems to live his life so lightly and freely now…

“Listen…” he continues, after taking a sip from his beer, “Let’s just have some fun… I loved spending time with you last night, I love that you’re here now and I love even more the prospects of tonight…” He smirks and you gulp down at the promise that comes with it, “I just wanna enjoy our time together, I don’t need rules to do that.” He pauses, as his face turns a bit more serious, differing from the light demeanor he’s been showing so far, “Do you wanna set any rules, though?”

You ponder his question. You did bring the subject up, because that’s what you think you should’ve done, but, now that you think about it, nothing comes to your mind. You kinda love his philosophy. No overthinking, just fun and no rules… “No, actually. I can’t think of anything,’ you decide.

“Great.” He smiles and nods, before his face turns serious again, “There’s one thing I need to clear up, though.” He stops and looks deeply into your eyes, as waiting for your consent before continuing.

“Oh, alright.” You encourage him to elaborate.

“As much as I’m looking forward to getting to know you and spending time with you, there’s absolutely no prospect of this turning into some kind of romantic relationship. See, I like the way I live my life too much and chances are I won’t be exclusive to you,” he says fixing his gaze on yours as if gauging your reaction to what his words, “What I’m saying is if I feel like it, I’ll have sex with other people and I highly encourage you to do the same if that’s something you want. The serum made me immune to any disease, but I’m obviously not against protection,” he adds and you feel your cheeks burning, it still blows you away how comfortably he talks about sex and how blatantly honest he is. You like and are getting used to it, but you’re just not there yet, “We can be friends, or not, we can just fuck our brains out, but we won’t go further than that. I need to know you’re aware and consenting on this, I need to know you’re on the same vibe as mine before we continue… having fun together.” He speaks seriously, but you see the tiny and suggestive curl on his lips when he finishes and waits for your answer.

You let out a small laugh under your breath, “I wouldn’t stress about it… I’m still in love with my boyfriend, to be honest. So, don’t worry about me wanting to turn this into something ahm… romantical.” You wave your hand between the two of you.

“Uh, ok,” He raises a brow and nods, pondering your response, “We’re cool then?” He checks again.

“We’re cool,” You nod and raise your beer.

He promptly bumps his bottle to yours as you seal your deal with a toast and a shared smile.

“So, still in love with him, huh?” He asks, absentmindedly, after you two take a sip from the beer, “Was it a bad break up?”

“Not really,” you answer, looking down at your finger circling the rim of the bottle, “I just wasn’t expecting it… I thought I was gonna spend the rest of my life with him… it was settled.” You shrug, “And then, nothing was certain anymore. I’m sorry,” you quickly add, shaking your head with a tight smile on your lips. The last thing you want is to talk about Eddie. And you’re pretty sure that’s not what Bucky expects from the night, either.

“Hey.” He hooks his finger under your chin, lifting it up so you look back at him, “No rules remember? We can talk, we’re not sex robots or anything.”

Your head falls back when you laugh, “Alright.” You nod as he smiles at you, “But I don’t really want to talk about my breakup, now.”

He nods back, accepting your position, “Can I ask you something?” He’s the one to talk again after you two drink from the beer, “Last night,” he continues when you give him your consent, “When I went down on you. Was that the first time?”

There he goes again, talking so freely... You don’t feel your cheeks burning this time, though.

“No,” you answer, and he lifts his eyebrows, showing a bit of surprise at the answer, “It was the second, actually…” You’re quick to add, tightening your lips, “That obvious, huh?” You laugh quietly as your shoulders drop a bit.

Bucky shrugs, “It’s just that you seemed a bit self-conscious about it…” He brings his bottle to his lips, but stops it midair, “At first…” he smirks at you once again and winks.

You let out a small chuckle, looking down, playing with the almost empty bottle in your hands, “And I was…” You turn your body to face him, folding your legs on his sofa and leaning your arm on his backrest. It might be the alcohol, or just his laid-back and comforting presence that makes you want to share it with him, “You see, I’ve dated Eddie since college and he was my first…you know?” You bit on your lower lip as he nods at you to continue, nothing changing on his expression at the information, “And what happened was that he was never really a fan of that… we tried once, years ago and that was it… I knew he was grossed out by it, so I never asked him again.”

Clearing your throat, you look away, bringing you your beer to your lips to conceal any sign of embarrassment your face might indicate, you can’t believe you just shared that with him, you know how pitiful that sounds and what a turn off that must be. You’re there to have sex and are sharing how unexperienced you are? Not cool.

You feel his eyes fixed on you, and, when your gaze is attracted to his like a magnet, the pity you thought you would see on his face just isn’t there. Instead, it’s something entirely different you catch on his expression and his eyes. Never parting his focus from you, he puts his beer on the center table and reaches for yours, placing it next to his. He drags his body closer, and his smell – no cologne, just his own manly smell with a hint of what must be a fancy shampoo- fills in your nostrils, making you breathe in deeply the inebriant scent, “You know what came to my mind while I was listening to you?”

The sultry tone in his voice is almost hypnotic as your lips part and your gaze drops to his, “What?” you murmur.

“Last night…” He licks his lips before drawing his lower one between his teeth, “Your taste…” He leans forward, brushing his lips on your earlobe, causing your breath to hitch in your throat, “Your shaky legs around my shoulders…” His flash hand finds your knee before sneaking up your thigh, carrying goosebumps on its way, “And those sinful sounds you made while I had your pussy in my mouth.” He grabs your earlobe in a gentle bite at the same time his wandering hand grabs harshly the flesh of your thigh underneath your dress, pulling a breathy whine out of you.

He drags his lips to yours and the kiss is sensual, slow moves of his tongue against yours as his lips are a soft and breathtaking caress. You realize you would be willing to spend the whole night just like that… kissing him, as your tongue laces around his and he lures you to melt into him… But he seems to have other plans in mind. You can’t help but seek his lips again as he parts them from yours.

“And this is what thinking about all of that does to me…” Boring his blue, now darker than ever, eyes on yours he grabs your hand from your lap and brings it to the bulge in his pants.

You gasp at the sensation in your hand as he guides your hand with his to brush the firm and large hardness. Everything about the situation is sexy and makes you light in your head and hot in your body: the way he moans as you move your hand, his warm breath slipping from his parted lips and fanning over yours, how his eyes flutter for just a second before fixing on yours again, his scent, his shameless words…

“Just to think about eating your pussy…the mere thought of it…. Fuck, it turns me on,” he whispers and lets go of your hand, allowing it to move on its own as he lunges at you again, kissing and nibbling your lips a lot harder than the first time

You kiss him back fiercely while keeping your hand on his cock, palming it through his jeans. You already can tell how thick he is and a fluttering sensation bubbles down your lower belly as the desire to feel his cock inside you takes over your senses and makes you weak in your legs.

“Shit, I can’t wait to do that again…” He drags his lips down your collarbone, whispering between kisses and licks on your skin, “But right now, what I want is to feel your pussy around my cock. Is that what you want, too?”

“Oh, yeah,” you promptly answer, eyelashes fluttering shut at the thought as you press your hand harder against his hardness and digs your finger on his loose locks, “I want it… I want this cock so bad.”

“Bedroom,” he announces, swiftly getting up and pulling you with him.

By the time you get to his bedroom, he already has his shirt off and you’re only in your set of black lingerie, discarded clothes and shoes left on the short way from the living room. Peppering kisses down his neck, you unbutton and unzips his jeans.

“Holy fuck.” It slips out of you in a breath when you look down and takes sight of his cock bobbing between you two as you pull his pants along with his underwear down his legs.

It’s big… and thick… and beautiful, you dare say…"Wow," it slips out of you unannounced as you keep staring down and you hear a chuckle from him, a tad too smug chuckle, because he damn well knows… of course, he does.

As he proceeds to ravish your neck, grabbing two handfuls of your ass through your underwear, you can’t help but wrap your fingers around him. You can’t take your eyes off your hand playing slowly with it, entranced by how thick and hard he is, anticipating the feeling of him inside you as you swipe your thumb over the tip...

“Stop, stop.” The rasped plea takes you out of your reverie as his forehead falls on your shoulder and his hand stops yours, “I’ll come all over your hand if you keep that up,’ he explains, laying a kiss on the crook of your neck.

You chuckle and bring your arms to circle his broad shoulders instead, peppering kisses on his stubbled jaw.

“Let’s go to bed, or this will be over too soon.” You can hear the smile on his lips as he squeezes your ass and steps out of his bunched jeans and underwear, guiding you to his bed.

Through kisses, licks, bites, and wandering hands on each other, he lays you down and positions himself hovering you after unhooking and taking off your bra with the same expertise from the night before. He focuses on your breasts, sucking each one of them with intense hunger before shifting on his knees, leaving your breasts and whole body burning for his touch.

He moves towards the nightstand and opens the drawer to get a condom. The position gives you a prime view of his fully erected cock. The little dark path turning into the well-trimmed little hairs right above it shows you how careful he is with himself and the thought of your tongue running down on it pops into your mind and sparks the electricity running down your inside. On its own will, your hand snakes down your stomach till your clothed mound.

A particularly loud sigh of you is what catches Bucky’s attention as he rips the package with his teeth. His eyes drop to where your hand rubs you covered pussy and his cock twitches at the vision.

“Shit… yeah, touch yourself….” He breathes, as he rolls off the latex around his cock.

You promptly slide your fingers under your underwear and find out how wet you are. You draw gentle circles on your clit, never taking your eyes off his burly and beautiful figure, the tightness in your core is a crescendo as you catch every little detail of his perfect body and his hooded eyes on you.

Still kneeling on the mattress, he positions himself in front of your opened legs, but just stays there, hypnotized by the spot where you touch yourself, placing his hands on your knees and spreading your legs wider for him, his pupils growing darker and darker with lust.

You sigh and moan at the pleasure brought by your fingers, but the exposed situation you are in and the sight of him staring down so hungrily at your pussy prompts the tight coils flaming inside you. Just a couple of days and you’re finding out a few things you had no idea about yourself. One of them is that you actually love that kind of filthy exposition. It feels wrong and intimate and fucking sexy.

He grips his cock, giving it a few slow strokes and it’s all a sweet torture that you can’t take anymore.

“Bucky…Please, fuck me.” Your voice comes out laced in a mix of plea and guttural groan you didn’t know you had in you.

Dark eyes flick to yours. “Oh, yeah? Do you want me to fuck you?” he teases, showing no mercy to your desperation.

“Hard…” you correct him, gritting your teeth, “I want you to fuck me hard.”

His eyes widen and his chest moves up when he sucks in a breath. You’re really that eager that you can’t control your words anymore, but you love the effect it has on him. He pulls your fingers from under the lace of your underwear and leans down to bring them to his mouth. Your lips part at the sexiest thing you’ve ever seen, his eyes fluttering shut as he moans sucking the two fingers clean. Your taste seems to stir something in him and the world around you spins when big strong hands turn you over roughly.

“On your fours,” he growls. The grasp of his hands on your ass tugs at your core.

You promptly comply, getting yourself in the position he wants you in as he keeps himself behind you. You yelp when he swiftly pulls your underwear down your knees, the lace stretching around them as he spreads your legs. Looking from over your shoulder you watch him cursing under his breath and gripping the base of his impossibly hard cock and guiding it to your slit, coating his hardness with your arousal.

“Holy fuck,” you whisper as the hardness brushes against your clit.

“In a second…” He smirks when his gaze crosses yours. He leans over and pushes your back down, positioning your ass in the air as you lay your head on his pillow. Bucky grabs your hand and guides it to your pussy.

He doesn’t need to say what he wants you to do as your fingers quickly start working on your clit and he aligns himself with your entrance. He pushes the tip in and it knocks the air out of your lungs as you brace yourself on his pillows with your unoccupied hand, speeding up the finger on your clit. Bucky groans as he pushes himself in, inch by inch. You’re soaking wet and he doesn’t find much resistance, but it’s been a year for you, so you’re very aware of the stretch on his way in.

“Shit,” you wheeze, loving how full you feel when he’s all his way in, both of his hands grasping your hips tightly.

“Oh, damn, you feel amazing.” He groans and you clench around him, “Oooo, someone has a praise kink, huh?” A teasing tone in his words.

Do you? You wouldn’t know… all you know is how your whole body and mind respond to having him inside you and how his sultry words make your head dizzy. It’s an aching and floating sensation all at once. You feel light and heavy and hot and eager for him to move.

Like he’s reading your mind, he starts his pace. His fat cock stretches your walls at every jerk of his hips, increasing in rhythm as it feels easier for him to slide in and out of you. It doesn’t take long before he’s pounding into you, a punishing hold on your hips to keep you steady enough to him. Being the discoverer of your weakness, he punctuates every pound with grunted words of praise, telling how good and wet you feel around his cock.

He feels good, too. He feels so damn good, his cock brushing and hitting all of the sweetest spots inside you, the sound of skin slapping against skin... Your mind is a fuzz and your head sinks into his pillow, muffling your moans as you just take it, your body moving along with his powerful thrusts. The coil that’s been twisting your lower belly getting tighter and tighter. You want to come on his cock so bad, you press your fingers hard against your sensitive numb.

“Fuck, yeah, work on that clit, I wanna feel you soaking that cock,” Bucky coos, curling an arm around your stomach and, when you notice, you’re on your knees with your back to his chest. Slick skin burns against slick skin as he drags his metal hand over yours on your pussy, guiding your finger in a different direction, making you gasp at the new sensation the subtle shift brings.

“Oh, God.” You can’t and don’t want to hold back anymore as it’s all more than you can handle and the tightness inside your belly washes over your core in sheer ecstasy. Your back arches and your head falls back on his shoulder as you cry out a mindblowing orgasm.

“Shh,” he whispers in your ear, slowing down his pace, “That’s it, oh fuck,” he curses at the feel of your cunt gripping his cock.

Your senses aren’t fully functioning yet when he pulls out, throws you back on the mattress and flips you over, swiftly taking off the underwear that was stretched around your knees. A delicious smile curls your lips at all the manhandling because you want more and he’s giving it to you, driving himself inside you again, lifting your legs with his forearms, resting them over his shoulders and not holding back on the almost inhuman speed as he thrusts his hips.

He leans over, captures your lips and you curl your arms around his neck as he fucks you. Hard. Just like you said you wanted him to. You had no idea you were so flexible but what a way to find out, having the hottest guy you’ve ever met balls deep -really deep - into you while his tongue curls around yours.

Parting his lips from yours he releases your legs and they promptly wrap them around his hips as he supports himself with his forearms on each side of you and arches his back and to allow him to drag his lips to ravish your breasts, which he seems pretty fond of already. You push his thrusts impossibly harder and deeper with your feet as he alternates from sucking one and the other, licking and grazing his teeth around your sensitive nipples, your vision blanking at the light pain mixed with the pleasure he’s giving to you with his mouth and his damn perfect cock inside you. He doesn't give you time to cool down from the last orgasm as your mind freezes, focusing solely on the dazzling sensations in your body.

“So fucking sexy.” The praise reverberates through your skin and it really seems to be a kink of yours as, joined with the expert roll of his hips, he brings you to another orgasm. A smaller one compared to the first, but powerful enough to make your body shake and to coax a series of moans out of you.

Bucky lets your breast go with a popping sound after a particularly hard suck and shifts back to his knees.

Still in the daze of your second orgasm, a weak sound leaves your lips through panting breathing as your hips leave the mattress when, pulling your legs straighten up together and keeping them securely against his chest with one arm, he pounds into you until an guttural grunt rolls from his lungs and his hips still. He shoves his hips into yours a couple of times, deep and powerful,, spilling his own pleasure into the condom, before letting your legs loose and pulling out. The sensitivity etches a hiss out of you before his body drops next to yours.

For a while, all that fills the room is the sound of sharp pants from both of you. In the past year, you came to think to think that maybe sex wasn’t that important to you and that maybe it wouldn’t matter if it happened or not…What a damn fool.

You do like sex. Love it, actually. And it is fucking amazing and important to you, no doubt of that, you realize while your eyes shut and you allow yourself to drown into the delicious ache that covers your muscles while aftershocks of your orgasms cause occasional spasms all over your body.

“Holy shit.” Bucky’s the first one to speak, still fighting to breathe, “That was-”

“Fucking amazing,” you complete, breathing hard, but with a blissful smile on your lips you tilt your head towards him, “Thank you, Bucky. You have no idea how much I needed this.” You add, too deep in your daze to care whether you sound pathetic or not.

He laughs loudly and the corner of his eyes crinkle with it, “My pleasure, beautiful, my pleasure.”

A few more moments pass with both of you laying there and enjoying the after state of what you just did until the mattress moves when he gets up.

You gather your strength to lift your head enough to watch him walking towards the bathroom, rolling off the condom out of his semi hard cock.

As you’re alone in his bed, that’s when an awkward feeling freezes up your chest in contrast to the heat you’ve surrendered to so far. What the hell are you supposed to do now? Do you leave? Do you stay? Can you take a shower? You could definitely use one… You know he said no rules and you agreed, but some guidance would suit you pretty well right now.

“Hey,” his voice takes you out of your own mind puzzle, “Your turn.” A soft towel is thrown at your face.

You grab it in your hands and look up at him with a glare. He’s laughing as he walks towards you, still butt naked, and your glare quickly dissipates into a playful one. “The bathroom is all yours now. There is liquid soap, shampoo and other stuff there if you need them,” he offers casually, sitting by the corner of the bed, “I’m starving, Chinese sounds good?”

You sit, too, holding the towel in your hand, “Yeah,” you frown before nodding “Sure, Chinese sounds great, actually.”

“Alrighty, then.” He taps on the mattress and gets up. You gaze falls down to his perky butt cheeks moving as he walks towards the door. He stops by the frame and looks back at you with that mischievous look of his, “Then, I’ll be ready for dessert.” He darts out that sinful tongue of his and runs it over his lips.

The brief awkward coldness you felt is replaced by a flush of a welcoming heat creeping up your body.

You smirk back at him, “Can’t wait.”

~~~

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x readere #bucky barnes smut #smut #bucky series #floof #it's a deal

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hercleverboy · 4 years

Text

promise

matthew gray gubler x reader

genre > angst/fluff

wc > 1.8k

the reader is tired of matthew never being home.

Y/N sighed as she looked up at the clock perched on the table top. It was nearing 9pm and she’d only just been able to get her son to sleep. It had been like this for weeks. Matthew’s job understandably took up a lot of his time, but before having their son the couple had discussed him cutting back a few of his hours so that he could be home more. And for the first few years of their sons life he kept that promise, never missing a single milestone. However the last few months Matthew was less and less seen around the house. He was gone early in the morning and back late at night.

At first, Y/N said nothing. From the time she did get to spend with her husband, it was clear that he was stressed about his work and that it was preventing him from taking care of himself. She didn’t want to add to his stress by bringing it up. Matthew was a fantastic father, and no one could ever think otherwise.

However, over the last few weeks it had become increasingly clear to Y/N just how devestated Jacob got when his father wasn’t home to tuck him in at night, especially when he’d promised him he’d be home in time. Jacob was definitely more of a Mumma’s boy, but he idolised his father- he was fascinated by the magic tricks he showed him and the random facts he knew. She’d tried to explain that his father would’ve loved to be able to be there to say goodnight, but he had work to do. Unfortunately, that was a difficult concept to ask a four year old to understand.

Tonight had been different. Tonight was the first night Jacob had cried at bedtime when Y/N told him Matthew wouldn’t be there to tuck him in. it had broken her heart. After soothing her son enough so he could fall into an uneasy sleep, Y/N slipped out of his room, grabbing her phone and calling her husband.

She wasn’t surprised when he didn’t answer.

So she sent him a simple text, one that would spike fear in any man.

We need to talk.

Fuck. Matthew knew he was in for it when he got home.

He gently opened the front door, trying not to make too much noise. He flicked up his wrist, checking the watch that sat there. 10:27pm.

The first thing he saw when he entered the living room was his wife, sat expectantly on the couch, giving him with this look that only she could give him.

“You promised him, Matthew.” She spoke, her tone cold and he could hear the anger she was biting back for the sake of their sleeping son.

“I know, I know I did but filming ran over and we had to reshoot a few scenes and I just lost track of things.” He attempted to explain, walking toward her.

“I understand that but you shouldn’t have promised him. He’s a kid, he doesn’t understand the technicalities of things. He understands who’s there and who isn’t.” She stood, moving to wrap her arms around herself in a self-comforting way.

“Well I’m sorry, Y/N. But my job is important.” His voice raised slightly, nostrils flaring.

“Is this family not important? Your son?” Her volume raised to match his.

He scoffed, shaking his head. “Don’t be ridiculous. You know that you and Jacob mean everything to me!”

She sighed, glancing away from him. “He’s devastated whenever I tell him that you’re not gonna be home in time to tuck him in. He has been for weeks, but tonight..” She looked back at him, tears burning in her eyes. “He cried.”

Matthew’s defensive stance dropped at the mention of his son being so upset. “He was.. he cried?”

Y/N sniffled and looked down, nodding slightly. She didn’t want to make him feel bad, and she certainly wasn’t trying to guilt trip him, but how else could she explain how much this was hurting their son?

“Y/N I didn’t-“ He started but she shook her head at him.

“I don’t want to hear it. I’m exhausted, Matthew.”

“And you don’t think I am? Don’t you think I hate having to be away from you two? How I hate myself every time I know I promised him I’d be there and I have to let him down? Why don’t you consider how it makes me feel?” He shouted, his defensive stance back again. Y/N was about to respond when her eyes landed on a small figure standing by the bottom of the stairs. Their son, dressed his favourite blue dinosaur pyjamas, his big hazel eyes looking between his parents.

Y/N quickly wiped her tear-stained cheeks, forcing a smile onto her lips as she looked at her son. “Jacob, sweetheart. What are you doing up? It’s late.”

Jacob nodded, rubbing tiredly at his eyes. “I woke up and I heard shouting and I came down to see if daddy was home.” He gave a little smile at the sight of his father, even in his sleepy state.

“Yeah I’m home, buddy. Come here.” Matthew grinned through watery eyes, bending down as his son came toward him, enveloping the small boy in his arms. Matthew pressed a kiss to Jacob’s head full of brown curls before pulling back. “You gotta go to sleep, bud. Go with mummy, I’ll be here in the morning and we can talk then, okay?”

Jacob nodded, rubbing his eyes tiredly. “Do you promise?” He whispered.

Matthew but his lip but still nodded. “Yeah, I promise.” He made eye contact with Y/N, who quickly looked away before smiling down at their son.

“Okay Jake, let’s get you to bed, yeah?” She bent down slightly to lift him into her arms, his head dropping against her shoulder as he fought sleep.

Matthew watched as she carried their son up the staircase, disappearing upstairs. His heart ached.

Y/N had tucked Jacob back into bed, making sure he was comfortable. She pressed a kiss to his forehead, and turned to leave when his small voice broke the silence.

“Mummy?”

She turned back toward him with a frown. “Yeah, baby?”

“Are you and daddy getting a divorce?” His little voice whispered, and she came back towards his bed, kneeling down beside it, shocked by the question.

“A divorce? Where did you hear that?” She questioned gently.

“There’s this girl in my class, Lily. She said her parents used to fight all the time and they ended up getting a divorce. Now she hardly sees her daddy anymore.” He stated matter-of-factly.

“Oh. Well, there’s no need to worry about that.” She promised, and his hazel orbs looked into hers, getting a little watery as they filled with tears.

“I don’t want to never see daddy.” He cried, and her heart broke.

She got up, moving to sit beside him in the bed, cradling him into her side. “Hey hey, it’s okay sweetheart.” She cooed. “I love your father very much. Sometimes we disagree on things, but we’re not getting divorced, okay?”

Once she’d finally lulled her crying son to sleep, she slipped out from the bed and gently closed his bedroom door behind her, walking back toward her and Matthew’s shared room.

He was sat on the bed, feeling guilty over their petty argument. He knew it was silly, and really it was just that he was stressed over his job, and he also knew Y/N was right. He had been spending less time than he’d like at home, and it broke his heart to think that doing so was impacting his son so negatively.

He looked up when Y/N came into the room, gently closing the door behind her.

She looked at him, and he could see the tears that welled in her eyes. He smiled sadly and opened his arms for her to come into, a way of saying he was sorry- that all was forgiven. She sat beside him, head on his chest as his arms wrapped around her. He kissed her forehead and was about to apologise when she spoke.

“Jacob asked if we were getting a divorce.” She sniffled. Matthew pulled back slightly to look at her, a frown on his face.

“A divorce? Where’d he learn that?” He asked.

“I don’t know, I guess he must’ve heard us arguing. He said a girl in his class told him that her parents got a divorce because they argued, and that she didn’t get to see her dad much anymore.” She mumbled, and Matthew’s grip tightened on her. “He got upset, he thought you were gonna leave. That he wouldn’t see you again.”

Tears had welled in Matthew’s eyes at the thought of his son thinking he was ever going anywhere.

“I’m sorry.” Matthew whimpered out, and she looked up quickly, to see the tears falling from his eyes. he was always very in touch with his emotions, and the idea of his son thinking he was going anywhere really hurt him.

Y/N moved slightly so she could wrap her arms around him to comfort him as he cried on her shoulder. “Hey, hey. It’s okay.” She soothed, running her fingers through his hair. “We just- we can’t argue like that anymore. Not if it’s gonna hurt him like this.”

She felt him nod against her. “I know. I’m so sorry, it was my fault in the first place-“

She shook her head, pulling back. She cupped his cheeks gently, using her thumbs to wipe away his tears. “No, don’t do that. It was both of us. We’re a team, okay? Everything we do, we do together.”

He nodded again looking down, his hands holding her firmly by the waist, as though he was afraid she’d disappear. “I just don’t want you to think that I take you, or this family for granted. This family means the world to me and I need you to know that I would give up everything for you.”

She smiled up at him. “I know. but I won’t ever ask you to give up your work for us. I was only asking you to cut it back just a little. ‘Cause I know you, you get so passionate about these projects that sometimes you lose yourself in them and that’s not a bad thing. Your passion is one of the reasons I fell in love with you.”

He blushed, a small smile breaking out on his lips.

“I just need you to remember that you have a little boy waiting for you to come home. A little boy who looks up to you, god- he thinks the world of you, Matthew.”

Matthew’s smile only grew bigger, as he looked up, finally meeting her eyes. “What would I do without you?” He murmured, pulling her closer to him.

She smiled brightly. “You’ll never have to find out.”

It was a promise, and with it came the reassurance that was more than enough to eradicate any negative thoughts Matthew had. And when he pressed his lips to hers, he could tell it was all going to be okay.

Tag list : @beyonces-breastmilk @pinkdiamond1016 @itsmyblogandillreblogifiwantto @thelovelyrose

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#mgg x reader #mgg #matthew gray gubler #matthew gray gubler x reader #criminal minds #spencer reid

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yournameyn · 3 years

Text

Feeling Deeply

Genre: Fluff so much fluff. Arranged Marriage fic.

Pairing: Namjoon x OC

A/N: Aaaaaa this is the first fic I'm posting ever ever. It's basically a way to follow the red thread of my desires. OC is named Brishti. She's Indian. She's Bengali & curvy & an introvert. This whole fic is 90% going to be a slow burn fluff fic about two introvert nerds getting to know each other. Seriously there's like hardly any real angst, maybe slight angst about okay when are these two going to bang - if you look very carefully but basically its just slooooow fluuuufff. Hopefully you all like it. Please let me know what you think. Current Chapter: This one is loooong. Remember this is all happening in the 1960s. OC & Namjoon are both really well off first gen immigrants. In this chapter we have our couple coming closer together - talking about some issues they've both had in their lives. Also this is the chapter where you'll get to know one of my favourite Namjoon songs and like why the OC is named what she's named. Also just a reminder because im a bit paranoid - Rim Jhim (referred to as Rim) is our OC Brishti. Its a pet name that's introduced in this chapter. And Namjoon being the wordsmith that he is makes it shorter, with the korean meaning of the word.

Previously in Feeling Deeply: Preface-ish Chapter 1

Chapter 2

And so it went for the next few days, the two of them quietly discovering each other. They were finding out the normal, casual, small things - how he didn’t like mint chocolate, how she loved bitter black coffee. Since both of them worked, they decided to split the chores at home. It worked out great because Namjoon liked to sweep & Brishti loved to do the dishes. They both struggled to cook but they decided to learn how to cook each other’s cuisines. So she was learning how to make kimchi (the green onion one) & he was learning how to prepare daal (the yellow one). They split the rent & decided to create a separate bank account for their savings. Talking about money increased warmth because they discovered that neither valued it excessively.

Slowly, they began talking about things a little more intimate. Meanings of names were revealed. She was impressed that his name meant genius. And he loved that hers meant rain. Pet names were introduced. He called her Rim - an even shorter version of her daak naam Rim Jhim. He told her to call him Joon. She looked away, smiling, then - silently telling him they’re not there yet. What he didn’t tell her was that he was already making up a fairytale about Joon, the genius & Rim, the brilliant jade that makes him so.

They spoke about books the most. Between them, they had half the globe's literature covered. She had read Indian authors & Russian & Spanish ones. He loved Korean authors, Japanese literature & all the Greek Classics. He geeked out about philosophy & poetry while she nerded over nature writing & music. They spoke about how they might take a look at other European writers & musicians together. To that end, Namjoon brought home a book of love poems by Rilke.

He hadn’t told her that he wrote poetry too. He hadn’t mentioned anything because it seemed like an indulgence of the past, poetry. But that night everything changed. After a late dinner, Brishti had asked to read aloud from the book he’d brought. As she read ‘To Music’, Namjoon saw tears float in her eyes. Secretly, something inside him had wept too. And just like that, he knew he would begin writing soon.

Each week the two watched late shows of classic hollywood musicals in a nearby theatre because they’d decided against a tv in their home - opting, instead, for a record player. Meeting for a movie each of the two Fridays they’d spent together so far was an experience both looked forward to - not only for the movie. In the darkness of the movie theatre, they experienced the first glimpses of intimacy. Soft smiles, whispering, silent glances, hands caressing each other. He loved how she laughed with abandon. She loved that he would tear up during the emotional scenes.

Her smile was getting wider, warmer toward him, Namjoon noted everyday. He’d been sleeping separately since their wedding night because he wanted her to feel safe. He was mostly okay with that except if he thought about it… If he thought about a time when he would get to touch her - Namjoon almost felt dizzy with feelings.

This happened the most when he saw her read by the window, he ached to touch her. That was her - Brishti - that was who she was at her core. Reading, running her fingers through her short hair, staring out the window, thinking, looking at clouds & then going back to reading. She was still quiet, but less so. She spoke about the rain and the trees and when she was happiest, he learned, when she really trusted that no one was going to judge her, she spoke about the moon. It had happened twice in the last few days.

He couldn’t stop looking at her. As though that needed reasoning, he thought about it at the office too. It wasn’t the only answer he could come up with but Namjoon had never seen a body like hers. She didn’t seem brittle or delicate, the way most women looked - or were “supposed to look”. She didn’t care what a body is supposed to look like, at least, it seemed that way to him. Brishti’s curves were not subtle. She was short and while almost everyone was shorter than him, Brishti was just… sexily so. She’d do these things… seemingly normal, everyday things but they would quickly, embarrassingly, inspire an arousal in him. Like, that thing she did, when she stretched after waking up or even if she stretched her arms or her neck… for some reason that turned him on so much, he’d have to hide… or excuse himself. His breath hitched, everytime he thought about how he hadn’t still actually seen her body.

Brishti, too, enjoyed looking at him from afar. Sharing, creating a living space with a man was never something she thought she would enjoy. They had exchanged the basic stories of how they had reached each other.

Namjoon had said, “I’d met a couple of women… girls… but they just seemed either plastic or porcelain… you know? I mean, not all of them could have been that but that's how they… presented themselves? You… I saw your photos in a pile that the matchmaker labelled ‘rubbish’”

“What?!”

“Yeah… I’m sorry but it’s actually a compliment to be labelled ‘bad’ by a matchmaker. That’s why I was looking in that pile in the first place… when I heard you wanted to keep working… Honestly I was so relieved...”

She smiled, “At least you got a look at me… I didn’t even know what you looked like till we met. I had no choice at all. A boy had agreed to marry me - despite… me… so that was the end of it. That was the bargain with my brother… otherwise I wouldn’t have been allowed to work either.”

“Wow… I’m so sorry, Rim. That’s really… really unfair.”

“Hmm yeah… I just figured if I can keep earning & the man turns out to be wrong, at least I can leave.”

“That’s… thanks for not leaving...”

Brishti smiled, “I got lucky...”

Namjoon understood, then, that Brishti might be an introvert but that did not mean she was shy. She made him blush & laugh. She made him speak without inhibition. The more time he spent with her, his feelings poured out.

“Thanks… It’s been really nice to share this home with you. Just to have you to talk to… My life was not going that great...” he said.

Brishti nodded, even though she already knew this. Whatever he said, strangely, she could see a deeper melancholy behind it. They spoke about being strangers in a strange country. She told him how she had to fight at the library for Tagore to be considered classic literature. How she was slowly but surely, being accepted in the oddball group that ran the library. She was not the only non-english person there, so things were easier for her. Besides, true readers had always been more accepting of the different.

Something made her regret sharing her happiness about this because his struggle in this foreign land was far more intense… she could sense pain behind the words he used. Namjoon did not enjoy his job the way she did. He worked overtime most days and came home bone-tired. Kim Namjoon was in many ratraces at the same time - races Brishti felt he didn’t want to participate at all. Being a lawyer, being an asian - the ‘model minority’, being a slightly well-off Korean in a sea of white men, in a sea of less fortunate asians who were being treated much worse than him. Trying to create a name, an identity of his own was wearing him out... chipping away at his soul.

Brishti sometimes saw him and saw a great banyan cutting itself down, trying to be a shrub just to fit in. When she asked him how his day was, he always smiled. It was real, the smile and yet it couldn’t hide the sadness in his eyes. Something that was beginning to bother Brishti more and more, these days. He... had begun to matter more and more these days.

Now, about two weeks into their marriage, she was experiencing butterflies about the smallest things; Things like watching him sleep on the fold out, bringing him coffee in the morning. She felt a pull deep inside her take over when he would come out of the shower in the bathrobe, skin glistening from the shower & musky man-scents launching her body in a fantastical arousal & her mind in overdrive. Somedays, Brishti even went for a shower after he’d been, just so she could soak in his essence & bathe in a trance she had never felt before.

On their third weekend together, Namjoon didn’t have to go to work the whole weekend. He’d spoken to his superior at the firm to let him have weekends free - after all, he was married now. Post lunch that Saturday, Brishti and he kept unpacking, organising while talking (well, later on, it was just coffee & talking) into the early hours of Sunday. They spoke about things they loved, people they had loved. About fictional crushes and real ones. Both of them spoke about their past relationships. Something Brishti was delighted about - especially since Namjoon told her he was not the type to hold someone’s past against them.

Brishti couldn’t believe it when Namjoon had correctly guessed, “It was the photographer, right?”

“What-?! How- Where- How did you…?” Brishti couldn’t even form a question.

“Your photos, at the matchmakers… something was different. All the other pictures women give out for arranged matches seem... fake. Yours were… real… private. You looked comfortable… looked like you were being teased...” What he didn’t say was how much it seemed in those pictures like she was with someone she truly liked… maybe even loved.

Sat on the ground opposite Namjoon, Brishti kept her gaze on him. It unnerved Namjoon that she could really see him. She unnerved him further when she said, “You should say what you aren’t saying… or… asking?”

“Did you love him?”

“Not really… it was just... a different kind of friendship… ended almost as soon as it began. But I- I don’t regret it. It wasn’t the kind of love-” she trailed off. She looked away, smiling but trying to hide it. The same way she had in the photograph.

He pressed further just to tease her “Kind of love...?” Namjoon was intrigued because she was blushing now & he wanted to plant a thousand pecks on her. Instead he said, “So you can just… stop what you were saying? Mmm. Okay. I see.”

She looked at him then, “I’m feeling… a lot… of… different things these days. Especially because of a couple of dimples...”

Just like that, she turned the tables & his dimples appeared. He blushed, “Yeah… same. I mean… you don’t have dimples but I’ve-”

She nodded to let him know she understood. And then asked, “Uhm... Have you… had sex?”

Namjoon bit his lip, “Yeah… yes. I... had a girlfriend in law school. It… uh… wasn’t serious… for her.”

Brishti looked away nodding, as if stopping herself from saying something.

He looked at her… knowing what she probably wanted to say. He wanted to hug her but he only said, “It doesn’t matter, does it? For me it doesn’t. Doesn’t matter if you’ve had sex too… I know how people can be about virginity… I- honestly… it's just another way to control people.”

She looked at him with a mixture of emotions. She took a minute to compose herself & then said, “I’ve never met a man like you… and it's a little confusing and annoying… Not that you are annoying… not at all. It’s just the world is annoying because this is how low the standard is for a man. A man accepting that the woman has a past makes him… forward…? But of course the woman has to… because, well, he’s a man and he has needs. We’re all told that… Shirley... who works with me… she knows it too. Women just aren’t supposed to talk about their pasts. All women.”

She paused & got flustered further because of how dedicatedly Namjoon had been listening. It really seemed as if he was taking notes. The serious expression on his face, it made Brishti's ears feel hot. Almost as a distraction, she went on -

“It's crazy but that seems to be the only thing THE WHOLE WORLD has agreed on - they can’t agree on one way to make bread but they all agreed that women are inferior. It’s such a basic thing to just let me work… because I want to… but it's annoying that it makes me feel lucky. My best friend had to go through hell because she thought she could trust her husband with the truth about her past… so it makes me feel lucky that… you won’t…”

Namjoon could see the pain in her words. Maybe that’s how she could always sense the pain in his words, he thought.

After a calming silence passed over them, he spoke - “I won’t. I don’t really know what it’s like for a woman. And… maybe you won’t like to hear this, but… I was the same, Rim... I was the man my society had trained me to be. Everything changed when I came here. When, for the first time in my life, I understood what it’s like to be treated inferior. Since then, I just… I cannot be the cause of a feeling like that within anyone... So… you’re right. I’m not doing anything everyone shouldn’t already do. All of this should be normal. Expected. Hopefully the world learns a bit faster…”

Brishti smiled at Namjoon. She chuckled when tears pooled up in her eyes. He instinctively reached out for her & placed a hand on her leg, just below her knee. A jolt went through Brishti and she looked surprised. He did too. Namjoon retracted his hand immediately & looked away, blushing. That’s when Brishti laughed out loud. She stood up. And asked him to stand up, silently.

He did. It always made Brishti’s heart flutter just how gorgeous and tall he was. Someday, she would tell him. Someday, she would show him. For now, she couldn’t help feeling bashful as she asked, “Can I get a hug, Joon?”

This was the first time she’d used the pet name that he’d asked her to call him by. This was what his family called him. And her using this name assured Namjoon of just that - she was becoming family. Her question had made his heart flip. He moved without really thinking, because this is what his body had wanted since the day he saw her. He pulled her up in his arms. He felt like he was melting. She was soft. Warm. Beautiful. And in his arms.

Brishti gasped a little when Namjoon had scooped her up in his arms. She was on her toes, literally & figuratively. She held onto him, less as a hug & more as support… at first. Then, she felt his arms… the strong arms that she had been ogling at, around her. It was as if a knot came undone, within her, suddenly. And in its place, the softest silk suddenly flowed through her body.

She closed her eyes and breathed him in. The same essence that she’d been soaking in after he had showered, that she had been breathing in whenever he would pass by or reach past her. The essence that she had now become so hungry for that she had been secretly sleeping with the shirt he’d worn from the laundry basket. That essence was now all over her. Her chin turned up, resting on his shoulders, her cheeks touching his, her hands - on their own - reached the nape of his neck and began to play with his hair.

When she did that, Namjoon held her tighter, pressed her on to him. He felt her body react to his. One hand reaching her shoulder around her back, he moved the other closer to her waist, so his hands could fold over her curves. He could feel her breath hitch when he did that.

Brishti was revelling in the feeling of his hands, his fingers, feeling his fingertips press into her - that was a feeling she could never have imagined making her so... so... drunk. She was drunk. She ran her hands up and down his vast back, all the way up to his hair. All of a sudden she could feel herself overcome with emotion. Tears began pooling in her eyes again. And she said, before it was too late, she said, “Thank you, Joon, for everything… thank you.”

When he heard the tremble in her voice, Namjoon pulled away, just so he could see her. Brishti quickly retracted too - to wipe off her tears, trying to laugh off the silliness, apologising. Namjoon replied, “It’s okay… I understand… I… Thank you, Rim. I hope you… you know what I mean...” What he wanted to say, what he hoped she understood was that she was what was helping him come alive. But being unable to, Namjoon knew someday he would. Someday soon.

Brishti nodded to say she understood. Namjoon tried to lighten the atmosphere, saying, “You’re not… just anyone, you know? So… maybe you should tell me something I could do which is… not just basic decency, but something that can be considered truly feminist, you know. I’d love to do that for you.”

Brishti smiled and nodded. She suddenly felt tired & almost of its own accord, her body stretched into a yawn. She said, “I’ll think of something. We- I should go now… Do you want- anything?...” Brishti was delighted about how drunk she had gotten from one hug. It was exciting that she knew she’d be sleeping with the sweater he had tossed in the laundry basket tonight. She decided to take a bit more time to enjoy being intoxicated without a substance, together and alone.

Later that night, as Namjoon laid on his fold out sofa, alone, he thought of how great it had felt to have Brishti in his arms. To have someone who wanted to know about his day. To feel her heartbeat, like raindrops, knocking on his chest like it was a window pane, almost as if asking to be let in…

Thoughts like these, they made Namjoon reach for the notepad & pen that he always kept close by. He wrote. He wrote of being world weary and suddenly having a friend. Suddenly feeling like the world wasn't rushing him, that he didn’t need to run, that he could take time, be slow, be a poet. His heart tugged at his pen as it wrote lines about what it felt like to have someone cry for him. To have someone be full of feelings for him, to have someone to embrace his weary body. He wrote about how he missed that embrace and yet it was okay… as long as she was still here, maybe not just next to him, yet. Maybe someday. It was okay because she asked how he was every day and Brishti was here, forever. Namjoon felt tears run down his own face, as he titled the first poem he’d written in almost five years - Forever Rain.

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Oooooh god you read it?! Thank you so much! Please please let me know what you thought! Get into my messages about it! I would love nothing more than to hear what you felt about this!

#bts kim namjoon #fanfic #namjoon fluff #namjoon arranged marriage #namjoon x oc #arranged marriage #slow burn #slow burn fic #fluff fic #bts fanfic #bts #indian oc #red thread fics #forever rain #brishti

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kosmikowboj · 3 years

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I want to preface this by saying I do Not celebrate Easter and I don’t think TFW would either, but my mom told me a story about how when I was really little we went to an Easter egg hunt and the older kids kept stealing eggs from me, and it cracked me up so much that this ficlet was born. enjoy <3

Napinis

[word count: 1,315]

This was a bad idea.

(Which was why, if anyone asked, Dean was going to say it was Cas’s.)

After stopping the apocalypse for what was (hopefully) the last time and dragging Cas’s ass out of the Empty, Dean had promptly thrown up his hands and retired. At first, that had consisted of wrestling with his sobriety while Cas secretly house-hunted behind his back; then it had consisted of settling down in a small farmhouse with their antichrist baby and some chickens, and a garden in the front yard notorious for its never-ending supply of green beans. Nearly every day when morning broke, Dean would roll over in Cas’s arms and squint against the sun, realizing he had forgotten to close the blinds the night previous; he was still getting used to having to close blinds at all. He lived in a house. With the love of his life and their kid!

That was not the bad idea. By all accounts, that was a fantastic idea—Dean felt a whole lot less shitty about existing when it consisted of Cas, and Jack, and bees on freshly bloomed flowers, and Sunday farmers’ markets. It was peaceful. Dean hadn’t ever thought he would get peaceful.

No, the bad idea was taking Jack to the neighborhood Easter egg hunt. He was all of five-years-old (nearly six), which meant he could run really fast when he was trying to avoid bedtime but not as fast as, say, a boy who was all of eight-years-old. Or multiple boys who were eight-years-old. Consequently, Jack spent most of his egg-hunting time with an empty basket, trotting up to an egg he had found only to have some older kid speed by and snatch it up at the last second. All things considered, Jack was taking it relatively well—he would just kind of blink as if to say, Where’d it go? and then keep wandering around the grass to find more.

It was after about the fifth or sixth egg snatch that he started to get frustrated, and after the seventh that he plopped down in the grass and started crying. His basket was still empty, aside from the single egg they had given all the kids as an example of what to look for, and he pointedly refused to look at it.

“Wanna go home,” he mumbled when Dean hurried over and knelt down next to him. Dean sat down all the way and Jack promptly climbed into his lap, scrubbing roughly at the tears on his cheeks with his hands.

“I’m with you, bub,” Dean agreed, pressing a small kiss to the top of his forehead as he gently pulled Jack’s fingers away from his reddened face. “If your daddy wasn’t busy chatting with the neighborhood moms,” he nodded towards where Cas was talking animatedly with several women about...flowers, or something, “we’d be outta here.”

Cas, in fact, seemed completely oblivious to the fact that their son had given up on their late morning activity, fully engrossed in his conversation. Dean narrowed his eyes, and then looked over to where the rest of the kids were still looking for Easter eggs. They had to be nearing some of the final ones now.

“Hey Jack,” Dean whispered loudly, and Jack perked up almost immediately. He had started calling it "Pops’ adventure whisper,” which always made Dean crack up. “Would you be willing to give it another go if I helped you out?”

“Parents aren’t allowed,” Jack pointed out sadly.

“Neither are asshole kids,” Dean argued.

“Daddy says you shouldn’t say that word!”

“Daddy is too involved in conversation to scold me.” Dean stood up, holding Jack against his chest. He was going to be too big for Dean to do that soon. “C’mon. It’ll be fun.”

“Okay,” Jack said, kicking Dean’s stomach as a signal that he would like to be put down now, thank you very much. Dean chuckled and set him down, trailing after him as he peeked in bushes and behind trees looking for eggs. Any time it seemed as though someone might take an egg before Jack could get to it, Dean would sprint forward and scare them off, repeatedly sending Jack into a fit of giggles that almost made him forget there were Easter eggs in the offing.

He ended up with a grand total of five, including the one he had received just for showing up, but he didn’t seem to mind his small bounty that much—after it was announced that the hunt was over (and Dean smiled a tad to himself at the realization that this was the only kind of hunt he would have to worry about from now on), he ran over and very proudly showed his basket to Cas.

“Daddy look!”

“Wow!” Cas gasped, smiling as he knelt down to Jack’s level. “You did a great job, Jack. I’m very proud of you.”

“Pops helped,” Jack beamed, looking back at Dean. Dean returned the smile, but was inwardly cursing his kid’s sudden willingness to share credit—he had no doubt he was about to get an earful from Cas about the integrity of the neighborhood Easter egg hunt, and—

“Pops wasn’t suppose to help,” Cas said, scowling over the top of Jack’s head at Dean. Yep, there it was.

“Pops was tired of watching older kids steal from his kid,” Dean shot back.

“Is that why Judith’s son is crying?”

Silence.

“Dean.”

“Cas.”

Cas leveled Dean with one of what Dean called his “angel stares.”

(Nevermind the fact that Cas wasn’t an angel anymore; the ability to intimidate had stayed, apparently).

“I didn’t do anything!” Dean exclaimed, holding his hands up in self-defense. And then, more quietly, “If he got scared by me running at him so he wouldn’t steal from Jack, that’s his problem.”

Cas shook his head, but Dean could see he was trying not to laugh, so he had won, clearly.

“Are you five, Dean?” Cas asked, fighting back a grin as he stood up.

“I’m five!” Jack supplied helpfully. “I have one egg for each year I have been born.” He looked up at his dads hopefully. “I can get six next year.”

“You sure can,” Cas agreed. He held his hand out and Jack took it eagerly, swinging his basket with the other as they started back towards the car (most notably not Baby, because apparently Baby was “atrociously unsafe for a child”). Dean furrowed his eyebrows.

“No pouting. I have two hands,” Cas said, waving his free hand in front of Dean’s face. Dean tried to grab it but Cas pulled it back. “Go apologize to Ryan.”

Dean groaned. “I’ll apologize to Ryan when he apologizes to Jack.”

“He’s eight, Dean.”

“And I’m forty-four. What’s your point?”

“I was hoping my forty-four-year-old husband might have more maturity than an eight-year-old.” Cas rolled his eyes, and then turned them into those stupid puppy dog ones he had learned from Sam. “Please? Judith is going to glare at me the entirety of next week’s book club if you don’t.”

Dean gave a deep, dramatic sigh. “Fine. Can we get paninis for lunch after I apologize, at least?”

“I love napinis!” Jack cheered. “Can we please get napinis Daddy? Please please please—”

“Yes. We can get paninis.” Cas turned to Dean. “You are a terror and a menace.”

“Yeah, well, you have the really hot angel who raised me from perdition to blame for that.”

Cas gave a warm, sunshine smile, kissing Dean softly.

“Gross!” Jack said, making a fake gagging sound to accentuate his point.

Cas and Dean, in typical parent fashion, proceeded to make a bunch of gross fake kissing noises until Jack’s vehement protesting finally broke them apart.

“You still have to apologize to Ryan,” Cas said.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m going. I’ll meet you and Jack back at the car?”

“Mhm. Love you.”

“Love you too, Cas.”

#my writing #supernatural #spn #destiel #deancas #dean winchester #cas winchester #jack kline #baby jack

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sage-nebula · 3 years

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Game Review — Neo: The World Ends With You

In 2008 I played a JRPG unlike any other I had played before, or have played since. It was a self-contained story and for the most part I was okay for it to stay that way, though I was always curious what more could be done in the world, and hated how Square-Enix kept teasing us with the promise of a sequel that it seemed would never come. But now, 13 years later, that sequel has finally arrived.

Overall Score: 9/10

My personal feelings on the story and characters aside, overall Neo: The World Ends With You lives up to its predecessor in terms of gameplay, writing, music, and presentation. Unlike other sequels which fall woefully short of their predecessors, Neo does a fantastic job of staying true to the spirit of the original so that older fans can enjoy it just as much as new fans do. For more detailed thoughts, head under the cut (and onto my blog for formatting purposes).

The Pros:

The writing, for the most part, is excellent. Again, I have more personal takes on the story and character beats that I’ll delve into on a different post, but in terms of how the dialogue and flavor text are written throughout the game, Neo has shown that the writing staff hasn’t forgotten what makes The World Ends With You spectacular despite it being 13 years. The humor is on point, the character of the fictionalized version of Shibuya that was created is on point. Even just playing the demo I could tell that the charm was still there despite this being written over a decade later and I couldn’t be happier with that fact.

The music is, of course, phenomenal. There are remixes of tracks from the original game that are great, because I’ll never say no to a version of “Transformation” or “The One Star” or “Someday”. But there are also original tracks that are just absolutely beyond fantastic, such as “Kill the Itch” or “Last Call” or “Bird in the Hand”. One of the things that sets The World Ends With You apart from other JRPGs is its music, and how it’s composed to be music comparable with what you could hear on a radio versus being very identifiable as video game music, and Neo delivered on that front yet again with both the remixes and the original tracks.

The gameplay is another area in which Neo shines. It would be impossible to replicate the battle system of the original game, something Square-Enix showed time and time again with their numerous ports and remasters of it. The original game was meant to be played on the Nintendo DS, and specifically the Nintendo DS, in that it was created with the dual screens in mind. As a result, the two partner system just didn’t work on the numerous ports and re-releases, and it wouldn’t be able to work in Neo either due to the fact that none of the platforms it’s releasing on have dual screens. As a result, Neo’s battle system is very different, but also very, very good. The battles are still real time, and you still control all of the characters at once (I don’t think there’s a way to let the AI take over like with the partner in the original game, but I could be wrong on that), but this time they’re all in the same plane of existence and you juggle up to six of them at a time. Instead of passing a light puck to power up a sync fusion, you’re instead bouncing combos in order to work up a Groove, which in turn lets you Beat Drop in what is essentially a version of the sync fusions, albeit not nearly as specific to the characters as the sync fusions were. There were times while playing that having to balance so many characters at once got a bit much, especially when trying out new pins with different reboot times, but overall the battle experience is incredibly smooth and is a perfect rendition of what TWEWY battling should be like on a single screen. Battles aside, there are numerous other areas in which the gameplay shined as well. Starting in Week 2 you gain the ability to move around the map more quickly in a way which integrates the BGM as well (which is important given how much thematic importance is given to music in these games), and in Week 3 you get an even faster method of travel via telewarping around the map. Pins are back, and with a story explanation given for why the characters can use any pins they please, you get different pins to use and elemental affinities to consider when picking out your decks. A new Social Network feature not only gives you additional information on various characters, but also grants you new abilities and can help you keep track of who is who, as well as who has a relation to whom. Little features like this definitely add to the experience of the game and make playing it feel fun, which is always of paramount importance when it comes to video games.

There is a ton of content, which again, is pretty important when you consider that this is a $60 game. Like the original game, there are three weeks of seven days apiece for the main story. In a way, this can make it seem like the game goes by too fast (especially if you binge play it like I did), but also like the original game, there is plenty of post-game content to do as well. For one, we once again get a light-hearted parody bonus chapter in the form of “Another Day”. For another, there are Secret Reports unlocked by completing special missions in each chapter that provide extra background information, as well as an unlockable secret ending as well. So although the main story can go by fast (especially if, again, you just can’t put it down), there is still plenty to do once the main campaign is completed and that’s always the mark of a brilliant game as well.

Speaking of, the game really is difficult to put down. Five hours passed by in a blink for me while I was playing, not only because the gameplay was fun, but because I just had to know what was going to happen next. There were times when I figured I would just start the next day and then put it down, but the next day began with something crazy happening and I had to follow up on it. For a heavily story-based game, this is yet another necessary strength and the developers pulled it off fabulously.

For the most part, the characters were all fantastic as well, newcomers and returning vets alike. The original game shined in how unique it made its characters, and Neo does this as well. The returning cast is (again for the most part) IC but with notable growth in their personalities and demeanors, and the new cast is equally as lovable (or detestable for those that are meant to be detested). Again, since this is a story-based game, having strong characters is a necessary requirement and Neo pulls that off just as splendidly as the original did, with few exceptions.

The game is also beautiful to look at, much like (at risk of sounding like a broken record) the original. The comic book art style has always been incredibly unique and charming, and they integrated the 3D graphics seamlessly with the art style to create a truly beautiful marvel to look at while playing. The character design is also worthy of a chef’s kiss, especially when wise decisions were made behind the scenes to swap the designs of certain characters (namely, Ayano and Kanon originally had each other’s appearance, before a smart decision was made to swap how they looked). All in all, this is a game you never get tired of looking at.

The Neutrals:

Despite there being a wide variety of pins to use (especially since any character can use any pin), there actually isn’t that much of a variety in terms of what the pins actually do. This is partially due to hardware restrictions; in the original game they could have sound based pins because the DS had a microphone, and the touch screen also allowed for different types of inputs as well. But current consoles don’t offer as much in terms of gameplay ingenuity, and as a result you get a lot of pins that are basically just clones of each other, which is a little bit disappointing when you compare it to the original (especially since I haven’t discovered many iconic sets yet, a la Darklit Planets or Brainy Cat etc).

While there are a ton of characters in this game, there is much, much less emphasis put on the citizens of Shibuya who aren’t involved in the Game, which in turn makes it feel like there are less memorable side characters than the last game. For the most part, the citizens of Shibuya are basically relegated to just being possessed by Noise, and that’s it. Whereas we saw their lives carry out over three weeks in the last game (such as Makoto’s evolution in both his social and professional life), here we don’t really get to see that, which is a bit disappointing as well.

The battle gameplay, while very fun and smooth, does feel a little less deep at times than it did in the original game. While in the original you had to learn to balance Neku’s pins with his partner’s psychs, here you’re basically button mashing in a rhythm in order to get the gauge up, which can get a bit tiring if you do a bunch of battles in a row. The fact that the Beat Drops aren’t unique to the characters like the Fusions were is another thing that, while not a huge detriment, still feels a little less special than the Fusions did in the original game.

Neo is a lot more plot-focused than the original, which was more character-driven. Don’t get me wrong, the original definitely had a plot as well, and Neo does care about its characters. But while the deeper aspects of the plot were discovered post-game through the Secret Reports in the original, here the plot intricacies are front and center. And while the first game spent way more time developing its characters and focusing on their inner struggles, here the character issues are mostly pushed to late game in order to focus on the plot. It’s not bad, but it is noticeably different.

You still don’t get to actually see the characters in the clothes you dress them in. While this makes sense (it would be way too much to program in), it’s still a bit of a letdown.

The fashion brands don’t really feature into the plot or world at all, with the exception of Gatto Nero because of who created it. Again, it’s not a huge deal, but I enjoyed how you could see which brands were most popular in different areas of Shibuya in the original, and how you sometimes had to boost the popularity of the brands via doing battle with those pins or clothes equipped in the original in order to clear missions. It made the brands you were wearing actually matter, versus just being fun flavor text.

The Cons:

The time travel mechanic, Replay, is probably the biggest con this game has to offer. While it does have consequences that I won’t spoil here in the very final act of the game, for the most part it completely negated the stakes for the vast majority of the game, because you knew that even if something terrible happened, Rindo would be able to go back in time and fix it. I was never worried about what the characters would encounter as a result of this, except for in a few instances where something bad happened after Rindo had already used his power for the day. This is a noticeable downgrade from the original game, where there were no Do Overs and Neku and the others had to live with whatever consequences the Game had in store for them, which made everything feel that much more dire. In addition to lowering the stakes, though, Replay also loses points for the fact that having to do the same events with slight changes over and over felt like padding. In particular, in the endgame there is a segment you have to go through about six different times, and it felt maddening. While I do feel like Replay was a homage to the Zero Escape games in that it works remarkably similar to Sigma and Phi’s SHIFTing ability (and Fret even calls the Game “the escape room from hell” which again calls to Zero Escape), for some reason it felt far more like a chore here than it did there, possibly because you couldn’t Jump at will here like you can in Virtue’s Last Reward.

I’m personally not wild about the adult/teen romances that were implied in the game, even though thankfully neither of them seemed reciprocated. Namely, Kanon viewed Fret as a kid given that she’s an adult and he’s a teenager, and Shoka never really thought about her relationship with Ayano that deeply even though Ayano seemed pretty in love with Shoka. But even though these relationships weren’t reciprocated, the fact that they were present at all is still something that I’m really just not wild about, and made me feel a bit uncomfortable while playing. (And yes, I know that Ayano and Shoka are said to be sisters in “Another Day”, but the subtext surrounding Ayano’s feelings in specific in the main story is so blatant it’s essentially overt text. I don’t want to get into it here since that delves more into spoiler territory, but I really just was not wild about it at all, especially since that’s the most blatant lesbian rep this series has given us thus far, which is disappointing to me, a lesbian.)

I don’t want to dive too much into this here because of spoilers, but: Neku. From his English voice acting to his writing, he was disrespected up and down in this game. Truly a massive disappointment in every sense of the word, and so he deserves a Con point all to himself.

There is a noticeable lack of minigames in Neo, as well as a lack of variety in the wall missions. We only had one instance of Reaper Review (that I encountered at least). There was no Reaper Creeper, nor was there Tin Pin Slammer, though both were mentioned. As someone who loved Tin Pin Slammer, I was so sad to see it not present at all in this game, and there wasn’t even a suitable replacement for it that we could play on the side, either. As mentioned above, the battles can get a bit boring after a while, so the fact that there weren’t minigames to help break them up truly feels like a detriment to what is otherwise a very fun game to play.

Fret’s Remind ability was a chore every time I had to use it. You had to hold the joysticks at certain positions and if you couldn’t solve it fast enough, you had to reposition them all over again. Maybe it’s just the Switch version that was having the issue, I don’t know, but I found it incredibly finicky and hard to control, which made me dislike every time I had to do it despite loving the little drawings that Fret conjured up when he used his ability.

In cases where Noise could interrupt your entire party at once, I found that I was unable to use pins a second or two before the interruption came. This was most notable with the elephant noise (fuck those elephants, me and all my homies hate those elephants, there were TOO MANY ELEPHANTS in this game) and the final final boss. Again, this could be a bug exclusive to the Switch version, I’m not sure, but it was annoying as heck regardless.

All in all, whatever complaints I may have, this game is extraordinarily fun and a wonderful sequel to an even more wonderful game. I’m incredibly happy with it and I’m glad that it lived up to expectations, particularly considering how long it took to arrive. Now we just need to wait 13 years for a third game. I don’t know about you guys, but I’m ready.

#neo: the world ends with you #neo twewy #neo the world ends with you #2021 game reviews #minor spoilers contained within though I tried to keep it as spoiler-free as possible

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seasonsofeverlark · 3 years

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A Mellark Family Thanksgiving

Author: @mandelion82

Prompt: Peeta takes Katniss home for Thanksgiving to meet his crazy family. [Submitted by @eiramrelyat]

Rating: T

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Of all the times to meet your (relatively) new boyfriend’s family‒Thanksgiving?!

It was stressful enough meeting your significant other’s family, especially one as important as Peeta was to Katniss, without throwing a holiday into the mix. Now, not only was there the normal amount of pressure to be expected from that, but added to it was the hustle and bustle, the overeating, the uncomfortable dinner table silences (or, on the opposite end of the spectrum, too much and too loud of talk), and in general, the attempt to get a big group of complete strangers to like you.

For Peeta to suggest it, he must have been hitting the cooking sherry. Katniss had heard that phrase on an old TV show…

Well, turned out Peeta wasn’t sauced, and when she questioned him, he said inviting her over to meet his family on Thanksgiving was purely for practical purposes. He said the timing just fell as such and that it was a rare opportunity when the whole Mellark clan would be together, for one of his brothers had moved out of state and his other was insanely busy with his own family.

Peeta thought it best for her to meet his family in one fell swoop and get it over with… That didn’t sound good.

Katniss and Peeta had been dating for going on six months now, but their love story was practically written in the stars. From the moment they met, there was a connection unrivaled by any two people. They both felt it, although Peeta was much better at expressing things like that. It took Katniss a while to realize what it was, herself.

Yes, their growing together, and eventually being together, had been a long time in the making. Peeta said he knew they were meant to be from the start, but for Katniss, it was a period of discovery. Theirs was an age-old friends-to-lovers tale. Two inseparable people coming to realize they care more about each other (and in a different way) than simple friends, even best friends. They’d been there for each other through thick and thin over the course of the last few years, through good times and hardships, stood by one another during familial issues and the stress of school and new jobs.

And eventually something more awakened, something physical‒raw and magnetic.

Yet, she still hadn’t met his family.

Briefly, Katniss wondered if Peeta wanted her to meet his family all of sudden because he was thinking of taking their relationship to the next level. She wasn’t sure what that level might be, though. They were already sleeping together regularly, and last month, she’d agreed to move in with him. That was a big challenge for any couple to face, but so far, it was going fantastic.

As for marriage, they’d never really talked about it; although Katniss knew Peeta wanted it someday, and he knew she didn’t look favorably on it. Oh, it wasn’t for lack of ability to commit or any kind of stance Katniss was taking against the institution. Plain and simple, it was because of her parents. Katniss’s mother had completely fallen apart when her father died, and Katniss feared the same thing happening to her.

Yeah, that was probably why they’d never discussed it. Neither of them wanted to ruin the great thing they had going.

However, both were in too deep now, anyway. And Katniss planned on being with Peeta forever. Whether they got married or not, she couldn’t fathom anyone but Peeta by her side for the rest of her days. That is, if he could accept that she may never want marriage or children…she worried about it sometimes…

But no, her Peeta would never abandon her, no matter what.

Then again, now there was this whole meeting his family thing…and she didn’t know what it meant. Could it be Peeta trying to tell her he wanted something more? Or, was it just a formality, an ‘oh well, you might as well meet them,’ even after all this time had passed?

Katniss felt nauseated just thinking about it.

But Peeta was important to Katniss, quite possibly the most important person in her life, as her father had died and she didn’t have a close relationship with her mother. The only other person who came close to Peeta was Katniss’s little sister, Primrose. The two of them were pretty much tied for her affections. Yes, Peeta and Prim were the most important people in the world to Katniss, and the only two people she was sure she loved.

Katniss would do just about anything to make Peeta happy. And she really didn’t want to mess this up.

She wanted this to go well more badly than she wanted one of Peeta’s gooey cheese buns right now. Consequently, he’d made some for Thanksgiving dinner, but he wouldn’t let her sneak any. The rat! Said she’d spoil her appetite or some crap like that. Of course, on the way over, he’d informed her that he’d set some aside just for her and that he’d slip them to her later because he had a feeling his hoggish brothers would take way more than their fair share.

They were on their way over now, and Katniss was anxious and famished. How long did Peeta say the drive was? An hour-and-a-half-ish?

Sensing her nervous energy, and probably feeling the bounce of her leg, Peeta glanced over. He snuck his hand across the console and laid it over her hand, which rested on her black stockinged leg. Since she was wearing a dress, tights were a must as it was cold and pantyhose ripped too easily.

And that was another thing, having to stress over what to wear. As ridiculous as it was to do it for this reason, she’d settled on a nice sweater dress to impress his family. To make her look like a proper lady or some nonsense she’d made up in her head. She knew Peeta wouldn’t have cared if she’d gone in a ratty sweater and old jeans, but apparently, she was trying to be someone she wasn’t, for his sake. Now, the fact that the dress was sunset orange, that was all for him.

“Have I told you that you look beautiful, sweetheart?” Peeta asked, smiling affectionately.

“Yes,” Katniss replied. “Several times. But thank you, again.”

Peeta chuckled. “And I like that you wore my favorite color.”

“I knew you would.” She smirked. His eyes had practically bulged out of their sockets when he caught sight of her attire, and they were almost late heading out.

“And I know you’re uncomfortable wearing it, but I promise to get you out of it just as soon as possible.” He gave her a wry grin and squeezed her leg suggestively.

It actually wasn’t all that uncomfortable, but she definitely wasn’t going to turn down Peeta’s offer, especially when she’d had the very difficult task of turning him down earlier, for lack of time.

“I’m gonna hold you to that,” said she, grinning over at him.

He stroked her leg, causing a frisson of energy and a quivering between her legs. Inadvertently, she squeezed her thighs together. If he kept this up, well…it would be so good, but then again, not…

Fortunately and unfortunately, Peeta soon turned from amorous to serious. And he almost seemed as nervous as she was about tonight. Not exactly reassuring…

“You know, Katniss, it’s not too late to back out.”

Katniss wasn’t expecting that at all, and it made her wonder. Did he really think she’d say, sure, yeah, turn the car around, or drop me off at the local…wherever? Considering they’d gone rather far to go back home now, it wasn’t very practical.

“What’s the matter, Peeta?” She played off her unease in a teasing manner, “Are you ashamed of me or something?”

“No way, I want everyone to meet you.” He laced his fingers through hers. “I just wish you didn’t have to meet them.”

Katniss laughed. “I’m sure it’ll be fine.” But really, she wasn’t.

“It will be,” Peeta assured, giving her hand a squeeze. “Although…I think I should prep you on a few things.”

“Prep me?” she asked curiously.

“Yeah.” He sighed, then went on to tell Katniss his main worries: that his parents would fight while they were there, that his brother would be an ass, that his uncle would (no question about it) be drunk and say or do something stupid…

That she would lump him in with this crazy lot and want nothing more to do with him…

But Katniss wasn’t expecting the perfect family or the perfect evening. Family was family, and every family had its…issues. Every family was crazy in its own way. And it was a holiday, which basically meant that people were either going to be on their best or worst behavior. But she was ready for it. She would go anywhere with Peeta.

When they arrived at the typical suburban home Peeta had grown up in, Katniss took a good long look, and she smiled. This was where Peeta grew up. And for that reason alone, she loved this house.

“Katniss?” Peeta broke her free from her trance.

“Yes, Peeta?”

He turned toward her, taking both of her hands in his. “Promise me something?”

“Anything,” she said, with so much emotion in her voice it shocked her.

“Promise me that…after tonight…that you’ll still love me.”

“What?”

Katniss nearly laughed at him, yet he was completely serious. But how could he be? It was utterly ridiculous. How could Peeta think that meeting his family would change anything? For someone to make her stop loving Peeta…no one could do that.

Still, Peeta’s baby blues were boring into her grays. So, she promised; fervently, she promised, and she sealed it with a deep kiss.

Seemingly convinced, Peeta beamed at her. He released one of her hands but kept hold of the other, and he turned the two of them to face the doorway. They stared at the red door for a long moment, the garish, brightly-colored fall wreath, gifted by his aunt, which his mother only put up once a year for her benefit, hung there, mocking them.

Peeta sucked in a deep breath and slowly released it. “Together?” he asked.

“Together,” she replied. Peeta opened the door, and they stepped over the threshold of the Mellark home as one.

—-

Peeta’s mother was the first one they saw upon entry. Clearly coming from the kitchen, she was wiping her hands on her apron and looking a little displeased. She didn’t move to hug her son, nor did he make an attempt to.

“Mother.” Peeta greeted her in such a formal tone, though Katniss wasn’t surprised, considering all the things Peeta had told her. “Sorry to get you out of the kitchen. Thought I’d spare you the trouble and let myself in.”

Mrs. Mellark humphed, and Peeta ran his free hand through his curls.

“Uh, Mother, this is Katniss Everdeen, my girlfriend. Katniss, this is my mother, Helena Mellark.”

The tiny, sturdy woman looked Katniss up and down, a faint sneer curling her lips. Finally, she spoke, and Katniss rather wished she hadn’t. “She’s not very big. Not very pretty, either,” said Helena Mellark.

“Mother!” Peeta scowled at her, and they engaged in some kind of brief stare-down.

Not like she was good at breaking tension, but Katniss decided to give it a try. “Uh,” she cleared her throat, “this is for you.” And she handed off the dish Peeta and she had made together.

That was another frustrating thing about Thanksgiving‒having to make a huge meal, or even just bring a special dish and having to make the tough decision of what to bring.

And Katniss hated cooking. Oh, she wasn’t a bad cook, exactly, and Peeta, bless his heart, had tried teaching her and garnering her interest, but it just wasn’t how she wanted to spend her time.

Peeta’s mother gave Katniss a cursory ‘thank you’ and a ‘pleased to meet you’ as she accepted the dish. It didn’t sound genuine, but it was progress, Katniss supposed.

At that, Mrs. Mellark turned her back and waved them into the foyer. They followed her for a moment, but fortunately, she headed for the kitchen, and Peeta veered Katniss off toward the living room.

“Saved the worst for first,” Peeta quipped, squeezing Katniss’s hand tightly. “All part of the plan.”

“Oh yeah?” Katniss muttered, still a bit shaken by his mother’s coldness toward him and her disapproval of her. 0 for 2. But so what if his mother didn’t like her? She seemed like a witch, anyway. And at least Peeta had begun to defend her before she interrupted. She was glad she had. As much as she disliked Peeta’s mother from what he’d told her, she didn’t think it would make Peeta feel good to get in a fight with her over his girlfriend on a holiday.

“Don’t worry. It’ll be gravy from here on out,” promised Peeta, obviously trying to sound soothing. “Well, sort of.”

“You’re not instilling me with much confidence,” said she. He responded by pulling her tight against his body and kissing the side of her head.

As they headed into the living room, Christmas piano music, laughter, and loud talking could be heard. Ah, the sounds of family…

The atmosphere seemed nice enough, but why did Katniss feel like she was being lined up to be shot, or perhaps have her tongue cut out?

Peeta’s two brothers were there; they had to be his brothers, anyway, for they looked almost exactly like him. All three Mellark boys were stunning and could easily be shampoo models with that gorgeous blond hair of theirs. They were all stocky, too, although Peeta was slightly shorter and bulkier than his brothers. But Katniss liked that. She loved his big, strong physique.

Peeta was definitely the most clean-cut. His face was clean-shaven, unlike the other two, who both appeared to have at least a day’s worth of stubble. And Peeta’s hair was gelled to perfection, whereas Rye’s was a tousled mess and Brant’s was neatly combed back but thinning.

Peeta proudly introduced his father, Graham, who was as jolly as Santa Claus. The older Mellark told Katniss how glad he was to meet her and tentatively reached out to her. She allowed it, and Peeta’s father gave her the gentlest bear hug she’d ever had.

Then, Peeta officially introduced his older brothers, Rye and Brant, and Brant introduced his wife and pointed out his kids.

Brant Mellark, Peeta’s eldest brother, was polite, but he didn’t say much. His wife, Elena, was friendly, though, and beautiful. Like Peeta and his brother’s, she was blonde and blue-eyed, and she wore her hair in perfect curls.

The second Elena met Katniss, she squealed, “Oh my, Peeta, your girlfriend is so…exotic!”

Katniss had gotten the ‘exotic’ comment quite a bit, and a few people had even asked her where she was born as if she was born in some faraway land. She wasn’t always sure the exotic thing was supposed to be a compliment, but Brant’s wife seemed nice enough, so she assumed that, in her case, it was.

Peeta shrugged at Elena’s remark. “I don’t know about exotic; all I know is she’s beautiful.” He took Katniss’s hand and kissed it.

Rye made a gagging noise.

The middle Mellark brother, Rye, was basically a twerp of epic proportions, which was hard to believe of a guy in his early thirties. Right off the bat, he’d teased Peeta about not letting go of Katniss’s hand, and he’d started hitting on Katniss and calling himself the superior Mellark brother. Katniss had challenged that straight off, pointing out all of Peeta’s excellent qualities and how he had him beaten in every way. Rye had slunk off with his tail between his legs, but he kept casting glances her way. Peeta’d apologized for him and kissed Katniss’s cheek.

“Rye, aren’t you a little old to be grossed out by affection?” Peeta pointed out.

“Just when you do it, little brother,” taunted Rye.

Next to meet was Peeta’s regal, old-fashioned grandmother, who Peeta suggested not mentioning the fact that they were living together and having sex to because she had strict views on the matter. Again, he emphasized that it wasn’t that he was ashamed, but it just might make things uncomfortable. Not like Katniss was planning on opening with that one, anyway. It didn’t seem likely to come up, either, but with family, you never know.

Then Peeta’s mother’s sister, Effie, arrived, late. She wore a dress that looked like it was made of turkey feathers and some silky type of material. Not long after came Peeta’s father’s brother, Haymitch, a crotchety old drunk, who supposedly had some kind of twisted love-hate thing going with Effie, according to Peeta.

Effie shrieked in a high-pitched, affected accent over how amazing Katniss’s eyes were. She didn’t think they were so amazing, though. Gray. Kinda plain, if you asked her. But other people seemed to think it was ‘exotic.’

When Katniss met Haymitch, she was standing next to Effie. “Nice dress,” he commented, giving Katniss a thorough look, then glancing over at Effie’s. “Not yours,” he told Effie. And she scowled at him.

Haymitch proceeded to tell Katniss a story about how Peeta had helped him shower off the vomit after he’d gotten good and drunk, much to Peeta’s chagrin.

Peeta scrubbed a hand down his face. “What a great Thanksgiving story, Uncle Haymitch! And God, why in front of my girlfriend?”

“What? I was tryin’ to give ya a compliment, boy! Tellin’ sweetheart here that she’s got a good one. Good at taking care of people. Shows fine qualities for a husband and father.”

Peeta must have seen that it made Katniss a bit uncomfortable because he deflected. “Yeah, well, you are like a giant baby, Uncle Haymitch.”

Most everyone in the room laughed, including Katniss. Not Haymitch, of course.

“Hey,” growled Haymitch. He turned to Katniss, then. “Well, even though he said that, ya still got a good one, sweetheart. I don’t know ya, but ya could probably live a hundred lifetimes and not deserve him.”

“Haymitch,” groaned Peeta. “You’re wrong. Katniss is definitely the one who’s too good for me.”

That earned some awws, and of course, another gag from Rye.

As soon as they were relatively alone, off in a corner and out of earshot, Katniss thanked Peeta for what he’d said, and the two of them whispered about Haymitch and Effie’s interaction and the strange timing of them arriving within seconds of each other. Peeta’s theory was that something was going on between them.

Once the pleasantries were done with, the family headed to the dining room to have their Thanksgiving dinner. The table was nicely set with a huge spread, but there was the issue of who would cut the turkey. Usually, Peeta’s father did it, but he had burned his hand this morning at the bakery, so he offered the job to one of his sons. No one was stepping up, though. Odd, considering Peeta was pretty good with a knife.

“I can do it,” chimed Katniss, much to everyone’s surprise. Graham smiled at her and presented her with his special turkey-cutting knife that had been in the Mellark family for years.

Rye was still being a pain and began crowding Katniss, pretending as though he was going to stick his hand in the way just as she prepared to cut. Both his brothers and his father warned him, Graham saying he didn’t need to take anyone to the emergency room tonight, but Rye wouldn’t listen.

“Don’t you touch that, Rye,” warned Katniss one last time. Honestly, she’d had enough of this man-child. As anticipated, Rye didn’t listen and kept sliding his hand forward, just to screw with her, so Katniss did what any normal girl who’s handy with a knife would do in such a situation‒she stuck it right between his index and middle finger.

Awed and horrified looks and a few gasps resounded in the room, Effie’s ringing above the others. “That is mahogany!” Effie exclaimed, horrified by Katniss’s barbaric behavior.

But not everyone was so horrified.

Uncle Haymitch was chuckling off to the side. “Oh, relax, sweetheart. Loosen your corset.” Effie glared at him. “You, too, Helena.” Peeta’s uncle glanced over at Peeta’s frowning mother. “The girl didn’t hurt the table none! All she did was kill a placemat!” Haymitch bellowed. “A cheap one at that.”

Haymitch was right, of course. The knife hadn’t even gone through the plastic turkey placemat, and that was Katniss’s intention. She hadn’t meant to ruin the Mellark’s table; she had, however, meant to scare Rye and get the fake turkey straight through the eye.

Mission accomplished.

Katniss briefly met Haymitch’s similarly colored eyes, and she swore she saw something akin to respect there. Had she just earned Peeta’s uncle’s approval?

She looked to Peeta, then. His blue eyes were wide, and he was quiet. She wondered if she’d humiliated him. Probably so. Honestly, he couldn’t take her anywhere! How could she do that?

Contritely, Katniss removed the knife, and Rye carefully pulled his hand back, taking time to examine all his fingers thoroughly to make sure they were still in-tact.

“Did you see that?!” Rye practically shouted, though he didn’t seem mad. “She almost chopped off my fingers! But she didn’t. She missed on purpose.” Don’t be so sure, Rye, thought Katniss. “That was amazing!”

Peeta’s mother didn’t seem to think it was so amazing, though. She must hate her more than ever now. And Effie clearly thought she was a total heathen. But when she looked back at Peeta again, he was smiling at her. She smiled back.

Brant was also impressed, as was Peeta’s dad. Graham didn’t quite know what to say at first, but he finally came out with, “Your girl sure has spunk, Peet.” And he gave Katniss a big smile.

Katniss finished carving the turkey with precision, and nearly everyone oohed and ahhed over her skills. Then they all sat down to a ginormous dinner of turkey, stuffing, noodles, mashed potatoes, etc, and of course, plenty of freshly baked bread.

However, between Peeta’s middle brother’s lascivious glances, his mother’s looks of disdain, his uncle’s occasional drunken belching, and the general chaos around them, Katniss was fairly certain she was at the threshold of hell.

It could always be worse, though, right? At least the food was good. So good she couldn’t get enough, in fact.

Katniss had already put away a plate and a half of Thanksgiving fixings and two whole cheese buns (the larger, cheesier ones Peeta had made especially for her). She hadn’t even gotten to the dessert table; yes, an entire table dedicated to desserts‒pastries, cookies, and several different pies, including chocolate and the traditional pumpkin. It all looked mouth-watering.

She knew she should have eaten a little something today. Truth be told, she was saving room for the large meal, but to her shock, her stomach seemed to be a bottomless pit tonight.

Peeta glanced over, concerned, probably wondering if she was so nervous she was stress eating.

“Sweetheart, you okay?” he whispered in her ear.

“Yeah,” she whispered back, “just really hungry…” She did have a habit of snacking when she was stressed; although, this seemed like more than usual.

Peeta gave her thigh a squeeze under the table, and Katniss looked at him questioningly. Was he trying to be reassuring, or was he getting frisky? Surely not the latter. Not at his parents’ house on a holiday. She was pretty sure it was a comforting one, given the context, but she checked his face. She’d be able to tell by the look in his eyes, whether there was a playful twinkle or they were steady and comforting.

“Wow, your girlfriend can really pack it away,” commented Rye, breaking their moment. Peeta pressed his lips together and glared at his older brother. But that didn’t stop Rye. “She eats like I did when I was training for football. How does she stay so thin?”

“Metabolism,” responded Katniss.

Peeta smiled and nodded. “And speaking of football, Rye,” he turned his attention on his brother, “you may have trained, but you quit after the second game.” He looked back over at Katniss, and they exchanged grins. Okay, so he was hitting below the belt a little, but Rye deserved it after the way he’d been tormenting Katniss all evening.

“One day that’ll all catch up with her,” remarked Peeta’s mother. “It’ll settle in those nice, trim hips of hers.” Peeta stiffened beside Katniss. He swallowed thickly, and Katniss was fairly certain he was prepared to say something to her.

And he did. “No matter if it does or not, Mother. Katniss will always be beautiful to me.”

Katniss smiled at her boyfriend faintly. She appreciated him sticking up for her and also the fact that he’d love her no matter what she looked like‒and it didn’t really bother her, because she knew she could stand to gain some weight‒but she hated this whole need to validate themselves to his family. She didn’t like how they were always ripping on him, either.

Dinner ended, and Peeta’s mother began the dishes. Out of politeness, even though she didn’t like her, Katniss offered to help the witch. Peeta’s mother informed her that they had a dishwasher, but of course, it was going to take several loads, so Katniss suggested she could do the excess by hand, which was how she was used to doing it growing up.

Helena let her.

After dinner and the dishes were done, the Mellarks switched immediately into Christmas mode. Peeta’s father took Rye, Brant, and his kids to pick out a live Christmas tree. While they were gone, Peeta’s mom and Brant’s wife got out the Christmas decor; they had it out before Katniss could offer to help.

But they let Katniss join in decorating once the tree was set up. It was pure chaos, though kind of fun.

When things settled down, Katniss took a good look around. The place did look festive, and the atmosphere wasn’t bad with the lights and the tree up, the quieter talking and the drinking of hot chocolate and the eating of cookies. Family. She supposed there were some nice things about it.

Before they left, Peeta snuck Katniss up to his room as if they were teenagers. Over his doorway, he’d strategically placed a piece of mistletoe, which they both had to walk under. Keeping with tradition, Peeta swept Katniss into his arms and planted a long, deep kiss on her. They made out and felt each other up for a good 3-5 minutes before slipping back downstairs. Any longer would have made the others suspicious, and if they’d kept going, they might have ended up naked in Peeta’s old bedroom. And that wouldn’t do. Not on Thanksgiving, anyway…

Still, the idea had its merits, and frankly, it’d excited Katniss a little bit. She couldn’t wait to get him home.

#everlark #everlark fanfiction #autumn #autumn 2020 #mandelion82 #submission #prompt

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mysticmegaraofficial · 3 years

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A Sham Psychic || Ben & Meg

TIMING: Present. LOCATION: Coffee Plus PARTIES: @professorbcampbell & @mysticmegaraofficial SUMMARY: A ‘psychic’, a cultist, and a spirit walk into a bar.. CONTENT: Body Horror Mentions, Grief Mentions

Looking around the tables of Coffee Plus, Ben settled in his usual corner of the shop with a book and a tall iced coffee. The weather had been unseasonably warm lately, which had put an unfortunate damper on his prospects. Not many people were interested in sitting in a Coffee Shop in the middle of summer. But, he’d keep an eye out anyways. Shifting in the seat that was just a bit too small for his wide frame, Ben looked around at the other patrons with an appraising eye. A woman sipping coffee as she read the newspaper, a young man who looked quite fidgety as he waited for his espresso, and-- Ben’s eyebrows creased together as he took in the woman who was… doing fortune telling? In the corner of Coffee Plus of all places? Whatever she was saying clearly had some kind of an affect on the person she was talking to. Ben watched her, analyzing the way she spoke, the way her eyes moved. A hack. A sham. Incredible, even in White Crest, there were people trying to play the part of the psychic.

Ben watched and waited until the client had slid a crumpled twenty across the table and walked away, visibly shaken. Interesting, interesting. Smiling to himself, Ben took his coffee cup and strolled across the shop towards the woman. “Hello there. Are you doing… fortune tellings?”

“Are you sure?” Jolie’s quiet voice was hard to hear, her shaking hands clasped around her to-go coffee cup. Meg felt sorry for her. Losing a partner so soon after marriage must be one of the hardest things someone could go through. Pierce’s spirit stood over her, disfigured and sad, but mostly full of concern for his wife.

Meg hadn’t planned on doing any readings in Coffee Plus this afternoon. She had just settled down at a corner table when tear stricken Jolie and her ghost husband approached her. Jolie was, apparently, a fan. Please, she said, I’m so lost. Admittedly, Meg usually charged for impromptu readings since she wasn’t keen on using her downtime to do her job. That said, she didn’t charge Jolie anything. This woman wasn’t an excited fan eager to meet a celebrity, this was someone in a lot of pain. Besides, Meg always had a soft spot for crying women anyway.

“I’m sure,” Pierce said. “I just want Jo to be happy. I don’t… I want her to process her grief, and move on. And to look back on our memories together with fondness.”

An emotionally mature ghost was a godsend for Meg. She reached across the table and gripped Jolie’s hand. “I’m sure,” she said, softening her voice. This wasn’t on television, so it didn’t need a big finish. “I see happiness in your future. You’re going to succeed in writing. Publish the novel you’re writing. And even if you don’t form a better relationship with your mother, you will still be happy.” Pierce had very helpfully provided those details for her.

“But --”

Meg smiled at her. “I know it must be difficult for you -- I mean, picturing a life without the one you love? But I can sense Pierce. He longs for you to go through the tunnel of grief and come out the other side. It won’t be okay today or tomorrow and the sadness you feel may never go away completely, but the pit of grief and sadness will shrink so you don’t fall in every time.”

“You’re sure?” Jolie asked. “Do you really see success and happiness?”

Meg nodded. “I do. I promise.”

In the end, Jolie walked away sniffling. She seemed calmer though, not quite at peace and not quite okay, but satisfied with what Meg gave her. Pierce gave her a nod, and followed after her, and both disappeared through the exit of the coffee shop. Meg relaxed a little, and considered grabbing her book from her purse when someone else approached her.

She glanced at the man, taking a sip of her coffee. “Psychic readings,” she corrected. “Fortune telling is a different sort of art. But no -- well, yes. Technically. This was an…” Meg paused, tapping her cheek as she tried to think of the right description. “Fantastic coincidence, me and that woman both being here at the same time.” Meg smiled at him.

“Anyway, were you just curious, or were you looking for a reading?” Meg gestured to the empty chair across from her that Jolie vacated. “I wouldn’t mind company either way.”

Ben hadn’t paid much attention to the woman who had left, but he caught a glimpse of her wiping her eyes as she left the shop. Clearly, whatever this hack had said must have struck a nerve in her. A very emotional one. But how? There was always a trick with these things. Ben had seen a great many things, met a great many creatures that could masquerade as almost human. He was familiar with the werewolves that howled in the night and the vampires who leeched life from the residents of town. But he knew there were no such things as psychics or mind readers. Otherwise, his family would have been found out long ago. Arching a brow in the appearance of interest, Ben asked, “Psychic readings? What exactly does that sort of thing entail?”

A fantastic coincidence. What that meant, Ben had no idea in the slightest. “You know, you’ve piqued my curiosity. If you don’t mind, I’d love to have one done.” And see if I can uncover this sham.

Meg examined him, making sure to keep her face friendly and open as he took the spot across from her. A part of her wanted to make the man cough up cash payment for a reading, but she technically offered and it wouldn’t be fair to charge him anything when her previous guest hadn’t been charged a dime. “I’m so thrilled I’ve managed to pique your interest, ” Meg said. “A psychic reading is … Well, in layman’s terms an attempt to discern information about your past and how it’ll affect your future with my gift -- my heightened perspective of being able to look through the fabric of time and space.”

She reached to take a sip of her iced coffee right when she felt the presence enter the coffee shop. Her stomach sank, brief flashes of the last time an unexpected spirit came into this establishment. Not a great memory for her or anyone else who had been here that day. It wasn’t a poltergeist, though. Meg watched as the girl dressed in fashion Meg herself wore in high school phased through the wall, floating over to their table to examine them, taking her place behind the man. Was this his ghost? Or was she just being a spirit medium magnet again?

“Of course,” Meg continued, “I do have to give you a warning.”

The spirit made eye contact with her, and Meg raised her eyebrows slightly.

“Hello,” the girl said. “You… can see me?”

Meg gave the slightest incline of her head. An unfamiliar expression flashed across the girl’s face.

“... This is Benjamin Campbell. Everyone calls him Ben.”

Meg continued speaking to Ben. “I do real psychic readings - I’m not going to tell you what I think you want to hear. I’m going to tell the truth. And you may not like it.” She was taking a risk with her next question. The ghost may be lying, or producing old information hoping she would fail. Meg was fine with taking risks. “Will that be alright, Mister Campbell? Or do I have permission to call you Ben?”

Ben made himself comfortable in the seat across from the woman, his expresison politely neutral and open as he listened to her prattle on about how she could look through the veil of time and space. As if she could do such a thing. Zombies, vampires, demons, gremlins, and horrifying creatures that could steal the faces of his colleagues? Of course they existed. Psychics? People claiming to peel back the void? Utter garbage. There were no such people, or else His Lord would have warned him. Hrvsht’ooooor had offered all kinds of advice to the Campbells over the years, whispering the ways to avoid detection, describing the sort of creatures who were unfit to be sacrificed to him. Like the walking garbage disposal that Ben had an unwilling alliance with. Psychics did not exist, plain and simple.

Taking a sip from his coffee, Ben watched with mild interest as the woman seemed to stare not at him, but past him. She really was keeping up with this whole act of seeing past the unseen, wasn’t she? Resisting the urge to roll his eyes at her words, Ben smiled instead. “I think I can handle the truth.” He said with a shrug. When he said his name, Ben raised an eyebrow. “You may call me Ben. I hope you don’t think that’s enough to impress me though.” He said, turning the plastic cup of his ice coffee to show the hastily scrawled “Ben” on the side. “And my family is quite well known around town.”

Meg grinned as he turned the coffee cup towards her. Really, she should have caught that, even without the spirit lingering over his shoulder. “You’ll have to forgive me when I say my goal isn’t to impress you,” Meg said with a flippant wave of her hand. “Too many psychics like myself spend far too much time trying to impress people with their gifts -- trying to make people believe them. People will believe whatever they want, regardless of what I say or do. So I just give the truth, and let people take what they will from that.” Still she clapped her hands together. “Fantastic. There are many people who can’t handle the truth. You may call me Meg, by the way.”

“I remember his mother,” the girl said suddenly, and Meg fell silent to listen to the secrets she whispered. His mother. His job. Meg smiled.

“Your mother worked in the front office at the high school. Before my time, of course, but she always had cookies on the table for the kids. Nice lady, everyone loved her.” Meg sipped her coffee. “And you -- work at the college now, right? I suppose I should have said Professor Campbell. Forgive me.”

The woman brushed away the obvious dig with a nonchalant wave of her hand, making Ben’s grin only grow wider. Not in mirth, but in irritation. She was really going to keep up this charade? These sort of scams were just that-- scams. There were tricks, there were ploys, there was subterfuge abound. But he had to admit that her dedication to the act was something else. “Meg. Charming to meet you.” He said with a nod, before taking a sip from his coffee. He watched her expression intently. She wasn’t looking off into space like she had been before, but he could see the slight way her pupils dilated as though she’d been struck with something--

At the mention of his mother, Ben offered a nod. “Yes, my mother did. She also enters the annual bake off every year and, again, we’re quite well known in town. If you know me, you know my mother.” He said with a blasé expression on his face.

Oooh, he didn’t believe a single word she was saying. Amusement grew in Meg, a little more than it should. She was, in fact, a fake psychic with some otherworldly capabilities, so it wasn’t exactly offensive when people could see the actual truth. More often than not, their disbelief was rooted in the special kind of place lots of White Crest citizens resided. “It’s a pleasure,” she confirmed. She leaned back in her chair, nodding along at the information he willingly gave to her. “No wonder all the kids loved her then. You must have great taste in baked goods.”

“He doesn’t believe you,” the girl said, frowning. The spirit seemed far more upset by this than Meg was. Meg was already calculating exactly who Ben was -- rather, making generalizations about his character from his attitude, body language, and the information she had, and was ready to continue on with her reading when the spirit offered her something more.

“You loved to learn -- I mean, you’d have to, if you’re a Professor. But only in the subjects you find interesting. You’re not a Professor of Physics, hm? I see your past -- you making your physics lab partner do all the work for your project. Stellar grade, that A+. A shame Wyatt had to share it with you - naughty.” Meg said teasingly. It was all in good fun, of course. Meg herself had definitely bribed her sister into doing some work for her when they were younger, just like Meg had posed as Willow on request to break up with her boyfriend because she was too scared to do it. Children were funny.

Crossing one leg over the other, Ben leaned back in the chair, his considerable bulk pressing against the back of the thin chair as he regarded the woman. Meg. Her name seemed familiar, but he couldn’t place it. And he certainly didn’t recognize her. She’d confirmed that she was younger than him-- his mother had retired a year after he’d graduated high school, having no other reason to remain in the school district now that her sons were no longer a part of the system. Which meant she was a local. She wasn’t just some drifter who had set up shop in White Crest, drawn by the peculiarities of the town. “My mother’s spoiled me on them, that’s for certain.” He said coolly.

Ben kept his eye trained on Meg’s face as she next spoke. There was something off about this whole thing. She didn’t know this information off the top of her head. It was almost like she was being fed it, like someone was telling her. Ben’s forehead wrinkled in a frown at the woman’s next assertion. What? Physics? He’d taken that class over two decades ago, he couldn’t be bothered to remember every peer he extorted. Of course, he had a feeling it was true, but she didn’t need to know that. “I can’t say I remember that. You’ll have to excuse me, but high school was over twenty years ago for me. I have no idea who Wyatt is.”

“Mother’s do tend to do that,” Meg agreed, her easy smile still on her face. I can’t say I remember that. Possibly the truth, especially if high school was twenty years in the past for him. Meg quietly cheered to herself. She was younger than him. High School was what? Fifteen years for her. She knew that eye cream she bought did wonders for her. Before she could continue on, the spirit spoke again, her flash of anger causing the lights to flicker ever so slightly. Meg crossed her legs, leaning forward on her elbows as the spirits whispers floated to her ears.

“Wyatt Miller, he was one of your teammates from when you played Football. I think he was the one who… What was it? Fumbled the ball during the state championship?” Meg’s smile widened. She was actually enjoying this reading quite a bit. Benjamin didn’t seem like he was exactly pleasant, and she found just a tiny bit of joy knowing she was right about everything she was saying. “You threw your helmet at him. Chucked it even, you were so angry… It was scary.” Meg echoed the spirit, head tilting to the side. “Are you an angry person, Benjamin? When things don’t go your way? You should watch your temper. You never know when it could get you into trouble.”

Ben was about to respond when he noticed the way the lights in the coffee shop began to flicker. What was that? A trick of the light or just some theatrics? This woman must have a friend on the inside, someone who was manipulating the lights in the back of the store to make it seem as though she had some kind of “power.” How else would they be doing that. And, as the woman spoke up once more, Ben knew that she had to have an informant. Someone from his high school days. Someone with a keen memory, or maybe just a vendetta against him.

Ben kept his expression pleasantly amused as his mind raced. Who was she? And more importantly, who was her informant? Who was telling her these things about him? Because, if they had as long a memory as it seemed, they would need to be dealt with swiftly. He couldn’t have his high school antics coming back to haunt him, not when he was so focused on his goal. If this wasn’t a public place, if this woman wasn’t… visible. Oh, he would love to watch her bleed for Hrvsht’ooooor. Not die, that was an honor she wasn’t worthy of. But bleed and beg and suffer for Him? Ben would love to see that. Instead, he stood up with a shake of his head, chuckling. “High school emotions run high. Teenage emotions. Everyone gets a little out of hand at that age.” He said with a rueful expression on his face. “I shudder to think what life would be like if we were to judge everyone on their highschool personas.” He said before casting a shrug in her direction. “Tell your friend, or whoever told you about me, that I’d love to meet them. It’d be nice to catch up on old times.”

He seemed amused, which kept the light airy talk between them. Ben clearly didn’t believe her, and it was almost funny watching him wash everything off as typical high school antics. “That’s true, I suppose. Too much testosterone and puberty,” Meg said. But she couldn’t help the cheeky grin that came across her face as she finally leaned back in her chair, reaching down to pull out the book she was reading. “You’re ending the reading early,” she told him. “Why? Are you afraid I’ll find a secret you don’t want anyone to find out about? Are you hiding something you don’t want me to see?” The question was innocent enough and left unanswered. Meg laughed under her breath, shaking her head as she opened her book to continue where she left off the previous night.

“He’s not my friend,” the spirit said suddenly, and Meg looked up, brows furrowed. She had forgotten the girl was there. The girl wasn’t looking at her anymore though, she was looking in the direction Ben had walked off towards. After a moment, the spirit turned and walked away from the table. She didn’t seem interested in Meg at all. She was going to call out to her, but the second she caught sight of her back, Meg’s voice caught in her throat.

The girl’s spine and back of her rib cage were pried open, sticking out every which way. Translucent organs stuck out, unseen from the front. Meg was never a great at anatomy, but she was pretty sure the only thing missing were the girl’s lungs. Meg’s eyes narrowed, and she couldn’t help but glance off in the direction Benjamin went.

A coincidence, surely. Right?

#wickedswriting #para #para ben #ben

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